And maybe it is all about sex; as I sit here watching the rhythmic placing of his hands on the trumpet, it’s your hands I think about, fingering my keys and making me sing. A few people notice it; the air about this girl alone at a bar, the darkness that flickers just behind her eyes, the manner in which she holds her body. Legs, impossiblely long, cross and uncross, brushing the sex with subtle friction, Keeps the pussy consciousness of itself and of the Master to whom it belongs.
“He will not come tonight”, I think to myself as I finish my drink and lay my money on the table.
“That’s a nasty bruise on your wrist”, says a voice from nowhere, “How did it happen?” But I am already on the street, away from the smoke and the music, away from the leering eyes and the bad lines of men who will never get the chance to know me.
It’s four blocks from the club to my house. At this time of night, the click of my heels sounds like gun fire, and I find myself drifting back to crackof your belt marking my tights as I stood with my elbows on the dining table.
“Why do you always hurt me?” I had asked between the blows. Your hand snaked down between my legs, finding the sex, parting the lips, and I let out a sight at your touch.
“Because it makes you impossible wet, every time,” had been your reply as you pulled me back by my hair and wiped your glistening hand on my face. “The more I hurt you, the wetter you get, and I love making my slut ooze.”
You were right, of course, that I loved every little torture you gave me. Every slap, every pinch, every tug and pull and grab all left me craving even more. Wanting to find that next darker place, wanting you to take me deeper down into myself, into you, into the moment when time and Morality ceased to exist and we were free to love each other with utter abandon. I wanted to stay in that place of complete devotion where I was able to watch my limits slowly vanish without any fear as to what I was becoming.
In this heightened state, everything becomes a metaphor, and as I slide my key into the lock, I realize I am smiling at the memories of the ways that you have filled me.
“Miss?”
Strange… did I leave the door unlocked?
“Excuse me, Miss?”
A bit distracted by my musings and the fact I left my front door unlocked, I finally register the fact that someone is speaking to me. He’s tall, wearing a black T shirt and jeans, not unattractive.
“Sorry to both you, but can you point me in the direction of West Street?”
“Oh, sorry, sure”, I say as I step back to the street, “It’s just a couple blocks…” And that is when I see it.
“It’ll be easier on all of us if you keep your mouth shut,” he says as points the gun at my chest. “Be a good girl now, and let’s go inside.” And that is when I understand what people mean when they said “I was frozen”. I am frozen as this man moves towards me, I am frozen as I hear my door open behind me, I am frozen asAnother set of hands snake around me, covering my mouth, and pull me inside. The gunman is on me, smiling, smiling, and that is when I notice a third man pass by the door just inside the bedroom.
Something covers my eyes, and I am plugged into darkness. The hands are all over me, holding my wrists, fingering my pussy, pulling my clothes, pushing me back.
“But damn, girl, are you wet?” asks a voice. “This bitch is about to be rapid and she loves it,” says another. Hot breath on my neck and the smell of sex and sweat. “What kind of who wears a skirt like this without panties? What kind of slut has these bruises on her thighs? What kind of shit are you into?”
These men are laughing at me as they tie me to the bed, slap my face, twist my nipples, pinch and poke me, and the barrage of insults never ceases. I am thinking of you, I am trying not to cry, I am trying to be anywhere but where I am.
I feel something hard and cool against my sex, I feel my lips parting, I pull hard against the ropes as the gun slips inside and begins its rhythmic fucking. I cry out as a cock is forced into my mouth and the peals of laughter renew with vigour.
“Take it, bitch. Take it, bitch. Take it, bitch. Take it, bitch.” I’m gagging on this cock, unable to breathe, unable to move, when suddenly everything ceases. The cock is taken out of my mouth, the gun is pulled out of my cunt, and the room is completely silent.
I lie there for several moments, my face covered with tears and saliva. I lie there for several moments, and I listen.
“Open your mouth, baby.” The gun is in my mouth, now, the taste of metal and my own juices as someone’s weight comes down upon me. I completely lose it as the man begins fucking me. How long have I kept my sex for you alone? The violence is more than I can bear. Waves of nausea and my entire body wrapped with sobs, I’m on the verge of passing out when the blindfold is slowly lifted.
“If you know how much I loved you…” And it’s your voice. Your voice that I hear as the gun is removed. Your eyes that I see when I finally open my own. Your mouth on mine and we’re kissing, kissing.
“But, I… how… where…”
“Shhhh,” you say, “Just you and me now, love.” You touch my face with such tenderness as my eyes frantically dart about the room looking for the strangers. You kiss me again as you put the gun to my temple.
I feel your hot cum exploit inside me as you pull the trigger. Click.
You pull the trigger again. Click.
You look into my eyes with a devilish smile, “You’re dead, bitch.”
“Until I met you, I think I was…”
Click.
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