Originally posted by Genosha
I ain't sayin' there's anything wrong with anything man. 😄 But I strt putin that crap to paper and things could get ugly.Look, I just mean this is a mixed crowd and I should mind my Ps & Qs...and make sure my L converter isn't interfering with the Satalite again....Don't ask.
don't worry, i won't... 😛
Originally posted by Silke
Awww .. come on, Genosha .. toe the line some more .. 😉 That Gambit paragraph was really cool and sizzling hot *chuckles*
Not graphic, but...unambiguous. So...forewarned, yeah?
"How much further?"
"Far." But you've been at it all day. You might as well give them a break. "Take a load off. I'll let you know when I'm ready."
They sit. They rest. They eat. And you lean back against the trunk of a tree in the shade. You don't know what kind of tree it is and you don't care. You're watching her. You can because, for once, she's not looking at you.
Yeah, there's the long slender legs, graceful arms and full breasts. All of that skin, a pale purple that's too exquisite to have been created in this f'd up mess that calls it's self a world. But, it's her eyes that grab you every time. They might seem empty at a glance, but when you look closer, when you can stand to, they're not. Those eyes are full to the top with hope and trust and love that somehow hasn't been beaten out of her yet. Her every thought and feeling broadcasts in those eyes because she still doesn't know how to conceal or deceive and will probably never get a chance to learn.
You catch the other one out of the corner of your eye, the leash dangling because it's safe here. You're an animal and a brute, but you're not stupid. You see what they are. Your faithful dog and your faithful b__. The dark leather would stand out sharply against the her pale, slender neck. Those fragile wrists and ankles would wear chains like jewels. But she doesn't need a leash. You wouldn't have to chain her. All you'd have to do is say...
"C'mere Clarice." And she would. She'd stand in front of you waiting for you to tell her what you want. "On your knees Clarice." And she'd obey, because she doesn't know how to do anything else. She'd look up at you, big white eyes telling you she trusts you. "Open your mouth Clarice." Questions might filler eyes then, but all you'd have to do is gently brush her cheek and tell her, "I need this," and she would open herself to you.
You close your eyes and rest your head against the tree, letting your mind go where your body wants to. It would be so easy. And it would feel so good to have all of that innocence wrapped around you; to bury yourself in something so perfect and pure that you're blind to the ugliness all around you for a little while.
And you could be her first. Sure, others had used her body; she was born in the pens. But you would be the first that she gave herself to freely, the first she loved.
And even though she's so small, your hand is almost as big as her head, and seems so delicate, you wouldn't have to be gentle. You could be what you are. You could let the animal out. Because even at your most brutal, you can't match half of what she's already been though.
It would be easy, but you'd be a monster to take that innocence for yourself. You'd only have to walk two steps to find a man who deserved it more. You remember the other one. Ok three. You pound the thoughts down into the pit of your stomach where digestion can send them where they belong, and get yourself ready to be the protector, the father.
"Sir?" You hear the questioning lilt in her voice, it's a voice with music in it. Each word so perfectly formed that it dances along your outer ear before sinking into your brain. You could hear that voice chanting your name, all you'd have to do is ask.
You open your eyes, knowing you shouldn't, knowing you're not ready, knowing what you'll see. You're not disappointed. She stands head tilted in way that she thinks is questioning, but exposes her throat to you. Her hands are behind her back because she doesn't know what to do with them, but it thrusts her breasts forward as if in offering. You could show her what to do with those slim fingered hands. You know what they're for.
But really it's the eyes. It's always the eyes. Looking at you with concern. She knows you need something. She wants to give it to you, if you just tell her... You shouldn't. You let her think of you as a father....
F_ it. None of you are gonna survive long enough for it to matter anyway.
"C'mere Clarice."
"Yes Mr. Creed?"
...