Lucy's breathing slows and she opens her eyes to look at me. Our eyes meet for a split second before she lowers her gaze to settle on my mouth. When she smiles her soft, half-smile, I realize I'm grinning. I'm happy. I'm in the middle of some of the craziest shit in my life and I'm happy. Because Ray gave her to me.
I climb onto the bed again, pushing her feet apart with my knees. She's open and wet for me. She watches as I slide my end of the dildo into my own wet pussy, then slide the ring over the dildo and snap the snaps and buckle the buckles to strap myself in. The harness isn't totally necessary, the end that's in me is fat and round, but I'm so slick and I want to fuck her hard; I don't want to have to worry about things slipping.
I lean over her and catch myself with my hands on either side of her shoulder. She whispers, "Is this really real? Am I really yours?"
"Yes," I breathe as I slide into her. Her smile, her bruised lips and reddened and bruised skin, it all glows with a light I've never seen in anyone else -- no matter how hard I hit or how gently I caressed -- much less myself. Her chin tilts back, her eyes half-close, she falls back into her sensitized skin, stops talking, starts moaning.
I love these sounds almost as much as I love the sounds she makes when I hit her. They are the sounds I imagine mermaids might make, or like sped-up whale songs, sounds that make sense to someone, just not to humans. This, I know, is not her programming, except in the sense that the programming revealed and released her ability to make these sounds. I fuck her in part so I can hear her, so I can take her words away and liberate these arias of pleasure.
She plants her feet firmly on the bedspread and raises her hips to meet mine on each slow stroke. When my clit kisses hers I grind down until it hurts and we both gasp, then give an extra little push before withdrawing entirely. Each re-entry elicits another noise from her mouth. I watch her lips part and her throat pulse.
The bulbous appendage in me rocks back and forth, shifts back as I push into her, tugs forward a bit when I pull out. It's enough movement to know it's there, to know the bridge between us is planted firmly on my end. I push my torso upright again so I can watch the purple cock disappear and reappear between the red, engorged folds of Lucy's skin.
I'm watching without the detachment that forms the valence of my life. I'm watching like I'm watching a miracle, like cell division or music, those things that happen every day, amazing to us when we break down the process and understand it fully and then step back and watch the miracle, innate to ourselves, happen again and again. Lucy's acceptance of me, of what I give her, has that same sort of beauty, because it is the truth. The way I'm watching, I realize, is the way I'm supposed to be watching, the way the universe wants to understand itself, the way that the universe knows itself while still being free.
My senses expand, as though they're larger than my body, and the smell of her cunt, the smears lubricating our thighs, her moans, and mine, a lower-pitched counterpoint, the rub and rock of the toy, even the heat of exercise in my thighs, it all crashes over me and I cum, this long, attenuated thread of an orgasm, thin but taut, hard, metallic.
I fall forward onto her, dimly aware of the warmth of her skin. Her breathing is even and slow. I realize she's petting my hair, running her fingernails through it to scrape gently at my scalp. The sensation makes me shiver and relax a little more into her body. I let my breath out with a sigh.
"That sounded like an amazing orgasm," Lucy whispers. I can hear the smile.
"Your turn," I reply.
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