[Cocky]

A slight disclaimer: I have to get rather inebriated to trot out something so self-indulgent, and as such my literary standards inevitably drop. Also this is kinda more femdom than anything else, but naturally our heroine isn't exactly a 5ft tall rickle-boned waif either.

I raped her with my eyes. She was the moon. She was lust. She was the sound
that wakes you, the breath you take before prayer, and the sigh you release
when you go limp.

My gaze fled from her's when she turned, Her short hair framed her, like
streaks of blonde silk it crowned her face, tousled, alive – a confident shock
of gold, like a natural tiara. Her eyes stung me. They cut to my soul, they
stole my will. Two bold, azure thieves, they took from me. And I could not of
been more thankful.

Her voice rolled over my ears, a passing spring wind that soothes the man in
the desert.

"What" she cooed

"What, is the password"

I mentally shook my head, She had the wrong man sure, I had no idea what she
meant, no idea why I had been dragged 2000 miles by boat and a company of
mercernaries, no idea why I had been brought into her spartan office, not one
clue why I had been bound to the wooden chair I now find myself upon, and why,
just why this collusion of lust, perfection and danger stood before me.

She drew herself to her full height then, and my eyes, unbidden by my mind
turned to watch.

She stood 6,1. She wore a knee length green greatcoat over her scarlet
business suit, like a cape. Her sinewy, firm arms gripped both a cigarette and
a shot glass in perfectly manicured, yet unpainted fingertips. I noted the
polished lines of her hips that seemed to sway even when still, Her shoulders
werewide, muscled, exposed by both the opening of her overcoat and her low cut
suit, and i saw a blemish, no, nothing could be described as an imperfection
upon her. I saw a mark. A burn, maybe two inches wide of discolouration that
ran from beneath her suit, up her neck and onto her cheek. A tiny movement
from that porcelain neck jolted me back from my musings, as a slight sound was
coaxed from her.

"Ahem."

"Well?"

What could I say? Should I lie? But what would be the point? I knew nothing,
and if I lied … just what would be the consequences? No one who can afford
to pay for a mercernary group and an entire building in this city would let me
get away for free. Besides, I wasn't sure if I wanted to be taken from her
just yet.

"I dont know"

My voice, hoarse from not talking in 4 days rattled from my mouth, and into
the air, where it seemed to shrink before her glare. No movement at all. Her
face still, and her mouth a rock. Taking a pack of smokes from tyhe inside of
her jacket she offered me one.

I didn't smoke. My mother died of lung cancer, and years of propaganda from my
school years screamed at me. I didnt care, I took the proffered cigarette from
her fingers. A lighter burst into flames in front of me. And sucking deep on
the flame, smoke filled my mouth.

"Last chance" She mouthed, opening a drawer at her rosewood desk.

I hesitated.

Whether she took that for admission of guilt I would never know. She picked up
a small, black, cut-off glove from the drawer and placing her cigarette in her
mouth, where it perched, its red light flickering, she pulled the smooth
leather over her fingers.

And the smoked curled to the heavens as she walked towards me, her lips
quivering, as if she enjoyed some private joke.

She smiled.

The first punch made my cigarette fly from my lips into the wooden wall, where
i watched it roll to the floor on its effort to make it back to me. At the
second my nose exploded. I watched gobbets of crimson fly up from me onto her
face as her jacket fell to the floor. The fourth hit me as I was falling
backwards from the third. I saw her rise up and out of my vision, and I saw
the mural on the ceiling of a kneeling man with a halo, Then I landed. Hard.
The wind knocked from me, I felt a dizzying rush of light batter against my
vision even with my eyes closed. I coughed, and a spattering of blood hit the
floor like paint from a brush.

I opened my eyes to see a boot heading towards me in slow motion. I saw her
face, her eyes sparkling, Ash fell from her cigarette as her teeth bit into
her lips. I felt the army-esque boot connect with my solar plexus. One second.
Two Second. Three… then the pain. Agony exploded from my gut, and I cried
out, I cried into the varnished floor. But the polished mahogany held no
saviour for me.

She stood over me. Each leg to one side of my body. Her face a pictureboard of
pure, ecstatic rage. A trickle of my blood dripped casually from her chin. I
realised i had come free from my binds to the chair. I squirmed away from her,
using my elbows to propel me backwards. But she dropped to her knees. Her legs
intertwined mine holding me, her calves pinching my waist, and I realised my
struggling would get me no where.

My Blood fell like rain from her chin to my face. i felt her hand reach behind
my neck, holding me still. Her fist arched backwards, her body a cruel homage
to the figure of Hercules on ancient greek statues before it fell. I saw
black. Then I saw red. I flowed in uneven streams over the ground. And again.
I felt myself claw hamfisted at the thread of consciousness, before i saw her
forehead descend, like a guillotine towards me.

The ecstatica of unconsciousness held me for a minuite, maybe two. Before once
again I found myself staring at the Mahogany floor. The swirling patterns it
made, peppered with blood, my blood, Jarring my eyes fully open once again. I
felt hot air upon my neck. My arms would not move, neither would my legs. I
heard a laugh. Seemingly far off, it bounced from the walls before it reported
back to me. Then I felt skin upon skin. Her face rubbed against my neck. Lust
wracked my body, arching my back, yet it moved not an inch. She ground my face
into the puddle of crimson I had made. And whispered into my ear

"Bleed for me"

The velvet blanket of her voice stopped my writhing, just as her lips touched
my neck. I felt no pain as her teeth touched my skin. No pain as a giggle
belieing her years muffled itself against me. Then I felt her. Her teeth
fought my skin. I felt it rip, I felt myself give way to her. And my neck was
filled with the dual warmth of my blood and her will.

She held me there. Her teeth straining against the tough fibres of my neck. I
heard before I felt, she overcame my bodies struggle. My skin parted fully.
And the sound of Me, myself at the most basic level, giving in to her, it
resounded upon my ears like a child tearing cotton. The trickle became a
stream.

And I felt her leave me, just before the world turned grey, and all was memory and sound.

[Author]

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