Breathless 14

- For Jay -

As I ascend the stairs my only companions are the sounds of my own breathing and the staccato clicking of my black stiletto heels echoing off the poorly-painted walls of our motel. This is the place we have been planning to meet for four years now. The air is stale and coarse, slipping in and out of my nostrils in an unpleasant, irregular pattern. I am surprisingly calm tonight, but my mind is racing with the thoughts of what will happen as soon as I enter that room.

You greet me at the door, leaning casually against the peeling wooden frame until our eyes meet. Like a soldier called to attention you jerk your body immediately into a rigid, upright position, almost as if my mere presence is a reprimand. Your eyes are downcast as I strut toward you, and I can feel a proud and curious smile forming on my lips as you take a few cautious steps backwards into the room. Anyone who did not know you would mistake such mannerisms as shyness or uneasiness, but I know you too well to think such things.

I step over the threshold, and am welcomed by a gust of chilled air blasting from the rattling AC unit that hangs awkwardly from the window. You step quickly out of my way as I push past you, glancing around the room and digging my hand down into my purse. A word between us is yet to be spoken, the silence of the room broken only momentarily by the snapping sound of my lighter as I ignite a cigarette and turn slowly to face you.

"Nice choice of a room." My esophagus burns as the smoke curls up and out while I speak. You smile meekly and a look of intense concentration furrows your brow as you eye my lips. I catch myself smirking again, and turn away from you, walking to the window. I survey the room as I cross its expanse: a king-size bed with noticeably unclean sheets, asymmetrical stains decorate the carpet, an unwelcoming arm chair rests carelessly in the only open corner of the room. I peer through the heavy curtains, though I cannot claim to see anything in the darkness outside. Your eyes are on me- I can feel it- but I ignore you intentionally.

"I brought something for you," I do not look away from the window as I speak, holding the curtains gently parted so that a sliver of a nearby streetlight throws itself across my face. Without waiting for a response from you, I glance over at you and smile mischievously.

I reach into my purse once more and pull out a roll of duct tape.

"Surprise!" I shout, tossing it forcefully at your chest. You fumble awkwardly with it, but do not drop it. I chuckle playfully. "Don't act like you don't know what it's for, sweetheart. I can see the box of plastic wrap sticking out from under the bed. Somehow I knew you'd need just this one more thing."

You look startled and slightly embarrassed, blushing tenderly. Even though you know I am just as enthralled by the fetish as you are, you are still apprehensive about finally sharing the act with another person. It takes a moment for you to relax and remember why we are here. We are here for each other, and we both know it, though the words are never spoken.

Once you appeared to have calmed yourself, I take a few steps forward and move in on you-slowly- like a hunting lioness, holding my face ever closer to yours, smoke curling from my lips like a family of gray snakes, creeping up and around your blushing face.

The moment comes when no space is left between us, and I press my hips against yours firmly, though not touching you with any other part of my body. There is barely enough room for me to take another drag from my cigarette, but I do it anyways, bringing the slow-burning embers within millimeters of your chin as I place the white cylinder between my lips. I release another heavy, tobacco-laden breath so close to your lips and nose that you may as well be smoking this cigarette yourself. The subtle lip-prints left on the end of the filter are black; a shadow of where my dark lipstick has clung to the pale paper.

You are mesmerized. You could never convince me that you were anything else at that particular moment. Your eyelids flutter weakly, and I scoff softly, forcing more smoke up from my lungs and down into yours.

"What are you waiting for? Get rid of those fucking clothes. If you think I'm going to let you waste my time, you're sadly mistaken."

Nodding meekly, you peel your clothing off, turning your back to me as you do so. You spin around quickly, however, upon the loud snap that is released as I adjust a white latex surgical glove over my right hand. A slight smile puckers on your lips, as it does on mine, but I immediately catch myself.

"Keep going, don't look at me."

You barely finish undressing before you hear my footsteps approaching you at a ferocious speed. Before you can catch a glimpse of my actions, I shove you face first down onto the grungy bed; the air forced out of your lungs as you collide with the firm mattress. I laugh loudly at your surprise, climbing up onto the bed behind you, strattling your backside sloppily and mashing your face into the filthy pillow with a strong and confident hand.

Naturally, your arms move to attempt to lift your face out of the fabric to catch your breath. Still holding my hand fast against the back of your head, I grab your left wrist with my available palm, restricting your motion. I lean forward and release more smoke into your face again. Your first air after the impact is itchy with the stench.

"What do you think, you little slut?" I whisper, "You think I'm going to let you move? You don't have any power here- only I do. Now don't be a bitch and give me any trouble. Just do what I want you to and I won't hurt you too badly, ok?" I can feel your head nod in resigned understanding. I cannot help but feel like this is going to be a lovely evening after all.

I lessen the pressure of my hold for a moment as I lean down over the edge of the bed, fumbling for the roll of plastic wrap I had seen peeking out from under the bed when I first arrived. My fingers grasp it and as I sit back up you can feel the rough grade of my stockings chafing your flanks. I lean down toward your ear again, pressing my upper body down onto your bare back. The fabric of my shirt is coarse, and you can feel the stiff presence of a corset through the thin top. I hear you release a soft whimper.

"I've been thinking about this for a long time, you know," I say softly. "You, me... this," I run my hands down the roll. The plastic squeals loudly; impatiently; longingly. You cringe slightly at the sound, and I can feel your heart beating between my knees. "I know you have too, haven't you?"

For whatever reason, you do not respond. Perhaps it is too much for you; perhaps you are afraid of me. I could care less about your logic behind not responding, and wait for a mere moment before angrily mashing your face into the pillow once again. I release you, removing my hand from the back of your head to the front of your neck, grasping the taut flesh beneath your chin and forcing your head up and toward my chest. I can only assume that such a position is extremely uncomfortable- your spine bent at such a strange angle and your throat smashed against my palm.

"Don't fuck with me with little quiet spells, you piece of shit," I hiss, releasing my grip quickly and allowing your face to fall once more, again taking your breath away. I dig my nails into your left shoulder and begin to pull at you, rolling you onto your back. The skin breaks under my long, claw-like nails, and I can see you grimace as you lay flat beneath me. When you open your eyes, you are greeted by my cruel smile- dark lipstick framing white teeth, black eye shadow lining cold blue eyes.

I allow you to catch your breath for a moment; your chest rising and falling rapidly, a vein in your neck bulging and pulsing subtly. I chuckle softly and lean over the edge of the bed again, snuffing my cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table. I sit back up with the pack in my hand, pull another out and toss the box onto the table. Lighting the stick with gloved hands, I speak calmly.

"You'd better get all the air you can now, sweetie. You're about to be in a whole world of hurt."

And with that, I toss the lighter in a random direction and grasp your throat once more, using my entire body weight to constrict your air flow- my fingers encased in latex, the sterile smell creeping into your nostrils as they flare, searching frantically for air.

I watch you with amused eyes and a crooked smile, cigarette pursed between midnight lips, smoke billowing out of my nostrils systematically. Your lips, too, are pursed shut, and I know that you will keep them as such for as long as you can, purposely depriving yourself of air until the temptation of an open-mouthed gasp will finally be too strong.

Calmly I watch your face as said temptation grows exponentially. Balling up the plastic wrap with my free hand; watching and waiting, knowing it will only be a moment more. The pink hue to your face slowly becomes a red, and then, as the slightest hint of purplish-green begins to show itself on your face, your expression splits and your mouth blows open like a wind tunnel, sucking in as much oxygen as is readily available. Your lungs fill greedily for a split second- about the time of half a breath- before I fill your mouth with a fist-sized wad of the synthetic material.

The plastic sticks to your tongue and the backs of your teeth as I push it as deep into your oral cavity as is physically possible for you. I move quickly, pulling crudely at your lips, attempting to shut them over your over-stuffed mouth before slapping a strap of duct tape over your discolored and dry skin. I add two more straps to the pile, covering your mouth generously.

I observe you as I do all this, and laugh boisterously at your expression.

"You'd better breathe through your nose while you can, dumb-shit! I'm about to cover that too!"

Your nostrils flare helplessly for as long as they can before I tightly secure a strap of tape over your nose as well. I roughly examine my handiwork by tugging and pulling at the tape on your face, checking quickly to make sure no air can seep through the creases of the tape.

"Look at you!" I laugh again, reaching for the plastic wrap and unraveling a little more. "You're all pink! You look so stupid; I wish you could see yourself right now! You're such a whore!"

Continuing to laugh hysterically, I begin to tightly encircle your throbbing head with plastic, smashing your nose down, constricting every muscle in your face. After three layers or so of the wrap, I tear it off from the roll and begin to unroll another dose of duct tape around your straining neck.

"You know what's funny? Here I have all the air I want, and I'm not even breathing it! I'm smoking instead; wasting my precious air. Doesn't that just make you so mad?"

I roll the tape around your neck twice, knowing that my masterpiece is now complete: sealed and airtight. I lean back and admire my work proudly as you squirm and jerk around beneath me. Occasionally I can feel the presence of your engorged cock, pressing upwards against the insides of my thighs, but I refuse to touch any inch of you while you are like this.

Instead I simply sit back, an arm folded across my chest, taking casual drags from my smoldering cigarette and laughing hysterically as your body jerks more and fore furiously.

I slide off the bed and stand beside it, looking down on you with an amused and taunting expression on my face.

"I can breathe, and you can't!" I sing playfully over and over again, leaning over only to blow smoke at your distorted features through the bizarre encasement you are wearing.

"You can't possibly stay like that for much longer," I say, chuckling cruelly, stretching my leg out, up and over the bed and jabbing you in the side with the jagged point of my pencil-thin heel. "I can't imagine you can take much more before you black out."

I retract my leg and reach down, smacking you across your swollen, sweaty, plastic cheeks. "That's what you'll do, isn't it? You'll black out like a pussy, without even getting off because I won't touch you and I won't let you touch yourself! You'd love it if I touched you, wouldn't you? You don't need air; you need me to touch you. Or is it the other way around? Oh well, I don't suppose we'll ever know because you can't very well talk while you're all wrapped up like that, now can we?"

I know you have refrained from touching my work for as long as you can stand, but it is only natural for your fingers to wander up to your neck sooner or later. Such an action implies that it is time for you to breathe, and I cannot keep myself from laughing almost to the brink of tears as I watch you panic and struggle to set yourself free.

After what must have felt like ages for you, you are free and you lay very still- save the relieved rising and falling of your chest. Your eyes are closed; your mouth is agape, your expression is pained and relieved all at once, your face is discolored and slightly swollen... and I can honestly say that I have never seen anyone look sexier than you do right now...