"She doesn't understand."
"Why would you let him do this? What is wrong with you?"
They've been friends a long time, but the yelling was pushing it now. "She doesn't understand." She thought again to herself.
"You don't understand." She says aloud finally. She had been thinking it, but was unsure how to say it directly. She decides to just speak the words.
"What's there to not understand?" Her friend's voice raises a little. There is shock in the tone and it goes a little shrill when there's nowhere for the upset to escape except by the words coming out.
As much as she wants to be left alone right now, the thought that her friend and roommate is upset for her is comforting. But, again, the woman doesn't understand. Her eyes drop to the floor a little and she wonders if maybe she is not being completely honest with herself. She looks at the reality of the situation and knows that if she saw marks like this on her friend, she would be upset too.
Her eyes raise to the mirror and the red lines covering her chest. Raspberries raised at intervals over the delicate pale skin of both breasts, lines intersecting around, under and over the perfect mounds. She smiles in delight. Each one a memory.
"What the fuck?" The voice is high enough to wake the neighbors now. "You're laughing?!? I can't believe this shit!" It's practically screaming now.
It brings flashbacks of her own screams. Her cries. The long drawn out, exploding orgasm that made her virtually pass out.
"Yes." She says. Her eyes meet those of her friend. "I like it. You really don't understand." Her eyes keep contact as her fingers trace each line.
There is a stiff pause and a heavy anger cloud brewing through the air. "Well. Maybe you can help me to understand." Her friend is panting, but stops to suck in a gulp of pure oxygen. "It looks like he whipped the shit out of you."
A moue of disgust crosses the scolding face and the tone that comes next suggests a sarcasm being held back by the thinnest veneers of civility. "Perhaps you did something to deserve it like run off or gag when you were sucking his cock?"
A giggle escapes her lips. She can't help it. "He likes when I gag, actually."
Not helping. The face turns scalding.
"This isn't punishment." Her shiver gives away the fact that she has been punished and this isn't even close.
"Holy shit. Listen to yourself. Look at this!" The voice is going up again. Hands reach out and tear the corner of the blouse away, revealing even more lines and blotches where teeth have dug in or skin was twisted in little piles. Pulling back the shirt reveals a particularly evil looking red spot with very clear tooth marks. "Fuck!"
"Look." Her hand goes out to her friend. "I can explain."
"I fucking hope so. I'm this close to calling the fucking police. I can't believe you of all people could let this happen to you."
His hands reach around the seat to the front of her. His breath is on her neck and his lips bare millimeters from the delicate flesh. She is already squirming. She doesn't understand how he can do this to her so easily.
"He kisses me and my knickers fall down." She laughs to herself in her best English accent. "When that's not enough, he touches me and my innards melt all over the dang kitchen floor." She thinks this last in her best Okie.
His hands massage her collarbones, her neck where it meets her shoulders, her chest, her ribs. It skips slickly over her breasts, outlining them but not openly touching or playing with them yet. She wants it though. Fingers splay in fey mood around her sides and up. Her armpits, her scapulae. Down to her stomach and the small of her back. As far as can be reached with the back of the chair in the way.
She squirms freely now. Alive and electric. Every pore open. Every nerve sizzling like frayed wire. His hands keep at her for what seems like hours and might well have been. She really has no idea of measurement. They finally do take her breasts, weighing each one and slipping easily under, over and around. Pulling at each nipple, sizing every angle. She wants to giggle again, but she is panting.
He takes so much time making sure she is alive and able to feel every little nuance of his touch. Then his lips work at the back of her neck and she is lost for a time. When she comes back slowly.to consciousness, his lips have made it all the way to her shoulders and are moving outward.
They'd sat at the table together mere hours ago, eating a supper he'd made for them when he reached over, took her hand and tied it to the arm of the chair. He moved around her and tied the other to the other arm of the chair and then her legs. Each to their own piece of wood. He moved behind her, reached around and unbuttoned her blouse.
"You know me." She tells her friend.
"I thought I did." The look softens just a little. Eyes drop to the angry stripes interlocked over tender perfect skin. "I can't believe this." They don't look away though.
"You know no one is going to do something like this to me without my consent.' A snort. "I like it." Her fingers are still lightly tracing the lines, lingering on the larger burning spots. She imagines that she knows each one personally. She doesn't. They all blend in together. A whip stroke that leaves a mark the same as one that doesn't. Her friend doesn't understand that the marks are only the reminders he gives. Not the only ones. Every time she moves, especially quickly, she feels him deep inside her. As though he never pulled out the last time, just left his penis stuffed deep in her to jolt her cervix whenever it changed position.
The look is one of horror and she has to reevaluate her life again. Honestly look at whether she is actually choosing this or having it forced on her. She laughs openly. A clear note of decision and gestalt.
"Yes. I like it. You don't understand."
"Well. Are you going to explain it to me? Cause it looks like he beat the shit out of you and then convinced you that you deserve it."
"I told you it's not a punishment." The eyes are disbelieving. Her fingers slide along a particularly red weal. "I do like it." Her breath sucks in dramatically (even to her), though not intended that way. "I begged for it."
Her nipples are so hard they ache. Her breasts heavy and swaying in anguish. She is overripe and in such need that she hears "Please" drooling from her lips without any effort on her part and she is unable to keep it in.
His fingers have worked all this time. Whether his lips have moved or waited breathlessly at her ear, his hands have slid and weighed her every bit of self they could reach. Her legs opened all on their own, but never did they stray so far, keeping to the area above her waist. Occasionally massaging her brow, bunching her hair, smoothing her cheek or pressing deep into the points of her face that send lines of feeling throughout her entire being.
"Please." She manages. He likes driving her to this place. Where she will beg for what she needs. Where she aches for whatever he will give her and plead for him to take her. Claim her. Do whatever he wants with her.
He rises from behind her and moves away. She arches her neck, curious, but can't see where he went. She can only wait for his return.
"You really don't understand."
The hard eyes show confusion for a moment. Falter in their certainty. Then fall to the red lines and flash once again.
"It is only sensation. By the time he works me over, I am so alive and so needy that this is nothing. It's not really even pain. It doesn't exactly hurt when he does it. I can't tell the difference. I get a jolt and my body burns from the inside out."
The eyes turn flinty and disbelieving.
"I love it." Her voice trails off and her fingers run along another line, hesitate at a welt and stroke along the tops of her breasts where the two meet.
When his footsteps intrude into her daze, she sighs and gasps all at the same time. It's a hiccough of a sound that mingles with another "Please."
He carries leather cuffs that he proceeds to buckle onto her wrists. He locks them together with a clip and then unties her legs. A nervous giggle almost comes out as she sees him throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her like a sack into the bedroom where he takes her however he wants.
He does buckle cuffs on her ankles as he frees each leg, but doesn't lock them together. She wonders if she can stand fromout the puddle she sits in without a sucking sound. Another giggle nearly pops out.
He ties her arms together above her head on the mattress and her legs spread open. Face down and squirming with need. She feels his bulge ridiculously hard brushing up against her side or poking into soft tissue as he moves around her, tying and arranging. It excites her all the more to know that he is turned on and ready to fuck her til she screams at any moment. He pauses, satisfied that she is bound properly and she hears the rustling sound that tells her he is stripping his own clothing from his body.
His hands proceed to touch her everywhere he was unable to reach sitting in the chair in the kitchen. They move sedately over her as she subtly and sometimes not so slyly attempts to move more sensitive areas into contact with his body.
She is a strong personality. There is no doubt. A tough woman with goals and confidence. She manages with solid decision making ability.
"You know me."
"Maybe not." The eyes track her fingers where they linger or follow red highlights across soft looking globes.
