The Whispers of Silence

|3.|

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I winked at the girl and clicked a button next to the window.

The electric blinds came down in a flash, shielding us from any unwanted, prying eyes.

I shifted my attention to the beauty on my floor and kneeled down next to her, my fingers gentle as I tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Her beautiful eyes, staring at me - a look of desperation, a will to live longer.

"Death only knocks once, my dear." I use my index finger to slowly shut her lifeless eyes. 

So fragile, the human life, yet so many dreams, hopes - you all just don't get it do you? Life is but merely a space between two universe of darkness. 

I pick her up and walk towards the perfectly plain room with white furniture. A simple white bed, a white chair, and a white dresser.

All I can imagine is how the stark contrast of her dark skin will look against the white room. I want it immortalized. I want her, in this moment, forever.

I already knew which picture I was going to pair her with.

An image of candles burning bright in a church my mother used to go to. Her innocence, her wishful eyes, would be the perfect pairing for the whispered prayers spoken when the candles were lit and placed at the altar. This girl was demure naïveté mixed with an almost palpable need to please.

She wasn't a girl who enjoyed pain.

She was a woman who loved to please, and in her desire to do so, she'd gotten the greatest gift of Death, to end her misery and silent tears shed over pathetic humans who did not appreciate her beauty enough.

My mind though, was still firmly on the girl next door, the silhouette in the window across the street.

I'd never seen her that clearly before.

Glimpses here and there, when I glanced out the window

I knew she lived alone. But I'd never seen her this clearly. The streetlights had illuminated her body more than I think she realized, and in the moonlight, she looked like a dream.

The memory of her fingers dipping into wet panties made me twitch as I took my camera out of the dresser and pointed it at the girl I'd filled up not moments ago.

I took the shot.

I didn't need to look at it to know it was fucking perfection.

The first ones often were.

I took a few more and once she was done, immortalized on my camera, I set it aside. 

I didn't remember her name  I didn't need to, knowing I'd remember her, the night we'd spent together, by looking at her photograph. It was enough for me. I remembered her whispered words, telling me how much she'd admired my work for years beforehand. How she'd dreamed of being my muse before she was even fucking legal.

But if she really knew of my work, she wouldn't have willingly come here. 

She was one of many, a number in a long line of women at my door, a muse for an hour, a fuck for a night.

It didn't mean I didn't give a shit. I did, for as long as she was in my arms. For a few hours that night, the girl had been my world, my everything. I saw the possibilities of a relationship, of a future, of waking up with her in my bed, her eager lips on mine.

But I put it all into a photograph, and then added her to my portfolio like so many girls before.

After finishing, I called Sergio for a cleanup and stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror that took up the whole wall. I had to work hard to look the way I did. I had a fully equipped gym on the second floor, making sure I was in the best shape, even though I never left my apartment.

My muscles were toned and defined, my skin covered in ink that told my story. I let my hands glide over it, down over my stomach and locking their grip around my thick cock, throbbing at the thought of her.

I stepped into my shower, the marble cool beneath my feet and the cold water beating down my back. It felt fucking good.

I washed the girl's cunt off my cock, off my fingers. I cleaned my body expertly, washing and scrubbing and taking extra care to remove every trace of her off me. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep if I could still smell her. I needed to be clean. Pristine. Scrubbed raw before I laid down to sleep.

Fingers... dipping into wet panties.

The shine of a silver sequin, almost blinding in the night.

The way she put her palm on the window, as if she was trying to touch me.

Her body silhouetted.

My fist wrapped around my cock and I tugged on the tip.

I was hard. Painfully fucking hard, my dick throbbing desperately, begging me to relieve it of another load of hot cum, squeeze it out, dump it all over the Italian marble, drain myself of the filthy thoughts that seemed to reside inside my head permanently.

I worked my cock with fast, mechanic motions. I let my mind wander, never to the shy girl I'd made cry, always back to the girl next door, who'd been so eager to pleasure herself at the sight of me.

She was a silhouette, nothing but a shadow, a stark dark cutout on white paper.

I placed my palm against the shower wall and exhaled roughly, my palm working, pulling, tugging, getting ready to blow another load all over the glass and marble.

Fuck her, I wanted to fuck her. Right here.

I jerked faster. My cock felt impossibly hard, throbbing in my fist, desperate to unload. Desperate for my mystery girl.

Her pussy.

Her mouth.

Her tight little ass.

And then I was coming.

Coming for her.

Hot cum mixed with the cold water beating off my chest as I groaned my release and palmed my dick into a fucking frenzy.

She used her dainty little fingers to fuck that pussy.

I was going to use a whole damn fist.

After I was done, I cleaned myself off meticulously.

 As I lay in my bed, the pristine Egyptian cotton sheets atop my skin, I let myself think about her.

A stranger. My stranger.

 My target.