It was about a quarter to 7 when the turning of bolts could be heard coming from the door. This was usually the time that Mike, my husband came home. I heard as he kicked off his work boots by the front door before making his large frame appear in the doorway to the kitchen.
My husband was always by the book and rarely welcomed change. He woke up at 6 a.m. every morning. His morning activities consisted of watching the news at such a volume that the whole entire neighborhood got the breaking news as well. He spent the rest of the morning inside of me until it was time to leave for work. I wasn’t allowed to work. I longed to see different faces instead of the same one. I wasn’t allowed to go outside as well. My skin had lost its color due to the lack of sunlight. 427 Stockholm Way was where he lived. 427 Stockholm Way was where I was currently serving a life sentence.
I wasn’t sure what I felt for my husband. I was a young girl who just finished grade school when we met. I was looking for security. I was looking for stability. I was looking for myself but went looking in all of the wrong places. We started “dating” on July 4th, 2006, about 11 years ago. That was the day that I was taken away from my family and friends. At first, it seemed like a great idea. We were young and in love and wanted to start a life for ourselves in unknown territories.
Mike and I did not have a “real” wedding. Instead of “do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband” I was read my Miranda Rights which he officiated. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and WILL be used against you.” Anytime I got in trouble, which was almost always, I was reminded of my rights. Punishment ranged from blows to the face followed by forced sex for major offenses. The light ones that could be swept under the rug usually led to soft more gently strokes to my treasure box as opposed to the rough ones he enjoyed.
In the evening Mike’s routine was almost always the same. He asked if I cooked even though he knew I had no choice. I think that did something for him because after he ate he fed his leftover energy into me. Our relationship consisted of work, sex, and sleep. It lacked substance and I longed for it.
Our anniversary came a week later on July 4th, 2017. Mike came home very late and really drunk. He asked if I cooked to which I answered yes, but by the time I brought his food out to him, he was already passed out on the couch.
On the way back to the kitchen to put his food away I realized that he had left the key that locked the door from the inside still in the door. Usually, he kept this on him at all times. My mind raced. There were a million of thoughts racing and I could not order them by importance. I thought about packing but that would make too much noise. I thought of just taking the key out and giving it to him, but that would be stupid. In front of me was an opportunity for freedom. I thought of it as being let out on good behavior. This was my chance.
Very carefully I turned the handle to the door and took my time prying it open. My hands were extremely sweaty as if I had just finished touching myself. The door opened. I stood there not knowing what to do. It had been almost 11 years since I last stepped foot outside. Behind me, I heard Mike turning on the couch. I was running out of time.
I ran all the way to a neighborhood I was familiar with as a child. After all these years, I still had a recollection of where everything was. Moments later, I arrived at the long driveway that led to a beautiful Victorian-styled home. The light in the kitchen was still on. Someone was home, but who. I made my way to the large wooden door and faintly knocked. It wasn’t an ordinary knock. It was a knock that someone and I had come up with that only the two of us could hear. To anyone else, the sound could not be heard. To us, it felt like a giant whale was having a baby in our ears.
I waited for a few before deciding to leave. Just as I was turning to walk away the door opened. We stared at each other. He was in disbelief. I was staring at what 11 years could do to a man. He was staring at what 11 years had done to a woman. It was Malaki, the man who I should have spent the rest of my life with. We had dated for a brief period of time on and off, but nothing too serious. Despite it all, I always knew that he was the one.
I timidly went up to him and laid my head on his chest. It took him a while before he placed his arms around me. We stood there for a while, not saying anything, just hugging it out. I remembered that I was still an escaped inmate on the run. I backed up and asked if I could come in. He didn’t oblige. Malaki’s house was decorated in lovely portraits of him and his lover. “She’s beautiful,” I complimented him. “WAS, she passed away around this time a few Julys ago. This is going to be yet another 4th of July without her.”
“I’m sorry …”
“It’s okay. Everything happens for a reason. I call it the Force of July.”
“We should really catch up. I take it that you need a place for the night?”
He read me like a book. I wouldn’t mind if he flipped through my pages. I longed to feel his large strong hands running their course all over my body. My book would always be open for him. Malaki always had a way of knowing what was best for me. He knew everything without me telling him anything.
He motioned his way over to where I was in the kitchen and began to graze his soft pink lips on the back of my neck. “If you are trying to get me wet, it’s too late,” I said. He turned and faced me and the two of us stared into each other’s eyes. We kissed and made out for God knows how long before he started to undress me. First with his eyes, then with his lips and finally setting my undergarments free with his hands.
Malaki’s boxers had made their way to his ankles revealing a prize that I’ve been longing to claim. It extended for miles. Roads and roads of fun covered in veins signifying its strength. Like a baby, I did not know my danger. It looked so yummy. I could not wait for his Toblerone to melt inside of my warm pussy water.
Dropping to my knees I bravely took his manhood inside of my tiny, but firm grasp. It wagged in my face like the tail of an Irish wolfhound. So long and juicy. I popped the unknown specimen inside of my mouth and quickly lit up with excitement. Godzilla gilded all the way to the back of my throat nearly choking me in the process. Luckily, my throat was naturally numb from years of practice and I had no trouble swallowing it in its entirety.
He held my head in place and flung everything that he had straight to the back of my mouth. He had no chill and I had no limits when it came down to sucking his dick. And sucked it I did. Every ingredient that made up his chocolate goodness was extracted into my mouth where it was quickly digested.
I took it out and beat it against my tongue until I was ready to go again. Before I could put it back in, I was lifted into the air and placed straight inside of his mouth. I felt like everything I had inside of me was about to give like a basket that was packed with too many things in it. Malaki’s dick and tongue were running competition and it was increasingly difficult to figure out which one was longer. At any rate, his wet tongue could be felt clearing out my pussy passage. Removing years of frustration and replacing it with some good loving. His tongue stiffened as he sent that motherfucker right through me. I gasped. That’s all I really could do. By the time he was finished slurping out my soul, I couldn’t even stand up on my own two feet. The same two feet that I used to run away from Mike.
The best part about Malaki was that he didn’t give me anytime to recover and process what had just happened. Before I could regain my energy I had already been pried open and was being eaten from the back. This only meant that he was wetting up the doors to do some damage.
And boy was it a crime scene. Gushiness flooded his entire kitchen counter. My pussy lips were numb as if they had been iced for too long. It made Malaki’s entry a lot less painful. The beast could be conquered after all. First I was plugged. Then I was corked. Then I was filled. Until finally my lips were salivating like a conditioned dog. I began to foam over like a dishwasher. All that was left was for him to clean his plate and lick me off of his fingers.
It felt like fireworks exploding inside of me on a hot summer night in July. That was the best way I could explain the feeling of being lit up. His grade A milk mixed with mini-Malaki’s had closed the gaps between then and now…past and present. Every time I thought he was done, I could still feel him gliding in and out of me like a tunnel. His dick was the massive 1971 Amtrak train #822. I had hopped on board and never looked back. Malaki helped me escape.