There was an urgency to her stumbling, as she tripped down the alley. Her heart beat in her ribcage, pounding against her lungs, and her breath came in short gasps.
He was the picture of calm. Inside he was just as worked up as she, but you would never know it to look at him. His steps echoed succinctly off the brick walls surrounding them on all sides as he followed her panicked fumbling.
She screamed out for help, and in the same moment knew it was futile. There was nobody around. He had cornered her in an abandoned section of the town. She was going to die.
Her eyes were wild as she turned around, back against a wall. Her fear and anxiety permeated the air and it sent a thrill up his spine. He was close. He would have her.
He closed in and her body acted before her mind had a chance to. She threw herself at him, tackling him around the waist and went down with him, kicking and scratching.
He'd never had anyone FIGHT BACK before. It was so surprising and off putting that he found himself on the dirty gravely ground with a small pile of spitting and hitting GIRL in his lap. He threw his arms over his face and curled into a ball, protecting his underbelly and lay still as he listened to her clopping feet grow quieter with distance.
She had gotten away. She could not stop running. She lost her shoes somewhere along they way. They were no good for the speed, anyway. She ran until her lungs burned with the effort, and still she ran.
He lay on the ground, staring up at the dimming sky, a thing only barely visible between the tops of the buildings. His breathing was no longer calm, his fists held tight to control the shaking. He really thought he'd had her. He was wrong. He got up jerkily, knowing he had to continue the fight. There was an urgency to his steps, as he pointed himself home.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
prompt: tache; buckled; galactico; reserved
They had sex once.
She had been yelling at him, about something he couldn't even remember. She was angry with him for ignoring her for so long. She wanted him to listen to her and pay attention to her. She was there to help him, and all he cared about was getting his fix. He lived and struggled to breath through every waking minute just to get that one moment of true satisfaction, and the more he didn't get it the less in this world he seemed.
She had been stomping her foot, and had tears frustration oozing out of her pores when suddenly he put his hand to her throat and shoved her hard against the wall. Her shrill complaints came to an immediate end and she stared at him with wide eyes, wary and reserved. The pressure squeezed at her pulse point and she was still; she knew she was in a dangerous situation.
And she liked it.
He leaned in closer to her, smelling the fear on her skin, and shivered. This little tache of his may be the end of their relationship. The promise of what he could do to her body exhilarated him, and once again he was so close to getting what he wanted. He stared into her eyes and she could see the raw hunger in them. Their desires were so minimally incompatible, but finally she had what she wanted-- All of his attention was on her. He rested his face in the crook of her shoulder, never once loosening his grip on her throat. He breathed in deeply and her knees buckled, forcing more pressure on her neck. She trembled in his grasp and she WANTED.
He wanted to rip her skin apart, wanted to dig his fingers into her flesh and pull her apart. To have this willing body at the end of his fingertips made his blood sing and he pressed his body against hers. His grip tightened and she gasped, hands flying up to hold limply to his wrists. She did not push away, but she struggled for breath against his body. It was impossible to hold back the soft whimpers that rushed out under his treatment of her body. It was beyond terrifying to be at the mercy of this glactico; she knew he would never hesitate to kill her and the danger excited her.
As had happened many times before, He was unable to bring himself to do more than loom threateningly above her. He wanted to rip her apart and play in her blood, but once again it felt wrong. Not her, not this body. He growled in frustration and shook in fury and slammed her against the wall once. He WANTED and he NEEDED and he HATED and he wanted to hurt her. He kicked her legs apart, and she was held up by his fingers around her throat alone. She trembled and shook as his nails dug into her flesh and he bit into her shoulder as his free hand undid the tie of her soft pajama bottoms. He bit her hard as he ripped away her clothing and she could feel herself crying but it was more of frustration and need than sadness. Her senses were heightened by the danger, her stomach quivered as she tried to breath while dealing with the onslaught of sensation. Her leg was lifted and he shoved into her and he squeezed her throat and he drove into her over and over again.
She never reached completion. Her head swam from the lack of oxygen reaching her brain, and her nerves tingled with every touch. He finally removed his hand from her throat, and the air came rushing back in, overwhelming her and threatening to maker her pass out. Pulling her up by her thighs for better access, he replaced his fingers with his mouth tearing at the column of flesh. He wanted to rip her throat out but he couldn't. Eventually his motions stuttered and stilled and he pulled out of her quaking body.
He dropped her; she hit her head on the wall and slumped down to crouch half-naked on the floor. They stared at each other for a few moments, his gaze blank and hers full of emotion. She felt dirty and used and her nerves still thrummed, heart still beat fast. She could still feel him inside of her and the physical evidence of his presence was quickly cooling and sliding down her thigh. He turned, straightening his clothes, and walked away from her and out of the house. The door slamming shut felt like it closed over her lungs in a very physical way, and she was left alone to deal with the aftermath of his impulse and spontaneity.
She had been yelling at him, about something he couldn't even remember. She was angry with him for ignoring her for so long. She wanted him to listen to her and pay attention to her. She was there to help him, and all he cared about was getting his fix. He lived and struggled to breath through every waking minute just to get that one moment of true satisfaction, and the more he didn't get it the less in this world he seemed.
She had been stomping her foot, and had tears frustration oozing out of her pores when suddenly he put his hand to her throat and shoved her hard against the wall. Her shrill complaints came to an immediate end and she stared at him with wide eyes, wary and reserved. The pressure squeezed at her pulse point and she was still; she knew she was in a dangerous situation.
And she liked it.
He leaned in closer to her, smelling the fear on her skin, and shivered. This little tache of his may be the end of their relationship. The promise of what he could do to her body exhilarated him, and once again he was so close to getting what he wanted. He stared into her eyes and she could see the raw hunger in them. Their desires were so minimally incompatible, but finally she had what she wanted-- All of his attention was on her. He rested his face in the crook of her shoulder, never once loosening his grip on her throat. He breathed in deeply and her knees buckled, forcing more pressure on her neck. She trembled in his grasp and she WANTED.
He wanted to rip her skin apart, wanted to dig his fingers into her flesh and pull her apart. To have this willing body at the end of his fingertips made his blood sing and he pressed his body against hers. His grip tightened and she gasped, hands flying up to hold limply to his wrists. She did not push away, but she struggled for breath against his body. It was impossible to hold back the soft whimpers that rushed out under his treatment of her body. It was beyond terrifying to be at the mercy of this glactico; she knew he would never hesitate to kill her and the danger excited her.
As had happened many times before, He was unable to bring himself to do more than loom threateningly above her. He wanted to rip her apart and play in her blood, but once again it felt wrong. Not her, not this body. He growled in frustration and shook in fury and slammed her against the wall once. He WANTED and he NEEDED and he HATED and he wanted to hurt her. He kicked her legs apart, and she was held up by his fingers around her throat alone. She trembled and shook as his nails dug into her flesh and he bit into her shoulder as his free hand undid the tie of her soft pajama bottoms. He bit her hard as he ripped away her clothing and she could feel herself crying but it was more of frustration and need than sadness. Her senses were heightened by the danger, her stomach quivered as she tried to breath while dealing with the onslaught of sensation. Her leg was lifted and he shoved into her and he squeezed her throat and he drove into her over and over again.
She never reached completion. Her head swam from the lack of oxygen reaching her brain, and her nerves tingled with every touch. He finally removed his hand from her throat, and the air came rushing back in, overwhelming her and threatening to maker her pass out. Pulling her up by her thighs for better access, he replaced his fingers with his mouth tearing at the column of flesh. He wanted to rip her throat out but he couldn't. Eventually his motions stuttered and stilled and he pulled out of her quaking body.
He dropped her; she hit her head on the wall and slumped down to crouch half-naked on the floor. They stared at each other for a few moments, his gaze blank and hers full of emotion. She felt dirty and used and her nerves still thrummed, heart still beat fast. She could still feel him inside of her and the physical evidence of his presence was quickly cooling and sliding down her thigh. He turned, straightening his clothes, and walked away from her and out of the house. The door slamming shut felt like it closed over her lungs in a very physical way, and she was left alone to deal with the aftermath of his impulse and spontaneity.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Satisfaction
Sometimes I get these feelings. No, 'feelings' isn't the right word... urge? That's not too strong, is it?
Sometimes I get these urges. I get the feeling nobody else really feels this way; I'm kind of alone in that respect... I mean, I like to think that I'm not some angsty little teenager, but I'm realizing more and more that nobody else hears these voices. These whispering little needles twisting themselves into my skin. There are never words, just pictures; a flash of a new scene overlaying on the one in front of me.
I'll be with my friends, I'll hug someone around their neck, my hand will travel across their throat from behind and suddenly BAM there's a knife in my hand, and there's blood running down their front. My muscles twitch with want, my fingers curl reflexively into claws, wanting to burrow into their flesh. I have to hold myself very still but the images burn themselves into my mind and I WANT. A few deep breaths let the impulse pass, but the desire is still there, thrumming through my veins.
Once I got hard think about these things. I was pressed up against a girl I hang out with at school... She thought it was for her. She was sort of right. It ended in an awkward fumbling and groping at her house after classes that day. It was my first time. I'll never understand all of that talk about sex being "precious" and it being special to give it away to someone; it was nothing but uncomfortable. The feelings would never compare to the ones I'd get just thinking about pushing my fingers through that crimson liquid as it flowed from the source. THAT was satisfaction.
Sometimes I get these urges. I get the feeling nobody else really feels this way; I'm kind of alone in that respect... I mean, I like to think that I'm not some angsty little teenager, but I'm realizing more and more that nobody else hears these voices. These whispering little needles twisting themselves into my skin. There are never words, just pictures; a flash of a new scene overlaying on the one in front of me.
I'll be with my friends, I'll hug someone around their neck, my hand will travel across their throat from behind and suddenly BAM there's a knife in my hand, and there's blood running down their front. My muscles twitch with want, my fingers curl reflexively into claws, wanting to burrow into their flesh. I have to hold myself very still but the images burn themselves into my mind and I WANT. A few deep breaths let the impulse pass, but the desire is still there, thrumming through my veins.
Once I got hard think about these things. I was pressed up against a girl I hang out with at school... She thought it was for her. She was sort of right. It ended in an awkward fumbling and groping at her house after classes that day. It was my first time. I'll never understand all of that talk about sex being "precious" and it being special to give it away to someone; it was nothing but uncomfortable. The feelings would never compare to the ones I'd get just thinking about pushing my fingers through that crimson liquid as it flowed from the source. THAT was satisfaction.
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