Beguile

Chapter 66

A waved of dizziness washed over me, threatening to pull me back into the black abyss.

The place a blur, as the world seemed to sway in a disorienting dance.

A dull ache radiated from the spot where my head had connected to the unyielding surface. And my hand instinctively reached for the source of the throbbing but a harsh plastic teeth bit into my wrist preventing me to move.

"Hmmm..." I tried to call out, rather it sounds like a helpless plea- like a victim I so much detest.

I always thought why prey's dont just pretend to be predators.

Pretend to be strong.

Pretend to be brave.

Pretend like you have nothing to fear for. Nothing to be afraid of. Nothing to care for.

I thought they would survive that way.

But oh, how naive when a rabbit's fluff can't easily change into claws!

Your role was determined the moment you were born.

And right now, I am prey and willing to be.

A faint scent of blood and sweat waft through the air as a figure stumbled under me, gasping for breath as his eyes traced the contours of my body with an almost palpable hunger.

Despite the desperation which seems to ooze off from the bead of sweat emerging timidly along the curve of his brows, or how his cheeks flushed red as he struggle against the moments intensity. He refused to touch me.

Refused to meet my eyes, even though he clearly noticed the moment I regained consciousness.

Refused to remove the gap between us. Yet he dipped his head so low as to kiss the floor which was casted over by my shadow.

There was conflict in his eyes, a silent plea to his devotion but like the name he have called me, I am his goddess. Something so holy that a common man can't touch.

His lips kissed the cold tile as the metal buckle of his belt clink along with the intensity as he touch over his shaft.

His breath becomes heavier and shallower, with more effort behind each breath.

And mine too, as if hearing him pant under me moulded a new experience.

And it is!

After all, this is the innocent Rie. So innocent that I thought he only see me as a product, a piece of skin and nothing else.

I never knew that theres something else to his devotion.

There's a subtle undertone of urgency mingled with anger in his breath. Something I'll never know, but then they quickened, each pur grappled towards the tingling heat in my core. 

He drop his left hand to the floor, trying to grab something, anything but the shiny tile was spotless and all he can do is to coil into a fist.

His hand transformed into a terrain of raised veins, now prominent and pulsating.

And my lips quiver.

My hands and feet trembling under the shackles.

Without them I would have run into his arms, spread my legs. And when he refused, I'd push him and straddle him down.

I'd like him to cry under me, rather than him kneeling in the distance as he strap me up to suffer watching.

His breath drew clouds in the air as he raised himself up.

Then our eyes locked. An intense connection sparking between us, even though there was no warmth in his gaze.

For in his eyes, I am a product still. Holy and highly valuable.