Give me some pain!

It's been a difficult week. 

Emotionally draining. 

Emotionally confusing.

Emotionally difficult.

Different feelings, and different reasons, different causes. Some things I've not yet processed, some things that I'm not ready to put out there and there's a mixture of loss, sadness but also hurt, disappointment right through to anger.

I re-joined the gym this week after over 20 months away due to the various surgeries etc I've faced but early this morning I hit the gym today for a high intensity spin class, there was nothing about easing back into an activity gently, there was no taking it easy. 

Instead I pushed myself in a way I've not done for a long time, I wanted to find a release for the emotions that are all whirling their way around inside and wanted to feel something physical.   I needed a release of endorphins that could just bring some relief to the feelings that I've had.

I needed something to clear the mind.  I needed to push myself so hard in that class that I didn't know how I'd actually walk out of it at the end.

And that's exactly what I did do.

And now, several hours later the muscles in my body ache, they're tired and beyond sore, and it's a relief to have a physical ache instead of an emotional one draining the body.  It's a relief that my mind is feeling that physical pain, that physical ache and soreness.  It gives the mind a break, it gives the heart a break, it gives me a break.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't a person that felt so deeply, that wasn't so emotionally driven, things would be a whole lot easier at times.

Terminal Velocity

There was a death today.

I was already in my mourning

clothes:

tidy black shoes,

modest black dress,

purse filled with tissues.

Understated. Muted.

And in horror, I watched the

freefall to death. I

froze, unable to take my eyes

away from this tragic site.

I watched as

it reached

terminal velocity,

against a bright, sunny sky.

Painfully bright,

ironically sunny.

Achieving terminal velocity

and falling…

…falling…

…falling…

until after an eternity, after hitting the ground,

I saw it die.

Tears of remembrance

Tears of remembrance

roll streaks of blackness

down her face.

Smearing the memories and

pain onto a

canvas of pale skin.

A hand, a tissue, cannot wipe 

away the sadness or

memories that engulf.

She looks at the page before her,

no words of

sentimentality just a

reality of pain and sadness.

A silent tear freefalls

onto the journal notebook

that sits before her,

the place where she writes her

innermost thoughts

and depths and feelings.

A silent tear that smudges

the beautiful words she

has written.

Blurring them into 

streaks of

blackness which match the

canvas of her skin.

Tears of remembrance.

Of sadness.

Of loss.

As she searches for

words of harmony and

beauty,

of warmth,

of love.

And I hate it

There are moments, moments like this, like today, where there's a black cloud filling the day.  The sky outside may be clear and blue, the sun maybe shining, but here inside my head, over me, surrounding me is a big black cloud of fucking horrible funk.

And I hate it.

And I can't shake it.

I know it's a whole host of reasons, the arrival of Mothers Day which brings a whole host of feelings to me.  Throw in two nights of terrible insomnia, and the wonderful feelings of spending a matter of hours with someone followed by the drop and reality that it won't be for a while.   

And it all brings about a cacophony of emotions and feelings that feel like a stormy sea bashing at the sea defences. My defences.  I feel storm battered.

And I hate it.

And I want to turn the clock back to how I felt in the early hours of Thursday morning, the moment where I had an arm draped across my chest, a head sleeping on my shoulder, the weight of which weighed heavily but just brought about a sense of closeness in the darkness of the night that even when sleep eluded me I was filled with such a sweet and wonderful feeling.  And that seems so far away from where I am right now.

And I hate it.

I didn't sleep well last night. 

Neither did I the night before.  Instead the past two nights have been filled with a whole host of difficult feelings, painful reflections, I've had memories flood back in of the moment that people have literally drifted out of life, my witnessing their taking their last breath.  Haunted by the recollection of the time I almost drowned, I led there feeling just as I did at that moment, the way it felt as the water slowly filled my lungs as I saw life, my own life slowly ebb away.  I've had recollections of times in my life where it's been filled with such a sense of deep loss.

I feel haunted by the sense of loss, emptiness and sadness.  I feel like I'm drowning under a big black cloud.

And I hate it. 

And I'm trying to find the rays of light coming through the cloud and yet I am filled with a sense of foreboding, a sense of fear, as if something is going to go tearing through life and rip something else away from my heart. 

Right now, my heart feels vulnerable.  *I* feel vulnerable and quite alone. (A very rare thing for me to feel!)

And I hate it. 

Not the feeling of my own vulnerability, so much as that of my heart.  There is a beauty and a strength and a power in being vulnerable, of opening yourself up to someone and being vulnerable with them, to them, to the feelings you have.  But this heaviness, this darkness, this sense of emptiness that is enshrouding right now is quite overwhelming. 

And I hate it.

And my goodness, I'd give anything right now to transport me back to those early hours of Thursday morning, for that sense of warmth and closeness and just "being" in that moment. The closeness of skin, the closeness of feeling and watching him sleep, watching him breath, but just feeling. That moment.

But, the reality? Is that I'm as far away from that moment as I possibly could be.

Instead, I'm drifting into the darkness of a storm, the depths of funk that have come out of nowhere.  I feel as if I'm in a "drop", I feel disconnected in a way I don't want to be disconnected and yet, I can't disconnect from these horrible feelings.

And I fucking hate it!

Beast

I don't  want to touch you with gentle hands

Or talk to your with a soft gentle voice.

I don't want to look at you with softness or love.

I want you to see my darkness. To pull you into

the dark and depraved. I want you to feel the desires

that engulf me, overwhelm me, that fills my veins.

The ones that exist in the darkest corners of my psyche.

I want to strip you bare. Taking down the walls that keep you safe.

I want you to feel what I do; as I do. Battling against a

darkness and desire that takes you down to the lowest of places.

I want to rape your body, to rape your mind.

To hurt your heart with cruel words that squeeze it

with their harshness. I want my hands to tear at your your body,

raking nails over the softness of your naked flesh.

Taking you, hurting you, marking you right through to

the depths of you, through to your soul.

I want you to feel the beast that lives inside of me, to see it,

feel it, crave it. Love it. To open the door of its cage,

to set it free, so that it can be unleashed upon you.

You opening the door to be a willing victim. A victim,

to be taken, broken. And yet still beg for more.

Lovingly broken.

A tear escaped from the corner of his eye, gently rolling down his cheek before hitting the table to which he was tightly restrained.  His chest began to heave as the single tear turned into a gentle flow, a puddle of tears forming on the wood beneath him.

She didn't stop.

The solid oak paddle that he had presented to her only a short while ago, continued to make heavy contact with his naked cheeks, a sharp intake of breath each time the wood made contact with his reddened skin.  His hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white with the force of the grip as he held on to take the pain that she was inflicting upon him.

But even though it hurt him beyond words, even though he was almost broken, he knew that it was nothing less than he had deserved.  He had unleased the beast, and in turn had been restrained against the table, slumping against the wood which was keeping him in the position, his naked ass at just the right height to take the blows that were regularly making contact with him.

She wasn't angry.  But disappointed.  The evening was supposed to have been a special one, and he had ruined it.  Unintentionally it would seem, but he knew straight away that he would regret what he had said.

And he was. Regretting it.

Regretting it in a way he normally wouldn't, but he had unleashed the beast and in doing so, he was almost broken.

His tears continued to fall.  His sobs could be heard between each contact the paddle made with his skin.  His beggings fell on deaf ears.  His pleadings and screams doing so also.  Her arm ached from the repetitive movement of bringing the paddle down upon him.

He was slumped over the table, his sobs clearly audible, the tears falling in a constant stream.

He was broken.  But beatifully so.

And she knew that he had learned his lesson.

She placed the paddle on the table next to him, and wiped the tears that were falling from his eyes.  His hair was matted with sweat, tears and snot. His ass was already turning purple and black from the bruises that were making their way to the surface.  As she released him from his restraints, his knees buckled and he slumped to the floor. 

His breathing was erratic, his sobs had eased although tears still fell. But he was done screaming and pleading. 

"I'm sorry."
"I'm so sorry." he had whispered.

"I'm glad to hear it." she replied.

"It's over. It's done." she said to him as she slowly lifted him up from the floor, taking him into her arms.  And as he gripped her arms tightly, and rested his head against her chest, his broken self sobbed, his chest heaving, and she felt the tears making contact with her skin as she continued to hold him, stroking his hair.

Her arm ached.  And she could see that she had gone to a level she had not taken him before.

He was broken.  Yet beautifully so.

As he turned his face up to look at her, she kissed him gently.  She knew that she had come close to going too far as she looked at him, the pain he was feeling clear from the look in his eyes, but she also knew how to control the beast even when it was unleashed.

"I'm sorry." he whispered hoarsely. "I disobeyed and broke the rule.  I am sorry.  God it hurts."

"It's supposed to. That's the point" she replied and she held him, stroking him, bringing him in close. 

"It's over. It's done." She repeated to him.

"Thank you." he whispered back as he moved his broken body in closer to her arms, drinking in its warmth and comfort.  Comforting himself in arms that had inflicted such pain upon him.  Knowing that she loved him despite hurting him.  Knowing that with every contact of the paddle that it had been done with love. 

But she had hurt him.  Broken him.

He knew that.

But she loved him.  She cherished him.

He knew that too.

This time of year . . . .

Is not the easiest time of year, for so many people.

As people make plans to be together with family, it is always so apparent the family who are no longer here to be a part of it.

Planning the dinner for Christmas day which once had 12 or 14 people around it, now reduced to half that number, through people moving on, moving away and through the loss in one's passing.

Christmas was always one of my Mum's favourite times of the year, she always planned it so well, and it is a time which feels incredibly empty without her.  In fact, many things just do not seem right without her.  No matter how much time passes, it is something you do not get used to.  You just learn to cope in different ways.

This year, will be the first year I have ever spent Christmas eve in my own home and it will be for the little man too.  Another piece of proof of just how much things change, that the family that was once so close and tight together have drifted apart a little more each day, like icebergs on the ocean, floating in different directions until we all are out there, floating in the same ocean, but isolated from the others.

It breaks my heart when the little man tells me it feels like the others do not want to see him.  It breaks my heart that he feels as he does, that at this time of year places so much focus on "families", yet it is this time of year which also makes things hit home.  I wonder if these family members have any idea of the hurt their actions can cause?!

The missing "parent", the family who are not here, those who have passed . . .when so many think that it is such a wonderful time of year, and it can be.  But there are for so many when it is the complete opposite.  

A friend of mine across the ocean, watches as the family that she has left make open plans on media such as facebook to get together at Christmas with an invite that never comes her way.  Gatherings that she has never been invited to and instead makes her plans on how to get through the day on her own, taking care of other peoples houses and pets while they are away with their own family.

My heart breaks for her and I wish the ocean weren't so wide.

She said she was thinking about how much she wanted to really feel the joy of this time of year without it being constantly undercut with sadness, telling herself that she should be happy with what she has,  to stop making comparisons and to accept the situation in life more philosophically.

Except, it isn't that simple.

It isn't that easy.

And it is times of year such as this, which makes it incredibly hard not to miss things, to not wish that some things were different.  There isn't any philosophical thoughts or views which can take away that undercut of sadness.

Sometimes its just a case of getting through.

Sometimes it is just a case of finding a way to deal with that undercut of sadness, attempting not to let it cut so deep, but when everyone around us is lost in their days of happiness and celebration, there are others who wear a mask, placing a smile onto the face just to make it through.

A walk in the park

It is late. 

We left the party a short time ago, much later than planned. But we had been enjoying ourselves.  I had been teasing you relentlessly all evening.  The occasional whisper in your ear of what I was going to do to you when we finally made it home.

I could see the tricks your mind was playing on you. 

The fear of the unknown.

The arousal that this fear and these thoughts brought to your body; to your cock.  There was no hiding it.  And I would smile at your arousal, you would blush at the humiliation.

The streets are quiet and we walk home together, the only sound being our breathing, and footsteps upon the pavement, the heels of my boots, the sound of your shoes.  And even though it is the very late hours of the night, we take a short cut through the park.

"Come on, we will be fine. I will look after you" I say mockingly when he protests that it isn't safe to be walking through the park at this time of the night. 

"Isn't it I, who should be taking care of you?" he asks in return. 

I simply smile at him.

"Nothing is going to happen to me while I walk through the park.  However . . .who knows what will happen to you?" I laugh dismissively at him. Walking on ahead of him, as his mind plays scene after scene of all the things that could happen in the next 10 minutes from the tiniest of seeds I have just planted within his mind.

I want to hurt him. 

The beast has been prowling all night, it is desperate for escape.  I want to tease him, hurt him, mark him.  I want to hear him pleading and begging for me to stop as I scratch, twist, slap him.  Which makes me only want to hurt him all the more, just as his hesitancy right now makes me want to hurt him and I have to stop myself from doing so right there. 

I leave him standing there as I walk on ahead of him, my feet are now aching and tired.  I am needing a drink and am feeling aroused at being out in the open air.  There is something about being out in the open, the feel of the air against skin, the danger of being seen and found.  My mind drifts to thoughts of the last time we were in this park. Walking through I had sat on the bench, him kneeling between my legs, his face buried between my thighs as he brought me to an orgasm with his tonguue.  I had then made him walk the rest of the way home with my juices all over his face.  He hadn't been able to look up at anyone all of the way home for fear that someone would know what he had just done.

I smile at the memory of his humiliation.  My body reacting to the memory of the wonderful orgasm that he had brought me.  

"Will you hurry up!" I say to him, as he increases the pace of his walk to catch up. 

He seems on edge. Nervous somehow.  He looks around, not really being able to see anything in the darkness of the unlit park, but looking around anyway as if someone is going to jump out at us at any time. 

A short distance later, in the middle of the dark park, I sit down on the same bench we had before. I tell him that my feet are aching, that I need to remove my boots and that I will walk the rest of the way bare foot.  

He stands before me, and just as he leans down to unzip my boots the back of my hand comes swiftly across his face, knocking him off balance and onto the ground. 

He is stunned, shocked by the force of the slap, the few drinks he had earlier at the party rushing straight to his brain, his eyes have glazed over as I know that it hit his submissive psyche with the same force of contact that it made on his skin. 

Before he has time to recover, before he has any time to realise that we aren’t alone, that someone is behind him, grunting as they grab him by the hips and flip him over onto his stomach. He is still dazed from the slap across his face but realisation is starting to hit and he begins to lash out, trying to push this unknown person away.

He is struggling now.  Kicking. Lashing out. Trying to push him away.  He is shouting. Swearing.

A hand forces its way into his hair, pushing his face down hard into the dirt. 

He is beginning to plead now, begging to be let go, but instead he is forced further forward, a mouth full of dirt, he coughs and splutters up the bits of soil that found its way into his mouth.  

From his head, the hand slides down his back, pushing him down harder, pinning him between his shoulder blades. The other hand groping and finding their way in the dark to the top of his trousers.   

"Oh god. Please. No! Please stop!"  he begs. 

Hearing his begging; hearing his pleas goes straight to my cunt. 

But the stranger does not stop.

Instead he pulls them down harder, yanking the trousers down over his naked ass, catching them on his cock, which despite the pleas and the begging to stop is obviously aroused at the force in which he is being taken at that moment.

As the trousers reach his knees, he stops.  You are exposed.

“Please NO! No. No. . no . . .no . . . no . . .n . . . “ 

You realise you are fighting a battle that you can only lose.  You hear the stranger unzip his trousers and feel the hardness of his cock against your naked, exposed ass.  You are crying now. Slow tears beginning to fall into body wrenching sobs.

“Please don’t hurt us” 

You are pleading. 

You have no idea that I am still sat on the bench watching you.  Watching him hurting you.  I make no noise. No sound. No movement. 

Instead you begin to scream as you feel the head of his cock at the entrance to your ass.  And you scream louder still as you feel him force himself inside you.  He grunts and moans with each thrust, groping at your body, scratching you, hurting you. All of the things that I have been wanting to do to you all evening.

Your screams have turned into moans and groans. 

Moans and groans which turn into a state of arousal despite that you are there in the park, on your hands and knees being fucked in the ass by an unknown stranger. Your own cock is hard and protruding from your body.  Just as you begin to find your voice again, pleading with him to stop, he forces you down further into the ground.

He is fucking you.

Slapping you.

Hurting you.

With each thrust his grunts get louder, deeper, throatier.  You feel his body begin to spasm as you feel him come deep inside of you. 

“Noooooo . . .” you cry out “Please help  me, I am begging you to help me”

You are laid there, semi naked.

Your trousers still around your knees.  You are scared to move, scared of what may come next. Your body quivering.  You feel him move away from you as he pulls his cock from out of you.   And what seems like an eternity but is only a matter of seconds, you turn to look for me. Your mind trying to make sense of the invasion of your body. 

The stranger on the other hand, is stood in front of me. Where you had been only a short time before as you had bent to remove my boots.

I look at him.

Leaning into him as he embraces me.  My mouth making contact with his as I devour his mouth with my own.  His hands gripping my breast through the blouse I am wearing.

“I love you” he says.

I smile at him.

I look down where you are still exposed on the floor.

And then I smile at you.

Crossed the line

It is August and the chance to have an extra week away, a break down to the coast, somewhere which we haven't been for many years.  Revisiting a place I've been so many times before, as a young child, as an adult, as a parent.  Taking the time at the end of the day, to watch the sun setting out over the sea, taking some photos and taking some time in thought after the chaos of a busy day. 



I am sat on the dunes watching the sun set over the waves that are crashing over the rocks and onto the shore where only a short time earlier, families had been spending the day in the last of the summer sun. 

The sky is painting such a beautiful picture, a myriad of colours amidst the clouds in the sky, the colours reflected in the breaking waves and surf as it crashes onto the beach.  It is a beautiful time to be there.  The quiet at the end of the day, there is an eery silence, no screaming children, no families playing on the beach, just the noise of the waves and the wind and an occasional person walking their dog, a couple walking hand in hand ankle deep in the chilly waters, a hardened surfer catching the last of the days surf.

I had sat in this same place many years before, except the feelings back then, were so different to the ones I was having now.

You had been sat next to me.

I don't even know why we had come away, only a few days before your betrayal had been uncovered.

The secrets and the lies.

And although this time I was able to sit with peace and quiet, memories of family holidays taken even years before you in this very place, that time with you I had sat with hurt, with anger, with all of the feelings that your betrayal was leaving in its wake.  Trust broken. A relationship destroyed. A heart aching for what had been.

Back then, the reality lay heavily upon us, there were no words or actions that would or could ever put it right. The only thing I had always said to you was that I needed your honesty, the only “rule” that had been there. That the moment that there was a lie, was the moment that really was it, even if it was the beginning of the end, just like it had been back then.

I don't know why we had come.

A bit like those people who go through with a wedding just because everything is paid for, even though you already know it is going to be a disaster.

That was the same with us.

We had come away because it was all paid for. You had visions of it being the trip that could “fix” what had happened. Except there was nothing that would ever be strong enough to fix what you had done. There never could be.

I don't know why I had agreed to come.

Even though the sunset ahead of me back then had been beautiful, just like the one I was watching now while remembering, the feelings that had engulfed me weren't.

I have always loved watching the sunset, nothing more perfect than watching it set over the sea, nothing to see for miles apart from the changing colours of the sky, reflecting in the moving waves.

The sunset ahead of me now, reminded of the one that we had watched in this very place many years before.

How things had changed since that time.

You had said we could use this time to talk. Except every time there was the opportunity, that every time I asked why, your eyes would fall in the direction of your feet, and the same answer of “I don't know” would be the only thing that would escape your lips before the tears escaped from your eyes.  You couldn't look me in the eye.  And I knew even when you said something, what was now the truth or not.

We had explored so much in the years that we had shared.

But, you knew there was a line.

It had been there from the very beginning and now you were finding out the consequences of what happens when you step over it. Except, I was finding out just how hard it was, of just how it felt, of just how hard it was to be letting go.

I was hurt. Betrayed. Heartbroken.

I had cried many tears during those early days, but the tears had turned to a pain and an anger that burned like a fire out of control. 

And during the time we had spent together away, while sat in this same place that I was only recently, back then you had thought that “make up sex” was enough to make it better.

We had always had such great sex.

You had been so eager to please, eager to learn how to please. You had spent many hours buried between my legs, your tongue buried deep inside of me. You had learned to delay your orgasm while you fucked me. Your cock filled me in a way no-one ever had, or has since. I loved the way you stretched me, filled me. I made you beg to go down on me after you had come inside of me, licking me clean. I will always remember the look of humiliation burning in your face and that made me want to force you all the more.

And here we were.

The coolness of the air mixing with the warmth of the setting sun. Your hand was trailing up and down my thigh. I could read you like a book, just like I always had done. I didn't acknowledge you, instead I continued to look out over the sea, watching the changing shapes of the clouds. Your fingers found their way between my legs and I hated right then just how my body always reacted to you, of how my cunt throbbed with the longing, of how my body betrayed itself from the wetness that was already finding its way over your fingers. It was as if you were trying everything to make the previous week disappear from happening. Except it had. It couldn't be ignored, it couldn't just be wiped away, however much I wish that it could have.

You brought me to an intense orgasm, my moans being lost in the sound of the waves still crashing down onto the shore. Except you weren't finished and I was lost to the intense feelings of arousal that you never failed to bring to me.  I didn't care about anything at that moment.  All of the feelings that we had shared, all of the things that we had done, flooded through me. 

And there on the sand dunes, you forced your fist deep into my cunt, in just the way I had taught you, and you fucked me hard with your fist, almost punching deep inside. I loved the way that your hand stretched me, filled me, hurt me. I lost count of the amount of times that you forced an orgasm from my body each time your fist punched inside.  I could feel my own juices gushing out over your hand, down over my thighs, dripping onto the sand beneath me.

Your other hand finding its way to my arse as you started to find your way in with your fingers filling me up even more. Oblivious to whoever may be close, whoever may have seen, you fucked my arse as hard as you fucked my cunt, and I was riding your fists lost to the wave of orgasms that took over my body. As I lay there totally spent, my body recovering from the intensity of the orgasms that had ripped through my body, I shivered from the dampness of my exposed skin as the breeze moved over me.

How could things have gone so wrong between us, when so many things were so right?

I had led there, closed my eyes and almost for a moment nothing was wrong, everything was perfect.

Except it wasn't.

Even when you buried your head between my legs, your tongue buried deep inside lapping up the juices that you'd already forced from my body. You had begged to fuck me, but my body couldn't take much more. My insides were feeling sore from the hard fisting that you had given me, but even those feelings couldn't take away the pain that my heart was feeling.

But you stayed there, your tongue gently teasing me, tempting me, drawing my clitoris back out where you sucked on it, gently biting it, and soon the feelings within my body of longing returned. While you sucked, while your tongue found its way deep inside me, your fingers spread the cheeks of my arse where you tongue found its way, deep into its depths. You knew how much I loved your tongue there, and as it darted in and out of the depths of my arse I heard you moan and groan as you tasted me.

I felt the hardness of your cock against my leg, and I wanted you, buried deep inside me, stretching me. I wanted to be totally fucked, my body left stretched and filled; filled with you. Knowing that really it would be the last time that it would be.

"Fuck me."

And you had not needed to be asked twice, you positioned yourself behind me, knowing that I loved to be in this position so I could feel you deep inside me.

And you did.

You fucked me long and hard, pushing me down into the sand, all of the hurt and the anger that had been buried within coming out as I screamed at you to fuck me harder. I wanted it to be pushed out, to be forced out, and I had always loved your cock inside me, loved to feel you inside me, I loved to feel you cum deep inside me. And my orgasms were building and washing over me, and you were asking to cum, and I wasn't ready for you to yet.

"Fuck me harder dammit."

And you did, pulling my hair, fucking me deep, pulling on my shoulders so you could get your cock deep inside as hard and as far as you could.  And I was hurting from where your fists had filled me only moments before, and it felt as if all of my insides were being forced out of me, taking the pain and the hurt that you had caused.  But it wasn't enough. It still wasn't enough.  I wanted more. I wanted that hurt of the heart pushed away. And although I knew it would hurt, I wanted you deep within me.

"Fuck my arse now."

I saw the hesitation in your eyes.

"Goddamit, do it now will you?!" I had shouted at you, leaving you with no doubt of what I wanted.

And you withdrew from my red and sore cunt and forced the length of your cock straight into me, I screamed with the force that you took me, the orgasm ripping through my body as you continued to fuck me, to stretch me.

I had been the only person who had been able to take your size in my arse, and you had learned over time to control your orgasm for as long as I had wanted. It had brought tears to my eyes on many occasions as we had learned together how to get you to fuck me, to stretch me. You learning how to do it, my body learning how to take such an intrusion, which often screamed out with the pain that seared through my body.

And you begged me, begged to be allowed to come.

"No. Just stop."

My body couldn't take any more.

I was sore and hurting, stretched and my whole body ached from the abuse I had ordered you to inflict upon me. My cunt was stretched wide, my arse was sore, throbbing with the fisting and fucking. But I needed this. I wanted this one last memory of how it felt, knowing that there would not be another time.

The confusion in your eyes, the glazed look in your eyes I knew you were desperate to come. Your arousal was clear for all to see, as your hard cock which was wet with my juices protruded out from your body.

I looked at you, put my hands between my legs as I brought myself to an orgasm, my juices over my hand I wiped it across your face, mixing with the juices that were already there and the sand which had already stuck to you. Your mouth automatically opened to taste my fingers, to lick them clean, just as you'd always done.

You were led there confused. I stood then, my whole body shaking from the wave after wave of orgasm that had coursed through me.

I stood to the side of you, relieving myself into the sand, the breeze blowing the warm liquid over your face, over your hair, all over you.  And as I dressed I turned to you and said “You want to come. Then bring yourself to an orgasm”

“You want to do things on your own. Do this on your own. You won't ever do so with me again”

And with that, I left you there.

Walking away, not looking back.

I couldn't bear to stay even though such a big part of me wanted to. I didn't want to hear your empty apologies. I didn't want to hear you begging and pleading saying that things could be ok. I didn't want to see the tears that fell from your eyes.  I didn't want to hear your empty words when you said that things could be ok.

They couldn't.

They never could.

You had crossed the line. There was no going back.