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Subject: {ASSM} Carrot
Date: Tue, 9 May 2000 05:10:04 -0400
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This story is copyright the author, 1998. It may be
freely crossposted to any free list, web page or
newsgroup, as long as no alterations are made to the
content. It may not be used or reproduced for profit.
You know if you shouldn't be reading this or if you'll
be offended by it, so if you shouldn't or you will,
don't.
The red darkness was an antiseptic on the wound of her
fresh loneliness. Smarting, it made the pain as sharp
as the moment he left, but she knew there was no wound
so deep that time and the acrid smell of photographic
chemicals could not heal it. The image began to
appear with the motion of the sweeping hand of the
timer. Holding a corner of the tray with tongs, she
rocked the infant image in its bath. Without taking
her eyes off the freshly formed photograph, she
silenced the annoying buzzer which had begun to sound.
The tongs slipped beneath the surface of the developer
and emerged clutching a print of stained, crumpled
sheets. In black and white, the carrot stains
resembled blood, but the peels peeking out from among
the folds testified that there d been no violence
creating the marks. After most of the developer
dripping off of the print had returned itself to the
tray, the woman plunged the picture of her sheets into
the stop bath.
Thirty seconds. In those thirty seconds, she closed
her eyes and dim red light became a golden halo
filtering through a blindfold. She felt again the
stretch in her arms and shoulders, tied to the bed.
Her hair fell low on her back as she remembered. Her
head snapped up to the renewed buzzing, and she dipped
her tongs in again, pulling her treasure from its
vinegary haven.
She held it high in the air, watching the ruby drops
trickle back into the tray. Giving it a quick shake,
she slid the image underneath the surface of the fix.
She could turn on the lights now, but instead she slid
to the floor. A slightly open cabinet door made a
thudding sound as her descent closed it. Her arms
stretched above her head, mimicking the pose of her
memory. The hurt inside her escaped as a faint
keening, quickly bitten off.
She lowered her hands to cup her breasts, rubbing her
palms over her shirt, making her nipples rise to meet
them. Her fingers kneaded the tender flesh almost
violently and her face contorted around twin tears.
She recalled the cool air on her smooth, naked flesh
and the breathless anticipation she d felt hearing her
lover move about the house. She d rubbed her thighs
together and gently tested the bonds that held her to
the bed. Remembering, she pushed her lips out and
breathed hard, as she d done then. Her hands stroked
her ribcage, as they had been unable to do in the time
that she was reliving.
His weight on the bed had been enough to tear a moan
from her lips, so excited had she been. She could
feel the impression of a knee on either side of her
hips, and felt the heat from his inner thighs, yet
still he did not touch her. She d felt his weight
shift to one side, then back centered above her.
Squirming a little, she d brought one leg into contact
with his thigh. She d been forced to inhale deeply by
his low laugh.
The tears tumbled off of her chin, and one hand
pressed hard into the thin fabric at the crotch of her
shorts. Short breaths hissed from her mouth, and her
head thudded repeatedly into the wood of the cabinet
door. The hissing sound in her mind had not yet been
coupled with her anguish, and she remembered wondering
what had made it and what the cool wetness that had
fallen on her neck was. Another coolness fell down
the center of her chest, even as the first one warmed.
Cold, wet strip had followed cold, wet strip, and
still she was mystified, unable to see what was
causing that delicious sensation.
Again his weight had shifted, and his hands had fallen
next to her shoulders as his lips joined with hers.
One of his enormous hands had tangled into the hair at
the nape of her neck, cupping and stroking in time
with his kisses until she thought she d go mad, until
her hips arched and sought his.
Her hands found their way into her hair, but were not
as gentle as his had been, pulling hard until she
could almost convince herself that the only pain she
felt was physical. She smeared one hand from her chin
to her forehead, leaving a trail of lipstick on her
nose, cheeks and brow. The hand came away and she
slapped herself, hard, but she could not stop the
memory.
She recalled the way he d backed slowly down her body,
his mouth close enough to leave a warm trail of
breath, yet far enough away that his lips never
touched her until his tongue reached out to gently
stroke her lower lips. She d gasped (her gasp of
pleasure translated now to a ragged intake of painful,
chemical soaked air), and his tongue had withdrawn to
be replaced by probing fingers.
They d stroked the length of the slit which opened
before him like a flower. Fingernails raked her
collarbone and her fist closed around the collar of
her shirt and the poignancy of the memory. The memory
of his fingers sliding into her, touching spots of
pleasure which made her body strain against its bonds.
The fingers departed to be replaced by something hard
and cold. She d gasped as somehow the insensate
object found those very same pleasure points.
In a very short time, the hard cold thing was no
longer very cold, but was much slicker. A tongue slid
in above it to swirl around yet another sensitive
point. She could no longer both remember and sit
upright, so she slumped over into a fetal position on
the floor. Her head fell onto her hand, and her teeth
found it with no need to look. She told herself that
the scream was from the pain of the bite.
She twisted so that her breasts felt the cool of the
concrete floor, and her ears rang from the way it
echoed her sobs. The scent of chemical spills of the
past rose in her nostrils, so that she could taste
every photograph she d ever developed here. The
carrot had crunched satisfyingly in her mouth,
lukewarm, when he d offered it, dripping, to her. She
could hear him biting from it also, and they d chewed
and laughed together as he d entered her, their jaws
and hips matching rhythm. She d swallowed the
half-masticated chunks so that she could concentrate
on the exquisite sensations he was producing within
her, and the sharp edges as they went down had been
the only counterpoint to the pleasure of that
exquisite encounter.
Her head bobbed up and down, striking her forehead
into the hard, cold floor. She finally succeeded in
blotting out the memories, unconsciousness closing
before she recalled her own climax or the one that had
covered her stomach with sticky sweetness, before she
could remember the night of being held and stroked.
For the moment, she d found peace there on the
darkroom floor.
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--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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