No, if she tried to kill herself, She would just save her again. Besides, this feeling of dread always came just before She arrived, and it always passed.
No. She would simply wait it out. The bad feelings would be gone soon, and the pleasure would come in their place.
It’s not that she didn’t enjoy the things she did whenever She was with her. She always enjoyed herself. She always had. Even before She came along, sex had never been satisfying unless she was in complete control, and even then it was mediocre. Often, even disappointing.
But, dark thoughts sometimes become dark actions, and with those actions come discovery. Her revelation had come so many years ago it seemed like forever. And, yet it seemed like yesterday.
She bent her knees and kicked then grasped the sheet in her hand and whipped it back in the darkness. Just thinking about it made an unreachable itch begin down below. She was already getting hot, and the cool air in the room felt refreshing against her warm skin. Staring at the ceiling, she wondered about the boy and what he was doing now. She couldn’t even remember his name.
Mike…
Joe…
Kevin…
It didn’t matter. There had been so many since him, and she couldn’t remember their names either. But, they say you never forget your first, and she hadn’t.
Even if she couldn’t remember his name, she could remember the details…
She was a college freshman, and he was an upperclassman. While he certainly wasn’t innocent, she was as far removed from virtuous as anyone could be, even if no one was the wiser. He’d been begging her for a date for more than a month, and it amused her. So much so, that it had set her mind to work.
When she finally agreed, it was on her terms, as always. She strung him along for two weeks, promising everything and giving nothing, just as she would do with any other boy. But, for this one, she had bigger plans. When she was certain he was primed and ready, she gave in, or so she led him to believe.
The room had been dank and dingy. The decor was so far out of date as to not even have a recognizable style. She was certain that it had been cheap, but for her purposes she didn’t care. Besides, she was the one who picked out the fleabag motel in the first place.
It was private, sitting along a secluded stretch of blacktop just outside of town. It was a place where no one asked questions about what went on behind the red, chipped paint of the scuffed doors. It was perfect.
Had it been up to him, they would have just made it in his room at the fraternity house, but she had needed the privacy for her plans. She had insisted that he get the room, and by that point she was sure his family jewels were probably navy blue, so it wasn’t hard to get him to shell out the cash.
Just like it wasn’t hard to get him to strip naked almost as soon as they arrived.
Just like it wasn’t hard to get him to go for something a little “different” when she pulled the cotton clothesline out of her purse.
Once he had let her tie him to the bed, it was all over. She’d had to reassure him several times when he complained of it being too tight, asking if she was certain she knew what she was doing, but by that point, for him, it was too late. She’d made certain that he couldn’t move, and the cotton panties in his mouth with the duct tape over his lips made certain no one would hear. Getting those into his mouth had been the hardest part, and she was sure he was going to scream before she could get it done. But, somehow, she had managed to do it, and then she wound the duct tape around his head to secure it.
The struggle itself had aroused her, just as had the anticipation.
Then, she had sat astride him on the bed for several minutes, not quite sure where to start. She had fantasized about this for as long as he had pursued her, working out the details of how to get him to this point. But, now that she was here, she didn’t know how to begin.
After several moments, she simply slapped him hard across the face. The tickle that had been welling in her belly now became an itch, and she liked it. She slapped him again, harder this time, and felt him squirm beneath her as he struggled against the bonds. The itch grew stronger.
She remembered feeling herself smile.
She perpetuated the feeling with various mild cruelties. More slapping. Scratching him with her painted nails. Pulling his hair. But, her first true orgasm had come at the exact instant she twisted a burning cigarette against his bare chest. As he writhed and squealed against the gag, she felt the itch explode. The intensity of the feeling had taken her by surprise, making her fall back across the bed, gasping for breath. The ripple had then driven through her, and it was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. When it had finally died away, the only thing she could think about was having that feeling once again.
She remembered climbing back on top of him and looking down at his frightened eyes as she lit another cigarette…
She had untied him before she left. He was unconscious, passed out from the pain, she assumed.
She was spent.
He’d had enough money in his wallet to cover the cab fare back to campus, and she had gladly taken it. That was also when she had taken her first souvenir. His class ring. She wasn’t sure why she had taken it back then, but it all became obvious years later when she met Her.
In fact, the ring was still on her altar.
Of course, that was then, and it had been wonderful. But after that night, as good as it was, she could never recapture the intensity of the feelings she had experienced.
That was until She came into her life…
Now, even the fond memory of the night paled by comparison to the depth of pleasure She had shown her. Not only was it better, it was better than she could have imagined. At times, the mere anticipation of the pleasure was almost as good as the reward itself.
Of course, She took it farther than she was ever willing to go before. Then, it was play. Now, it was so much more…
For them both…
As the memory began to fade, she rolled and sat up on the edge of the bed in one fluid motion. Reaching out, she twisted the switch on the bedside lamp, bringing luminance into the room. Sliding her thumbs along her jaw line, she gathered her long red hair and tossed it over her shoulders to cascade down her bare ivory back.
The tickle was now a burning itch.
She was here.
It was time.
Thursday, November 24
2:13 A.M.
Saint Louis, Missouri
CHAPTER 25:
I can hear the footsteps coming.
They thump hard against the wooden stairs below, but I know that is not where they will stay. They are already getting closer.
Each footfall comes louder…
Faster…
As if driven by sheer excitement, they move upward, coming for someone. I pray that this time it will not be me.
I can hear the wails of the others. They, too, know she is coming. Nearby, someone is sobbing. I think it is a woman but I can’t be sure. It has been so long now that they have all begun to sound alike.
They are genderless…
Pitiful moans…
Terrified screams…
Barely even human…
They have become nothing less than a cacophony of anguished noise…
But, no matter how loud it becomes, even it cannot drown out the cruel sound of her feet against the stairs.
I listen in the darkness.
The footsteps are near now, just outside the door.
I wait.
I listen.
And, I wait.
But, the telltale creak of the hinges never comes.
Then I hear her feet shuffle, and the hard noise begins again.
The cruelty is there, but the excitement is gone. It is, instead replaced by annoyance.
This time they fade, growing more distant with each step.
Until, finally, they are no more than a fresh memory of an endless nightmare.