There is honey and hot sauce in her desert sunset gaze, hot ocean orange and sinking, drifting, modest. A sweet dish at the end of a meal, like caramel down Zen’s throat, her legs open and pressing into his face and twisting on the floorboards. Her hips, his hands cannot hold still.
The radiator could keep Apocrypha in one place, he surmised. His thoughts are of clever ways to convince her into his apartment. What if the neighbors hear? Oh well. So what if another angel falls from Heaven? It’s true she isn’t hurt enough; he heard her say it, she said it to him. Doe she say it to anyone who will listen?
She’s looking for a cutter to do a little bloodletting with.
That’s enough to assuage any lingering guilt, and it’s enough for him right now to think of her helpless, hanging over his lap, struggling to shield her ass from his hand as he mercilessly spanks her. It’s enough to dream of chaining her blue veined wrists to the radiator.
Those burning eyes.
Those batting eyelashes in the sun, her hand shielding her face as she turned to him at the bus stop. On this side of town where drama goes unnoticed, it was so easy to take her elbow and turn her thoughts to a different way of spending the afternoon; chained to the radiator, naked.
What Whore doesn’t want to be dominated? And what Madonna?
These days, what backyard party doesn’t include sodomy at evening’s end?
Stroking her hair, like silk threads, his fingers glided through this testament to a beautiful life. Pink, flushed cheeks, she opened her eyes slowly to find her nipple being pinched and twisted, his other hand creeping between her legs. She wanted to get away. She started to ask why. It was easy to laugh at her for that. Apocrypha knew Zen, and it was so amusing now when she tested him, whimpering and begging to be let free, making a show of testing the strength of the chains. In the end it amounted to a valiant attempt on her part to not press her hips into his fingers that pushed at the opening of her free will.
He stayed unaware of her discomfort or of the red welts rising on her wrists against the unforgiving chains.
“Apocrypha,” into her neck, sighing.
He would leave her unsatisfied.
* * *