From a realm void of thought and speech came the recognition that life had taken a wretched turn.
A memory haunts the fog of her dreamscape, brazen against the cool stillness of the bedroom, a lingering wet heat violating the nudity of her feet. She sees smooth and uncovered sheets taper over the edge of the mattress and beyond that red numbers glare at her from the darkness of her dresser as if angry that she ignored their cries. She stares back unthinking and curling her toes she curses beneath her breath the faceless gym bunnies for invading her dreamspace kicking up a storm of butterflies in her belly and leaving her in the sweaty body bag of her sheets. Unable to shake the memory of their greedy disregard for her limits she groans aloud, burying her face into the pillow and shifting to send her right hand south to finish what they started.
She starts then without moving, sensing the precise nature of the wrongdoing before she can put words to it. The red numbers crispen, rising panic sharpening the detail, and she sees there are almost two hours until her alarm should sound. Her hand won't move, can't move, refusing to relinquish its spot nestled against the heat of her pajama shorts and likewise its counterpart sticks as if glued in place. Tossing her head around she sees nothing but the hushed grey stillness of her bedroom, the absence of duvet to her sides suddenly conspicuous against the sweltering heat enveloping her body. Shoulders thrumming with tension she balls her fists, bladed manicure pinching palms wet with anxiety and she flexes the muscles of her legs but everything refuses to obey her commands.
Whispers of foreboding breathe across her upturned soles, prickling the skin and spurred to a thrashing she growls into her pillow as a musical chuckle completes a terrible jigsaw. “You talk in your sleep. Don't try to pretend it doesn't get to you.”
Soft palms gliding, sweeping the curvature of her soles leaving crackling energy in their wake, every touch enlivened by the lust which infiltrated and overwhelmed her system as she slept with all inhibitions offline. Struggling to formulate a coherent sentence amidst the blaze of confusion, anger, arousal, she opens her mouth to protest the accusation but feels the words strangle in her throat. Fingernails dust her ankles, manicured blades teasing at the shadow slit between ankle and cord. Mouth snapping shut her body speaks for her, stunted flinching betraying every weakness, a storm of frustrated convulsions struggling to find release and rushing blind toward any exit they can. Her face aches locked in a stupid grin, spittle blowing through her teeth and glossing her lips, toes defying her will, the electricity of touch forcing them to curl and splay as if inviting, even daring a more deliberate touch.
“We both know you can't hold out, sweety. Not against this. Come on, let it all out for me, let me hear that sexy little laugh.”
Shuddering against bondage her body can only quake a useless mass of restrained muscle, the fingernails furrowing through the flesh of her soles in long, sweeping motions, patient and calculating, sucking the energy from her spirit, seeking out the combinations of pressure and location to extract the most violent responses. A flurry of panic gurgles and whinnies in her throat, the revelation impossible to choke back against the desperation knotting her throat; something solid chains her toes together, the clasp of unforgiving bands forcing reflection in their movements, locking them in a maddening dance and preventing the protection of one foot with the other.
A shock of thought, of poor decisions revealed and promises made. Becky's deepest, most intimate fantasy divulged in all of its explicit glory, her wishes to inflict untold suffering upon a very particular type of woman fascinating and intriguing beneath the haze of alcohol. Listening to the details spill from grinning lips and watching enthusiasm burn fiercely through those eyes, Emily's breath was stalled and the stem of the wine glass became slippery in her fingers as Becky prescribed exactly what was needed to mend things.
It couldn't be true, too fantastical, too cruel to be anything other than the machination of an uninhibited mind. Weeks passed and all seemed mercifully forgotten, the bump in the relationship surmounted with little more than a scuff, easily painted over with the granting of unspoken favors, cheap even in the currency of the college dorm, but hopefully adding up over time.
How hysterical such a hope felt now.
The infuriating dance of Becky's fingernails tireless upon the skin of her soles, the battle to suppress humiliating laughter wringing tears from Emily's eyes, the audacity of her roommate's actions that night boiling her blood even as an unmistakable pressure sizzled beneath her belly. Thoughts of Becky slithering lithe and athletic through the darkness, a feline grace underpinning every movement as she intruded upon Emily's sanctuary and manipulated her sleeping body, wrapping it snug in the bedding and securing the roll with cords from bath robes and the long cables of extension leads and possibly something else which Emily hadn't been able to spy in the periphery of her blurring vision. Shooting a look at the clock a new panic roared through her veins almost knocking her off balance and letting loose the shrieking despair threatening to drown her. Three minutes had passed since she awoke.
“Are you seriously trying to fight this? Please don't tell me that you thought doing a little laundry and returning some books would make up for what you did. You owe me. BIG. Very… Fucking… BIG.”
A memory haunts the fog of her dreamscape, brazen against the cool stillness of the bedroom, a lingering wet heat violating the nudity of her feet. She sees smooth and uncovered sheets taper over the edge of the mattress and beyond that red numbers glare at her from the darkness of her dresser as if angry that she ignored their cries. She stares back unthinking and curling her toes she curses beneath her breath the faceless gym bunnies for invading her dreamspace kicking up a storm of butterflies in her belly and leaving her in the sweaty body bag of her sheets. Unable to shake the memory of their greedy disregard for her limits she groans aloud, burying her face into the pillow and shifting to send her right hand south to finish what they started.
She starts then without moving, sensing the precise nature of the wrongdoing before she can put words to it. The red numbers crispen, rising panic sharpening the detail, and she sees there are almost two hours until her alarm should sound. Her hand won't move, can't move, refusing to relinquish its spot nestled against the heat of her pajama shorts and likewise its counterpart sticks as if glued in place. Tossing her head around she sees nothing but the hushed grey stillness of her bedroom, the absence of duvet to her sides suddenly conspicuous against the sweltering heat enveloping her body. Shoulders thrumming with tension she balls her fists, bladed manicure pinching palms wet with anxiety and she flexes the muscles of her legs but everything refuses to obey her commands.
Whispers of foreboding breathe across her upturned soles, prickling the skin and spurred to a thrashing she growls into her pillow as a musical chuckle completes a terrible jigsaw. “You talk in your sleep. Don't try to pretend it doesn't get to you.”
Soft palms gliding, sweeping the curvature of her soles leaving crackling energy in their wake, every touch enlivened by the lust which infiltrated and overwhelmed her system as she slept with all inhibitions offline. Struggling to formulate a coherent sentence amidst the blaze of confusion, anger, arousal, she opens her mouth to protest the accusation but feels the words strangle in her throat. Fingernails dust her ankles, manicured blades teasing at the shadow slit between ankle and cord. Mouth snapping shut her body speaks for her, stunted flinching betraying every weakness, a storm of frustrated convulsions struggling to find release and rushing blind toward any exit they can. Her face aches locked in a stupid grin, spittle blowing through her teeth and glossing her lips, toes defying her will, the electricity of touch forcing them to curl and splay as if inviting, even daring a more deliberate touch.
“We both know you can't hold out, sweety. Not against this. Come on, let it all out for me, let me hear that sexy little laugh.”
Shuddering against bondage her body can only quake a useless mass of restrained muscle, the fingernails furrowing through the flesh of her soles in long, sweeping motions, patient and calculating, sucking the energy from her spirit, seeking out the combinations of pressure and location to extract the most violent responses. A flurry of panic gurgles and whinnies in her throat, the revelation impossible to choke back against the desperation knotting her throat; something solid chains her toes together, the clasp of unforgiving bands forcing reflection in their movements, locking them in a maddening dance and preventing the protection of one foot with the other.
A shock of thought, of poor decisions revealed and promises made. Becky's deepest, most intimate fantasy divulged in all of its explicit glory, her wishes to inflict untold suffering upon a very particular type of woman fascinating and intriguing beneath the haze of alcohol. Listening to the details spill from grinning lips and watching enthusiasm burn fiercely through those eyes, Emily's breath was stalled and the stem of the wine glass became slippery in her fingers as Becky prescribed exactly what was needed to mend things.
It couldn't be true, too fantastical, too cruel to be anything other than the machination of an uninhibited mind. Weeks passed and all seemed mercifully forgotten, the bump in the relationship surmounted with little more than a scuff, easily painted over with the granting of unspoken favors, cheap even in the currency of the college dorm, but hopefully adding up over time.
How hysterical such a hope felt now.
The infuriating dance of Becky's fingernails tireless upon the skin of her soles, the battle to suppress humiliating laughter wringing tears from Emily's eyes, the audacity of her roommate's actions that night boiling her blood even as an unmistakable pressure sizzled beneath her belly. Thoughts of Becky slithering lithe and athletic through the darkness, a feline grace underpinning every movement as she intruded upon Emily's sanctuary and manipulated her sleeping body, wrapping it snug in the bedding and securing the roll with cords from bath robes and the long cables of extension leads and possibly something else which Emily hadn't been able to spy in the periphery of her blurring vision. Shooting a look at the clock a new panic roared through her veins almost knocking her off balance and letting loose the shrieking despair threatening to drown her. Three minutes had passed since she awoke.
“Are you seriously trying to fight this? Please don't tell me that you thought doing a little laundry and returning some books would make up for what you did. You owe me. BIG. Very… Fucking… BIG.”
