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Copyright 2013 A. Octavia
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For Zendriel, without whom nothing else matters
Discover other titles by A. Octavia at Smaswords.com
Tales From A Darker Star
The White Willows
Special Thanks to Jamie
Nadia leaned back in her chair until it balanced on its hind legs. The stereo pelted out a heavy mix of electronic sounds fused with a heavy dose of reverberating bass. While most of her friends studied in libraries under the veil of tomb-like silence, Nadia learned by tearing open the edge of oblivion.
Silence had its uses: whenever she took a bath, for instance. That moment, when Nadia turned off the tap and heard the last drop echo off the tiles, was priceless. She also loved the sound of her choked sighs whenever she settled deeper into that warmth. Silence had its place, just nowhere near her coursework.
Her messenger pinged, and she let the chair fall forward. The thump of it hitting the floor was drowned by a sudden cascade from the speakers behind her. She pulled up the chat window and dragged it to a corner of the screen so it wouldn't cover the last line of her research paper. Nadia's eyes narrowed on the small screen.
'I told you to wear lace tonight...'
Her fingers reached for the keys and hesitated. Her first instinct was to tell him to fuck off, but she didn’t want to give him anything to feed off of. Nadia sighed. Blackroze was cute at first. He had an incredible knowledge of ancient lore and a Lovecraftian-themed Goth style that made the dark little coal chamber of her heart flutter. He was so eloquent, so poised, and ready for any topic she threw at him. He flirted, hinted, and waltzed around innuendos with a masterful grace. She loved the way he seemed to know exactly what she wanted to read. It was a perfect online correspondence, and she fucked it all up.
Nadia felt her eyes roll back at the memory. It happened right after mid-terms, when she went out with her friends, Kaitlyn and Jenn. They showed up on her doorstep right after class with a bottle of tequila and a bag of limes. After loosening her up a bit, they dragged Nadia to a party up in Kirkland. They snuck shots at every other stoplight, and by the time they found the address, Nadia felt like she could walk on water.
The streets were packed with cars and they followed the sea of bodies toward a little yellow house at the end of a cul-de-sac. A garage band was murdering a cover of "Highway to Hell" when they walked in. Jenn led her through the haze in the living room toward the backyard, while Kaitlyn went looking for her next boyfriend. Everything after that just blurred together in her mind. What Nadia did remember was that after a handful of jell-o shots, she got frisky. It didn’t take long for her to find the backseat of an unlocked car out on the street. She didn’t know whose car it was, and the moment the blonde guy with the goatee settled in beside her, she didn’t care.
Nadia thanked God she wasn't on the pill that night, or she might have ended up pregnant, or worse. The thought of his cock slipping into her was like a siren call, but it couldn’t outweigh her colossal fear of motherhood. The way he played with her nipples through her t-shirt felt amazing-- not too hard, not too soft... She kept pushing into him for more, and even squeezed his cock through his jeans to keep up the rhythm. His hand felt so hot against her ass when she bent over his lap. He whispered that he wanted to fuck her, and kept asking her what her name was. Nadia just smiled wickedly. She never did tell him, and instead of wasting his condom, she spent twenty minutes making him writhe under her mouth until he popped like a champagne bottle.
That was almost two months ago, and it still made her wet. By the time her friends got her home again, Nadia felt more than a little wild, horny, and dangerous. She felt like a blowtorch in a matchstick factory-- past every point of reason. The moment the door closed behind her, Nadia stripped down to her panties and stumbled into her bedroom. She turned away from the bed and slumped into her chair in front of the computer.
Her breathing was already coming in shallow gasps as the computer hummed to life. She lifted her foot to the edge of the seat and traced circles on her clit through the thin cotton. She wasn’t online more than a minute before a message popped up from her knight of the gilded prose. ‘The ever-dark breathes, Dear One. It lives, and breathes you in…”
He was as sweet as ever, but she just wasn't feeling it. Nadia felt too raw, too unbridled, and in need of something hardcore. She quickly led him into a session of sex-chat that was barely more than a staccato series of written groans, punctuated by the script of a bad porno movie.
Nadia slipped the edge of her panties aside to play with her lips, typing with one hand. She groaned and felt herself blossom under her fingers, but it still wasn’t enough. The sound of her lips parting, the wetness as she pressed her fingertips against her skin—they were all conspirators in a plot to overthrow her senses.
She told him about how badly she wanted to be taken, to be pushed to the edge of her understanding, and forced to orgasm until she blacked out. She slipped her fingers inside herself, and then told him about how she felt, how she sounded, how she smelled, and then tasted…
When he wrote that he was stroking himself, too, Nadia groaned and upped the ante: she told him how badly she wanted to feel used, to be treated like a cheap whore, fucked without feeling, and thrown aside. She wanted to be fucked to the breaking point, until she was useless and left for dead. He pressed her for details, stroking himself while she played out the scenario to him. ‘Do you really want to be fucked to death, Dear One?’
‘Of course not, but right to edge of it. I want to be able to look back on it and know what kind of whore I was—and remember it for the rest of my life.’
It was an intense moment, fueled by a night’s worth of lust, and alcohol. Nadia twisted her fingers up inside her and choked off a scream as she came. She bit her tongue and got off on the fantasy. She could tell he did, too.
By morning, Nadia felt sick over the whole experience. When she looked back through the chat log, she winced. Then she deleted it. It wasn't just about what they wrote back and forth that disturbed her, but the memory of how much she enjoyed it. She felt exposed, even though she told herself over and over that it was pure fantasy.
She wished she could forget it ever happened-- about everything she could never utter aloud. In the harsh morning light, Nadia saw the true depths of her desire to be controlled and forced to submit. It was clear in the words she used, in the way her wetness coated her fingers and leaked onto the seat of her chair. She shuddered on the edge of orgasm when she asked him about monsters from the deepest pits of hell. He wrote to her about Cthulhu, a Leviathian, the Krakken, and what it would have been like not just to be fucked by one of those Ancients, but bred by one. Sacrificed to a living darkness. Even now, the thought made her chest ache with regret.