Their Sliver of the Universe

They danced around it for years. They casually stood by each other at parties, found reasons to talk at dinners or celebratory gatherings. They were family friends. Their kids hunted for eggs together on Easter. They watched fireworks. They attended graduation celebrations at each other's homes. They shared couple friends.

Small snapshots of him started to linger after they were together. His wrists. His hands. Those ankles. Little pictures that made up a larger image of him.

She was attracted to something she saw in him that she knew to be true about herself. Was it something in his eyes or the way he sometimes raised his voice, or the occasional grimace he couldn't hide at the wrong time?

Both were feral just under the surface. They presented as good and decent spouses, normal parents, devoted children to their aging parents, good community members- trying their best to do right in the world. But just a half inch beneath was the spirit of a caged animal, bored, maybe angry, but not like all of these other folks in normal human skin suits. She knew that like her, given the opportunity he would set the whole town on fire.

Her real self, the one she had to work really hard to hide, was enraged. Her life was pleasant and easy. She worked hard, played hard. Went to all kids' games. Laughed with the other parents about the dumb things that you're supposed to laugh about. There was no reason to be so deeply mad. Life's injustices were outweighed with the abundance of gifts she'd been given: a career she loved, a family who exceeded her dreams, friends who were unmatched. But still it was there.

She thought she saw it in him. Did he see it in her? This rage? Did he know they were the same? Sometimes it seemed like he understood. Like when they locked eyes, he could see what she saw. Other times, nothing. She was possibly reading into it and there was nothing at all.

There was a night when they left a party and she called him on the way home. They talked. It was funny. Was he flirting with her? She couldn't tell. She had never done this. She was a devoted wife. Faithful. They hung up and she slid her fingers up her skirt and pleasured herself, first lightly over her lace panties and then she slid them to the side and went further. Sitting in the car, she imagined him grabbing her breast, kissing her hard, she imagined feeling his erection through his pants.

For years she said nothing. She didn't have the nerve. What if he rejected her? She would have to continue seeing him in social settings, knowing that he had politely declined her invitation. She knew he wouldn't want her to feel embarrassed. He would be kind. He was kind.

She chose her moment. In a bar. They met for drinks and she decided to be brave. She told him that he was the focus of her fantasies. She was more explicit than she had planned to be. The two drinks helped.

He didn't reject her. At first, he looked confused, then he looked interested. He agreed that chemistry between them had been there in the past. They had met decades before. Had it been there all along? She admitted that when they had met all those years ago, she had looked him up online. He admitted that he had mentioned her to a friend after they first met.

They left drinks without a plan. She texted him, "Fuck," and he responded with "Fuck yeah."

She fantasized about him constantly. First, about what a first kiss would feel like. Would it be quick and dry or long and deep? What would his body look like? Would she be disappointed? More importantly, would he be disappointed in her?

The more time they spent together, the more the fantasies grew in detail and depth.

The most common featured his cock prominently in her face. He was teasing her. Gently slapping her face with his phallus and not allowing her to suck him as she so longed to do. Why did she hunger for him to dominate her? She imagined herself tied to a chair in a cold dark hangar, wearing practically nothing. He was her captor and taunted her. She begged him to stop the teasing and he did -by grabbing the back of her head and fucking her face hard until finally releasing and spreading his juices all over her tits.

He was a man. She hadn't realized that she'd never really known the definition. She'd never really understood what and who a man was. After finally having him inside her, she noted that she now knew.

A man is strong, unpredictable, virile, and kind. A man politely asks to turn you over so he can fuck you hard from behind until you hurt, but you come because it is that hurt that feels so good. It's a hurt you never knew you needed. It hurts because his cock is big and you need all of it, every thick inch, to satisfy the ache you have for him.

A man tells you he loves you while you ride him and the walls of your pussy crush his cock. He kisses you with a raw longing while he eviscerates you. When he is on top of you, you feel his full weight. You want him to lay you out.

A man is the perfect balance of beast and gentleman.

She doesn't know when this thing will end, so she has tried to take every opportunity to explore him and memorize his body. The metal shrapnel she can feel under his skin, the cut of his bicep, that one scar, the smell of his neck... What does he try to memorize about her body? He's told her he thinks about her ass in the air as he's fucking her from behind and the arch of her back. He's mentioned how she bites her lip sometimes when she's on top of him.

She rolls her tongue around the perfectly round head of his cock to enjoy every fleeting moment with it. What if she never sees this beautiful, strong penis again? What if it remains only in her memories and won't find its way back into her, making her complete? A full person.

She is convinced her body was built for his. The Universe or God, or whomever is in charge made them fit together perfectly. His body is muscular and broad, hers is feminine and lithe. He is meant to conquer her, and she is meant to be the soft, sensual repository for his passion, his rage, his ambitions. All of it. The worst of him and the best of him.

Their moments are so limited. They don't have much time to hide out. Their indiscretions are meaningful and she tries to commit each to memory. She notices that in the throes of passion, she can forget what happened when. She can't let herself forget!

Their last time is embedded in her mind. A quick one-night trip to a resort. He walks in handsome and confident. She blushes. She's sitting at the bar, and she has once again gotten his drink order wrong. They are shy, but giddy, as they always are in the very first moments when once again, they meet. Drinks ease their awkwardness and then they're off to the races. She instinctively grabs his knee and stops herself. They're in public. They must be careful.

They're back together where they belong and it's not uncomfortable anymore. They are laughing, confiding, talking about things they could never tell their spouses. Why can't we say these things to them, she ponders. Because we can't, he tells her.

She tells him it's time. They head upstairs to their room. In the elevator they kiss. They could kiss forever. He touches her ass, lightly. It sends a shiver up her spine.

She is meticulous about setting the tone for their moments together. In the room, she takes off her shirt, she puts on a playlist made especially for them. He disrobes while she turns on the fire. They kiss again.

She peels off her jeans and she crawls on top of him. They kiss more. Lots of tongue, lots of exploring. She nibbles lightly on his lip. She can never get enough of kissing him. She looks down at him. His cock is ready. She lowers herself over it. It fills her entire pussy. It is rock hard, thick and she can feel it through her entire body. When she throws her head back, she can feel her soft hair tickling the middle of her back and that sensation turns her on even more.

She rises and falls, pumps her wet pussy over his cock slowly and then quicker and slowly again. He suckles her erect nipple, and she marvels that when her husband does this, she wants him to stop because it hurts. Her nipples are so sensitive. But when he does it, she wants more. It still hurts but she wants it to hurt. She wants to feel everything.

He tells her he loves her. She loves him too and she tells him. Her heart is warm. Her pussy is quaking and she comes. He keeps going. Her vagina is so sensitive now after coming that every movement he makes feels like it's going to make her come again and it does and it does again. The little sounds he makes when he comes inside her send shivers up her neck.

She has never known satisfaction like this. It's physical. It's emotional. Is it also spiritual?

After, they go to dinner, and she smiles to herself because she feels his cum slipping out of her pussy. He is still in her for now. These moments won't last forever. They exist in isolation in a metaverse for two. These magical slivers of time, she will try to brand them into her mind so she can access them forever.

There will come a day when this ends. When they are too old to continue, or too compromised, or too tired. But for now, this world belongs to them.