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Fiction » Fantasy » An Angel and Her Fate font: B s : A A A . width: full 3/4 1/2
Author: Girl Prince
Fiction Rated: M - English - Fantasy - Reviews: 11 - Published: 01-25-06 - Updated: 01-25-06 - id:2098078

The Raw Beginning

It's like having a fresh bruise on your forearm. You can't seem to stop touching it or pulling at it. You find reasons to rub or hit your arm, just to feel the sadistic pleasure of pain spiking though your skin. It's just like that, just like the pain. Every night we meet, and we dance, and drink. Her eyes hit mine and we push and slide and grind in the pulsing lights and fog. Then we go to my apartment to the eighth floor, door H377. She flipped the numbers on my door a year ago. So behind my door labeled HELL, that women stalks into my bedroom and there we fuck in the dark illumined only by the restaurant sign from across the street.

In the red darkness she is there and I am there and I can feel her crawling all over me, touching me and clawing my skin. All the while I lay there and I let her violate me. I let her fingers ravage my insides. Her hand is there making my body live for a few brief moments. I sigh as it pulls away, ripping a piece of my soul out with it, breaking my insides apart.

I'm spent and she drags a slippery hand through her boy-short hair in a gesture of utter domination. Her muscles shift and twine as she bends over me and bruises my lips with hers. Again she possesses me with her tongue. My mouth, my hands, my body are not my own.

Everything I do spawns from her. She wants and needs me for her own control. I am there for her and only her. My body and her hands fit together like the buckle of a collar. She is never done with me. Always returns to the nape of my neck sucking forcefully on the excited nerves. Bringing me to climax epitomizes her fallen status.

She will never come like me as she brings me off in the dark. The mess makes her fallen, dead feathers stick to my back. Every time she is here one more falls away. The bed is strewn with them, crushed and slept on. I'll never move them and they are rooted to their spot. Even those that drop to the floor do not move.

She, open, ragged, and pale loses herself, her pearl white feathers. I collect my memories of the fallen Angel who rapes, ravages, and blesses my body.



© Copyright 2006 Girl Prince (FictionPress ID:321428).


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