Souvenirs

After he leaves, she lies in bed drifting for an hour or two as the sun edges up over the horizon and turns on the light of the world. Her body aches. All over. A dozen gentle pains that rise and fall in discord: first the lingering ache in her cunt, and then then a muted stinging on the curve of her ass, then the deep muscular tightness in her throat where his hand found a home, fingers closing so perfectly around the sinew of her neck.

She’s not ready to return to the world just yet. To get out of bed and step into the shower and wash the sweat and the scent of him from her skin. She doesn’t want hot water to soothe away the ghosts of the pains that he has left her with. She rolls onto her back. Naked still, as she was last night. Her hand moves down her body and finds a familiar place between her legs.

Wet. She does not know whether the slickness that her fingers find is him or her. A mix of both – his seed and the fluids with which she welcomed him so readily not many hours ago. She spreads it across herself, and it tingles where it touches her flesh. She cannot keep from moaning quietly, from pressing her thighs tight together.

In doing so she discovers a pain she hasn’t yet recalled. Her inner thigh – something that will become a bruise by the tender feel of it. As her fingers tease her skin the memory of how that hurt was made comes back. He was fucking her as she lay on her back, legs spread, her ankles in his hands. Hard. Laying into her so that she screamed and arched her back, gripped the bedsheets. He drove deep, and as he pulled back she shuddered a little, sinking her hips into the bed. Enough for him to slip out of her.

She had yelped at the sudden absence of him in her cunt. And then again when he tightened his grip on her left leg and struck her, hard, on her inner thigh with his other open palm. The pain was sharp and sweet, and she was so open, her legs spread for him and her cunt bared and vulnerable and her mind still in the place it went – that strange and secret place – whenever he fucked her. And so the pain of that first slap (and the second, and the third, and the fourth that followed) hit her like a storm.

And then, as she was reeling still, he was back inside her, his strong arms holding her in place as he fucked into her in earnest now, driving, driving.

That thought is almost enough on its own. Her fingers are working, moving in circles, close to her clit. He has left her tender there, and she knows that it would hurt if she were to put them inside herself. Part of her wants that hurt. With her other hand she reaches down and finds the bruise and bites her lip, lets her heart flutter in anticipation for a moment, then grabs a pinch of skin and twists.

It’s sublime, the pain. It’s like he’s back with her for a second. With her eyes shut she can almost feel his weight on top of her, pressing her down, his cock inside her. Her body reacts just the way it does when he takes her – her back arching and her hips tilting up to offer herself to him and her legs parting almost as if by instinct. It’s a struggle not to cry out. She breathes once, but the pain still hasn’t gone when she pushes her fingers into her cunt.

The intensity of it takes her breath. Like being split apart. Like being opened. Old wounds opened – the places where his cock stretched her, and where she felt him – impossibly deep – when his hips met up against hers. The pain comes up in a wave and then brinks and at the peak somewhere it becomes pleasure, changes utterly, and she gasps as her body rolls over that peak and then she’s coming. She can feel her cunt clutching as the ripples pass through her body. Pain on top of pleasure on top of pain. She can taste him on her tongue still. He’s nowhere near. He’s at work. He’s unaware. But as she comes she’s sure she can feel his hand around her throat.