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I find myself crouched at the base of the shower, my mouth stretched by his thick cock as he pulls my head gently back and forth along the rampant shaft.
He massages shampoo through my hair as I suck him. There is no end to his desire. Usually a man loses interest after he comes. But this one seems to only be slightly calmed by orgasm.
Warm water flows over my back as he leans against the shower wall and urges me back and forth over the shaft of his dick. This is the hottest scalp massage I’ve ever been given. Those same hands that held me down to take the rough thrusts of his cock now rub me with a tenderness that touches me in my core.
He makes soft growling sounds of pleasure, then pulls the showerhead from the holder and runs the water over my hair, cupping his hand at the front of my scalp so the soap doesn’t run into my eyes. My mouth stays on his cock as he tends to me, rinsing every bit of shampoo away from my hair before replacing it with conditioner.
I want to talk to him. I want to know who he is. Why he chose me.
But he doesn’t speak, and he makes sure to keep my mouth busy so I cannot.
There is more than plain lust in his gaze. There is a kindness. A caring. I couldn’t see it before because it was masked with the pure intensity of his desire, but now that has abated I can see more of him.
And he starts to feel more familiar. I almost think I recognize him, but it’s not possible. The man he reminds me of does not look like him. Does not act like him. Isn’t him.
I try to mumble around his cock. He shakes his head and rubs my scalp a little harder, scratching in a way that sends pleasant little chills down my back. It feels so good to be here with him, to let him take me, to have him use me.
“Who are you?”
My jaw aches as I speak, but I have to. I have to know who he is. I want him to stay with me.
“You know who I am,” he rumbles.
“We only met last night. How could I know you?”
“You knew me the moment we met. Just like I knew you,” he growls softly.
These answers are evasions.
“I mean, who are you? Where did you grow up? What do your parents do?”
He gives me a hard look, as if I’ve offended him. “I have to leave.”
“No!” I reach out to grab him, but I can’t stop him from leaving any more than I can stop him coming. “Please, don’t go!”
“I have to go,” he says. “I will come back and see you.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
I frown. I don’t understand him. “So you’re just going to come here and fuck me? And leave? And that’s it?”
“Didn’t you like it?”
I did like it. I fucking loved every single moment of it. And I’m going to miss him when he’s gone. I don’t want him to leave. I don’t want to be left with just the happy little aches and throbs to remind me of our time together.
“Do you want me to not come back?”
He asks another question that makes me reveal the depths of my own depravity. Yes, I want him to come back. Even if he only comes back to pin me down and fuck me, I want him back.
He takes my chin in his big hand. “Tell me.”
“I want you…” I stammer into his face. “I want you to come back.”
“Then I will,” he says. “Wait for me.”
He presses one of those burning kisses to my lips, turns and leaves.
I am satisfied. I am sleepy. I curl up on the same couch he fucked me on and I let myself slip into a light doze. This is the craziest thing I have ever done, and I feel better about it than I do about almost anything I’ve ever done.
* * *
Daniel
I wake up to darkness and chaos. The alarm clock by my bed says it’s two a.m. The moment I turn the light on, I see that my apartment has been utterly ripped apart. My coffee table has been smashed into shards. Cups and plates have been hurled against walls. My books are strewn about all over the place, pages ripped out as if they somehow offended someone.
“What the hell!” My exclamation of surprise feels utterly underwhelming. I keep my place tidy. Right now it’s a disaster zone. And something warm is dripping on my foot. Something red and…
I look down at my hand. I must have cut it when I got up from my bed, which is also dusted with broken glass and ceramic. There’s a fairly nasty gash running right across the center of my palm. It’s going to need suturing. I put shoes on so I don’t cut myself on the broken glass on the floor and shuffle around to try to work out what is happening. Is someone still here? It feels empty.
