AGAIN
A short story by Patience Bryce
Copyright July 1998
Warning: Adult content. Sex and violence.

He slammed the door on his way out . Again.
How many times has this scenario been played out?
She sank to the floor in tears. Again.

She sobbed until there were no more tears left. Before long she
realized it the sun had set and the room was growing dark as she
lay on the floor staring at the ceiling. Her mind whirling,
thinking, yet trying not to think.  It was another stupid
argument. Always. No sense to it. The thought came to her
unbidden...he had goaded her into the fight, he knows her
weakness, exploited it and watched her explode in expected anger,
then walked off in a huff.  It was Friday. Again.

Quickly she blocked the reality of the thought and got up, making
her way upstairs.  A long hot shower would help.  Stop at the
bedroom.  Turn the music up loud enough to block out the ability
to think. A long shower, sleep.  She wakes up to a bright day and
goes through the motions of living.  Auto pilot. Again.
Sunday night the phone rings. Only 3 rings and she can't stop
herself from answering, hoping, knowing it's him. Again.

Listening to his smooth cajoling voice telling her how he has
missed her these days, how he wants her, telling her how they are
meant to be as one.  Finally she feels herself breathing once
more as she acquiescence to coming to his place, disregarding the
late hour, that she has work in the morning.  He's called her
back. To him. Again.

She is alive.

On the drive over she replays his words in her mind. Smiles.
Never realizing that not once had he apologized or admitted any
of his part in their temporary separation.

He opens the door and draws her quickly to him, his lips on hers,
parting her lips, pushing his tongue into her mouth as he presses
the length of him against her.  His hardness felt against her.
Again.

He pushes the door shut behind them.  Taking her hand he guides
it to his crotch as he breaks the kiss...murmuring how much *we*
both missed you. She rubs her hand over his hardness as he opens
his pants. *Come on baby I need to feel your mouth on me.*  With
an insistent hand on her shoulder he compels her to drop to her
knees.  Her hot mouth obediently engulfs his throbbing cock.  He
moans.  She glances up to see him , head bent slightly back, eyes
closed.  An unfamiliar feeling overwhelms her and suddenly his
eyes are on her...*Whoa baby, easy now, we don't want to hurt
him. I know you missed him but there's plenty for you.*  He pulls
her off him by her hair and reaches down for her hand, helping
her up from her knees.   Silently he leads her to his bedroom. 
As he undresses, it hasn't occurred to him that she hasn't spoken
a word.   After watching him strip, she undresses herself. Naked,
she walks to his dresser and sees that he has prepared for one of
his kinkier nights.  Lightly, thoughtfully, she fingers the mass
of clothesline.  Walking up behind her, he reaches around and
caresses her nipples, then pinches the right one. Hard. She gasps
and utters a no....catching him by surprise.  It's...she
stammers...it's close to my menses and it's too sensitive.  By
the shoulders, he slowly turns her towards him and kisses her, as
he gently rubs his palms over her breasts.

Pulling her towards the bed. Again.

He lies back, explaining that he wants to feel her on top of him,
to feel her ride him.  She starts to move onto the bed with him,
watching his erection bob slightly.  Looking back to the dresser,
and the layers of rope, a new idea pops into her head and she
gets back up and retrieves the clothesline. Turning to him, rope
dangling from her fingers she gives him a sheepish smile and
murmurs...*let me tie you up this time.*  Smiling back at her he
agrees, knowing that once tapped into her ...wild side...she was
one of the hottest fucks he had ever experienced.

Quickly, almost like a person who has done this before, she tied
each wrist together, pulled them above his head and tied them to
the headboard. Wrapping layers around each ankle-tightly-she then
pulled each foot out ward, bringing the length of rope around
each corresponding bed leg.  Then she wrapped and tied another
piece of rope around his right knee and pulled it outward, tossed
the rope beneath the bed and wrapping/tying that end around his
left knee.  She pulled it tight, splaying his legs wide. He
winced.  She smiled in satisfaction as she checked the knots. She
smiled at him.  His cock was still hard.  Leaning over his body
she kissed his cock.  She flicked her tongue over it.  She kissed
his balls.

He groaned.

Her smile faltered when she looked up at him to discover his eyes
closed.  Not watching her. Again.
She grabbed the leather blindfold off the dresser and placed it
over his eyes.  Climbing astride him, laying over him, her
breasts crushed against his chest, she kisses him.  He sighs
heavily into her mouth, his erect cock brushing against her
thigh.  She sits back, ready to impale herself on him, when
something under one of the dressers catches her eye.  She moves
off him and kneels on the floor to retrieve the glimmering
object. An earring. Not hers. It wasn't there last week when she
helped him rearrange his bedroom.  She held the earring in her
palm as he asked her what she was doing.  She ignored him. Well,
not really intentionally ignored him,  The blood was rushing
through her veins...pounding through her ears.  She got on her
knees and peered under the other dresser, under the bed, under
the nightstand.  Reaching under the nightstand she pulled out a
small pair of women's pink bikini panties.  Not hers. Examining
them, sniffing them, no mistake that these were very recently
worn by an aroused female.  With the item in hand, she stood back
up.  Reaching for the stereo she upped the volume, she upped the
bass...letting the thumping rock music match her own pounding
blood.

Standing by the bed she observed him, squirming in his tight
bonds.  As he opened his mouth to call out to her again, she
stuffed the panties into his mouth.

Opening and closing drawers she searches for more evidence.  She
finds letters, cute cards, condoms...but when she finds the video
tape she stops.  She places the video tape into the bedrooms VCR.
 In living color.  Saturdays date on the lower right hand corner
of the  screen. She didn't recognize the woman with him.
Making her way back to him, she touches him, strokes his cock
back to it's erect state as she watches him on the TV. Him and
her. Fucking. Fucking in this bed.  Suddenly she  feels a warmth
in her left hand as she strokes him with her right.  Slowly she
opens the clenched hand and sees a droplet of blood where the
earring poke through her layers of skin.  Laying the earring on
his chest she rubs the blood onto him.
Playing and pulling on his left nipple she feels a lightheaded
pleasure to watch and feel it harden for her.  Climbing back onto
him she straddles him. Feels his hard cock against her cunt.  She
impales herself, just as his likeness on TV impales the other
woman.  Over the loud, jarring, rock music she could only see the
woman's mouth open, but obviously moaning.  Picking up the
offensive earring she pokes the wire backing at his nipple.
Again. And again. She pulls the hard nub up and pokes at the
softer skin beneath it.  Pushing , twisting it, into his flesh, a
small dot of blood appears.  His body tense and tight beneath
her.  She squeezes her cunt around his cock.

Time elapses.  No conscious thought of how it came to be.  She
was fucking him, the earring stuck in his flesh.  His hips
moving...but in pleasure or fear who knows?  But another shiny
object is in her hand.  She seems a little surprised to see it
there...but smiles. Gliding the object around his unblemished
nipple...suddenly a row of blood seeps out around it.  She rubs a
finger in it....almost playfully...she rubs it  on his
lips....thinking about the times it was her own juices he
relished rubbing on her lips.
She felt his body quivering beneath her, convinced of his
pleasure in her , she rode him harder, frantically.  She raised
herself slightly, his cock only partially in her.  Arms extended
above her. Music building to a crescendo. the bodies on the TV
writhing wickedly.  Sweat beaded on her forehead, breathing quick
and shallow, her cunt throbbing.  She arcs the knife
downwards...just outside her own pubic mound she drives it into
his pelvis.  His body jerks hard...blade meets bone and snaps off
 the tip.  The suddenness of the break dropping her whole weight
on him, driven down all the way onto his cock, forcing her
slightly forward and off balance. His cock rubbing her deeply
inside as she moans and writhes, squirting her own orgasm over
his twitching cock.

It was the best orgasm he ever gave her.  He owed her that.

She straightened herself up and slowly got off him.  Looking at
the tip of the blade still protruding from him, she touches it,
wriggles it back and forth, but it doesn't come free. Her
fingers, sticky with his blood, can't grip it.

She shrugs.

The broken knife is still in her hand.  Kneeling between his
sprawled legs she looks up at him.  He isn't looking at her. She
thinks he should. He should have always watched her.  She leans
up...and slides his blindfold off his eyes. His eyes are wide
open now. Watching every move she makes as she kneels there...his
withered cock in her hand...the knife blade...broken but still
sharp along the edge brushing against his silky skin.  She smiles
up at him and meets his eyes. Pressure of the blade against skin.
Sweat is pouring off his body and he can't stop looking at her
now. He lays so still now. Slowly, sawing back and
forth...pushing harder and hard as she pulls his penis away from
his body. Watching, fascinated to watch the skin begin to pull
apart. Fascinated to watch the blood begin to ooze.  She traced
the trail of blood with the knife....around his balls...carving
him ...hacking him. More blood.  More blood running over her
fingers.
The cutting stopped and she rubbed his blood all over his
genitals. Pretty red. Funny smell. Very powerful smell. She drew
her hand to her mouth...and sucked on a finger, tasting the soul
that has oozed from him.
Moving up she sat on his chest and stared down into his eyes. He
couldn't stop looking at her! She smiled.  It was all she wanted.
Was to feel it was her he wanted to be with. To acknowledge her
and him together.
She had shed so many tears. And he hadn't shed one.  This
saddened her, because she felt that tears were every bit as
important as laughter.  She placed a hand on his forehead and
moved the knife to the corner of his left eye...bearing down she
made a trail...a trail that tears would make had he shed them.  
She did the same to his right eye.  Now he shed not just tears,
but tears of blood.  For her.  She smiled tentatively as she got
off him and stood by him.  Something was wrong. Something was
missing. Then she remembered. It really was his heart that was
flawed.  Bringing up her right hand she once more plunged the
knife down towards him, aiming for his chest.  She hurt him, but
couldn't penetrate him with the knife.  She looked momentarily
confused by the inadequacy of the knife. Realizing what her
mistake had been she let the broken knife drop to the floor and
made her way to the kitchen.  She returned to him and smiled,
showing him that she was going to correct her mistake. No one
could hear his muffled screams as for the last time she brought
the knife down to him and cleanly impaled the knife to his chest.
 Little blood seeped out around the long sharp blade.   She
released the handle and watched, as the knife handle pulsed  with
each beat of his heart.  He looked.  But not at her any more.  He
too could see the movement of the knife handle and understood its
impact.  As long as the knife held its position, he lived.  If
the knife is removed, or turned, or twisted, his heart was
irreparably  damaged.  No one can save him.  A breathing,
thinking dead man.
Angered by the change in him, that he no longer met her
glance...she reached out, felt the throbbing knife handle in her
hand, twisted it viciously and pulled it out.  Blood pumped out
with each beat.  His life, his soul draining out onto him. Once
more she put her hand on his chest, felt the warm blood ooze
through her fingers.  He owed her his heart.

She got dressed.  Again.




  
AGAIN