Shadow play

The door slams shut. Before I can resist, I feel his palms on my hips - freezing cold, but my body hisses like red-hot iron in water. He pushes me backwards through the cabin, step by step, until my naked ass presses against the glass pane of the balcony.

Click.

The sound of the locked door sends a shiver down my spine. He stays inside. I stay outside. Through the glass I can see him loosening his tie. Slowly. Slower and slower. His eyes linger on me as his fingers undo the first button.

Keep going. Damn it, keep going.

The cold night air eats at my nipples, my wet lap. I lean forward, pressing my palms against the glass, leaving sweaty imprints. He drops his suit jacket. Nothing underneath. Nothing. Strong arms with muscles..., alive, every movement a promise.

Touch me. Or at least let me in. Please.

My breath fogs up the glass. He steps closer until there are only centimeters between us. His gaze bores into my naked body as if he's noting every goose bump, every twitch of my thighs. I want to scream, I want to tell him that he has no right to starve me like this. Instead, I bite my lower lip until I taste blood.

His thumb brushes over the misting of my breath. Right in front of my mouth. Lick, his gesture whispers. I stick out my tongue, lick the cold glass, the imaginary taste of him. Salt. Greed.

He laughs softly. Turns around.

No. NO. Look at me!

But he continues to undress as if I were just a mirror. The belt clanks. The zipper. Every millimeter of skin it reveals makes me tighter. My knees shake. I slide lower until my wet thighs scrape against the concrete floor. His back is a landscape of scars and tattoos - an anchor dissolving into storm clouds. Between his legs...

Turn around. Show me more. Show me everything.

As if he hears me, he stops. His hand slides to his hip, embraces himself. A moan escapes me. Loud. Shamelessly. He turns his head and his gaze hits me like a whip lash.

Yes. Exactly that. More.

But he doesn't open the balcony door. Not even a crack. Instead, he presses his palm against the glass, right at the level of his face. I pull myself up, lean forward, want to feel the touch, but all that comes is icy glass. My tongue on it again. My breath comes in gasps.

Suddenly I feel something warm running down my thighs. I'm coming. Without him. Just from this game. Shame floods me, but I clench my legs tighter, prolonging the moment. He sees it. His nostrils widen as he finally - finally - opens the door a crack.

His hand grabs my hair, pulls me into the warmth. But I want to go back. Back into the cold. Back into the gaze of the stars that saw everything.

He senses it. He grabs my breasts from behind. He pushes me out again - pulls me forward by the nipples. My hands reach the railing, push against it, support me. The railing. “Out loud,” he commands. “Let them all hear what you are.”

And I scream. Worse than on Sylt. Wilder than with Elena. Even before he penetrates. As the ship dives into the next wave beneath us, I feel him.

The first thrust knocks the air out of me. No foreplay. Just him. Just this - his cock, not fucking me, but boarding me. Every inch a revelation. I can feel the edges of my own moisture resisting him, then wrapping around him. Treacherous body.

His penetration feels like the sea itself is splitting me open, dripping salt into every freshly torn wound. I claw at the balcony railing. Like that. Keep going. Never stop.

His grip tightens. His thumbs press pale moons into my hips. “Hush,” he hisses. A command that makes me even wetter. Normally I hate that. But today: greed. More.

He pulls out completely. Makes me tremble with emptiness. Then he rams again. More brutally. The impact makes me wet. I struggle not to scream - taste sweat, shame, release.

My orgasm breaks like a wave, crushing my cunt. Twitching muscles push him out, but he pushes deeper. His hand clasps my neck. “Not yet.” A thrust. “Not yet.” A jerk. I gag, drool on the back of his hand. Please. Please.

He doesn't stop. Don't stop. You must not stop. His hips keep pounding as if my body is just an instrument he's playing until it breaks. Overstimulated. Burning. Each new thrust a fishhook, unraveling me from the inside. I feel something break - a thin thread, a muscle cord? -But the pain immediately turns into greed. Deeper. Take me.

“Again?” he whispers into my neck. His tongue grazes the lobe of my ear where Clara used to bite. No. Don't think about her. But he feels it. Feels my back arch and takes advantage of it. A finger digs between my buttocks, presses against the closed knot. Too much. Too everything.

“Don't...,” I gasp. Lie.

He laughs, that dark fucking laugh, as the fingertip penetrates. Just a centimeter. Enough to blind me. The double pain - his relentless rhythm at the front, the burning stretch at the back - makes tears well up. I want to vomit. I want to come.

“Out loud,” he commands again. “Let them hear.”

So I roar. Into the wind. To the stars. To the passengers sleeping behind their curtains. Hear it! Hear how he turns me to mush! His finger pushes in further, dry, brutal,

His pace becomes irregular. Animal-like. I can feel him swelling, ready to explode. At the last second, he turns me around. Hits my breasts, my face, my hair. Hot. Shamelessly. His semen mixes with the sweat, creeps down my stomach. Humiliation. Liberation.

He pulls back, watches me. My knees give way, but before I sink, he grabs me. “Look,” he commands and turns my head towards the sea. The lights of the ship are reflected in the black water - and for a heartbeat I can see us. His silhouette behind me. Mirror-inverted. Just like before.