Levels of Control

Heather leaned one shoulder against the nearest metal wall. She could feel the ship's engine trembling through it...or was it her own? She should be worrying about where these Saudis were taking her, what they planned to do with her, and how she could escape; not whether she could work up the nerve to have sex with another woman, a total stranger who, she knew, ached for it as much as she did.

"God, Meagan, it's like...I'm so wide open inside," she said. "Everything tingles, like it wants...." She trailed off as her thoughts sent a surge of renewed desire and physical wetness through her. Even

thinking

about it affected her physically.

Meagan moved close and planted a soft kiss on Heather's shoulder. "I know, baby," she whispered. She took the undershirt's shoulder strap in her teeth and pulled it down Heather's arm. The fabric slid against her breast, stroking the tip and making her sigh. She couldn't wait for her nipple to be free of the garment's constant pressure.

Meagan tugged as hard as she could, though, but she couldn't quite expose Heather's nipple, which made Heather whimper. "God, they won't give us anything, will they?" she said, a whisper laced with a sob. She understood anew how thoroughly her captors knew how to torment her.

Meagan dropped to her knees and kissed the side of Heather's hip where the band of her panties should have been. Then she kissed the spot where her hip joined her thigh. It took a moment for Heather's fogged brain to realize where Meagan was going, and it hit her just as Meagan's tongue flicked through the damp curls and stroked the edge of her labia.

"No!"

she cried, and backed away into the corner. Her muscles were tight with the effort of resisting the feelings rocketing through her. Mere centimeters more, she thought, and that tongue would've found my clit, those lips could've closed around it and sucked the hard nub...

Meagan stayed on her knees, nipples straining against the material of her own sweat-soaked undershirt. "I'm sorry!" she gasped.

"You said it would kill me," Heather said.

"I don't know that," Meagan said. "I know it

can.

I know they gave

me

a fatal dose, because they made sure I knew it. But I don't truly know what they did to you."

Heather swallowed. She clenched and unclenched her fists at the realization. "Then I might be able to...." She couldn't decide on a word. Come? Climax? Have an orgasm?

Meagan's lips were swollen now, as her own desire raged unsated. "Maybe. And I'm willing to...help you."

"Why?"

Meagan laughed, but almost at once it turned into tears. "Because I have to do

something!

Before you got here, I tried humping the edge of the mattress, the toilet seat, anything that I could rub up against. I was ready to die if it means not

feeling

this way. And besides, if I'm going down on you, maybe...maybe I can forget my own cunt for awhile."

The raw word, one that Heather never used, made her vaginal muscles tremble with nearness.

Cunt.

Twat. Slash.

Pussy.

She felt all those words now, her existence reduced to awareness of the untouchable organ between her legs. She couldn't even

see

it past the swollen globes of her aching breasts, her nipples like little rocks beneath the claustrophobic fabric. God

damn

these men for doing this to her! "I don't want to die," she whispered.

"Maybe you won't," Meagan said as she awkwardly got to her feet. She walked close, their breasts just brushing each other. "But believe me, it's better than feeling what I feel right now. You're looking at your future, Heather, by this time tomorrow."

Heather looked up into the older woman's drawn expression, lust-puffy lips and sweaty face. Agony gleamed in her eyes like a fever. For the first time Heather also noticed the dried blood on the older woman's wrists, where she'd struggled to free herself, or to simply get her hands within reach of her neediest parts.

Meagan bent to Heather and kissed her again. Heather whimpered, clamping her thighs together against the surge of new juices. But there was no stopping it, and when Meagan kissed the hollow of her throat, she sobbed. Then, when Meagan's mouth closed on one nipple through the fabric, she screamed.

She did not recall going to the bed, or falling on it, but somehow she was on her back, spine arched to keep the weight off her wrists, thighs spread wantonly wide. Meagan knelt at the foot of the bed, staring hungrily at the younger woman's swollen, dripping labia. Heather looked between the tiny peaks of her nipples, and saw Meagan bend to press her face against to the soft damp curls. She remembered watching her boyfriends in this same position, never imagining she could endure another woman doing it. Now, though, the gender of her lover was immaterial, just the thought that soon she would

come, orgasm, climax, finish,

reach the completion that she needed more than air.

It took only one swipe of Meagan's tongue across her swollen, button-hard clit. She felt a rush of tingling sweep over her, and then a sudden flash of pain and immobility as her overheated body sent a fatal surge of endorphins into her system. Her last sensations were the second flick of the other woman's tongue on her hypersensitive clitoris and the sound of her own death scream ringing off the metal walls.

***

Heather's nude body was found washed up on the beach south of the docks. The cause of death was never determined with certainty.

THE END