Posted by Verity Chastain on June 25, 2002 at 01:13:24:
To Afficianados: I'm sorry, as in "Rough" no one dies although
it is intended that eventually this character, a pastiche
of Jack Scagnetti from NBK (but not him) *will* kill this
very girl here. So consider it a preface, and consider
it utter realism....no romance within my friends, just the
truth, just the truth, just the truth-Verity
Moment Out of Time
by Verity Chastain
-for Jack
It was a big room and a lovely one; no Motel Six
quickie here (she laughed inside; this was a quickie of
a different sort). But with a big room, nothing to
force them close, past each other and thus into a
kiss, caress. But he crowded her, kept crowding her,
had since the instant they met downstairs. She still
didn't like it but she knew, knew how it had to go.
When she was everyday Laylah she had personal space;
when she was lilitu the little whore nothing was hers,
not event the air around her, it was all his. The
sooner she made that transition...
He called her over and she went. He wanted something
from he already, something she'd apparently failed to
give although she'd tried, answering questions,
showing all the right cues (eyes down then flicker up;
legs opened, one extended to pull up her skirt; all
the little slut tricks) but something wasn't right.
When they were on the bed he tugged her down, abrupt
but not rough. "You haven't spread yet." She
automaticall opened her legs wide and he impatiently
kicked them closed. "You're hiding inside here-"he
tapped her head--"and you won't give me everything I
want. That's how it's supposed to be, you're supposed
to *spread* for me, Laylah."
She was confused but quickly protested. "Ask, ask
anything I'll answer I'll tell you stories my history
just--" He hushed her. As usual when she was like
this her words ran like a chaotic stream. Then his
mouth was on hers. Not hard but not soft either;
teasing one moment, exploring the next. She melted,
loved his taste, the warmth of his breath on her face,
the closeness. It ended the uncertainty, the
trembling. It quieted the overbusy mind. It made her
his for every second his mouth covered hers.
Suddenly he pulled apart from her -- and thrust two
fingers into her mouth! Startled, she nearly pulled
back, but he explored her teeth, opened her jaw, then
went back to kissing her. She tried to wonder about
it but she could feel her brain shutting down like a
brownout. It wasn't neeed here, just her body and her
instincts and her sexual skills, so it went away and
to her it was good fucking riddance, she always had
hated the fucking thing.
She caressed him tentatively, not sure he'd like it at
first, but soon he was moving again, across the bed,
grabbing a joint, smoking, talking some, then tugging
at her blouse, not just taking it off but playing with
it and with her bra/slip, slipping his fingers
underneath, pushing the shirt off one shoulder, toying
with her almost frantically. That fucking Scagnetti*
vibe he had made her almost crazy to have him just
tear her clothes off and fuck her, but she was
beginning to figure out...to do what he wanted wasn't
going to be like doing what *anyone* else wanted. He
liked what he liked and he'd teach her those things as
he chose, and she could go with the flow and be happy
as she drowned in it, or she could try to fight it and
be drowned nonetheless.
She let herself float under.
It wasn't long before self-conscious little
never-go-out-without-something-covering-your-stomach-and-ass
was completely exposed to him, his face down there,
his fingers petting, patting, probing deep, gentle,
then suddenly ah GODS so rough twisting her fat flesh
around itself, more than a pinch a vicious *yank* that
left tears in her eyes. And again at first she
*hated* it and he did it again and she *hated* it and
he didn't do it for a while and she wished he
would...she smiled to herself. He had her now. She
was his, for this night, or as many nights as he
chose, because she'd come to long for the things that
pleased him. She wanted the pain he would generously
or stingily give her. She needed the pleasure that he
would dole out as it pleased him.
And then he said, enigmatically (but not really) "See?
*Now* you're spread for me."
She didn't see anything in the room, the City, the
world...but Him.
When she staggered out into the night hours later, her
cunt hurting from his probing, bitemarks and scratches
on her, her hair tangled and smelling of his cum, she
reviewed for that one precious memory, the one that
would go in the file of this night, and live as long
as she did. And she saw/felt/smelled/tasted him
sitting on her face, not her entire face covered
because she could see a little, but making her lick,
stick her tongue deep up us ass (she *had* hated that
before this evening; now she prayed he'd let her do it
again) while he jacked off on her tits, playing with
them a little as he did so. He was wondering at the
position, new to him too and she liked that...but what
she liked most was that he was using what he wanted
*and only what he wanted* of her body. He faced away
from her, her body spread before him but scorned but
for her tits. Her eyes didn't matter to him, nor her
facial expression.
Just two things.
Tits.
Tongue.
That was all she was, all she was reduced to, and she
felt everything she was, everything she'd ever been
flow into tits, into tongue, and as much as she could,
into him, his pleasure. She was nothing else. There
was no other moment. Maybe this was why she wanted to
die like this...to make moments like this eternal.
For he'd come, or stop, and it would end...and in a
world build by a better bunch of Gods she could stop
time and lie there beneath him, one knee folded up,
her cunt exposed, big stomach in front of him, tits
his to touch or to ignore, but apparently a pleasure
to look at, and her face *filled* with his balls, his
asshole tasting musty and so male, his lovely,
creamysoft asscheeks, which she reached to caress.
Oh yes. So many minutes. But this one, this one was
hers forever. Maybe she'd write it down, send it to
him, but whether she did or not, she wobbled off into
the night almost singing to herself, smelling him all
over her, happier, calmer, more *her* than she could
ever have been without him and what he had chosen to
do to her.
*if you have not met Jack Scagnetti, played by Tom Sizemore,
rent Natural Born Killers, the directors cut. Watch not just
how he treats/needs Mallory but what he does to the prostitute
in the little nasty motel room. He is incredible...our Jack
above is not him but quite capable of choking a girl one
moment and then saying with a realistic laugh "I'm kidding!
Don't you know I'm kidding? C'mere to old Jack, I won't hurt
you..."
It's an eerie performance. It's an eerie character.
It's really fucking eerie when you meet him in person. In complete Verity Chastain