© 2015
What might have been a self-serving, long-winded & unnecessary preface has been beheaded by the lesbian executioner, Jihad Jane. (I suppose even Terrorists are capable of humane actions now & again.)
These characters are fictions of my mind & dwell therein exclusively. Their ages are irrelevant. (Yeah, they were over eighteen & "No means No", but in this telling all they said was a resounding "Yes!")
This story was written in front of a live studio audience of wildly masturbating naked men & women. Strip off your clothes & join in the fun; stroke yourself off or the person nearest you, it's all good in my aroused horny world.
What I know about bdsm could be written on the head of a pin with a Sharpie; the emotional nuances are rich & complex & I am just a neophyte. A reader asked me to write this story. She gave me her name, a partial outline & asked me to submit it as a birthday present for her girlfriend. Thank you, Dana. I hope you enjoy it. (Happy birthday, Esther. You're a lucky woman to be so deeply cherished.)
There's a goto statement within a subroutine in the structure of this story. It's a silly geeky little literary device, not a redundant mistake. I thought it clever, you may not. Sorry. Humor isn't that different from falling in love; sometimes it's hilarious, sometimes it breaks your heart. There's no Comedy Police yet, thank goodness, or I'd probably be in prison for life. (Like most dykes, I like tongue-in-cheek humor the best.)
The quotes are lyrics of songs from "Tommy", Pete Townshend's brilliant rock opera & fourth studio album by "The Who".
Dyslexia
She laughed at me, her lush chiseled lips turning into a sneer. "Did you really think I cared?"
She stepped closer, taunting, scoffed at me. "Really, Dana. What were you thinking?" She moved even closer, her face hovering above my trembling lips and shocked eyes. She slapped me again. Hard. I felt the heat of it and my cheeks throbbed, gasping and twitching from the unexpected searing sharp pain.
"You are pathetic." She shook her head in disgust as she leered at me, pulling back, jutting her hips to the side. Her ass flexed and rippled as she turned away. I dropped my eyes meekly to the floor, sobbing quietly. Her footsteps paused at the door. "How could you ever have thought I cared about you?"
The question hung, suspended in the air for a moment, and the door slammed.
Total silence.
She was gone.
First
part
:
"He plays by intuition, The digit counters fall. That deaf dumb and blind kid, Sure plays a mean pin ball!"
I struggled against the bonds at my wrists but even with their soft cotton textures, they held firm and I could only wriggle against them helplessly. I pulled my knees to my chest and cried. I squirmed at my hands secured behind my back. Damnit, I can't even hug myself! I groaned in frustration as tears spilled down my face. Against the reddened welts from her slaps, the tears bit my cheeks, painfully crawling down my face, cold and trickling down my throat. The tracks of my tears were salty against my lips and I flung my head about. Hopeless with despair, I slid to the floor, trembling, the tears and sobs wrecking through my chest.
Part of me struggled to hear. But other than my own plaintive sobs, there was silence.
My heart was breaking. I shuddered, resisting the helplessness, not wanting to believe she'd leave me. No, I assured myself, she wouldn't tie me up and then just disappear.
Comforted, I calmed myself a bit, and gave in to waiting, counting the precious seconds as if they were golden. Why was it so important to think of time? Still, I counted and counted, devoting myself solely to the task of measuring my time, as if it alone held the key to my freedom.
Yeah, yeah, it could've only been minutes or hours or days. But the stark truth is I do not know. Groggy and disoriented I wake to darkness still present once more, laid bound where I have fallen.
I latch on to the fleeting thought and picture a map of my apartment. I quietly reach out, my awareness crawls to the bedroom door but I hear nothing. Quietly edging into the hallway, struggling to hear. Nothing. I think of the front door and my thoughts fly there. I think of the deadbolt, trying to determine if it is locked from within but I can't remember hearing the latch snap into place.
My tummy grumbles and I welcome the sudden reminder of hunger, as if it alone can assure me that enough time has passed for her to return, that she'll have a change of heart and come back to me; she always has in the past, I think.
Second part:
"He ain't got no distractions, Can't hear those buzzers and bells, Don't see lights a flashin', Plays by sense of smell..."
I draw in short breaths, shuddering, afraid of my helplessness and vulnerability. I have no close friends and no meaningful obligations. I could die here and no one would miss me for months. I shiver at the thought of perishing in total obscurity. I wanted to mean something, make my mark in the world, but I wasn't important. I was born a cog. Without doubt an extremely attractive cog, but still not significant enough to even be a sprocket.
I whimpered and gave in to tears once more.
I trembled and sobbed quietly.
Hopelessness was embraced by sweet numbing sleep and I found peace for a while in a dreamless slumber but woke all too soon, into darkness and silence.
I needed to pee, the urgency gripped me and I strained at the primal vehemence, forcing back against the heated urgency pushing to dribble out. I would not wet myself, not piss myself. I fought for control and relished the small victory which was soon overthrown by grumbles and pangs of hunger. My stomach gritted and ached and I salivated, drooled, and tasted the desperation of my appetite.
I writhed to my knees, crawling by rote for the bathroom, found the toilet and struggled to sit. The warm piss burned my urethra and I spasm involuntarily, the piss aching within me, urging, pushing for a way out. Finally relaxing I sobbed at the pain and pleasure. The hot pungent piss flowed from me, I relished the comfort of its sounds and the feel of the spray against my ass and the backs of my thighs. I moaned and struggled against my hands bound behind me and shook as another pang of hunger thrashed through me. I sobbed and slid to the floor, piss still dribbling from me and crawled to the shower, screaming when the icy tiles scraped my skin.
I thought of the kitchen and cursed my stupidity, realizing I could free my hands, just needed a knife or kitchen shears and scrambled for my knees and made my way through the bedroom. I missed the stair and tumbled from the loft, crashing to the floor below, my head bounced against the hardwood floor, stunning me, numbing me, but still I struggled towards the kitchen.
Her laughter cut through me like knives.
Terrified, I cringed and gasped as a slap singed my cheeks, and another.
"You pissed yourself! You are disgusting!" She laughed as she slapped me and kicked me to my back on the floor. She cackled and slapped my tits, and I gripped against her. She pinched my teats roughly, rolling my stiff nipples between her thumbs and fingers. "You're such a whore!" She snickered again. "Wet with your own piss and desperate as a 10 dollar hooker."
She reached behind her and flicked on the kitchen light, mocking me as I struggled against the blinding glare.
She stalked over me as I cringed on the floor, her long bare legs rippling with sinew and muscle. She lifted her skirt and tore her panties aside, straddled my torso, rubbing and tweaking her engorged pussy.
"Perhaps I'll free your hands, you whore of a dyke." She snickered and rubbed her pink hard nubbin glistening against prominent maroon red labia. She squatted slightly, spreading her knees and pulled her labia apart. "You want it, don't you, bitch?"
She laughed as I gasped, and watched her rubbing furiously. Her hard clit a blur between her fingers. She moved lower, her knees spread. I could smell the intense musks as her pussy came closer to my breasts. My nostrils flared as I sniffed her delicious odors. "What would you do if I freed your hands, whore?"
I trembled and swallowed my words, wanting to plead but not daring, fearing she'd hurt me if I spoke.
I saw the lust in her gaze and thrilled at being her fuck-toy even though she terrified me.
Her salty bitter pee sprayed my face and the force of it shocked me. It was warm and ripe and wetted my parched lips. I struggled against it but parted my lips and drank greedily, panting and licking my lips as I slurped her hot pee, grateful and revolted.
