by Poppet
"The sixth one."
"How did you know ..."
"Mine is honed. It's called intuition."
It hits me right between my eyes.
"You are giving me in tuition."
My eyesight returns instantaneously. "And the blind woman sees the light."
Chapter 9: Intensity
I don't know how long I slept for. In this dungeon of dark, time ceases to exist. It's so deeply black that I could be floating on the dark side of the moon and not know it. I blindly extend my hand, trying to find him. He's not within reach. My lethargic warmth flees instantly with alarm. Sitting up, I crawl around on the bed, one hand reaching out to locate him. He's not on it.
Afraid, I draw my knees up and perch on the edge. I haven't ventured beyond this point. Isolated, fear stirs the hairs in my nape. It's so quiet, I feel in a vacuum.
"Seithe?"
His hand freaks me out when it touches my naked shoulder. The fright eliciting a yelp of shock. I fumble, searching instinctively. My hands connect with a buckle. My fingers trace up. Tentatively I stand, reaching for him.
Why isn't he saying anything?
Oh god, this could be anyone! In literal blind panic, I run my hands up to touch the face. Yes it's him. I'd recognise that cupid's bow anywhere now. I inhale deeply, double checking. Mr Sirocco. It's him. Relief.
I pinch him, assuming we're playing the silent game again. I feel his breath advance until he's breathing into my ear. "It's time to see in the dark."
"I can't. I'm not a cat."
Lifting me bodily, he hurls me backward. I sense the anger in the gesture. Ungracefully, I land across the forgiving bed. This just hurtles my pumping heart into overdrive. Fear starts dancing with the edges of my sanity.
"Can't is a word you are taught. It does not exist."
"You're scaring me."
"You came back of your own free will. You sought me out. Now you regret it? It's too late for regret."
I swallow against the lump in my throat. My heart is racing so fervently that it's hard to hear. I'm utilising everything I have, afraid, trying to sense his movement. Damn, I wish my heart would shut up!
Involuntarily I flinch when his warm arms wrap around me. Finding solace, I lean in, trying to still my terror. His weight sinks down next to mine, and it just confuses me when his lips begin tracing across my shoulder.
"You scare me."
"No, I don't. What scares you is opening your eyes to finally see."
I entwine my arms around his neck, seeking a hug. I need comfort. I feel like crying. He seems to understand my mental fragility as he holds me against him. He has reassuring strength. He's both intimidating and comforting. A complete oxymoron. Hot hands trace pressure down either side of my spine.
Shiver.
Blindly I locate his lips, needing connection. He pushes back. He's too strong. Aware of submission, I lower back down, reclining. Tongue between lips, breath in my nose, fingers circling my nipple, I close my eyes. I can't see anyway. It feels so good.
Subliminally he replaces my fear with passion. I am oversensitive when his hands trace my skin like a blind man reading braille, sending billions of impulses scrambling to my neurons. A moan rustles in my throat when his tongue replaces fingers. Unyielding hair scrubs against my soft flesh from his face.
I reach for that belt. A hand clamps over mine, preventing movement.
"Seithe?"
"Not yet."
Tease!
"But ..."
I feel him pull away, instantly imbuing a bereft sensation. I've just been rejected. A hand rests heavily on my hollow stomach. I stare at total blackness. Fighting bitterness.
"Phoebe, you have used visual stimulation to fuel expectation. You think that sex is all about gratification. What if it isn't?"
"What is your problem?" Yes, I'm angry. Female scorn is activated.
I sense him smiling again. At least one of us finds my humiliation amusing.
"Why are we in the dark?" he asks.
"Because you're a freak on a power trip."
"Because it heightens your awareness. It forces you to see using your instinct, and to tune your senses to acute levels."
"Why?"
"I want you to think back, and consider this. What if you used all of your senses to this degree when engaging in intercourse. Perhaps if you did that, you would finally know what the act was designed to feel like."
I remain silent. He manages to make me feel chastised.
"You aren't ready yet."
"Who died and made you God?"
The burning in my cheek shocks me speechless. OW! He just slapped me.
"Don't bring Him into this."
I lash out, trying to smack him back. His laughter is harsh, cruel, my wrist ensnared. "I can see in the dark, baby girl."
I'm pulled against him again, imprisoned inside strength. "You are such a little minx."
"And you are so unpredictable that I'm not sure I like you."
His thumb presses into the hollow of my throat.
"Phoebe, I am trying to be gentle. I'm impatient. You have so much left to understand."
"Why can't we just be normal? Why put me through this? It's fucking freaky."
A sigh bathes me.
"What you consider normal, isn't. Blind to your own power, numb to your senses, content with mediocrity ... no. You have a rebellious nature, that's what I like about you. You aren't afraid of confrontation. I know I can wake you up."
Leaning heavily against him, I am weary. I'm torn between wanting to run away back home, and waiting it out. I want to fuck him. As crass and shallow as that is, he's enticing. There isn't another male I've ever felt this sexually charged with. I'm not sure I'm prepared to let this go yet.
But, he does scare me. Wrapping my slender arms around his neck, I collapse into him, "Just hold me before you freak me out again."
He's very good at the comfort thing. It's undemanding. Patient. Kissing my temple so softly. How can he be so full of tenderness one moment, and so unyielding and stubborn the next? Sighing heavily, my confusion leaks tears onto his skin.
"Don't be afraid." It's soft, a whisper, comforting, reassuring.
"I am."
He moves a hand to cover my heart again. "You hold the key. I'm helping you to unlock what you have hidden in here."
"I'm not locked."
"You are jaded. You don't surrender completely to any moment, thereby robbing yourself of at least fifty percent of the experience. You were made perfect. Designed to live completely inside this experience. Your body is the tool that opens every door. Your mind transcends your body, telling you more than your eyes can see. But you have dulled your senses and your mind. Walking half blind, to prevent pain. You locked yourself away. I need you to live again, Phoebe. Meet me as an equal."
A smile possesses my face. "You are a romantic. A demented one."
I climb into his lap, smothering his face with faint kisses, before sinking my weight over his mouth. He just spoke straight to my heart, and it's so touching it hurts. My desire for him is increasing. Drinking hungrily from his hot succulent mouth, I allow the meagre contact to be a well of sustenance.
Firm hands cradle my head, he responds immaculately. God, this man is perfect. Briefly sated I pull away, soaking in his placid ambience before the next storm.
Chapter 10: Dark
His hold is familiar, tantalising in its silent strength. I'm loathe to relinquish it.
"Did you play Marco Polo as a child?"
I nod, knowing he can feel it and see it.
"Don't be afraid, Phoebe. I'm here, I won't abandon you. Learning to see in the dark is the same kind of game."
Well at least he's taking the time to explain things now, instead of just freaking my bean.
"Okay."
"Do you trust me?"
"No."
"Because I hurt you?"
Reluctantly, I answer truthfully, "Yes."
"Do you think I'l
l hurt you again?"
"I'm not sure."
"Do I deliberately want to hurt you?"
"I don't think so."
"So, can you trust me?"
"Probably."
He pauses, a sigh floating between us briefly. "That's how humans learn. Through painful experience. I wish it didn't work that way, but it does."
Pushing me off him, he moves away. I hear the rustle of his jeans.
"In the New Testament, Jesus says ... 'unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the Kingdom of Heaven ...' ... further on in reference to children He says ... 'the Kingdom of God belongs to such as these'. Children trust without question. You stupidly did that with me. You chose to blindly trust me. So I made you blind, forcing you to trust me, putting your faith into your choice."
His voice becomes clearer, like water dropping into a silent well, as he turns to face me fully. I am sensing this all now.
"Children love playing seeking games. They openly engage life using every sense. They greet each day with exuberance. They play hide and seek, Marco polo, pin the tail on the donkey. Those games engage the other senses, and hone instinct. Become my child Phoebe. I am trying to show you the Kingdom of Heaven."
A heavy yoke of consciousness presses down on me, with the weight of the severity of his words. This guy isn't fucking around. He's a complete madman.
"You're one of those crazy religious freaks. The kind that scare the shit out of me and would burn witches if you could."
"No, I'm not. You have complete free will. All I'm asking is that you try and meet me half way by reengaging your childlike sense of play. Seek me in the dark, the way a child searches for a friend in the swimming pool during Marco Polo. I'm asking you to hone that sense. I am not here to judge you. I ask you to elevate yourself out of numb, to meet me as an equal. I'm showing you the mirror, but you have to reach beyond it."
Go on. Fuck with my mind some more! I wonder what psychologists would make of you? Exhibit A is a rare and endangered mind. So severely warped beyond normal parameters, it is a wonder to behold that the individual can still form coherent speech.
I smile at my own thoughts. In a weird way, he makes sense. What he's asking isn't really that bizarre. Just the way he states his case, is. Okay, I can do this.
I stand too. "Fine."
He whispers into my ear, my breath catching in surprise, "Find me."
I turn and snatch at where he was standing, but he's gone. Waving my arms around, I don't connect with anything. I walk three steps one way, then change my mind and walk slowly the other way. Until I'm not sure which way I'm facing any longer. I do this for an indeterminate amount of time. Feeling frustrated, I close my eyes. Holding my hands out, dead still and rigid. I slowly turn. Forcing my breath into barely discernible shallowness, I listen intently. Aware of air movement on my arms and palms, I try to sense air movement. There! I take two steps, and grab at nothing. I was positive he was there.
Standing statue rigid, I close my eyes again, attempting to probe the darkness with my mind, trying to sense him. This works better than using my body actually. I have a weird sense directly behind me. As if it's a warmth, an anomaly in the dark void around me. Slowly, I reach my hand back and clasp his. I smile with relief and sheer exhilaration at winning this one.
Hot lips close on my neck. Arms encircle me. "You are superb, baby girl."
Like a salve on fraught nerves, his pleasure and pride embalm me. I feel so happy. I can't explain how pleased I am that I did it!
"Close your eyes briefly."
Obediently and without question, I close them.
"Open."
Candles are lit. This room is huge. I stare in stunned shock at what is obviously his kingdom. "Why candles?"
"Electricity is too harsh. I use it to power the appliances. But I prefer candlelight."
Watching him warily, he's just unsettled me once again. I know nothing about him.
"Who are you?"
He laughs and tugs gently on my hand for me to walk with him, "Seithe, is all you need to know."
"Where are we going?"
He grins at me, morphing his face into boyish charm, "Aren't you hungry, minxy?"
Now that he mentions it, yes I am. I nod, smiling back. This is freaky, the two of us wearing only jeans. Two, almost lovebirds, that should be in a Calvin Klein poster somewhere.
"Come here."
His voice is draped in affection. Feeling safe and thrilled, I let him pull me against his naked skin. When his brown haired head and brown eyes blur they're so close, my lips part to receive his attention. For the first time in forever, I feel happy.
Chapter 11: Breath
I let my eyes peruse in curiosity as we dawdle away from the gigantic room, which was possibly his bedroom. With its large bed rumpled with black linen, the dark chairs that stood off to the side, so many dancing naked flames, surprisingly warm despite the dark colour scheme, left behind us. For some reason this place feels ancient, even though it has modern fittings. It must be the stone floor.
The doorways we walk through are arched. Brackets holding candles and torches litter the passages and rooms sporadically. It's so large for a single man. This abode is an architect's delight. Vaulted ceilings in the passage, the odd wall sconce, a random cherub or gargoyle. In some places, especially above the arches, I notice an etching similar to Celtic knot-work.
"Is this your home?"
"Mmm hmm."
"Where are we?"
"Home."
I laugh spontaneously. Brown eyes glance absently at me. I'm loving decent lighting. For the first time I'm getting a really good look at this hunk. I like his build, it's understated masculinity. His height gives him natural elegance. Brown hair suits him more than blond. He's so naturally confident. My eyes wander down, following his toned muscles. Secretively, I smile to myself as I notice the fine hairs below his navel are brown. Sinfully sexy, if you ask me for my opinion. Not that anyone ever does.
"Would you like to rape me while you're at it?"
Guilty eyes snap up to stare into his. "Sorry, just appreciating the view."
He has a dimple in the corner of his mouth twitching. What's the male equivalent of a cocktease?
Pausing, I halt with him. Following his lead. He moves the curtain of black hair veiling me, draping it behind my shoulder, and stares pointedly at the pink nipple protruding toward him. An uncomfortable prickle makes my cheeks itch with heat.
"Nice view from here."
For some reason my pulse is jumping in my throat. I think my heartbeat just quadrupled. I distract myself by staring at his hands, hiding lusty eyes from Mr Perceptive. Except this just makes it harder for me to think straight. His hands are fabulous. He could model them, they're so perfectly shaped. Smooth, with the muscle next to the thumb protruding, hinting at latent strength. Perfectly trimmed flat nails gracing slender, mildly tanned fingers. They've touched me, and they felt so good. He didn't feel like he had calluses. I wonder what he does for a living? I want to suck one right now. How can fingers be so full of exquisite temptation? I swear God had him first in line for perfection personified.
Hesitantly, I look back into his amused eyes.
"You are beautiful."
He grins, "Ditto darling."
He *changes the subject* by forcing us into movement again.
I walk with him into a state of the art, unbelievably modern, kitchen. Oil lamps burn on each reflective counter. He pulls out a kitchen stool for me to sit at. I oblige, and watch him casually sauntering around the room.
"Before I feed you, I'd like us to experiment further with your senses."
"You just can't resist can you? You want them to spontaneously short circuit so you can take the credit for my sensory overload."
An indulgent laugh reverberates.
I have to ask. "Surely you don't do your own cleaning?"
"No. I have people that come in to do it, and a housekeeper."
No
w I feel doubly intimidated.
"Close your eyes."
I sigh with feigned resistance. I just knew he was going to say that. I close them and wait.
He's not taking any chances and I feel the stretchy blindfold cover my eyes again. I use the opportunity to have a little dig.
"I suppose I should be grateful you didn't blind me again."
"Put your hands on the counter."
Okay. That sounded serious. Gulp. Nervously I place them on the cold surface.
He picks up my right wrist and pushes my hand into something.
"Touch is the first sense to dull. Tell me what your hand is in."
It's grainy. I rub it between my fingers and a strong familiar aroma invades my nose. Grinning, a tad smugly, I announce, "Coffee."
He picks up my left hand and pushes it into something else. Definitely, without a doubt in my mind, this is jelly. Thank heavens for a decent childhood education.
"Jelly."
"You're getting good at this. Let's try one a little less obvious."
He pulls my hands out of their locations and wipes them down. Cool, moist, cloth of some kind. This is becoming a habit. I'm describing things to myself now and feel like a dunce.
"What are you smiling about?"
"Nothing." That just broadens my smile.
He wipes something over my hand.
"Tell me what that is."
I rub my fingers together. It's slimy! An involuntary shudder ripples through me. What's slimy? I can't think of anything other than slug.
"What is it?" I demand with a fair amount of rising apprehension.
"Taste it."
"No!"
"Come on. Trust me, Phoebe."
Bugger!
With huge dread I put the tip of my tongue onto my pointer finger. UGH. NO. It's horrid. Bitter bitter bitter. Bleaugh. My skin crawls and covers with bumps.
"It's repulsive! What is it?"
"Placenta."
Scrambling, I fall backward in frantic motion. I have to wash my mouth and hand, now.
"You total bastard!"
I fall, banging my head. I have to get this stuff off. NOW! Shit that hurt.