Monday, February 15, 2010

Tears Of Hope

This is an Erotica throwback I was inspired to write after reading Octavia Butler's "Parable" Series. I highly recommend both this erotica and Butler's books. Enjoy!

-Becca

They were both filthy. Disgusting, actually. They had been walking together for weeks. They hadn’t yet exchanged any words for fear that they would set off the alarms and be brought back. They were waiting for the border. The moment they crossed, they would be free.

They didn’t speak, but had found other ways to communicate. Crude gesticulations and eye contact. They stopped only to sleep, piss, and eat. They were never asleep at the same time during the night. It wasn’t safe to leave themselves so vulnerable. Exhausted though they were, they split the night, her always taking the first watch, him the second. She would sometimes wake in the morning to find him staring at her, a longing in his eyes.

At first, she didn’t know what the longing was. Perhaps it was to know her name, her story, how she had escaped, how she had made it as far as she had on her own. She knew, at first, that’s what she desired of him. During the day, during those moments that necessitated eye contact, she knew he could read that desire in her eyes. She wondered endlessly, but knew that to speak was to endanger both herself and this travel partner she had both come to trust and who she assumed had also entrusted her with his life.

But as they had traveled together, she knew that the longing she saw in his eyes in the morning was not the longing she felt during the day. Rather, it was the same need she felt when she stared at him as he slept. Watching the curves of his body as his lithe form expanded and contracted with breath. Imagining the way his body always moved with purpose, the way his aching muscles kept moving forward toward freedom … toward hope. The way the exhaustion of the journey, while never gone, released a bit as he slept. She was grateful that he slept during these moments. Had he seen that she reciprocated his desire, they would be done for.

They walked in silence, matching step for step, the rhythm and pace they had developed in perfect sync. In the beginning, he had some type of wound on his ankle. She couldn’t tell what had caused it, and couldn’t ask. But something about him made her want to stay with him. In the beginning, she questioned her decision constantly, worried that at some point he would attack her. But he never did. And while he slowed their pace in the beginning, his wound eventually healed and his silent, stoic company lent her more strength than she could explain.

They were getting close. She could feel it. The plants were lush, there were less animals lying dead due to starvation. Her heart pumped with joy, she looked toward her walking partner and smiled. He smiled back, and her heart pumped harder. She realized that this was the first time she had ever seen him smile. And she knew the desire that she dared only show at night while he was sleeping flashed across her face.

He flushed in recognition, and their pace slowed. She could see him making a decision in his head, but she knew that beyond all doubt there was only one choice.

She reached out and touched his arm. She could feel the electricity transfer between them, and she saw his cock become immediately rigid in his pants. She took a deep breath, and shook her head. She pointed in the direction they were walking and nodded at him to follow. He looked pained, but gave her a look that said he knew she was right.

The pace that they had developed quickened almost to a jog. Their breath quickened in time and their bodies moved forward, feeding off each other’s energy. She felt the adrenaline course through her body, but she began to get light headed and knew that with what they had been eating … or rather what they hadn’t been eating, they wouldn’t be able to keep the pace up. They would expend all their energy before reaching the border.

She slowed her pace, and again with complete understanding, he slowed to match her. The time that followed was agony. Minutes felt like days. Her desire for him and desire to reach the border made it feel as though the distance they were covering was endless. When she could, she would glance sideways at him. Before this morning, that would just have been to check in to make sure that he wasn’t passing out at her side. But now, it was laden with much more purpose. There were times when she would look at him and their eyes would meet. It made her wet, every time, and she had to look away for fear that she wouldn’t have the strength or self-control to continue toward freedom.

And then they saw it, the border. He grabbed her hand, and she his for a brief moment, and they began to sprint toward it. The state they lived in had technology to keep slaves inside the borders. Judging by the scar on his left forearm – the one that matched hers – he had found a way to remove his slave chip too.

Keeping up with one another, their feet pounded along the rough terrain. They were so close when they heard the gunshots.... She dared not look behind her for fear her pace would slow, but knew they were being followed by OPS: groups of poor free people who would catch runaway slaves for pitiful rewards. More if the slaves were still alive, but they still something even if the slaves were dead. A dead slave was still valuable in order to keep the silence surrounding the terrible treatment slaves were afforded.

They both ran, gunfire at their backs, sprinting with all the energy they could muster. She felt a bullet graze her cheek and almost cried out in fear, but knew doing so would trigger the voice activated state-wide alarm. Even so close to the border there was no escaping the troops that appeared when that was activated … they very rarely respected state lines. So she kept her pain internalized and they ran.

They just barely made it to the border. She looked to see that a truck had just pulled up with a machine gun strapped to the back. She was glad they had crossed before that had gotten in range. They ran a bit further to ensure their own safety. Most OPS would not cross state border, but in times of real need, some might try. Her muscles ached, and her lungs burned from the effort. When they were certain they were no longer being followed, they stopped in a glade of trees and he looked at her with concern.

He stripped his filthy shirt off, found the cleanest spot and pressed it up to her cheek where the bullet had grazed her cheek. In all of the commotion she hadn’t even realized she was bleeding. She smiled at him and tears started streaming down her face.

In a hoarse voice she croaked “We’re free.”

Tears began to cascade down his face as he nodded in agreement. “I’m Chris.”

“Lela.”

She stared at him as his tears created streaks in the weeks of dirt, sweat, and grime that had accumulated. She grabbed the hand that held his shirt to her face and used her other hand to pull him in and kiss him hard on the mouth. The weeks of longing washed through the both of them and she could feel him shudder as she pulled him in. Her hands explored the rigid chisel of his body as her tongue worked in concert with his. His body felt exactly as she had imagined in those long nights watching their back, making sure they would survive.

He ran his hand through her greasy hair, pulling slightly at the end causing her to gasp in delight. Her clit pulsed and she pushed her body on top of his, causing him to drop the t-shirt he held against her face. He wrapped his powerful arms around her and pulled her so tight she almost couldn’t breathe. But she returned his hug and they sat there holding each other, kissing, crying in each others arms.

He stared into her eyes, and she saw the longing, the fire, that had been there every time she woke up. She stripped off her dirty, travel-worn shirt and could feel him engorge underneath her.

“I’ve wanted this for weeks.”

“I know … me too.”

She put his finger across his lips as it seemed he wanted to say more. They were free. There would be time for words later. He nodded and took her off his lap and laid her gently in the grass on her side. He lay down next to her and caressed her naked torso. He took her small brown nipples into his mouth and she closed her eyes and felt her breathing deepen in approval. She groped at his arms and chest as he administered the first of their healing.

She opened her eyes and pushed him onto his back. She gently undid his top button and pulled his pants off. The veins on his penis painfully throbbed, as his rock-hard erection flopped up onto his stomach. She stood up and tossed his pants aside. As she removed her pants, and the last of the clothes that linked her to her past, she watched his abdomen convulsively expand and contract as he caressed his cock.

She knelt next to him and gave him one more kiss before swinging her leg over him and sliding him into her. As he entered her she could feel the sensation travel out to her extremities, ending with a tingle in her fingertips. And the healing continued. With every pump the lashes from her slaver healed. With every stroke the indignities of being owned as property in 22nd century America faded. As his hands, rough from hard labor, ran across her breasts she was able to escape her past, if only for a moment.

Their pace, like when they had first walked together, was slow and tentative – their emotional injuries still fresh and painful. But as they allowed one another's physical love to heal the wounds that they had accumulated, their pace intensified. His penis thrust into her and her hips rocked in time … matching each others' rhythm, perfectly in sync. The smells of their journey and their sex drifted up into her nostrils, causing her to inhale sharply from the pleasure of it all. Sitting on top of his pelvis, and taking in the intermingled body odor, road grime, and sex smells, she began to rub her clit as she rocked, taking her closer to the edge.

She looked into his eyes and felt love like she hadn’t since she had been forced into slavery. Her orgasm radiated outward causing her body to tremble and tears to spill from her eyes. He thrust into her to help accommodate her orgasm and pushed himself over the edge in the process, grabbing her ass and gasping in pleasure.

She rolled off him into the grass, and he pulled her into him. They were both crying. Tears of pleasure. Tears of healing. Tears of happiness. Tears of hope.

They made love in that very spot all throughout the night. Asking the questions that they had wanted to ask all throughout their journey. Exploring each others' minds as well as each others' bodies. Making their disparate scents come together as one.

“You saved my life.”

“No, you saved mine.”

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