Animal Attraction
"John."
Sally stood in the still and dimly-lit room lifelessly, the manifested pride she usually pretended to possess on the floor like her leopard print coat.
"John," she repeated, desperate for her call to be answered.
John sighed, angrily, as he pressed his lips together and braced himself on the dresser.
"I love her. You know, I've never stopped loving her."
The consequent silence seemed more present than their bodies, weighing on them like carbon dioxide.
Sally let her eyes wander over his back, admiring the black shape it created in front of the wallpaper. How beautiful he was. How beautiful that she knew him - all of him she felt. And how ugly that he did not feel the same.
"I know," Sally answered, feeling angrier than the compliance she offered with this reply, yet realizing that she needed to approach the situation with caution to get what she wanted.
"But love and life don't always go hand in hand."
She walked up to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. After waiting for a few seconds to make sure he would not reject her touch, she proceeded to slide her left hand around his waist and then, after moving it back and forth, slowly but determinedly down his pants.
Suddenly, he turned around and wrapped his hand around her neck, stopping all of her movements and sparking an unusual glow of fear in her eyes.
"You've been drinking." Sally remarked.
She didn't mean to anger him but she couldn't stop her curious observations of human emotions. She knew John drank in an attempt to cope with his struggles and, oddly, it aroused her.
John tightened his clutch around her neck, watching her eyes stare deeper into his with each second.
Although Sally was unsure of what her opponent was doing, she remained calm, her face displaying the same permanent, mysterious suffering as always.
"Don't tell me what I have or have not been doing."
John sounded angry and darker than usually.
Even though Sally knew his dark side and swore she would stand by him despite his flaws, it made her uncomfortable. Yet her attraction to him somehow overruled.
She wasn't sure whether she mistook a commitment she'd made initially to experience the full spectrum of a person's darkness for love or whether the love had been there first and was ultimately the reason for her commitment. Either way, she felt a responsibility that had kept her by his side all of these years.
But even though she was dead, she was still very much a human being and the grey space in John, the space she couldn't control, was a darkness even she couldn't carry.
Before Sally could predict his next move, John's mouth landed on her face, wetting not only her lips but also the skin around it; if she hadn't known better she could have easily mistaken him for an animal. Or maybe he was one in his own unique way?
Sally made her lips smaller and, in midst of wild kissing, bit his lip as she felt the growing bulge in his pants pressed against the lower half of her body.
All of a sudden, the detective stopped and looked into Sally's eyes, genuinely disgusted, and then used her hip to turn her around and push her onto the bed.
"Bitch, did you just bite me?"
Landing on her knees, the dead woman took a few steps forward until she reached the back rest of the big bed on which she braced herself.
John grabbed her hair and pulled it back, forcing her to tilt her head backwards accordingly.
A quiet moan slipped from her lips and she hated herself for it. She despised the way John treated her; every time he dominated her she felt humiliated. But at least he needed her then, in a way, he needed her to pleasure him. The real humiliation was every time he left her, leaving her dominated, used, and — most of all — alone.
She hated it but she also hated herself. That's why a small part of her thought she deserved being treated like that, so she pretended to love it, convincing herself she needed it.
The sound of John unbuckling his belt chimed like bells in her ears and it didn't take long until she felt his hands slide down her pantyhose and then throw the skirt of her dress up her back. Trying to help him, she pulled her dress over her head and threw it on the floor, followed by her bra. His hard bulge entered her ruthlessly and, almost rushed, she didn't know whether it hurt or it pleased her.
As she felt John move in and out of her, thrusting his penis almost violently in her soft core, she felt a hint of sadness in her cold veins. She missed the kissing, the caressing. She missed when he would look into her eyes while making love to her, when his tongue would work its way through her folds to make sure she would feel just as much as him.
Sex was the only act during which Sally could experience a version of pleasure, desire, lust and, ideally, release. But during the last weeks something in John had changed; he was more distant and, most of all, more cruel to her. Part of her knew she deserved better.
John moaned frantically as he used his hands to push Sally's lower half onto his erection, letting only the sound of their skin smacking together trump his wailing.
Almost automatically, Sally's grunting got louder with his as she was used to comfort him rather than herself.
In a desperate attempt to feel the old, familiar pleasure that she missed, Sally removed one hand from the bed and tried to place it on her clit. When she reached the sensitive spot, a yearning whimper escaped her lips.
John noticed her change of position while he was desperately trying to come closer to his personal peak. Instinctively, he pulled on Sally's hair even harder only to get the satisfaction of hearing her cry out and watching her put her hand back into place and her focus back on him.
"Is that what you want?"
John used his grip on her hair as a weapon to pull her back and lift her upper body so that her head was right in front of his, as was her bottom, and only her back was arched. John then loosened his clutch and placed his hands on Sally's breasts, cupping them with his full, big hands and squeezing them tightly.
"You want me to fuck you?!"
The detective felt electricity rising in every muscle of his body; an electricity that was accompanied by contempt for the woman he was penetrating, a voice that told him that she was the reason his marriage — his life — was falling apart.
Now moving his hands to her back, John pushed Sally onto the bed, watching her struggle to land on her hands.
"Turn around," he demanded sternly.
When Sally didn't move right away, he repeated his demand, this time almost shouting.
"Turn around!"
He grabbed her waist and tossed her over, thrusting his bursting bulge into her right after she'd arrived on her back.
Sally convinced herself that she enjoyed this position more since his lower body parts now collided with her pleasure center every once in a while, yet she felt guilty that she savored John's presence more than she despised the way he treated her.
She could feel her wet fluids run over her soaked and soft folds, the air cold on the parts that were untouched by John's skin.
Surprisingly, Sally noticed a slow, rising tension in her body as well, a tension that spread throughout her body disproportionately.
Before she could relish that sensation, she felt John clenching his fists around the sheets he was holding on to and then rip out his cock almost violently, without a warning. Led merely by the pressing need for release, he leaned over as far as possible and moved his hands up and down his erection quickly until a loud groan busted out of his mouth.
Filled with fresh pleasure, he made sure to shoot his load onto the woman before him and watched the white liquid cover her slim stomach as well as her perky breasts with satisfaction.
Sally sensed the sobering realization of John's proximate departure take over and all of the vague pleasure she thought she'd felt vanished immediately.
Without looking back at her, John made his way off the bed, pulled up his pants and buckled his belt swiftly.
"Don't you wanna lick it off my tits?" Sally cooed in a desperate attempt to make him stay longer.
John merely looked up to answer with a repulsed look and then turned away to grab his jacket before heading towards the exit.
"John!" Sally called after him, "You can't just leave!"
The detective walked out the door, throwing it shut nonchalantly.
"Don't you dare and fucking leave me like that!"
Knowing that any further attempts would fail, Sally broke out into resilient tears, the presence of the sticky fluid on her skin like an alien to her body.
"Don't you fucking leave," she whispered to herself, feeling as lonely as a dead woman could possibly feel.
THE END