Thursday, July 2, 2009

Story: Paired Violins

She would tell me things, lots of things. Beautiful things. How her parents had this great floor-to-ceiling library in their stone-built rambling castle of a house. How she spent much of her childhood curled up on the sofa near the big window with a view of the meadow reading books from all over the world. As I would caress her hand, cuddling her under the great big tree at the corner of my land she would tell me of the times she danced and skipped her way to school with her best friend on cobblestone streets in the early mornings. As I would press into her softly and kiss her iridescent hair she would tell me of her love of horses and the many summers she spent riding the gentle creatures on her family's estate. We would spend hours on my crescent shaped beach standing a couple of feet apart and facing each other playing our paired violins. She had become very fond of them from the moment I had first showed them to her. Their strands of intertwined synchronized music would appear magical to us as they wove disparate simple innocent individual strands of notes into complex stormy turbulent music. During high tide the waves would sweep up the beach and kiss our feet as we played and she would tear up and tell me how being able to play music with me filled the one void she had in her life. As I pressed her body against the wet sand my weight forcing her to yield, she would look into my eyes and tell me about how her best girlfriend had betrayed her trust and seduced her boyfriend while they were vacationing together way down south where the American continent's dagger pierces the frozen heart of the southern world. When I would fling her to the floor of my dungeon pinning her arms to the ground as I ripped her clothes off to take her for my pleasure, she would tell me of how she was afraid her older brother was going to rape her, that he had increasingly been brazen about it and of how she did not know how to tell her mother about her fears. As I would tie her hands and legs apart and slip the ring into her mouth to hold it open so that all her pleasures were available to me and before I would use her throat as my cock's embrace, she would tell me about how she had often seen her father violate his mistress, and of how she would hear her mother sobbing for hours afterwards. She told me things, lots of things. Dark things.

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