Gallery
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
I slept fitfully, mind full of images, half-formed dreams mixed with memories. I knew nothing of what lay beneath the city streets, so I tried not to fear it. But the faces stalked the bulkheads of my mind, harshly exposed and fuzzy, interspersed with abrupt stabs of static, as they had appeared on the television screen. My watch read just before seven when Alison gently stirred me. I came to and looked into her soft features, her chocolate-drop eyes and skin the colour of lightly caramelised sugar. It registered as strange that at this early hour she looked spring-fresh and meticulously groomed, as though she had already been awake for a time. I saw she had teased out her thick, black mane and tied it up, applied her makeup in the way that I liked best and she smelled of lilies and expensive, hard to come-by shampoo rather than coal tar. She slunk, on all fours, cat-like up the bed and sat astride me. I gathered her up in my hands, running my fingers over her warm, yielding flesh. She wore a sheer black negligée, fastened with a single button beneath her breasts, advertising the womanly swell of her belly. Below her, I felt the clingy, hot nylon of her knicker gusset as it pressed against my abdomen. She moved in little circling motions, making her intentions unmistakable. “You look beautiful,” I said, still fuzzy from sleep, blindsided by being woken in this way, “truly amazing.” She shrugged, girlishly deflecting the comment, “I wanted to look my best for you; wanted you to remember this.” Her words hung in the air momentarily until she chased them away, slipping the light cotton sheet off me so that the cool, clay-smelling air caressed my naked body. I liked the morning the best, before the street noise escalated, before the sun’s inevitable rise over the rotting masonry sent the temperature soaring and drove us into the shadows. She wrapped her palm around the shaft of my cock, never taking her placid, gaze off me, watching and smiling primly as the blood began to flow, stiffening it beneath her grasp. I drank in her pretty, gentle features, the upturn of her nose, her heart-shaped face, down over her heavy, full tits and voluptuous curves. My mind was already filling with recollections of the base sexual acts that she would enthusiastically indulge me in. Most of all, I just wanted to experience her physically, one last time. My fingers sought out the warm, damp material between her thighs and peeled it slowly to one side as she stuck her bum out and upwards, presenting her exposed crotch to the morning. I paused, enjoying the anticipation, before allowing the index and middle finger of my left hand to slip into her wet pussy, my right, locating her ass and fingering its tight rim. I worked on her acceptance, slipping into her bum hole, discovering her already lubricated and ready to play. “You were expecting to do dirty things this morning?” I asked her quietly as the world dropped away leaving us in our own glorious microcosm. She nodded, long dark eyelashes fluttering sensually closed, “do anything,” she murmured, “anything you want with me.” “I need to fuck you,” I told her amid the hypnotic rhythm of her tugging at my cock, afraid of the moment evaporating into my climax, before I had even been inside her. “I think, today, I really deserve it in the ass,” she purred, her prim, little voice managing to make the statement sound romantic. “You sure you want to go straight to that?” She nodded, biting her lip, “come on, you’re deep in there already. I’m sure I could stretch a little more for you.” I had not expected her to demand to go on top. Her eyes never left mine as she squatted in beautifully slow time, center-stage and vulnerable as the first hazy rays of the sun cut through the open window, setting her skin aflame with a golden hue. I kneaded the heavy flesh of her tits as she coyly attempted to align the head of my cock with her back door, marveling at how much she seemed to draw from the act of submission. It was a willing relinquishment of her feminine power, the degrading of herself both as a gesture of love and an expression of lust. As the act drew tantalizingly close. I held still, my rock hard cock supported in my fist, watching her guide its blood-darkened, tip between her buttocks, locating me. Her thighs trembling as she lowered herself down, knowing that in moments her muscles would falter and gravity would usher in her sodomy. Then it was happening. The burning, maddening euphoria of penetration dawned, wide and bright like the new morning as she opened around me. In its grip, I resisted the urge to push upwards, driving myself into her before she was ready. She tugged at her hair, ran her shapely hands with their aubergine painted nails across her belly leaving darkened scratches, her breathing fast and shallow as she took me inside. She began to fuck; slowly at first as gasps of pain, tossed high on waves of intense sensation escaped her lips. Her tits heaved appealingly as she struggled to escort avcılar control me. The pace, quickened, most of my length now sliding greasily, into her ass before it’s taught and slippery flesh was vulgarly extruded back out of her. “Fuck!” I exclaimed, consideration for my Wife jostling with the animalistic urge to simply possess her, “go easy, you don’t have to take it that hard.” “No,” she breathed, reclining, bracing her arms against the bed and tilting her head back so I could watch each thrust in graphic detail “I do. I’m yours. Just fuck the shit out of me.” Alison didn’t ask me if I was going to cum. She saw it burst in my eyes as my back arched and an animalistic growl escaped my clenched teeth. She pushed down onto me and stayed down as I shot my load inside her. When she was sure it was over; sure she had performed her Wifely duties, slowly, tenderly she got off me, breathless and smarting from her sexual martyrdom. She smiled sweetly at me, the side of her face pressed against the sheets, bottom raised once again, ever willing to please, “want to see what you’ve done to me, dirty boy?” I knew what she meant. We had been here before on rare occasions past, out of control, drunk on each other’s bodies, depraved with desire. I ran my tongue up over the contours of her pussy, between her buttocks and around the engorged, splayed O of her bum hole, tasting my sweat and my ejaculation on her skin, enjoying her scent. She was already beginning to swallow closed, my load threatening to spill back out. “Don’t think I can hold onto this much longer,” she teased, knowing the spectacle that I was hoping for. I suddenly became aware that our time having sex in our meager apartment, on this bed were drawing to a close. At least our last act together would be marked by its carnality. A succession of obscene squelches marked her relinquishment of the cum I had squirted deep into her. Hungrily, I ran my tongue around her gaping hole, lapping the cocktail of our juices, dipping inside and tenderly fucking her with my tongue as she closed back up around me. “You’re such a slut,” I told her affectionately, slapping her glistening rump, placing my hands around her slim waist in a lovingly possessive gesture. “Something nasty to remember me by,” she said and then stopped dead, realising how the statement might have sounded and how I might have taken it. Silence descended awkwardly on the room. “Alison,” I began, “after I go, there may come a time when you want to…” “No,” she cut me off, “I know what you’re going to say and I’m not going to listen to it.” I persisted, “you’re young. You can’t throw the rest of your life away on a memory.” “We’re young. I’m not throwing anything away. Let’s get dressed. They’ll be here soon.” The streets were humid and unpleasant, sweltering amid a moist, grey shroud that clung to everything. Roiling banks of fog enrobed the lower reaches of the crooked buildings and cleaved skyscrapers with their steel bones showing beneath concrete skin. High in the sky, the sun rode towards the apex of its climb. I felt the crowd before I saw it, bristling with excitement, their voices ascending in the stifling air. As I emerged, the noise crested, broke and engulfed me. By my right side a stony-faced Officer tightened his grip on my bicep. To my left, another pressed the muzzle of his firearm gently against my ribs, reminding that, while I was a free man, that status came with certain provisos. I walked stiffly through the throng, eyes front, refusing to turn my head and engage with the baying apparitions in my peripheral vision with their wide, staring eyes and gaping mouths. All round me they cheered, cried, cursed and shouted but mostly, they probably just thanked the heavens that it was me and not them. Beyond the thronging bodies was a clearing and then the imposing mountain of rock, beneath which the station was buried. I saw Alison, her eyes pregnant with tears, her face a mask of hopelessness. Beside her stood The Preacher with his dirty white tunic and wild, unkempt hair. “These are the days of our very nightmares,” he bellowed at the thronging bodies, clutching a sheaf of yellowed papers to his chest “when we are close to the abyss, we see nightmares made flesh. We see and we believe!” His glassy, mad stare descended upon me and he jabbed a ragged fingernail in my direction, “you too will believe,” he hissed. His words with their empty threats and flimsy, half-baked rituals of sacrifice and redemption recessed and became nothing more than a distant, indistinct noise amid a million others, just as insignificant. After all, what did his rants mean, really? What help had they been to the souls who had gone before me? The city’s largest railway station had, I had read, once been a grand affair; lined with heavy pillars and floored with granite and marble. It had long since collapsed beneath the deluge of stone and the once imposing entrance was now no more than a jagged, ominous gash. escort bahcesehir It loomed to greet me now as the crowd, The Preacher and the vast crags of the buildings fell away. As I crossed the threshold, the last thing I saw was Alison, her clenched fist clamped against her lips, brow creased. In a pained, mournful gesture, she reached out towards me as if trying to draw me back into her bosom. Then, she too was gone. Inside, the once imposing foyer opened up before my straining eyes as I moved across it, the footfalls of my boots echoing off the distant walls and high, domed ceiling. I made my way down a long-dormant escalator, choked by fallen masonry and other debris. One level down the air was musty and cooler and I passed ghost-like through a tiled tunnel pocked with crumbling pillars and faded advertisements for products that no longer existed. To my intense relief, there was still light, courtesy of a smattering of bulbs that had been strung on cables from the roof. Many of them had blown, but there were enough to bathe the place in a low orange glow. Another, smaller flight of steps took me further downward onto an open plan concourse that extended up to one of the old platforms. With the exception of the tube-like tunnel, through which the trains once passed, all the exits from the place had been blocked by masonry or welded shut. I looked down, following the rusty metal tracks into the gaping black maw of the tunnel. Slowly, horribly, the realisation dawned that it was my only way of progressing. That’s where I was expected to go. I dropped down and walked towards my fate. As I passed into the darkness, the security of the platform recessed behind me with terrifying speed, becoming no more than a surreal rectangle of light in the distance. Utter blackness dropped like a shroud. My ears strained against the deafening silence, eyes searching, clinging onto the fantasy that they might at any minute lock onto a point of reference. I shuffled forward, losing count of how much ground I had covered and in which direction. Navigation was via the toe of my boot, crying out in frustration as I stumbled across a diverging track, sending me spilling head first into the musty gravel. I lay panting in the stifling darkness, cursing my stupidity and listening for the sound of anyone who might have been alerted to my presence. But the place was silent; still and tomblike. By the time I had composed myself, I found I had lost my bearings to the point where it was difficult to even distinguish forward from backward, up from down. I had expected to die down here, but I had not expected to run out of options so fast. My little knife, secreted at the rear of my belt flashed into my mind for a moment and I imagined myself crouched in the dark tunnel, opening up an artery and bleeding out onto the gravel, weak, afraid and defeated. Then, in the lightless, choking void, I saw Alison wearing her handmade ivory wedding gown, her face locked in a frown of concern. She shook her head. “Keep alive” she said, “just keep alive,” her voice resonated in the air before fading into nothing, leaving me alone once again. Pushing such thoughts from my mind, suppressing the crippling dread of what lay in wait out there in the darkness. I rolled silently onto my feet and continued what I hoped was forwards. From somewhere far down the tunnel, came the merest ghost of a breeze. It cooled the sweat that coated my skin and dripped down my face, reinvigorating my senses. I focused on it, closed my useless eyes and allowed my body to divine its direction. I was rewarded for my endeavour, as in the distance I caught sight of a faint orange glow. When I moved closer I saw that it was illuminating another platform with an archway beyond. Silent and alert, I made for it. Something wasn’t right. Slowing up, I crouched low, flanking the platform from the safety of the dark, trying to get a look at what lay beyond the archway. The sporadic, flickering lighting threw bizarre, claw-like shadows along the arched ceiling, playing tricks with my imagination. The feeling of impending danger coiled round me, compressing my ribcage. Then, in an instant, I saw him. He stood motionless beneath an opaque, fluttering strip light, most likely listening, watching, just like me. “Hey,” I tried to sound as neutral and non-threatening as possible. So, there were others still alive down here. I had always believed as much. The television didn’t broadcast every time a Sacrifice was bundled into the undisclosed horrors of the station, but twice in the last fortnight, it had. I edged closer to him, beginning to pick out more detail. He was heavily built and imposing, dressed from head to foot in grey fatigues that glinted oddly in the queasily pulsing light. “Hey, are you a Sacrifice?” My voice sounded dumb and scared as it cut through the white noise of silence, reverberating off the stone walls and dissipating down the tunnel. He didn’t respond to my voice, didn’t move beylikdüzü escort a muscle. I crept closer still and then, suddenly, I recognised him. Three weeks ago Alison and I had sat in the canteen on our block, watching the little black and white television as a tough, hardened-looking man in combat fatigues had been bundled into the station. He had had no tearful loved ones, had said nothing to the crowds, nothing to the wild eyed Preacher as he ranted and raved. He had merely eyed him with icy contempt then stepped into the dark tomb beyond. “If anyone is going to survive The Sacrifice, it’ll be him,” Alison had said. “Surely someone has to make it eventually,” I had concurred grimly. Now, as I drew to within a few meters, here he was standing cold and motionless, his blank eyes staring at nothing, his entire body, from top to toe bathed in a glistening grey hue. “Hey,” I tried once more, waving a hand in front of his face. Nothing. He was completely inert. I reached out and gently touched the side of his lined, hawkish features and recoiled in surprise. Stone. It was no man, but a statue, made of smooth grey stone, flecked with a quartz-like material that glinted in the light. I looked beyond the eerie, lifelike carving. What I had initially taken as rubble was more than that. I identified a stone arm, sheared off at the elbow. Nearby, several of its fingers still stuck forlornly to the stone machine pistol it had been holding. Beyond that, a head, its one intact eye staring sightlessly into nothing, then another with part of its torso still intact, all carved from the same grey rock. The noise behind me caused my heart to leap into my throat. Far too close for comfort, something had stirred in the darkness. There came a metallic clank, then a sound like a heavy sack being dragged across the ground. Someone was closing in behind me. Instinct taking over, I darted past the statue, dodging its shattered companions, hurling myself blindly down a side tunnel before promptly slamming against a rusty steel door with a loud crash. Desperately, I groped for the handle and turned it, sure that it would be locked. As I brought my shoulder to bear, it haltingly ground open, just enough to allow a body to slip through. Behind me spectral, indistinct sounds played on the periphery of my hearing. Whoever it was would have no doubt as to my direction of travel. I found myself in a rough-hewn, dimly lit chamber, passable via a wooden gantry. The sound of dripping water emanated from below. I darted forwards, foolishly unprepared for how slippery it would be. In an instant, my feet went out from under me and I was slammed against the wet surface, bolts of pain exploding up through my arms. I lay there in agonized silence, unsure of how badly I was hurt. Across the wooden gantry I could see a way out of the chamber. It was another steel door cut into the rock, lying ajar. Painfully I began to drag myself towards it, terrified to look behind. Beneath me the wooden boards felt soft and malleable; rotten from years of being soaked. No sooner had I appraised just what a poor state they were in then there came a low, elemental crack followed by the sound of wood splintering. I braced myself, trying to splay my limbs, best I could. Time slowed sickeningly, underscored by an abrupt bang. Then, I was falling. The sucking blackness beneath spread its arms and reached up to pull me down. The grip around my wrist was sudden and vice-like; fingers that dug hard into my flesh and held on tight. A voice hissed out of the gloom, “pull yourself up, I can’t hold onto you for long.” My boot found a rocky outcrop in the void beneath. I kicked off it, grabbing at the splintered walkway and hauled myself up and out, collapsing in a heap beside my rescuer. Painfully, I rolled over and found myself looking into the face of a waifish, elfin woman, about my age. She drank in my features fleetingly, then quickly looked away. “We won’t have long,” she said, “follow me.” “Where to?” I called after her. She looked over her shoulder, “my place,” she said without further explanation. I watched her go, following at a cautious distance. She was dressed like a woman from the street: leopard print leggings, tight enough to show the outline of her knickers, her midriff exposed by a light blue crop top. Her hair, highlighted with brassy shades of blonde and stark streaks of auburn, was gathered at her crown in a clip, save for a few tumbling tresses that fell about her face. She looked grubby and, like me, she was bathed in perspiration. I followed her into a succession of dark tunnels and finally a narrow, stifling crawlspace. I tried to ignore the smell of her body in the confined space, tried not to look at the neat, petite curve of her bum, squeezed into the sweat-moistened nylon as she hauled herself through the stainless steel tube and dropped down into the room beyond. “My place,” she announced finally, throwing herself down on a rickety wooden chair, gesturing to the disparate items in the room, “you like?” she quipped without looking at me. The place had been some kind of office once. Among the assorted detritus was a rusty filing cabinet, a desk, even a grimy-looking mattress in the corner of the room.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32