This flat I'm in, today, is mine. This morning, finally, I dared. All of the bits, all that I've learned. Watched. Seen in others. Wondered.
The woman in the grand's worth of designer clothes is sitting in my own little haven. Where people take their shoes off at the door. Her shoes are not off. Neither are her mate's. I'm still naked in front of them, in my shackles. They understand how hard it is for me, but they need it to be.
I'm on my own floor. Way too few rugs for this. There's no cum on it, but there will be. It's just shiny, and clean, and lovingly varnished. Joined the other one, though, and lost its virginity. It happened the moment I opened the door, cautious, but invited them in... No, actually. The first time that Jag ever turned up, visiting, and I passed her on the stairs. That's when it really happened. She looked, and she knew. Until she knocked, though, I never knew she was coming. But she knew I would be.
The mate. What is she, actually? Half bitch, half minder? She gets up, goes over to my dresser. My woven Persian mat absorbs her harsh, echoey footsteps, for some of the journey. But not for much of it. I wish she wouldn't.
Maybe some final lies.
She watches me, as she fingers my special ornaments. Fuck, she's good. She's getting warmer. Getting warmer. She picks on that shepherdess. Takes it in her hand. Brings it over towards the devil, in Prada? I know exactly what she is going to do. I watch it fall, slow motion. All the little bits, flying everywhere, after it hits the polished pine. She turns, to see how that was for me. A shard crunches under her foot. She spots some other stray pieces, kicks them bit by bit back towards where most of it still is. I want to cry forever.
She yanks on my invisible chains. I crawl towards the smashed remains, in their collective little area. My untended flock. She looks at me, telling me, without words. I roll over, like a dog. More shards crunch, and something's cutting into my back. Prada woman stands, and her pretty mean assistant takes her hand. Prada woman steps up. Oh, God, that hurts. From front and back. But somehow I know I have to be quiet. If I get this wrong, she'll piss all over me. And leave.
Good girl. She says. And kicks them off. Well, not exactly kicks. Like I was just some ordinary carpet, digging her heels into my skin to stop them moving, as she pulls each foot out. They drop off me. She presses her bare foot to my lips. I kiss, like I've never kissed before. One day, maybe I'll be her. But not today.
Her jacket is off. The trousers fall. Onto me, and then off. Then she's off me, too. The chains are just tissue. But they are so, so strong.
Roll over, she says. With just a touch of her toes. And then back. She's naked, now. She's lying, where I was lying before. On those little, sharp.... they cut me, and now they are bound to be cutting her.
I'm on my knees, crawling to her feet. I know I have to start at her feet. The other bitch is back in a chair. Another one, on a phone. Seen it all before.
I start to kiss, and she kicks out at me. I can taste blood. More blood. I try again. She does it again, harder. Maybe I'm getting this wrong.
But I know I'm not. Third time, fourth time, the same. Except harder. Five, and I'm allowed.
I kiss, and I lick, and I like. From her toes, up her shins. Every inch, careful, worship. All the way to Eden. She is so, so ready. I take my first taster. Something sharp in my back. I thought it was her nails, but I realise it isn't. Some piece of porcelain. My shepherdess. Between her fingers and thumb.
She's carving her pleasure into my back. I'm ready too, now. More than ready. I work her harder, and the pain is more. Tiny circles... it feels like.
Somehow, I know this will be my only ever time with her. Because when she's finished they'll be nothing left.
No pride. No skin. Just pain. Immeasurable pain. Pouring out, between our legs.
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