"Here, let me light you a cigarette."
The woman looked down at her prey, a pretty face obscured by tears and hair matted with sweat. A ponytail that once had a pert bounce, now hung haphazardly and disheveled. A string of drool gleamed gossamer by candlelight from a small gag in the girl's mouth fashioned by the woman with straps from an old belt and a rubber ball.
The air hung heavy with sweat, blood and newly muffled screams.
"Silly. It's a joke. You're supposed to laugh." She gently caressed the girl's face and wiped away the saliva. The girl sobbed a little, her body shaking from strain, her head hanging.
"Sweetie," she cooed gently, kissing the girl's cheeks, "you're a mess. And now I'm terrorizing you with bad jokes. Let's get you all cleaned up." The girl sobbed harder, and the woman took the girl into her arms on the floor and held her tightly.
"We'll stay here like this as long as you need, nod when you're ready to move." The woman held the girl's hands, which felt flush and healthy, and undid the knots holding the girl's arms behind her back. As the woman undid the buckle behind the girl's head, she pressed her face into the soft cotton of the woman’s t-shirt.
"I'm so proud of you," the woman whispered as she massaged the girl's jaw. The girl sobbed more, and pulled both arms into her chest.
We'd met at a party and I felt immediately drawn to her, I could feel her watching me and she wasn't shy about it.
"Get wet for me. I'll meet you in the bathroom, lights out. Panties off, face the sink, legs spread." She'd whispered it to me as she lightly touched the small of my back in the kitchen. She hadn't given me a second look as she filled her glass with water and joined a conversation with some other women. Her touch turned my skin to flash paper, if she touched me again I might vanish into a small gasp of smoke.
I felt lightheaded at the notion of her request. I was wearing pants.
I went into the bathroom and felt a nervous sweat come on. I fumbled with my clothing, but soon stood half-naked in a stranger's tastefully designed bathroom with small decorative soaps in a dish. I avoided looking at myself in the mirror, my hands on the sink. I could put my clothes on and awkwardly leave the party. She could come in while I was putting my clothes on and I'd pretend as though I were just taking it off. I waited.
A knock on the door. "Someone's in here." I could hear them walk away.
She opened the door without warning and turned out the light. I felt her presence behind me.
"I don't have to touch you to know that you're not as wet as I'd like you to be. Keep your hands where they are" Her feet pushed mine further apart. "These things can take time."
Her hands ever so lightly lifting the hem of my shirt, the heat of her fingertips making the fine hairs on my belly stand on end. I could hear the click of a folding knife.
Her lips grazed my ear, "listen" whispered so softly I could have only heard it by the gentle tap of her tongue on her soft palate, her teeth.
One hand pulled my shirt over my bra, and the other I could feel the pressure of the knife on the underwire of my bra. She guessed at the shape of my breast by dragging the knife's edge over the contour, the metal reading the responsive ripples and seams of lacy fabric. Past the cup, I could feel the cold metal against my skin. The tip of the knife caught the strap, and with both hands she quickly sliced through the elastic. It gave so easily that I gasped at the ease of the motion.
She played the knife's edge against my breast, my skin contracting against it's path. The blade's dry sound reading the Morse Code of the imperfections of my excited skin. I could feel myself gently pushing back against her with my back arched, and she quickly found the other strap with her hand and cut it. She put the knife down on the counter and grabbed both breasts in her hands which quickly became a tight grip. I pushed onto tiptoe in protest, but before I could cry out, she muffled my feeble cry.
"You're not done listening yet."
She slipped a finger into my mouth, and I greeted it by tonguing it and pushing myself against her. I heard her give a small moan of approval, and her other hand felt it's way down and opened my sex.
We listened to the sound of her pleasure, I could feel the tide ripple through her thigh muscles against me. With one hand, I felt the honey viscosity along the ridges of her frilled sex. With the other hand, I could feel the contractions of the moans she was trying to keep back in her throat. I'd squeeze her throat so gently, she felt like a live bird in her excited state. I made sure not to make contact with her clitoris, to draw out her thrilling and silent gasps.
I continued to run my fingers along the folds of her sex and turned on the light. Our eyes adjusted and she gasped to see the aroused state she was in. With a handful of hair, I pulled her head back with her ear at my mouth.
"This is who you're going to be."
Circadies: "From the desert to the shore, circadies dreams and plays into the feedback loop."