She

She stood in the doorway, tears refusing to remain restrained. Clothes refusing to remain bundled in her grasp. Her knees were wobbly and her eyes stung. The smell of anger hot in her room. It smelled like Polo. Her body leaned against the doorjamb. Her hands rose to her face as a sob racked her chest. She wanted to scream, sob, laugh and vomit all at the same time. He was gone. And, yet, he wasn't. He was still here. A presence that wouldn't leave her alone.

Her clothes fell to the floor in a soft shushing sound. Wripped to shreds. A pile of hatred and lust. She kicked at it with her heel and groaned. Her door swung shut, slamming her clothes out in the hall. A long breath escaped as she stood with her back to the door. Minutes, maybe hours went by. She could feel the cold eye of a pain of quicksilver glass behind her.
She leaned her head to the side resting her head on her bare shoulder. Her eyes looked down and the presence of a round, full, milky white breast met her gaze. Marred. A tear streaked down her cheek. Around her nipple a distinctive, recognizable mark. He had drawn blood. Scarred her this time. With his teeth. For the last time.

A throbbing pain, but it came from more than one place. She closed her eyes, squeezed them shut. And slowly turned. The eye of quicksilver fully upon her. Glaring. She opened her eyes, but they opened wider. Her mouth a perfect O. Her eyes stark against the dark red of blood. White. Emerald. Red.

No sound came. She couldn't scream, she couldn't even speak. Her right breast was the only place saved from a bite, blood or a bruise. She touched it for a moment. And another sob escaped. Her naked body looked like a battleground. Her once white garter and stockings, red.

Her strawberry hair was matted to her face and neck. So dark. She pulled the garter down and started to cry uncontrollably. Her stockings rolling down her legs. Her mind raced. She couldn't understand what was going on. She stumbled her way into the bathroom and began to fill her tub. The water steaming into her face.

[This message has been edited by Miral (edited May 18, 2000).]

I hope you plan to continue this. It sounds like the start of a good drama/thriller. And if you write it I will read it!

Really good, Miral. I'll read it if there's more to come. http://www.hostboard.com/ubb/smile.gif

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Branflakes, the ninja lesbian milk getter.
The one called "brain".
Should today be more like tomorrow?
Where is my strength, compared to yours?
"See that star...the one shining brighter than all the others? I know the girl who hung it there."

She watched the tub fill. Water that was clean, pure...innocent. She leaned over the tub and a drop of crimson splashed into the water. Fresh and bright and stark against the white porcelein. Diffusion or osmosis. She couldn't remember so she just watched that drop disappear.

She swirled her hand in the water and cringed as it turned red. She climbed in slowly. The water turning murky with blood. She popped the plug and let the water drain. She remained seated. Watching. Her hand was on the faucet before she realized what she was doing. She plugged the tub and it filled again. A rag appeared in her hand and a bar of soap.

She lathered the rag really good. The bar of soap only a sliver when she was done. As she washed heerself she savored the sting of the soap in her wounds. She was not dead. The pain told her that. Twice that night though, she had thought she was.

He had fucked her over this time, in every meaning of the word. Planted his seed. Beat her within death's reach. Stole from her. Her mind raced in time with the beat of her heart. She stopped washing herself and stepped out of the tub. Pale. Her wounds oozed. Still too fresh to stop bleeding. The image in the mirror was frightening. Her eyes wild and her lips quivering. She ripped the first aid kit from the wall. The contents skittered across the floor.

She dressed her wounds. The ones she could reach.

She hurried into her bedroom to dress herself. She dug through her underwear drawer. Too many thongs, too much lace. Cotton. She found a pair of white cotton panties and smiled. Almost laughed as she hurriedly tugged them on. When she had them on she felt a phantom hand tug on the crotch of them. She moaned and a sob escaped. He had punched her and when she came to he was undressing her. Ripping her clothes off. She had screamed. He had slapped her. She had stopped screaming.

Intriging Miral, look forward to more http://www.hostboard.com/ubb/smile.gif

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- "How do you know the chosen ones? No greater love hath a man than he lay down his life for his friend. Not for millions, not for glory, not for fame... for one person. In the dark. Where no one will ever know or see." - Sebastion, Babylon 5
- INDECISION is the key to FLEXIBILITY.

interesting for sure ...

the mel

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i dont suffer from insanity i enjoy every minute of it

do not fear your enemies . the worst they can do is kill you . do not fear friends . at worst they may betray you . fear those who do not care ; they neither kill nor betray but betrayal and murder exist because of thier silent consent .

I've finished the story, but I'm afraid to post the whole thing. I don't want to offend anyone if they think it's too graphic. And I don't want hostboard to get mad...what should I do?

Damn the torpedos!!!!!!! POST , POST POST!!!!!!

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Ski
Last of the Freelance Drinkers
Greatest sword fighter in Michigan
The man in the black Trans Am
Miral's Slave

I'll post it tonight

(flood control!! what the hell?) *sigh* I'm just too quick

Please post it, Miral. (and really, there's lots of graphic stuff out there, at least yours is good)

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Branflakes, the ninja lesbian milk getter.
The one called "brain" and "brainflakes" and....
"Please, kiss me before I die." - Francine, SIP

"Medical stuff below... Hope y're not squeamish. Having said that, it's not so bad. Nothing compared to "She Thinks..." ! "--Ersby

I'm tired of the silent majority. Silence equals death.

Damn, guess what I forgot to do!!?? Sorry guys...time is not on my side at the moment. I'll have to do it later.

Argh!!!! http://www.hostboard.com/ubb/biggrin.gif

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Ski
Last of the Freelance Drinkers
Greatest sword fighter in Michigan
The man in the black Trans Am
Miral's Slave

Good lord.....

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Ski
Last of the Freelance Drinkers
Greatest sword fighter in Michigan
The man in the black Trans Am
Miral's Slave

The memory was all too much and she sank to her knees. She felt helpless. Hopeless and lost. Her world was spinning out of control. He was gone, but he was here. She could feel him pinning her to the floor again. She could feel his knee between her legs. A pressure that wouldn't quit. She started to cry again. Her body curling up into a ball on the floor in her room. She had told him to stop, but his eyes burned and his hand found her mouth and pressed it. Shutting her up. His other hand exploring her folds, forcing her legs apart. She struggled and he didn't relent. Her screams muted by his hand. Her orgasm brought on by the other.

He looked into her eyes as she came. His face distorted by the idea of his power. Distorted from the pleasure that he had forced upon her. He pressed his mouth to her breast then. He sank his teeth into her flesh and she arched her back and his fingers were lost again.

She opened her eyes and found herself lying on the floor in her room. She stared at her ceiling. "No!" Her scream pierced the silence before she knew what happened. She remembered her hands finding his throat. And she remembered scooting out from under him and running, but he was faster. He caught her after ten paces and she was on her face at twelve. She was able to scream and she mad sure it pierced her own ears. That's when he gagged her with his tie and beat her. His hand, his belt, even his foot made contact. She cried and almost suffocated herself. All she could do was lay there. He kissed her softly. He licked her madly. He bit her harshly.

She stood in her room. She remembered grunts and moans. The forced pleasure between her legs. His hot breath on the back of her neck. He would say things to her while he fucked her. She remembered every word. She remembered every phrase. She cried the whole time. His tie wet with her tears. After a while he stopped and tenderly brushed the hair from her ear. He sucked her earlobe into his mouth. She became angry.He growled into her ear. She struggled. He bit her ear and slapped her. "Bitch!" His scream of rage was incredible. He held her hips harshly. She struggled to get away. He held her fast. She knew what was to come.

She went to her window and stared down at the park from her apartment. She hugged herself as her knees became wobbly from her memory. She could almost hear him struggling to say her name. She began to sob as she remembered his hands gripping her hips. And she remembered him tugging her onto him. And his voice. The phrase that scared her so much. "I'm going to butt-fuck you, bitch!" He grunted something else. Then his voice became frighteningly soft. "It's what you deserve."

She put her hands on her ears as she heard herself scream again. Felt herself being ripped apart. "No!! No NO NO!!" She held herself up by the sill, barely. Her knuckles were so white. Her nails dug into the wood. She remembered the strength it took to break free. And run again. This time success was hers. She ran as her hands reached for things. Items that she knew well.

She exited her bedroom. Her body shook as she stopped at the end of her hallway. Her living room was a shambles. Things broken, ripped and blood splattered. She remembered her mothers ashtray finding her hands. And that same item swinging around to find his jaw. The crunching sound was almost exhilirating. The look on his face was priceless. He fell to his knees and she kicked him. She threw the ashtray at his back and he fell forward. She remembered rushing around to find things. She wanted to hurt him the way he had hurt her. She wanted to fuck him over, too. He lay there broken, but amazingly alive and conscious. She straddled him then and grinned evilly. He screamed and cried and passed out when he orgasmed.

She stood in the doorway of the living room. His presence still there. She could hear his raspy breath. Blood had filled his lungs. She smiled now. Her eyes distant and uncaring. She found him behind the couch. "You little rat bastard. You had enough strength to crawl?!" He cried. And she knelt beside him. Her face became compassionate for a second and she walked away. She came back with clothes bundled in her arms. She threw them down, picked up a piece of broken glass. She straddled him again. The crotch of her white panties red with his blood. She closed her eyes tightly and began to slice. Her strokes were long and slow and he screamed. She stopped. She stood and took her panties off. He watched, his eyes wide. She put her hand between her legs and sat on his waist again, pinning his hands. She shoved her panties into his mouth gagging him this time. She found her piece of glass and slid the flat side of it across his jawline almost lovingly. She began to masturbate. He felt her hips rocking slowly. And he watched that piece of glass glide across his chest...laying it open.

"It's well we cannot hear the screams that we create in others' dreams."
- edward gorey

I wonder how many women and men have fantasized about the same sort of vengeance on their attackers?

Well, I cn say I'm one of those....wouldn't have wrote about it, heh

*speechless*

damn.

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Branflakes, the ninja lesbian milk getter.
The one called "brain" and "brainflakes" and....
Officially declared "cute".

"Hope y're not squeamish. Having said that, it's not so bad. Nothing compared to "She Thinks..." ! "--Ersby

Starkyld, scares old debate partner/dissection partner/project partner/quiz bowl co-captain/valordictorians.

I'm tired of the silent majority. Silence equals death.