Wednesday, 23 April 2008

Shackled and whingeing

I don’t care if it hurts. Honey, I just don’t care.
You’re laughing at me now, I can feel it. Needles, sharp pins and wounding pincers… in your mind you’re dissecting me.
So I’m dissecting you.
When you saw me first. When you saw me three days ago - did you think I could be like this? Did you foresee the twist of the arm behind your back? The thick rope to tie your hands? The hand-prints I left on your stomach?
You’re grinding your teeth now, is it burning my dear? I’ve more to give you, so much more. Do you feel the valleys and chasms of your soul opening up, torn apart by tremors, fused again by magma?
I love you. I didn’t say that aloud.
“When I saw you, sweet mistress, and we came together; the emptiness, the desolation of mind, I felt it between us. We were kindred in our vacuum. So we loved for hours and then you punished me.” I’m singing this now. I’m singing our story like I’m Madonna. Like I’m a virgin.
And she’s singing too. Did I mark you, my dear? Are you singed? Tell me lightly, keep the melting fresh for me. Keep everything sallow.
But I hear the birds singing outside the window. And God’s light. His light it streams through where the masking tape is peeling from my windows. He gets everywhere. I can’t escape him and it makes me want to open my head and turn off the light. “For What Is Daylight? For What, For Which, For Whom?”
I remember the light when I was young. Transient, it would pass over me as I lay in bed. Grave, with fever. Grave and transient. Giving succour to the skin. Lending power, warmth to the blankets.
“When one knows sweat, one knows hell.” She laughed at that. Sweet angel, I think she’s perfect for me. She asks me to hurt her again. But what more can I do?
I bend over to kiss her lips. They glisten, salty and wretched-bitten. We enjoy the contact for a second and then we each slice down.
Ah! The sudden pinch, the blood on my vest makes me hard. There’s blood on her neck, soon on her breast, soon on her breast, soon.
“Delight me!” she screams. And we’ll do this until the warmth of the day fades away. She wants me to lie there now. She wants me to sweat for her, shackled and whingeing.
“I’ll shiver soon. I’ll quake.” I speak to her. I whisper into her dirty blonde hair as I untie her straining limbs. I move to embrace her. I’m ready again.
She chops-chops and her hand connects with windpipe and panic. I gasp for life on the soaking sheets as she binds me again. The rope burns my arms as much as my lungs are roasting.
With a roar that lifts my body clean from the bed I have filled with air and exhaled once more. I thought sensation may never again come. I can see again!
She is standing over me and she bares her nails. I’m so in love. Am in utter awe. Can’t believe have known her but three days. She is my everything and I pledge her my spirit.
Bring forth your slashing arm, Delia. Bring forth with Eros’ guidance.

7 comments:

Anonymous said...

well! [:)]

i loved the technique of putting things.. as you did, as a writer!

i wish it was a poem! [:)]

Aleta said...

.... and on the darker side....

Interesting but not one of my favorites. That said, you handled the nature of the material well.

Anonymous said...

This is for sure one of my favourites. It's darker than normal but very erotic. The more I read of yours, the more I wonder where all your stories come from, what is going on in your head. I think you have a great deal of talent.

Jaquanda Rae said...

Wapissshhhhhh! What a kinky story. I've never read this content in a short story before. Nice suspense and turn at the start.

Yeah man, give Floetry a listen. They're one of a kind.

Anonymous said...

Well, the old boy has talent. I'll say that much!

Of course, I sense a bit of rustiness in some of the technique. Something tells me this is not one of your best, but again, as I say every time, this is still good work.

I think just screwing with it and practice will get you where you want to be.

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Roxana said...

it's difficult to write good stories on this topic, but I liked it! there is somehow a hidden tension there, one is never sure if the writer is serious or making fun of his characters, the suspense comes more from the style than from what's happening, however dark and unexpected that may be. do you know "The story of O"? wondering whether you like it or not.