The Devil of Pleasure

Chapter 3

Chapter three

It seemed to.. shift. One moment I could read it and the next moment I couldn't. It worried me that I couldn't place it, this gentle sense of foreboding. But then all it took was a twinkle of his pupils at me and all the worries were drowned, too easily. They were replaced instead, by an overwhelming desire to get those shiny eyes to look deep into my soul and uncover everything that was within. I wanted him to engulf my soul.

No! A small part of me screamed to remind me that that was taking it too far. But in an all too surreal moment, it seemed too late. For he seemed to have read that last thought judging by his instant  reaction immediately it crossed my mind. He stared at me intensely and instantly and I almost collapsed from the avalanche of adrenaline, ecstasy and emotions that came crashing down on me with the effect he generated.

I felt extremely drizzy and could barely feel my skin against the soft surface of the sofa.  I could only see a peripheral figure between two blurred slants of my eyelids. As I slowly started to drift towards unconsciousness, my mind was rapidly making some vaguely conscious calculations:

That this one stare was intentional and driven by a mystical force, probably like all the others but this I was very sure of. That my  instincts about him weren't paranoid enough, I was instantly sure at that hazy moment that his influence was more spiritual than physical and he didn't belong to reality. That I was his prey and he was going to feast on me while I powerlessly enjoyed it. That I was lost.

And then I took my last blink.

I felt him before I saw him. He was a wave of consciousness, jolting in the atmosphere as tremors of pleasure. I felt him in every pore of my nerves. The ambience was fluid and suspended, there was no single point of contact with any solid substance whatsoever but I was balanced quite alright. I had immediately recognized that this was no reality but it all felt quite.. real, even normal.  

The tiniest tendrils of a whisper started seeping in. Each breath was a lightening streak of euthanasia through my core. The words weren't decipherable, they weren't even words. They felt more like transmissions, with evil energy vibrating faintly beneath. It was all too pleasurable, I never wanted anything more, I was dripping beneath uncontrollably.

I wasn't aware of when I bent on the floor, sobbing and shuddering. "Anthony use me.. please" I pleaded, "I want you". I wanted him, I wanted it. The evil, the pleasure. I wanted him thrusting through me, his slick fingers caressing every exposed part of my body. I wanted his tongue sliding over my nipples, sliding in my mouth, overpowering me.

The dopamine was unreal, I wanted to be lost in this world of pleasure, never to be found again. I wanted to be lost in the nirvana. And in a moment my abandonment shifted and was replaced by a gentle sense of foreboding. Was this all too good to be true? Could I truly deserve such happiness or was it all I dream that would snap open at any point? For just a moment, I could feel that something was wrong, that I was being used or abused or led down the wrong path. But then all it took was...

Physical ecstasy was not just an end goal but the end goal of my life with Anthony. Any ascetic drive I had in the past – a desire for purity of thought and feeling – disappeared in the rush of my orgasmic reality. No – it wasn't just an orgasm that I sought. That was just the beginning of the journey, not the end. Past encounters with other men had been little more than a “wham, bam, thank you ma'am” in comparison. Most had finished, smiled, and went about their days. Others worked to help me orgasm and smiled at me, sheepishly proud of what they believed they accomplished.
The energy ripped through my body again and again as he teased me, hovered above me, out of my perception. The connection between us went beyond the snug fit of a cock in my body and the tingles of pleasure that the sensual nerve endings rewarded me with every time he thrust. That instinctive pleasure is felt by a dog when she ruts and has all the spiritual energy of an overcooked baked potato throw against the sidewalk. Any halfway animal can – and will – feel a dull pleasure when mating.
But as I felt him on top of me – had he ever been anywhere else? – the feelings between us were not mere sexual ecstasy but a spiritual union unlike any I'd ever experienced. Face blurred in the tears of my eyes, gone red from effort, but beautiful like a painting, so I run my fingers down the sides as he teases me with himself, rubbing it up and down me without entering. He bites one of my fingers as I rake his back with my fingers, nails digging into his demon – angel! – flesh. For all I know, the two of us are in space, in suspended animation, floating, spinning – I perceive nothing but the intense orgasms already ripping through my body – and he isn't even inside yet – and overtaking all thoughts.
I cannot breathe again – I heave my chest in gasps but his tongue flicks out across my breasts, around my nipples, somehow hitting both at the same time. That's a devil's trick, I suppose, but I don't care. All is whiteness and, if there is a God, I feel like this is how He or She or It must feel at all times. Can holiness come with an orgasm? Oh, I don't know but I feel like Anthony and I have come as close to achieving that goal as anyone else has ever done. If only he could possess me, join me, become one with me and literally take over the same physical space as me – then we would be complete.
“How do you feel, baby?”
“Oh Anthony...”
Maybe the two of us should get out of the house, go to a movie, see friends, take a walk in the park, or at least put our clothes on long enough to cook up a good meal. But I can't see past those eyes and that energy...if this is love, it's the only thing that matters to me any more.