darkfloweruk (darkfloweruk) wrote in dyke_porn,
darkfloweruk
darkfloweruk
dyke_porn

My Shadow

My story below was posted on Cleansheets.com during September 2008.  I hope you enjoy it.

My Shadow
by Jacqueline Applebee


She asks me what I want. The sun has set, and she is ready to play.

I want to see her shadow.

Once upon a time, I foolishly said, "I'd never want anyone to hurt me." I'm a different woman now.
I don't get to choose how or when I'll end up in the clutches of the wicked villain, or should I say, villainess? It is funny how there are so few words in English to describe an evil woman. Bitch seems to be the only thing people say. People ought to say something else, because I am not a bitch, and neither is the woman who causes me so much pain and delight. She is my lover; any other description would sound like it came from a children's book. There is nothing childlike about her.

I used to blame it all on pre-menstrual tension, but she comes around three times a month, and it's not her blood that gets spilt when we are together -- it's always mine.

"Touch me." She whispers as if she cannot trust herself to speak louder. Even though my wrists are bound, I still stroke myself over her; use my breasts, my shoulders and my hair to caress her. She feels softer than she should, and I glide across her effortlessly.

"I want to hear you scream," she admits softly. She is going to do terrible things to me, and I know that I will surely let her. I love her shadow; I would live forever in darkness if it would keep her with me. Besides, I've always preferred the night. It's where I thrive, like a jasmine plant that only blooms beneath the light of the moon.

At first, she was insistent that I understand what she really is. I can cover my ears to keep the knowledge out but her strongest command is that I do not close my eyes; she says her shadow lives in the darkness, and I am not safe there alone. She then told me that her shadow was separate from her, that it may share her shape, her clothes, and her family name, but that was where the similarity ends. She explained that the woman who lived in the daylight would buy me roses, would write me poorly rhyming poetry, and would never admit to wanting me so much. But that daytime woman was not here, and her shadow wants me so badly that it hurts.

She asks if I am scared, and I am too afraid to speak. Fear is a chunk of apple wedged in my throat. Fear swallows my words; it makes my heart flutter in my chest. Fight or flight? Stay or go? Decisions are only an illusion, whilst she remains real. Pain is real too, but after a while pain feels more pleasurable than it should.

I can always run; she's even given me a head start a few times, but I always end up slammed flat on the wooden floor beneath her. The terror I am wracked with is almost worth it, just to hear her feral snarl, to see her wild unfocused green eyes. She makes me quiver under her, and that's when I remember what a stupid idea it was to try to escape. Who am I fooling? I never get away from her before she's done, and one of these days I will remember that before my back hits the floor. She is not a big bad wolf, but the way she huffs and puffs, hot and angry, I almost wish this fairytale-gone-wrong could have some other end; another end where I am not bruised for days, longing for her to come back and blow my house down all over again.

I can cover my ears with my still-bound hands, but I can't close my eyes.

It wasn't always this way. The first time I glimpsed her shadow, I didn't quite trust what I saw. I met her at my birthday party; when I blew out my candles, the flickering light was replaced by her darkness. She seemed to be a friend of a friend, but no one knew her name or where they had first met her. I just know that she remained in my kitchen when everyone else had left, and I felt her gaze on me as I made myself coffee. She moved like a ghost, as if she was invisible, and because of that, I pointedly ignored her. But as I sipped my hot brew, my eyes flicked over her -- and that tiny glimpse was enough. She held my gaze as she pulled her dress off, and stepped out, naked. She didn't look like a witch, or a hag, or a sorceress. She was beautiful. She was dangerous. And I was simply dead meat.

The first mistake of many was to stay in the kitchen, watching her strip. I should have run, I should have told her to put her clothes on and leave, but I didn't do either of those things. I moved closer, curious what would happen next, and once I got within arm's reach, she grabbed hold of my wrists, trapping me. I have been her prisoner ever since.

I'm free to come and go. I hold down a steady, responsible job, but when her shadow darkens my door, I have no choice but to let the monster in. My house is made of straw and sticks; I could never keep her out if I really wanted to, and actually, I don't. I cannot afford to miss a single moment. There will be no "happily every after," and I have to make the most of what I have.

She asks me what I want, and the words are breathed over my skin. My ears are half covered with my bound hands, but I still hear her. Through the purpling remnants of her last visit, my body gets the message loud and clear. She's playing with her food, toying with me as if I had a choice about any of this, but I'm too needy to fool around with any of her games.

"I want you inside me," I say roughly, and suddenly it's her birthday this time as her eyes widen. I've shocked her -- she expected me to put up a fight, but what is the point when the monster is real, and I invite her into my home three times a month? There is no way around it; I crave her shadow like an addiction.

But unlike an addict, I accept, and celebrate, my sordid desires. She can go out in the sun, she can write crappy poetry and buy roses for every girl on the street, but I have no such diversion. All the time that I'm not flat on my back, I'm thinking about the next instance I'll feel the wooden floor beneath me. Every occasion I'm not crying out -- because her teeth really are as sharp as a wolf's -- I'm casting spells that will bring her back to me, whispering into the ether, whispering to any power that will listen. I think about her every waking moment. I dream of being slapped and spanked and beaten. She thinks she knows me, but she has no idea what I have done. I scare myself every single night, and the fear does not go when the sun comes up. Her shadow hasn't got a thing on mine.

She inserts two fingers into my cunt, twists into my wet body heat. I keep my eyes open and watch another slim finger join the rest in a slow suck. I swallow to stop myself yelling out at what I turn into when she does this, and then I feel the pads of her fingertips against my G-spot, the plunge and pull as she thrusts inside me, over and over. She makes me strain against her until I am almost sitting up, my body surrounding her hand that pummels me. I come in a blinding flash, jerking like a line of noisy firecrackers. I squirt over her hand; rain over the floorboards...and she still doesn't stop. I want to wail until my throat hurts, but all I release is a plea for more.

This is my dark side. This is where I transform into the monster that consumes the woman who thinks she is the big bad wolf. I'm still coming explosively, and I can feel the small bones in her slender hand as they rub against each other, fragile and grating. I can see the painful look on her face as she squeezes her eyes shut. The sun is rising, and she has no strength left to escape. She breaks her own rule, desperate to find one last piece of darkness in which to hide, but ultimately it isn't enough.

She breaks first.

"Please," she begs. "Let me go." Her voice is small and frail; she sounds like a little piggy.

I release her only when I'm ready, only after my cunt has stopped its rocking spasms. She clutches her sticky hand to her chest, like a wounded animal would hold an injured paw.

And then she throws herself at me and kisses the breath from my lungs. She says that she loves my shadow. She says that she loves me. That's the scariest thing of them all.


©2008 by Jacqueline Applebee


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