…I met her on the pier, the one where we used to sit and watch the sun dip below the waters of the ocean. There used to be an ice cream booth here, but all that remained was an old dilapidated shack with its storefront boarded closed. She approached...
…in my most revealing and degrading attire. His eyes grew wide with arousal when I came to him, one slender leg over the other in a walk that bordered on ballet, the pleated folds of my skirt flapping against my upper thighs in rhythm to my strut. I knew it took him in, and I enjoyed the humiliation for he deserved to hand it down upon me. I walked the long length of the pier for him like a catwalk, his influence making me lean and slant and display my erotic form. He loved this place, this pier, though I didn’t see the draw for him. We had spent a lot for time here once, but those were in better days. Days when…
…I loved her more than anything in the world. Now she stood before me, the scoop of her thong showing from under her skirt as it blew up in the wind. She was so beautiful. Her body was the very essence of lust, the reason I had such a hard time letting go. I still couldn’t get her out of my mind; her spell was hypnotic and controlling. I got hard just knowing she was around, knowing what I could have her do. As usual, we met without words, as there was nothing to discuss. Each night we met, on this pier, over the ocean, where we used to spend the most wonderful days together. This evening, much like more recent nights, was not like that. This was lust, my thirst crying to be quenched, my primal anger wanting to feed on her pain. I thought of all the love we thought we had…
…and I thought of all the times he made me mad…
…and I wanted it back. I wanted to feed her again, to be inside her, and I wanted her to want me the same way. That is why I always brought her here, forced her to take me each night so that I could…
…get my fix. I craved him. I craved his control. I never enjoyed the way things ended between us. I had always felt guilty about it. I think this was my way of punishing myself, making it up to him. But in my heart I knew truthfully that the two of us were…
…both selfish people. We didn’t deserve each other in the arms of love, but in other ways unimaginable to most people we did belong. I was such a selfish prick, and she made me so angry, because she had been the one to show me my own errors. I hated my flaws and I blamed myself for them. I always made excuses, and this encounter was an…
…excuse like any other, to feed my lust and my self-loathing. I liked the pain most of all, the juxtaposition of his cock swelling inside me, bringing pleasure to me, while my emotions cried. Filthy things they were, those emotions, they were nothing but trouble. The raw heat of animal carnality was simple however, and it let me reinforce my drive for abasement and punishment for the things I’d done to him and the things he’d done to me. I never knew what feelings were really for anyway, whether they were meant to help us see the light or…
…feel the darkness of regret when those we loved went away. I regretted a lot of things, and this night would be one of them. I could tell this night was just like the others, that it would end up just like the others, with her bent over the railing and my cock pounding the hell out of her box. It would end with her hooks in my mind and…
…his hooks in my mind. The two of us hurt ourselves more than each other. We used to struggle with our meetings and with how they ended. But gradually, without conscious awareness…
…we subdued each other’s thoughts and slowly came to enjoy it. I came to rationalize our methods, the way we came together in vengeance but channelled it into lust. I am sure she feels the same way (I think). It was our way of cheapening the great thing we used to have, the great thing we both wanted to forget. Since memory cannot be willed away, because what we had was truly a great thing and it was our anger at its ending that killed us, we suffered in its shadow. The two of us together…
..was greater than the two of us apart. But I’d be dammed if I let him feel good about it, just as he be damned if he’d let me feel good about it too. But since we rationalized, since we had intellectualized this to such an extent, we made excuses. We came to enjoy the pain and debauchery, the ironic mix of it, the affirmation of my (and probably his?) boiling self-hatred. Our masochistic game…
…went on. We had both become so confused and deceived by each other that I (and her too?) was certain something had to come of it, that someday one of us might win. The anger that surrounded it drove us to the extent of ridding it through passion, but in a way that let us both feel we got what we deserved. I got to feel like the user I though I was and…
…I got to feel like the slut I decided I had been. I was very sorry I had lied to him. It was foolish to ever think what we did here, with me bent over the railing with my reflection in the waters and his hands feathering the cheeks of my ass, would ever cure my (and his too?) ambivalence. Take me dirty man, feed me, for…
…she needed my cock. I could tell, from the way her thighs quivered and her pussy lay flushed before me, framed by the skirt that could not possibly conceal what lay underneath. Her body bent for me, her bottom pointed at my groin, and her sex waited like a door begging to be barged through. Her thong lay at her ankles, my pants around my thighs, and I grew for her, to show her my lust and…
…to show me he was still alive. I could see it, his heart working hard to pump, showing its passion in a way simple and delicious. His heart sped and raced for me. I knew he loved me, even when he hated me, just as I felt the same for him, but I (we?) didn’t deserve that. I (we!) would never deserve to feel those emotions on a level so spiritual again. After we had ruined such a great thing, we only deserved to…
…ruin ourselves, and desecrate our emotions with the collision of our bodies. I pushed against her, my rod plying the folds of her vulva, pushing into her moist lips like a battering ram. She held tight against me, grunting like an ape as I pushed a little harder, letting her tight cunt strain against my head. With a pop she snapped, and I charged inside, like the devil bursting forth through the door of a cathedral. She squealed, her noise echoed over the water, and I growled loud enough to shake the deck of the pier. The railing rocked and swayed under my assault as I pushed and shoved my way into her deep canal. She was made for love, so tight and deep as she was, her fleshy walls squeezing and strangling my cock like a boa. The air crackled with our energy and with the sound of…
…his jean flaps slapping the insides of my thighs and his belt buckle rattling in the air. His open zipper splashed my ass with a prickling of coldness. Fuck me you horny man…
…and take it you sultry bitch. I growled again, howled into the sky…
…and I convulsed like an animal. My thighs squeezed and he pushed in on me with his hands, his fingers sinking into the sides of my thighs, assisting my contractions. I let out a high pitch yelp as the first of many cummings gripped my soul and shook my bones…
…and her pussy grappled me with it’s wet suction, her lips clawing and stretching the skin of my cock as I reached the zenith of every withdrawal, only to slide roughly back into her again and blow my load. Explosive…
…spray erupted from within as we exploded into each other. I my cunt gurgled and boiled as our combined ejaculations raced out of me through any gap they could find, dripping down my thighs and over his thick rod. I loved the feeling of his juice on my skin, it was so dirty, and…
…we didn’t deserve it any neater. We weren’t clean people and I certainly wasn’t a clean man. We were two-faced mind controllers, each with our hands in the mind of the other, unable to break free, unable to…
…feel the love I once did, for we strangled each other with invisible hands. Yet through the hurt was…
…passion of such blazing fire…
…that always made me cum so quickly, even when he never touched my clit…
…and even when she never spoke to me…
…and though we left without a word, both silently ashamed of the other for repeating this tired routine…
…and because we forced ourselves to ravish each other in the name of lost love…
…we knew we were self deceptive.