"Tell me a story," she said, randomly. She was wearing small black cotton panties, a snug, white tank, and nothing else. Even though I generally preferred seeing her in black, the white tank tops showed off her contours better.
"What?" I was a little confused.
"Tell me a story," she repeated, never looking up from her inspection of my wound that was on its way to healing.
I was laying on the bed in my black boxer briefs, and she was sitting with her legs bent underneath her torso, on either sides of my shin. She was holding my underwear leg pushed up with one hand and delicately running a finger along the short line of the still-sensitive scab.
The mix of pleasure with a hint of pain, plus the sight of her in that position, excited me a little.
"What kind of story?"
"Doesn't matter."
I thought for a moment. I was actually pretty good at making up a decent story, off-the-cuff, but I always needed an established foundation.
"I need some criteria. Preferably three."
She traced circles around the small wound, continuing to stare at it as she thought.
"It's Good To Be In Love, by Frou Frou. The most beautiful woman in the world. Mud."
"Hmm." I pondered the song a moment in order to recall the lyrics, and then thought about the rest of the criteria. About thirty seconds later, I had something in mind.
"A man and a woman lived in a secluded cabin in the woods, but it was a very nice cabin; not a rustic one. One rainy night, the two were laying in bed, talking about nothing of great importance, when they heard a sound from outside. It was the crash of the metal garbage can near their back door."
She rubbed the scab with the tip of her nose a few times.
"Both of them got out of bed to go look, suspecting an animal, but they wanted to be sure, since the nearest neighbor was over a mile away. The man looked out the window, but saw nothing. He opened the back door and carefully stepped outside."
She repeatedly, slowly brushed along it with her lower lip.
"Suddenly the man was struck in the head by a wooden baseball bat and flew to the wet dirt near the doorway. The woman gasped at this surprise, but did not scream, as it was not in her nature to do so. She saw a trespasser in a raincoat step into view and quickly begin to repeatedly strike her fallen man."
She followed the rough line with the tip of her tongue.
"Without a thought, the woman rushed towards the attacker and slammed her shoulder into him as hard as she could, sending the both of them further out into the much muddier yard. They both hit the ground with a splat, but she quickly grabbed the dropped bat. Unfortunately the attacker knocked it from her hand and sent it flying away from both of them."
She kissed the wound softly a few times.
"The attacker shoved the woman into the mud and started to turn toward her unconscious partner, but she was quick to get up to keep the attention on herself. She charged, and was knocked away, but again she rose. A flash of lightning revealed the face of the attacker. He was someone they thought they had left far behind. He was obsessed with her. He wanted her for himself. He had even cut her face in an attempt to make certain no man would ever want her, leaving her with a scar from scalp to chin."
She pulled the leg of my boxer briefs into place and kissed the material. She kissed a bit further up.
"She charged him again, and again she was struck down; mud covering her even more with each fall. Because of her persistence, the attacker resorted to punching, but that did not stop her. He tried to kick, but she held his foot. The pain that wracked her meant nothing. The blood that she tasted meant nothing. She pulled backwards causing the attacker to loose balance and fall towards her."
