The last was the silence

Photo by @nubellorona

The scene was far from what you could call a porn movie. The 19-year-old beauty with curly brown hair did not wear a black leather belt with a rubber penis sticking out like an arrow. A partner, in her fifties, who somewhat resembled a curly brunet but was of more matured beauty, didn’t attempt to handcuff and turn the girl into her genitals slave.

From the men's bell tower, this couldn’t even be called full-fledged sex. No penetration, only petting. Touches and kisses. Tongues. It even seemed romantic, if so could be said considering the circumstances. A plain purchase and sale of fondness.

The young lady made love with such a flaming passion that from the side it could look like pretending. In panther moves she attacked every corner of the body, each time returning her hunting lips to those other lips, which, without words or whispers, were interrogated by short aggressive kisses. Not to stop was the most important, not even for a moment, because when you stop, a danger to think arises. And thinking means hesitation.

The senior madam moved slower, as if she wanted to memorize every lane or turn. She often closed her eyes - maybe because of pleasure or maybe avoiding the glimpses of her lover. But once she got an opportunity, she studied the curly girl’s body with the attention of the scientist. If a sleuth had been skulking under the bed, he might have had a suspicion. Indeed, a woman was comparing that body clinging to hers with her own body a couple decades ago. More modest, but tighter young lady’s breasts, an abdominal skin like a tabletop, perhaps without any effort yet. And that flat oblong birthmark in the midway between the navel sinkhole and branched gorge lower, exactly in that thoroughly trimmed hair garden, right there where a doctor excised her own birthmark a few years ago, having stated that he knows better what is necessary and what is not.

It became hotter and hotter in that old grey stone building. A lust already streamed through both their veins and mutual moves gained more and more harmony. A chaotic hurry-scurry caused by shyness had become a methodical pursuit of the goal. The younger woman's toes, which arrived to her partner’s most sensitive zone, hadn’t retreat for some time already. Eventually, her lips once again climbed the Himalayas of the breasts, crossed the desert of the belly, circled around the navel’s cavity and dived to substitute the fingers. The tongue had become the strongest weapon and started telling the story, which no woman endures till the end.

Densely breathing, madam arched her back. Her palms squeezed the curly girl even deeper and more firmly into herself.

“Come on!” she shouted and squealed while the brunette fiercely labored at the bottom. “Come on!” until madam’s body suddenly tightened and froze for a moment. The tremor overpowered everything. A few wonderful seconds of NOTHING.

The Epilogue, of course, was oppressive. When the breath was restored, madam laid for a minute with her eyes shut trying to hold back the last remains of pleasure, or maybe just because of the shame. Every time her passion calmed down she would start blaming herself: why had she once again succumbed to the lust? The next step was scorn. At first to her self, but much easier to that other one she had bought for the night.

Sickness helped to make decisions more rigorously. Madam resolutely jumped out of the bed and hurried to dress. She tried su focus the gaze only to specific items: panties, bra, its inconvenient and unruly buckle…However, when looking around for a pantyhose, she inevitably had to glance at the bed.

Across the mattress, among scattered bedding, a 19-year-old beauty was lying on her belly with tousled hair and still wet lips. Holding her head on crossed arms she was watching the woman with the sadly real eyes.

The senior looked down with an icy face, desperately trying not to surrender to emotions.

“I’d take only a half,” the curly girl mumbled timidly, almost pleadingly. Her raised up eyes looked so tragically real. “I’d take only a half if you stayed and let me lie down with my head on your chest.”

The last was the silence. But before was a sound. A sharp, drilling, painful sound. A sound of hurricanely shut door. The heat-scoring high heals in eighth notes tact down the yard. But when the doors fully closed, only the silence and the light in the old window left.