Regret 12

I wake up with a protesting groan, an arm flung over my eyes to block out the lights that have been left on. I smell the still strong scent of several different kinds of wine. The drink seems to come off my skin, as though I had bathed in the stuff. Maybe I had, my body feeling sticky. I am in desperate need of a good bath, but don’t make a move to get up. I am too busy trying to remember last night, to remember the reasons that had driven me to drink in excess. That is before I realize I am completely naked, and that I am not alone in my bed.

It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. I am used to waking up to strange women besides me. Sometimes three or four at time are crowded in my bed, but none have affected me the way this fragile slip of a woman has. Allura is still asleep, not roused by my movements as I roll over to look at her. The blanket is tangled around one leg, her nipples stiff from the chill of the room. Her tanned skin is oddly discolored, red and purple staining her skin. It’s the purple that keeps me from thinking she has bled, the colors and the scent coming off her skin bringing a memory to mind. Of how I brought fresh bottles of chilled wine to the bed, pouring most of the expensive drink all over Allura, and making her squeal as I used my tongue to lap up as much of the liquid as I could. Only to then pour more wine on her, teasing her with my attempts to lick off every drop.

It wasn’t the only licking I had done. I can remember now taking my time, holding her down as I used my tongue to explore just about every inch of her. I had especially enjoyed spending an insane amount of time between her legs, licking and teasing the juicy treat there. She gushed beautifully for me, her arousal a continuos flow. Sweet nectar that had been almost as intoxicating as the wine itself, allowing me to grow drunk off of Allura’s body.

It’s not a bad memory to have, especially when compared to the others that were surfacing. I am remembering everything, from the downright embarrassing, the things I am mortified to have done. I can remember waking up, the worst of my anger lost to much of my drunken haze. To the all consuming lust I had been filled with, the desire I always feel when confronted with Allura. I am remembering in vivid detail the need that drove me to posses her, the reason behind why I now felt bruised and tired. I had lusted all night long, striving desperately for the satisfaction that kept on eluding me. No matter how many times I reached climax inside Allura, the seven times I had fucked her in an attempt to find peace of mind in her body, I had remained unfulfilled.

That dissatisfaction is with me now, a growl emerging from my lips. I remember the sex, but I also remember what else had happened. I remember waking her just to be able to touch her at will, just to be able to do whatever I wanted with her body. And it hadn’t always been about my own climax. I had worked her hard, using all at my disposal to bring her screaming as her body was driven to wild peaks of orgasm.

And then there was that one quiet hour, where I had laid for the majority of it’s time, hard and aching, and buried deep inside Allura. I had not thrust, not attempted to reach climax. I had merely held her close, her body warm and snug, and fitted around my erection. I don’t even know how I quite managed that, how I managed not to move, or how I resisted every twitch and spasm of her body around me.

I am appalled by the intimacy of that particular act, and by that which had driven me to attempt such a thing. Searching, trying to find and hold on to something that was so elusive and never in reach, mocking me with how it slipped away at the last possible second. I don’t want to name what that something is, don’t want to give it power by acknowledging it. It is the same something that the lack of leaves me so unfulfilled once I am done coming inside Allura. I know I can never catch hold of it, know that Allura has always denied me that one thing. And though I once had an abundance of it towards Allura, it’s all but been destroyed, the love twisted into something dark and distorted.

It is a curse, to find myself still searching for the love Allura has never had for me. To find myself so desperate and half out of my mind with denials. And with need. Try as I might to claim otherwise, I need her. Need whatever I can get from her. It’s truly pathetic that what she offers me isn’t enough, that I have to learn to settle for what little she does give me. I tell myself I don’t love her, but that it’s important that she feel love for me.

I hate this need of mine. This need I have been desperate to deny. It is worse than any previous fear I have had where Allura is concerned, worse yet than the thoughts and concerns that had driven me to drink. Even before I had the understanding of what I truly wanted her to feel towards me, I had been running scared. Lying to myself that the only danger was my desire, that I lusted too strongly for her body. That lust, and the lie of being so unfeeling towards Allura? It had been the motivation behind a foolish decision. I had actually tried to keep away from Allura, denying myself even the most basic of pleasures.

I hadn’t even lasted a full twenty-four standard hours. Pathetic. Drinking hadn’t helped cool down the fires within me, if anything it had made me rage further out of control. The more I drank to forget, the more I remembered, all my hopes and disappointments laid out in bleak color. I’m not often a miserable drunk, but last night I had been truly wretched. Remembering the first time I had seen Allura, seen the glimmer of the woman she could become. Even as a girl barely on the cusp of adult hood, she had seem magnificent to me. Perfect and flawless, an exquisite creature who would be light to my darkness. She had been my everything, and sometime during the night of frantic sex, I realized in some ways she still was.

I can’t ever get back the purity of that first love I had had for her. We’ve both made too many mistakes, and I know now that Allura is far from perfect. She is stubborn and full of pride. She can be sacrificing and yet so damn stupid with her choices. She’s ruined not only her own life, and the lives of her people, but mine as well. I can’t even pretend I have been happy these last ten years. I can’t pretend I am happy now, with her in my bed. I look and her, and see my shattered happy ending, and I can’t help but cut myself on those shards of broken dreams.

Last night, even as I sought comfort in the wine glass, I was fighting these kinds of thoughts. Fighting them, and trying to prove to everyone, my self most of all, that I didn’t need Allura even to fuck. I remember growing angrier the later the hour became, the longer I went without seeing her. Until I was full out raging, snarling at everyone, at the slaves who came to bring me more wine, at the guard I sent to drag Allura to me. I built up my anger, seething with the knowledge that Allura did not come willingly to me. Her every word and action only drove in that point, Allura going so far as to acknowledge out loud the deal she had made. It had hurt me, fool that I am, I had been hoping for a different answer even as I knew there was no chance Allura felt an attraction to me. To her this distasteful affair, was nothing more than a business arrangement. The thing she must do that was necessitated by her planet’s needs.

Knowing that, I had still driven the sword in deeper, making her confirm her reasons for being here on Doom. With her hand fisting my cock, I had spoke of her purpose, reminding her of the price I demanded of her, in return for my help. Even drunk, I had known she wouldn’t have had any other answer to give me, and yet I had still been infuriated by her agreement. I had searched her face for something, some sliver of feeling that would prove to me I was wrong. Prove she came here not for Arus, not for a planet full of insignificant people, but for me. And when she continued to deny me even that, I had lost it, giving myself over to the desperate desire I felt.

Allura is lucky I had enough peace of mind to even try to arouse her. That I didn’t in my drunken despair, take her dry and hurt her even further. I had been hugely, hopelessly, unbearably aroused, had been that way almost from the instant Allura had arrived, clad in that rag of a nightgown that she had dared think a suitable thing to wear before me.

Hungry for her, my arousal actually hurting me, I hadn’t been able to resist the feel of her around me. It is a most shaming moment to think back on, to realize I had spent myself within seconds. I’ve never been one to come that fast, not even as an inexperienced boy, not even with my very first taste of a woman’s flesh. I hadn’t even been able to fully thrust inside Allura one time, just the hot fit of her around me had been comforting enough to make me climax. I hadn’t even been sober enough then, to be embarrassed, my curses born out of the fact that the fleeting gratification of my orgasm was already fading, leaving me with nothing but my emptiness and a woman who hated me.

Hate. It still stabs deep in me, the thought, the acknowledgment that Allura hates me. I want to howl in pain, want to scream at the wrongness of it all. Allura sleeps on, oblivious to my pain. But even if she had been awake, she would not have cared, would have had no words to offer even a token comfort to me. For the moment I am free of the anger that had fueled and consumed me last night, a hollow, empty feeling taking it’s place. Leaving me to feel barren and bereft. Wine will not help me to feel better. Nor will fucking Allura set me at ease, not after a night of searching for a reason, for a glimmer of peace inside her body.

It is then that I start to laugh, but there is no joy to the sound. It is bitter, mocking me over the twistedness of my situation with Allura. I can’t be happy without her, and it appears I can’t be happy WITH her. I can’t even truly enjoy the sex, taking only brief gratification that is over in an instant, and followed by anger and depression. By the pain of hurt feelings and broken dreams.

I laugh harder for I cannot cry. The tears won’t even come, won’t even make my eyes burn in the slightest. I am being torn up inside by my own anguish, by the wounds Allura and I have both inflicted. She stirs beside me, my laughter drawing her flinching out of sleep. Beautiful but oh so hurt eyes look up at me, her pain not quite a mirror of my own. The sheer misery of her expression doesn’t stop my laughter, and her pain is replaced with anger. Allura looks barely in control, as though it’s taking all she has left not to reach up and slap me for my perceived impertinence. My laughter stops abruptly, ending in a hiss. It’s just one look, but the defiance she fights with? It fuels a reaction in me, bringing me back to a time of over ten years ago. Back then she would have had no hesitation in slapping me, and I would have taken it all in stride. Would have almost welcomed the slap if it meant feeling her touch even briefly.

To my shock, or perhaps not so much, I start to grow hard. I want her again even knowing the futility of that act. I desire so strongly for any connection I can make with her, even one that is pure loathing. Never breaking the look we share between us, I roll on top of Allura. Watching the blue of her eyes flash with surprise, before the anger swallows up all other emotion.

“Is seven times not enough for you?!” Allura demands as she holds still beneath me.

Apparently not, for my cock is raging out of control. Acting as though it hasn’t even had a single climax in the last twelve hours. It wouldn’t be like this for any other woman, I would have command of it and my feelings.

Angry now, and more than a little bewildered by body’s reactions to her, I give Allura a positively wicked smirk. “I didn’t know you were keeping count.”

Allura flushes beautifully in her embarrassment. There is nothing she can say to deny that that is exactly what she had been doing. Any attempts would come off for what it was, a bold faced lie that would spare her nothing of her own embarrassment and fury over it’s truth. This time when I laugh, it is not so mocking, more a soft chuckle than anything. I don’t think for one-second she differentiates from the laughs, her glare deepening even as I lower my face to nuzzle her neck.

There are already marks there, light bruising from where my lips had sucked earlier. I know there are similar bruises all over her body, and ones darker yet from the nights before. I can remember caressing those marks, kissing them during one of my prolonged explorations of Allura’s body. There are scratches all over her, wounds I had personally licked over. I realize now not all of them had been caused by my hands. That there was more scars on her body than I had previously noticed. I wonder at the story behind them, but don’t let it distract me from my lustful intentions. There will be time enough later, to learn the cause behind those marks. To coax out of her the names of her attackers, and then deal a swift, and merciless justice upon them.

But for now, there is only the two of us, the problems of Arus, even of Doom, unable to touch us. It doesn’t mean things are perfect between us. We have enough of our own hurt and issues bogging us down, without adding others to the equation. As I grip hold of Allura’s body, I push aside all other thoughts, intent on focusing only on the moment, on the reality of her sweet body. My fangs graze over the pulse point in her neck, feeling how it beats against my lips in a rapid and nervous manner. Allura is still tense, unable to relax completely. So much fear and revulsion does she spend on the act of being embraced by me, my hands caressing over the curves of her body. I do not try to spread her legs, do not try to rush things faster than she is ready for. I have the memories of doing similar during my night of drunken revelry, but it is not a tiresome task to prepare Allura now for my eventual penetration of her. She is after all a sensory delight, touch, taste, look, even sound a wonder to experience.

Her neck and collarbone bear an uneven amount of bruises from my lips. I think what a pretty necklace those marks make, almost smiling as I caress fingertips over the darkest of them. I then nip at one, gently though so as not to break the skin. She lets out a gasp, and it’s not all focused on surprise. Allura can’t help but feel something when I am paying attention to her, even if that something repulses her. Her body reacts to me, betrays her by hungering for what I do to it.

She shifts restlessly beneath me, and even without speaking, I am sure she wants me to hurry. This slow seduction is probably hurting her just as much as those quick and thoughtless fucks, dealing out the same kind of pained results. But I’m too selfish to stop, too cruel to not force her to keep on feeling these flickers of apprehensive desire. My teeth nip and bite a path down to her breasts, my hands cupping hold of them. Even as thin as she is, they still stand out and I get a little crazed wondering how much bigger they could become once she had had time to regain some weight.

I’ve always loved women’s breasts, always loved the feel of them. The way that soft supple flesh yields under my hands’ groping, the way that they look, the feel of them against my lips. I’ll never grow tired of playing with them, of working Allura over, so that her nipples grow stiff and ache for the relief of my mouth. But I don’t set out to immediately relieve her, instead taking my time. Squeezing and massaging those heavy globes, rubbing my face between them. There’s so much I want to do with her breasts, and it’s not limited to kissing and licking alone.

~Later.~ I promise myself, continuing to fondle her. Feeling her trembles, and the way she squirms beneath me, Allura biting down her lip as though that can effectively muffle the cries she makes. I circle fingers around both her nipples, actually pressing down with my thumb on those stiff points. Holding and rubbing them there, then abruptly doing a quick lick so the tips of her are wet and react to my breath blowing across her skin.

“Ah!” Such music to my ears, Allura’s skin breaking out in goose bumps in reaction to the slight chill on her breasts. She’s such a sensitive little being, giving such sweet responses when I take my time rather than hurt her. I feel ridiculously pleased when I begin in earnest to lick at her right nipple, my cock twitching with every sigh, every whimper she makes. I pull with my teeth, sucking insistently with my mouth. The force draws another squeal, another attempt for Allura to fail at keeping in her sounds. My other hand is busy with her left breast, fingers caressing, sometimes pinching her nipple to keep it from being totally neglected. I want Allura to want for nothing in the moment, neglecting my own needs to see to fanning desire in her. By the time I spread her legs open, she is soaked, arousal dripping out of her and onto the stained bed sheets.

There is no need to prepare her any further. No need but my own to enjoy this. I slide two fingers easily inside her, rubbing and caressing, twisting them about. She nearly arches up off the bed, her breasts smooshing against my chest. Allura’s forgotten enough to gasp out my name, her pretty face dazed with arousal. I rub against her, delighting in the feel of her hard nipples rubbing over my skin. A third finger is added inside her, her passage walls beginning to convulse. Allura is coming from my fingers alone, and it is a beautiful, erotic sight.

As is the sight of her sucking on my fingers, Allura tasting her own juice off of them. Her eyes have closed, and I think she enjoys the taste of her climax. I know I do, fighting every impulse to drop down and bury my head against her sex. It’s enough to make me explode, my impatience causing me to shift, to haul her legs up so that her ankles rest on my shoulders. My dick can take no more of this tease, I’m already sliding into Allura before she’s done climaxing. The ripples and convulsion around my length make me shudder, my own eyes closing. I want to just remain like this, to just feel her forever climaxing around me but such a thing is not possible. Not now, not when I need so badly.

“Lotor!” Allura cries out my name as I begin to move, my hips urgent as I fuck her. Her breasts bounce with every thrust, with enough force that it has to hurt. But I can’t, won’t slow down. Not after waiting so long. My body continues to move, to plunge in and out of her in a slide of delicious friction. Pleasure arcs through me, but I have not yet climaxed. I am determined to resist the call of her body, to ignore the constrictions of her next climax.

Thrusting but not yet pounding into her as brutal as I have in the past. My hands slide under her, lifting her ass up off the bed. Holding her in place one moment, then forcing her body to move, to grind back in response to my thrusts. I bend forward, my hair falling over my face. I am sweating, and so is she, beads of moisture I can’t wait to lick up with my tongue. Allura is all but screaming, her hands making fists on the pillow behind her. She cannot stop shaking, cannot keep from tossing her head from side to side.

I press against her, her legs being bent back so that they are trapped between us. At some point I hold her by her ankles, keeping her in that awkward and uncomfortable position. She’s not complaining, making those delicious, fevered sounds. She actually stares at me, but her gaze is so unfocused, I think Allura doesn’t realize entirely who is fucking her now. But I can’t forget. I’ll always know it’s her, always know that it’s Allura that causes this sweet pang of pain inside me, my voice giving over to guttural grunts and growls. I am beyond speaking, beyond the ability to think of much of anything but getting my own release. I forget all pretense at being gentle, and begin a ruthless pounding of her insides.

Allura continues to cry out, unable to do much more than struggle slightly. But I don’t think she truly has it in her to want to get away, Allura enduring, maybe even feeling a fleeting enjoyment of the treatment I deal out to her. I continue my relentless assault, knowing we will both be bruised and sore. I almost can’t stop, my hips pumping furiously even as we both start to come within seconds of each other.

I spill into Allura, and it’s like I never climaxed before. What feels like gallons of seed pours out of me, flooding into her. It feels good, leaving me to scream, to roar as loud as I can. I think it frightens her, Allura shaking out of her erotic haze to stare up at me with huge eyes. I keep on holding her in place, making sure she wrings out every last drop out of me.

The highs of my climax never last. I am left as disappointed as I am exhausted, a hollow ache in my chest. Allura has recovered enough to give me a look of sheer disgust, any connection between us gone. She remembers now that she didn’t want this, didn’t want any of the times I’ve had sex with her. And just as she hates for having her choices taken from her, she despises me for allowing her to forget even briefly that she loathed my touch. The ache inside me intensifies, no words being spoken as I pull out of her. I can’t even look at Allura now, can’t allow her the chance to see how much I’M hurting. It comforts us both to think I am a complete and unfeeling bastard, neither one of us wanting to deal with my unexpected and complicated feelings.


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