Completeness

The room in which I woke was heavy with the threat of a tropical storm, and every pore in my body was drenched with sweat. The ceiling fan, utterly useless, pawed lazilly at the heavy air and, failing to stimulate it into movement, merely squeaked ocassionally as it turned. My senses stretched out into the night. The sounds of the city seemed almost muted, as if people knew what was coming, and were waiting, silently, expectantly. Above me I heard the sounds of a couple making love, the rocking of the bed on the floor and her sighs, becoming moans, becoming a primal lust for him to drive into her more deeply, more savagely. Again, I shifted under the thin cotton sheet that covered my nakedness.

I stared at the ceiling, as if it would release it's opacity and let me see the couple, writhing and clawing at each other above me. I spread my own legs and dipped an exploring finger into the moistness between my legs. She let out a cry, followed by a gutteral moan. There was shifting and movement. Had she turned over for him? Was he taking her violently from behind? Violently? Why such dark thoughts tonight? As if in answer, a flash of lightening tore the night sky, and the distant rumble of thunder rolled across the city, me and the lovers above me.

My mind allowed me to see into their room. I saw his cock, hard and heavily veined as it penetrated her softness, covered by the wetness flowing between her legs. I smelled the scent of sex in the room. "Fuck me". An order, a command, a hint of desire for more. "Fuck me, you pig. Screw me!" Again, movement. The sounds now coming not from the bed above mine, but from the balcony outside. The balconies with the slatted floors. Rising from my bed, naked, I looked upwards from my window where the fat, heavy spots of tropical rain were falling faster now, and another flash of lightening raped the inky darkness above me. Illuminated, they stood there. Her grasping the balcony rail, him, legs spread, in her from behind. One hand wrapped around her hair, pulling her head backwards and his mouth, so close to her ear, whispering, well, who knows, whispering the depracative obscenities that matched her own.

Slowly, silently, I eased my way onto my balcony, until I lay directly beneath them. My legs spread and my fingers found my openness. The slats that allowed me the most tantalising glimpses between her legs. His cock, every bit as large as I had imagined, and more, forcing her apart. Her feet shifted, she began to speak Chinese to him, urging him, demanding from him. His grunts, his more savage slamming inside his oriental flower until, with a long gutteral grunt, he came deep inside her. I was almost there myself. As my orgasm approached, he withdrew from her, and through the slats of the balcony floor, his seed dripped from her, and onto me. My orgasm carried me far away from the rain, the thunder and the lightening and into a place of shards of coloured glass and a whirlwind of sensation that focussed on the emptiness inside me.