1. Unspoken


    Date: 9/27/2015, Categories: BDSM, Author: gilrenard, Rating: 16, Source: LushStories

    I took the last, long drag of my cigarette and held the smoke in my lungs, then crushed the still glowing stub into the metal ashtray on my lap as I exhaled the blue smoke out in to the night air. I was sitting on my balcony, naked, sipping on a generous pour of whisky. I tried to concentrate on the view of the city laid out before me. The CN Tower rose bold and stark against the dusky, Toronto, night sky. The city lights shimmered off the dark, glass like surface of Lake Ontario, and disappeared far away in to the horizon. The tide, always the master of illusion, carried the shimmering lights away, to fall off the end of the earth. I waited for the inevitable sound, that sound which I have grown to hate with every nerve of my body. It is a constant, a truth, and it booms in my ears after every violent storm in my bedroom. The sound; my apartment door locking. There is always a calm, eerie quiet, throughout my apartment after I am finished with her, after she has finished her crying. She won’t say good bye to me when she makes her exit. She never has. Just as she never has greeted me, like a lover would, when I open my door to her and invite her in. Her last words to me were spoken just before I made my way to the balcony. “You made me bleed from between my legs again, bastard!” She had sobbed, with her hand extended and accusing, smudged with her blood, empirical proof of what she had accused me of. I had been extra rough on her that evening. I had bound her with my rope ...
    and fucked her mercilessly. When I grinned at what she had sobbed at me, she broke down and started to cry. She needs to cry, it’s a catharsis, it cleanses her, and it makes her whole again. “Get dressed, and get the fuck out of my sight, whore,” I calmly had replied to her as I left my bedroom to pour myself a whisky. If you are still reading this, don’t judge me just yet. Read on to the end, only then announce your verdict. I played the events that would inevitably occur, in my mind. She would shower, slowly get dressed and gather her things. My heart will skip a beat, as it always does, when I hear her unlock my door. I’ll close my eyes and count to four. That’s how long it takes for the next sound to travel to me, the sound of my door closing behind her. Painfully, the sound will come right on queue. It always does. Once, just fucking once, I wish it wouldn’t. I’d accept any amount of time longer than the cursed, four seconds. One second longer. Half of a heartbeat longer. A bat of an eye longer. A sign, to tell me she is hesitant about leaving. I met her four months ago, on the Union Station subway platform. I had worked late that evening, so had she. I was walking to the end of the platform; she was walking towards to me, headed to the front of the platform. I made eye contact and smiled at her. She was a blonde, tall, and very attractive middle aged woman. She was dressed in a short, pink skirt and white blouse. She looked straight back at me, expressionless, and walked ...
«1234...89»