The Innocence of Grace
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State Of Grace free porn video
Grace’s unhappiness didn’t have a name. It was a shapeless, faceless thing. And yet, it was a feeling that had lain inside her, dormant or otherwise, for her entire life. It was never far away, even in the better times. She berated herself for giving it houseroom. She had it lucky, had it easy, compared to many. She had a job she was good at, that paid enough. She felt her colleagues liked her. She was fairly healthy, and more attractive to men than she would ever admit to herself. And yet…and yet. Something was missing. Something kept jarring as she went about her life.
She came down here to the river for…for what? For solitude? Probably not. There always seemed to be someone here. Walking their dog, ambling along with a loved one, catching Frisbees. For the fresh air? Hardly. She ran alongside the river every morning, and didn’t really need to come down here again each evening. Perhaps it was just the sheer beauty of it. The lazy slide of the water as it eased its way towards the city. The gentle whisper of the trees that hung over the surface, languidly reaching for its coolness with blossomed fingers. The winking of the lights as dusk fell.
But it wasn’t that. She had a view of the river from her apartment. It had been the reason that she’d chosen it. She could sit out on her balcony, with a glass of wine, and watch the world slip through the purple gears of sunset, on its way to another velvety night. She came down to the river, she realised, because she felt a compulsion to do so. It was more than just a pleasant interlude in the day. She felt a small but perceptible drive to be here. As if, in some unforeseen way, it would one day cause something significant in her life.
Today was no different to a hundred before it. The tropical weather made the days merge, a seamless transition from one part of the year to the next. The commuter boat down the river from downtown, wind snatching at her auburn hair as the suburbs zoomed by. The schlep uphill to the corner shop, where the shy Italian boy behind the counter would smile sheepishly as he served her. Mmmm but he was delicious, but way too young for her. The languid stroll to her house, and the fruitless check of the mailbox. Bills, junk mail, and never anything else. Say hi to Max, and listen for his squawked reply. Turn down the talk-station radio she left on to keep him company. And after a cool shower, collect her latest paperback and cross the road to the riverside park. Dinner always waited until her ritual was complete.
Dusk was approaching. Insects spiralled in the fizzing streetlights, diving away from the beaks of the lorikeets, which gorged themselves in preparation for night. An elderly man in a straw boater was shuffling his way towards the steps that led up to the rest of the suburb. Children were being called away from their park games for supper, a hundred mobile phones exclaiming the news from their pockets. She was travelling in the other direction, across the road to her favourite park bench. It sat at one end of the long, thin stretch of green that was trained along the foreshore. From it, when she looked up from the pages, she could see the park and everyone in it, as well as the river.
The air felt warm around her bare shoulders, almost stroking them as she sat down. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt cold, couldn’t recall what that felt like. She’d moved here to do just that. Forget about her last city, her last relationship. She’d done what she’d always done at the end of a love affair. She’d left town. Blessed with a job she could do just about anywhere in the country, it had been physically easy to move.
She knew it was just running away. She knew that wherever she ran to, she’d be there. And the problems and issues she pushed down to the recesses of her mind would lie dormant, but not dead. She knew she’d solved nothing. That knowledge scared her. She was an intelligent woman, almost too smart for her own good. To resist the endless replaying of arguments, bitter words, and recriminations, she’d shut down some of that intelligence. Because the rational part of her would reason that this couldn’t go on. That something would have to give. This constant cycle just couldn’t go on. Something was bound to break. That something would be a part of her, and it might never recover.
Her understanding of this just added to her fragility. The small child on thin ice knows no fear, because it knows no better. The parent watching the child takes on the anguish, because it understands. It knows the situation, the possibilities, and the consequences. Grace knew too much about herself to be anything other than fiercely protective of her heart.
The paperback was moderately interesting, but not compelling. Every few minutes she’d look up, take in the scene, and return to the paragraph before the one she’d just finished.
The yelping of a dog attracted her attention. It was straining at a leash pulled by a middle-aged woman, resplendent in tight, pink latex pants. She was being half-dragged by the dog along the pavement. Grace tutted at her inability to control the dog. She shouldn’t have it, if it was going to dominate her like that. She could picture the woman’s house – stuff everywhere, dog jumping on and off the furniture at will, barking all hours and driving the neighbours mad. She’d checked before she rented the apartment that the building had a strict no-animals rule. And that parrots didn’t count, of course. She wouldn’t go anywhere without Max.
The dog had dragged the woman about thirty yards down the street by now. She was shouting at it, in a way that would clearly have no effect at all. Grace thought of the way kids ran amok in supermarkets, getting the same kind of tired, yappy shout from their parents. It was all too late, she thought. That dog knew it could do what it liked, and nothing the woman squealed was going to make the slightest difference.
Her eye was drawn to a man running towards the dog. He was clearly at the end of his run, and was tired. She knew enough about running to see the signs. His head was starting to loll slightly, his arms were falling towards his sides, and his knee pick-up wasn’t good enough. Damn, she should have been an athletics coach, she thought. He had about one hundred yards left in him, she mused. She couldn’t recall seeing him here before.
She watched as he began a slow arc, to veer away from the dog by running on the grass. At that moment, the dog wrenched free from the woman’s flimsy hold of the leash. Grace could recognise at once that he was terrified of the dog. She knew the signs. His hands went up to his chest, and he slowed to a halt as the dog ran towards him. The dog saw his lack of confidence, and reared up at the man claws-first. Grace saw the man’s ankle turn as he fell. The dog bounced around the prostrate man triumphantly, as the woman waddled towards the scene, wailing hysterically and unhelpfully. After several attempts, she managed to grab hold of the dog by its’ collar, and dragged it away, the dog raising dust as it dug in its claws.
Grace waited for the man to get up. He didn’t. She realised she was holding her breath. She got up and began walking towards him. She expected him to shout abuse after the stupid woman and her crappy dog, but he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t move at all. She began to trot, sensing some kind of urgency even though she could barely see his face in the gathering gloom. The arc of the streetlight didn’t extend this far. He was lying on his back in the borrowed light from the street and the hotel on the opposite side of the river. Just the way he hadn’t moved had raised her concern.
As she reached him she got a better view. He was about her age, tallish and slim, with mussed-up brown hair. His legs were firm and muscular, and sheened with sweat. He was clutching at his ankle, and pressing the bone with his fingers in a medically ignorant kind of way. Her shadow crossed him as she crouched down to help.
Later, she couldn’t recall how long they’d stared at each other, when their eyes met for the first time. It was achingly, horrifyingly, wonderfully long. At first, she’d looked because it was like looking into a mirror. Not physically, but somehow he seemed so familiar to her. Something about his face, his features, the way his face portrayed his emotions, she felt the immediate closeness of a kindred spirit. She could have no way of explaining it better. Nor of explaining why she felt that way. It was just an instant connection, of a kind she’d neither experienced nor anticipated. It should have had her confused, flustered, scared. But it didn’t.
‘I’m a nurse. Just lie still a second, I’ll check your ankle.’
He nodded, but looked at her instead of his ankle. The glint of the hotel’s light on her glasses hid her eyes from him, but he looked just the same. The shape of her face intrigued him. The way that her mouth fell open slightly fascinated him. The ankle hurt, but not much. Almost without realising, he glanced quickly at her ring finger.
She suspected in a few seconds his ankle wasn’t broken. Just sprained. It would probably be fine in a few days, especially if it was packed in ice for a while. So why did she continue to gently manipulate his legs with her slender fingers? Why was she thinking about what to say next? Why did it matter?
When she looked up, she gasped audibly at the fact that he was looking at her. Looking right into her eyes. Again, that unfeasibly long connection. An intensity that had no apparent source. She’d never seen this man before.
‘It’s sprained, not broken. If you can stand and hobble, my apartment is just over there. We can get some ice on it while you call a cab.’
He nodded, and began to raise himself up. She moved around and placed a hand under his arm, helping him up. With his ankle immobile and tender, he had to place some of his weight onto her. She was revelling in his dependence on her. It wasn’t a feeling she was used to.
Nurse was stretching the point. She was a dental assistant. She had no idea for sure whether his ankle was broken or not. She lied compulsively.
He was heavy, but his legs were strong, and they hobbled and shuffled their way across the scrubby grass and the road. She cursed the fact that her apartment block was at the top of a flight of concrete steps, but between her frail support and his hobbling and apologising, they made it. Once in the lift, he rested against the glass. At first he stared across at the numbers as they flipped towards her floor. Then he lolled his head to one side, looked at her, and smiled.
‘Sorry about all this. I’m Jamie, by the way.’
His smile punctured her will, seared its way through and buried itself in her. She would remember that smile for the longest time. It would be burned in her retina, pouring into the space behind her eyes each time she closed them.
‘I’m Grace. And don’t worry about it.’
She smiled back. The lift lurched to a halt, and they joined forces again to help him down the corridor.
Inside the apartment, she had him slumped onto the sofa. Classical music played on the stereo, as he looked around the apartment. His police training helped him notice the lack of any personal effects. The furniture looked rented – functional, but lacking individuality. In fact, there was no sense of a personal style to the place. And no adornments – no photos, no keepsakes of holidays, or people from the past. This was clearly a woman who lived in the present. He could deal with that.
From his prone position, he leant on one elbow. Her figure moved in and out of the light as she moved around the kitchen, fixing up the ice for his damaged ankle. Her dress clung to her body more than he realised. She was slim, firmly toned. Her body language downplayed the way she looked, as if it were kept hidden from most. Deliberately demure. He liked that.
She’d packed the ice in a tea towel, and knelt down before him. She smiled again.
‘You have to leave the ice on for a couple of minutes, then take it off for a couple of minutes, and so on.’
She did it herself. Her left hand on the ice pack, her right hand pressed against his leg, ostensibly for leverage. But as they talked, about the city, and the river, and jacarandas and books, he could feel her hand begin to caress him. Slowly, absent-mindedly, as if only her sub-conscious wanted to play with him.
Grace could feel her heart beating more quickly. She had to make an effort to keep her voice firm and regular around this man. He had a relaxed, easy charm around her that she sensed he didn’t have around other women. She couldn’t place why she felt that, just had an intrinsic feeling, an instinct she ran with. She liked his self-mocking humour. She really didn’t like men who thought they were God’s gift, and she really didn’t like men who thought she was easy to seduce.
It was dark outside and, had they stopped chatting, they could have heard the cicadas chirp in response to the slowly falling temperature. The breeze flicked through the blinds on her window, and the fan above their heads twirled listlessly. That apart, they were the only things to make a sound. The CD on the stereo was silent, and Max shuffled noiselessly along his perch.
She learned of his family down south, and the daughter he rarely saw – snatched away by a judge’s edict, and held firm by his ex-wife. He learned of her love of reading, and the unfinished novel buried in the laptop on her desk. He learned it was a murder mystery, but she turned coy at the request for further information. It’ll be published one day, she’d said with calm assurance. One day.
His skin seemed to glow in the light of the table lamp, and by now, it seemed almost wrong not to kiss him. She leaned forward and took her courage in both hands. As she moved towards his face, she kept waiting for him to pull away, to recoil in horror at her advances, but he didn’t. Those calm brown eyes drew her forward, and his easy smile reassured her that everything would be okay. If only it were that simple.
Their first kiss was neither tentative nor exploratory. There was a firmness, a sureness to each other’s touch that spoke of a meeting of two hearts. It felt so natural, it was as if they were an old couple, kissing the one who’d shared their entire life. His hands meshed into her hair as she pressed herself against him, her nipples cushioned into his firm chest as their tongues met. She bit gently on his lip as her hand reached down his stomach towards his groin. His hand stroked the base of her neck gently, and she moaned softly as he found her erogenous zone without her asking him. It all felt so right.
She broke the kiss and looked deep into his eyes. Her eyes moved as she took in his face, searching for answers, and the reassurance her brittle emotions craved. He was so relaxed, so calm. It soothed her jagged edges, stroked them into a series of easy curves and gentle breaths. He had the tranquillity she sought, and he was willing to share it.
She smiled and kissed his chest through his shirt, gradually sliding her body down as she undid his zip. He caught his breath momentarily, as she snaked her fingers around his cock, and gently lifted it from his trousers. She looked at it, still semi-erect, and kissed the tip. He flinched, and she smiled at him as she rubbed his cock against her cheek.
‘I believe in the holistic approach.’
He grinned and looked to the ceiling for a second. She loved that he was so turned on. She always doubted herself. Despite the looks she got, that insecurity always burned through her. And yet, each time she tried to turn a man on, it worked like a charm. Men loved her. They loved what she did and how she did it. It was something she could never quite learn, never quite take to heart.
She licked from base to tip, eyes locked onto his face, as he stared at her technique. She drooled some spit onto the head, an
d laved across his glistening skin, gently fisting his cock as she licked. She took the head into her mouth and let her tongue drift across the glans. Slowly. Very, very slowly.
Keeping hold of his cock with one hand, she raised herself up and straddled him. Her dress rose up across firm, tanned thighs, which he stroked gently. She leaned forward and he framed her face with his hands, gently kissing her on the lips, the cheeks, and the eyes. His tongue snaked down her throat as she gently lowered herself onto him.
The first contact was electric. Almost too sensitive. Almost too perfect. She had to lift up, and gently try again. Her pussy lips were wet with anticipation. She wanted him, badly. His finger was tracing her jaw line as she lowered herself onto his cock once more. Her pussy wrapped itself around his cock as if it had never been designed for anything else. A smooth, liquid, perfect fit, closer and more intimate than either of them would have dared to dream. So perfect, she could barely bring herself to move. Nothing else mattered. None of the insecurities, the imagined imperfections, the problems in her life, none of it. All that mattered was this perfect connection.
His shirt was now open, and her hands pressed against his firm stomach as she began a slow, erotic grind around his cock. As much horizontal as vertical, it was a slinky, flowing motion that corkscrewed her pussy around on him. She squeezed and flexed her pussy muscles as she moved, almost rippling up and down his cock as she licked her lips. Ohhhh fuck this was delicious. She’d forgotten how good this could be. How wonderful when everything felt right. How she could feel that there were no limits to how she could feel, to what she could do.
He couldn’t hold back, no matter how great she felt. He wanted to make it last. He wanted more and more of this woman, with her smile, her tight butt and her hungry, sexy look. He wanted her again and again. He wanted to touch her, caress her, and be in her, on her, under her, all at the same time. He grabbed her hips and thrust up into her, making her shudder with every stroke. She closed her eyes and he could sense her drifting into some other space, transported by the cock that slammed up into her dripping pussy as she rode him.
They came together, her fingers raking into his chest, the slight pain delicious as he released into her, making her shake and clench her eyes tightly shut. He felt light-headed, and yet perfectly relaxed.
She fell onto him, her hair sliding gently across his face as he wrapped his arms around her, stroking her back and feeling the warmth of her thighs on his legs. Her pussy juice and his cum mingled sweetly as they oozed gently down his cock.
She whispered in his ear.
‘Lie still, sexy.’
Her hand reached under the sofa, and traced itself around the handle of the long, slim knife. Just a short caress, to reassure herself. Just a reminder of the times she was trying to leave behind. The times this man might help her to forget.
Her finger swirled across the blade as she breathed slowly. It wasn’t in the past, that one time. It stretched and entwined itself into her present, no matter how she tried to outrun it. But maybe, just maybe, it could be. Maybe there was a relationship out there that could put the past to rest, once and for all. And maybe this was it. She swallowed, and took a deep breath, and decided to try.
Satisfied, she returned her hand to his warm skin, and snuggled into him as the last of the twilight died behind them.
Dani
- 29.10.2022
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