She couldn’t wait so she asked, she wanted to know what lies behind that nothingness in him. He told her. She listened and he talked. She felt so guilty for his dark feelings. She just felt dirty for making him feel like that when he is near her. She tried to justify herself, but she couldn’t cause there was nothing to be justified. After more then two hours of talk came silence… There was time for rest.
Good night was said and than they turned back to each other.
How long has passed, she couldn’t say, but she got awaken by rough touch, anger coming from his hands. He was demanding, without any emotion except anger.
He wanted to be inside of her and he didn’t think about anything else. He wanted to fuck her. In that moment she was nothing to him, just an instrument of his release. He took her fast, without any mercy and he pounded inside of her, filling any part of her body that could accept his arousal. It didn’t last long. He didn’t want it to last long. He wanted it quick.
Was he hating himself for taking her so, without any respect, she couldn’t say. All she saw was huge anger in his moves, his touch. She let him do it. She even enjoyed it. He was punishing her and she enjoyed so much. He didn’t want her to come. She was completely irrelevant. He yearned to be selfish and she let him have that. She silently submitted to his need.
Making his craving complete, he turned his back again, forgetting about object that wasn’t important. She was His object and funny feeling was, that, it didn’t hurt. She made him feel good and she was happy cause of that.
She wanted to make him feel even better. She moved her hand toward her aching sex, still aroused by force he took her and she softly asked him to turn around and watch her coming for him. Once he loved that so much, so she hoped he will love it now too.
His gaze was focused, calm, metallic, empty. His eyes were so cold, no expression, nothing while he was observing her, moving in still rhythm. He was silent wrath incorporated. So majestic as fantasy creature, so beautiful. She couldn’t think of anything else except that coldness in his gaze. She felt, maybe involuntarily, her orgasm building, just looking at him. He smiled. Dear Lord, his smile was a movement, a crack in the porcelain mask. Something that gave godly beauty to his cold gaze. She thought she saw a little bit of disgust, but she couldn’t say for whom, for her or him? Was he hating himself so much for not be able to feel anything, or her that she was so freaking turned on by his hatred? Another mystery for her, but she came and she exploded, her orgasm pulled away from her by his most dark feelings. He smiled once more, now even more with disgust and just turned away from her.
She thought she was sick. She must be! She came by looking at his oblivion, his hatred, his anger. That made her come. He used her as an object to release himself and that turned her on! Yes… All of that. All of that, cause she WAS his object and she WAS proud cause of that.