jinxed Posted Tuesday at 08:08 PM With the change of scene, all of the earlier ease has vanished. The table decked with bubbly drinks and small bowls of titbits had offered enough of a protective barrier to allow for lively discussions while making it impossible for these to be used as a means to get closer. Now, however, there is nothing that could prevent a potential approach. She has sunk into the farthest corner of the couch. Her knees are pulled up as tightly as possible, her arms locked around them. They hide her mouth which is pressed against them. She stares at him wide-eyed as he sits at the other end, relaxed, one arm stretched along the backrest, the other one resting loosely in his lap. He's mighty. He decides whether he'll tread gently or violently, whether he'll keep the trap open or close it, whether he let's live or kills. And surely he knows of his power. If I know of it, how could he not? Until now, he's kept his distance but there were these glances. Over there at the door, when we entered and finally were alone. They made sure I knew that he likes what he sees. For a second, they made me rejoice but then I remembered the implicit bargain that comes with being desired. It means that should the opportunity arise, there's a chance that he'll use his physical strength to take me, with or without my consent. So, all I can do is try to barricade myself to make sure that any part of me that might stir him is hidden away. Another benefit is that this way he cannot find any defect of mine, not the little belly that sometimes forms when I sit down, nor an eyebrow hair that's out of place, not even a nail missing a splinter of nail polish. The downsides outweigh these advantages though. I'm beginning to freeze, my whole body is a rigid and immovable knot. I'm stuck in this position, ***ing his decision to begin his attack. The conversation moves in waves. Mostly, her turns contain only a few words, but sometimes he happens to touch a subject that excites her and she perks up for a few minutes, then retreats again as soon as the thread comes to an end. His face has the same calm and composed expression it had from the moment he sat down. His sitting position doesn't change much, except for when he leans forward now and then to take a sip from his glass with movements that don't display any urgency. His breath has a steady, deep rhythm to it. For a moment a pause settles, during which she remains motionless, whereas his hand makes its way to the coffee table, finds the little colourful sachet, jiggles it, making the content rustle promisingly, then tears it open. "Would you care for something sweet?" Her head comes up from behind the wall that are her legs, she lifts her nose, pulls her lips in and presses her teeth into them. Her eyes are shining with appetite. She nods. Carefully, he frees one of the delicate freeze-dried pieces of sliced strawberries from the bag and holds it out towards her. The many long minutes of holding on have left her arms stiff, and she moves unsteadily as she lets go. She presses her hands into the cushion behind her to push herself forward and with control lowers her knees onto the sofa. Once on all fours, she stretches her fingers out to collect the treat that is waiting for her. The moment she gets a hold of it, she resumes her original position and looks at her prize. It's the prettiest red you'll ever see! A pink ruby red. A sweet and fruity and crisp and soft and simply adorable present is what he's handed me. But there is something else. He didn't try to snatch my hand when it was so close to his some seconds ago nor has he moved any closer to claim his reward. Which doesn't fit the usual storyline at all. And yet, that's exactly what's happening. He holds out the next piece and she repeats her routine, but this time she quickly puts it in her mouth and then stays on all fours, awaiting the next one. And they keep coming, one after the other, never hurried, always gentle, until he eventually interrupts this little game. "This time, no hands allowed." She stiffens for a moment, but when he extends his arm once again, her mouth finds the palm of his hand without hesitation and carefully lifts off the sweets that are constantly being replaced. As she gets bolder, he starts placing them on the couch, first where his outstretched hand would have landed, then edging closer to his thigh, finally he sets one right on it. Each time, she arches her back slightly more as she shifts her weight onto her forearms and bends her neck to retrieve the newest piece, even now with this added challenge. She needs to move further and further into his space if she wants him to continue feeding her. And I do want him to. I want to follow his lead, reach for it in his lap, rest my head there, feel his fingers run through my hair as I show him my willingness to engage. I want us both to witness this opening of my body to his. For us both to stay right there, forever.
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