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CeruleanTempest
Meteorite
- Joined
- Jan 26, 2011
(be warned this is raw and does hold errors)
I am sin.
Or so he calls me, which is funny, for I’ve never heard him speak. I know his touch, though I’ve never felt it. I know his smell though the scent has never crossed my nose.
How you might ask?
He watches me, day and night he watches. Safe behind his thick glass, his cold black eyes glaring at my form with hatred I can only assume. I know because he throws things at me. Some nights he just watches…other nights I am not so lucky. Tonight I fear I am at a lost. For hours I have been encased in darkness with not a single sound but my own humming to sooth me. The large wooden door opens and she comes in. I have not seen her before. This woman whose dress glitters in the hallway light like the night stars I once watched for hours. She smiles eyes full of light and wonder and I wonder what this feels like. She wobbles, unstable on the ground she stands on swaying as if dancing to a song I can not hear. She spins arms open and spread coming father into the room I’m kept in. I watch her dance, the glisten sheen to her red hair catches the light like her dress does her painted red lips move, yet I hear nothing. I imagine her singing, something loud but fun, her heart shaped face nearly as red as her hair. Her feet are bare and legs exposed in the short form fitting dress she’s adoring, its colors of lilac and silver. Colors I know very well. My eye catches movement and I shrink back, a swift move that the red head does not notice. I am sure she has not noticed me at all, but he has. Those cold black eyes search me out the moment he enter the room. He finds me, knowing what to look for and though I pray to turn invisible from his eye I know I can not. I try to move father back but have no father room to go. I am trap stuck still as this man comes into the room. His hands are empty but his mind is not. I know not where he goes or what he does, he comes and then he leaves, only to come again. He is not the one to feed me or clean the glass. He merely watches.
She turns to him and runs to his side arms wrapped around him she leans up presses red lips to his own. I’ve never seen him with another before. I tilt my head as he allows this. I’m frozen as I found those cruel eyes locked on mine. He kisses her back not touching her body, but eyes never leaving mine. She pulls back, her face still flushed but his lips part and move. She response with a smile and moves away, her fingers going to the back of her dress and parting the fabric to expose smooth flawless skin. Her dress falls away leaving nothing but her red hair to sweep across her back, and then she dances. This time she does not spin and spread her arms. She sways slow and steady fingers gliding down her neck and between the valley of her bosom down to her navel and she turns to face him, longer allowing me to see. Yet he does not watch her, he watches me. I have done nothing; I merely remain in my spot tucked as far into my corner behind the glass as I can. He removes his jacket. It like all things he wears is black, with little thought it is tossed onto the floor before large hands move to loosen his tie. His movements are jerked and harsh, always pulling always tugging. No patience…this is how I know his touch. Harsh. Demanding. Moving with a purpose, this is the touch I fear. The tie is gone and the pressed black button down shirt is as well. I know the scar on his chest, the thick bold line that crosses over where his heart should be.
I feel this man has no heart. Yet the rest of him is as it should be, hard. His skin is pale and his shoulders broad, his chest is defined with muscles much like his arms. I know his strength. He’s thrown many things at me, many heavy things. Once he cracked my glass, my shield my safe place and I panicked. I raced in circles placing my hands to the glass my eyes pleading begging for him to stop! When his rage ended and he saw the damage done, those cold eyes grew wide. He looked at me, and for one second I saw remorse. He placed his hands over the crack and closed his eyes lips moving and with the rising sun the next morning my glass was replaced. He did not come to me for four days.
The red head has stopped her dance and he takes her hand and leads her to me. I look around trying to find something to hide me, anything. Yet I have nothing I am left bare, he hates when I hide. So he has not left me the option. I do all I can and move into my corner thinking I am small and reminding myself I am safe. She can not touch me…he can not touch me. Her fingers press along my glass, and I tense, she can not see me yet. I know what is to come and I bite my lower lip in order to find some kind of comfort. That I am real, and I am safe. With little warning the lights come on. The floor below me is lit up in colors of lilac and silver. The colors I knew…and hated. My head drops and her eyes grow wide. She practically throws her body against my glass trying to look at me. Her mouth is moving, though the glass stops all sounds. Through the stands of dark hair I have I watch him, his lips they move. I know his voice without ever hearing him speak. I know despite his anger, he is soft spoken, his tone cruel by the way his worker cower before him. Yet he does not speak often I’ve noticed, when he watches me he rarely speaks. He speaks to her, and she likes it, I can tell by the shiver passing through her body. She taps my glass waving my closer, as if I would come to her. I don’t even come to him and he feeds me. She moves to the far corner of my glass, my cage the length of the room traveling from the ceiling to the floor. She lowers her body down and kneels trying to get a better look at me. I blink looking at her face and finding myself anger.
My eyes!
She has my eyes, the same stormy blue I gaze at her with are watching me with wonder and amazement. I hate him. I hate him for keeping me here, for taking me from those I love, and most of all I hate him for bring her here. I move before I can think, I rush to my glass and hiss furiously; I pull my lips back baring my teeth. I slam my hands against the glass and my actions cause her to fly back in terror. I turn to him and glare I move before him. He does nothing but watch. I slam my hands against the glass yet again. I open my mouth yelling, screaming doing all I can to show him my anger. If I had something to throw I would have by now. I’m breathing hard my hair a mess and my chest heaving my hands flat against the glass and still he stands there.
The seconds tick by before he lifts an eyebrow, a thin dark brown strip of hair on his otherwise clean face, and glance at the woman still laying on his floor in shock. He beacons her to him and like a dog she comes. He turns his attention back to me as he guides her back to the glass. She hesitant, as she should be, still she comes. He makes her face me placing her hands flat against my glass. Slowly eyes never leaving mine he moves to stand behind her. I glare as hard as I can; I refuse to look her in the eye, choosing to watch him instead. With slow steps he lifts his hand into my view and places it on her side, the action startles both of us and I frown. Eyes never wandering, he begins to explore her body. Those hands that have caused me nothing but pain, rub the naked flesh of her thighs in a manner I never knew him capable of.
So…so tender…
She closes her eyes, an act which I am highly grateful of, as he caresses her. He hugs her body close to his half naked frame and allows his fingertips to brush the underside of her breast, making her lips part. I don’t understand I’m scared I’m confused. I know what he’s doing, yet I haven’t the slightest idea. She leans her head to one side and his lips move to place light kisses against her neck. His fingers grow bolder and move to cup her breast squeezing them lightly before long fingers find a new target in dusty pink nipples. His toys with them, rolling them between his fingers and giving them playful tugs, all the while she loves it arching into his body as if she belongs there. His other hand has not stopped; no it continues its path along her long legs coming to rest on the nest of red curls. He needs not speak as she parts her legs and his fingers dive in. I...I can not watch, I will not watch. Yet why can I not turn around, why do I remain here enduring this torture?
Why?
Why does he touch her like that? Must I be his outlet for his pain and she his pleasure? Is it my fault he can not touch me and show me such things? Must I become his focus of hatred because of it? It kills me to watch him mold and shape her breast in his hand, to see her puffs of breath fog up my sweet glass. His hand, moving to stroke her tender region only to peek inside the heaven all women hold. Though what truly tears at my soul are his eyes, for they have not left me once. He brings this woman such divine pleasures and yet, he won’t stop watching me.
It hurts; it hurts like nothing he’s ever done before. I will take the hits against my glass, I will take the bottles thrown my way, give me my hours of darkness with not even my hum to comfort me. Throw your books, chairs, and lamps I’ll take them all so long as you make it stop. Don’t touch her there, don’t touch her in front of me…Damnit don’t touch her at all! This red haired woman who has stolen my eyes! So lost in thought it’s the sound of the tap on my glass the makes me open my eyes to find him looking at me, face empty of any emotion. Though he has stop, his hand no longer on her breast he point to his eyes. Eyes that I thought were cold and black are nothing more than dark gray. He then points to me and I lift me hands to my eyes, and I’m stunned to find tears. I’ve cried…alone in the dark many times, but I never cry in front of him. I quickly hide my face and turn around, he can’t see. I won’t let him see.
When I can control my tears I sigh knowing I must be strong and not let this effect me, as I take deep breaths the lights below me change. I spin around and there he sits, on the same black sofa he always sits on when he watches me. She is gone. There is no dress no nothing and I can’t find it in me to care where she has gone so long as she does not return. It is only he and I and I like it this way. He lowers the remote that controls most things, and then I hear it.
I hear it! Music it’s low and soft, a tune I can not place but its simple sublime. He has given me music, the melody rubs my soul and hugs my spirit and all I can do is smile. I turn to him and watch him watch me. He parts his lips and utters one word.
‘Dance.’
He moves his mouth slowly taking his time and making sure I hear him. He knows I can’t yet this is what he wants. He wants me to dance. Why should I? He his cruel, heartless, and sadistic in his own right, he mistreats me abuses me and brought that woman here. Why? I owe him nothing! But she danced…she danced for him without a second thought. He saw my tears and now she is gone…he…he gave me Music.
He, who keeps me locked away in silence and darkness, has turned on the lights and given me sound.
With my eyes closed, I lift my hands above my head and sway. It feels funny, childish as I rock my body from side to side, but I find a rhythm and give into it. I lean my head back and toss my hair. I stroke my arms and caress my neck and face. I turn my body spinning and dipping giving into to what feels right. I begin to wonder what it would feel like. To have his hands on me, like they were on her. Would he be tender with me? I flutter my fingertips across my neck as if they were his kisses, and I allow the shutter to travel down my spine. I think of the smell of thunderstorms over the night sea and I know this is his scent, strong, dangerous and without a doubt exciting and terrifying. It’s the only thing I can think of that makes me feel this way. He makes me feel this way; this is how I know his scent.
Oh what a delicious feeling this is. I giggle turning to face him and my body stops all movement. The man I have come to know is not the man standing before me. I know not who this man is, but me makes my heart race. His sofa abandon, he stands before my glass. His strong hand lay resting flat against my cold glass while the other, the other dear lord is stroking his shaft. His eyes clouded in lust watching me and I can not look away. His pants rest around his ankles and he pants heavily on the glass that parts us as his hair fall shaggy into his face. His swollen manhood is thick and erect caught tight in his grasp. His strokes, like expected, are long and hard. The tip an angry red, yet he watches, and for once I know not what to do. I can only return the favor and I watch him as well. My hand finds his against the glass and I rest my palm against his, the action makes him smirk and his strokes become more vigorous.
I know he would not be gentle with me, should he be allowed to touch me. He would hold me down and spread me open and take what he wanted without question. He’d make me beg and plead and punish me should it not be to his liking. He would be rough and demanding, there would be no middle ground.
And I…would love every moment of it. I would submit and beg and follow his every command without question.
…If I was allowed to touch him…
I ease closer against the glass and rest my forehead against our divider, he does the same. He’s close, his strokes have become uneven, just fast jerking motions and his face is flush and I can see the damp sweat cling to his hair now on my glass. My other hand moves to the lower section of the glass, just where his shaft is and he opens his mouth as he release a cry of pleasure I can only assume and a thick white substance coats my glass where my hand now rest. His chest raises and falls with each breath and he eyes slowly open. They meet mine and, stormy blue watches smoky gray. With a lick of his lips he glances down at my hand and what lies on his side of it, dropping to his knees. He dips his finger into it and moves it to form letters. He writes S I N in the white substance and then stands back up. I look at it them back at him and he smirks pointing to me. He comes close and presses his lips against the glass and pulls back I flush blinking at his actions. He is my keeper, my tormentor, and my only everything. Knowing him he will most likely throw something at me tomorrow. For this reason, I know now...he is mine. Because I will be here tomorrow and the woman with my eyes will not. Nor will any other. So I lean forward and press my lips to the glass as well. Kissing it softly, kissing him softly. He does nothing when I pull way, merely leaning down to fix his pants. He takes one more look at me then departs from the room.
My cage is now encased in a soft blue glow from my lights and the music fills my space. His cloths still lay on the floor and his stain now runs down the glass. The letters no longer readable, but I shall not forget them.
I am Sin.
I have the lust of a man.
He has the love of a mermaid.
I am forever trapped behind this glass, but for the first time I wonder…who is truly the one who is trapped?
~Fin~
I am sin.
Or so he calls me, which is funny, for I’ve never heard him speak. I know his touch, though I’ve never felt it. I know his smell though the scent has never crossed my nose.
How you might ask?
He watches me, day and night he watches. Safe behind his thick glass, his cold black eyes glaring at my form with hatred I can only assume. I know because he throws things at me. Some nights he just watches…other nights I am not so lucky. Tonight I fear I am at a lost. For hours I have been encased in darkness with not a single sound but my own humming to sooth me. The large wooden door opens and she comes in. I have not seen her before. This woman whose dress glitters in the hallway light like the night stars I once watched for hours. She smiles eyes full of light and wonder and I wonder what this feels like. She wobbles, unstable on the ground she stands on swaying as if dancing to a song I can not hear. She spins arms open and spread coming father into the room I’m kept in. I watch her dance, the glisten sheen to her red hair catches the light like her dress does her painted red lips move, yet I hear nothing. I imagine her singing, something loud but fun, her heart shaped face nearly as red as her hair. Her feet are bare and legs exposed in the short form fitting dress she’s adoring, its colors of lilac and silver. Colors I know very well. My eye catches movement and I shrink back, a swift move that the red head does not notice. I am sure she has not noticed me at all, but he has. Those cold black eyes search me out the moment he enter the room. He finds me, knowing what to look for and though I pray to turn invisible from his eye I know I can not. I try to move father back but have no father room to go. I am trap stuck still as this man comes into the room. His hands are empty but his mind is not. I know not where he goes or what he does, he comes and then he leaves, only to come again. He is not the one to feed me or clean the glass. He merely watches.
She turns to him and runs to his side arms wrapped around him she leans up presses red lips to his own. I’ve never seen him with another before. I tilt my head as he allows this. I’m frozen as I found those cruel eyes locked on mine. He kisses her back not touching her body, but eyes never leaving mine. She pulls back, her face still flushed but his lips part and move. She response with a smile and moves away, her fingers going to the back of her dress and parting the fabric to expose smooth flawless skin. Her dress falls away leaving nothing but her red hair to sweep across her back, and then she dances. This time she does not spin and spread her arms. She sways slow and steady fingers gliding down her neck and between the valley of her bosom down to her navel and she turns to face him, longer allowing me to see. Yet he does not watch her, he watches me. I have done nothing; I merely remain in my spot tucked as far into my corner behind the glass as I can. He removes his jacket. It like all things he wears is black, with little thought it is tossed onto the floor before large hands move to loosen his tie. His movements are jerked and harsh, always pulling always tugging. No patience…this is how I know his touch. Harsh. Demanding. Moving with a purpose, this is the touch I fear. The tie is gone and the pressed black button down shirt is as well. I know the scar on his chest, the thick bold line that crosses over where his heart should be.
I feel this man has no heart. Yet the rest of him is as it should be, hard. His skin is pale and his shoulders broad, his chest is defined with muscles much like his arms. I know his strength. He’s thrown many things at me, many heavy things. Once he cracked my glass, my shield my safe place and I panicked. I raced in circles placing my hands to the glass my eyes pleading begging for him to stop! When his rage ended and he saw the damage done, those cold eyes grew wide. He looked at me, and for one second I saw remorse. He placed his hands over the crack and closed his eyes lips moving and with the rising sun the next morning my glass was replaced. He did not come to me for four days.
The red head has stopped her dance and he takes her hand and leads her to me. I look around trying to find something to hide me, anything. Yet I have nothing I am left bare, he hates when I hide. So he has not left me the option. I do all I can and move into my corner thinking I am small and reminding myself I am safe. She can not touch me…he can not touch me. Her fingers press along my glass, and I tense, she can not see me yet. I know what is to come and I bite my lower lip in order to find some kind of comfort. That I am real, and I am safe. With little warning the lights come on. The floor below me is lit up in colors of lilac and silver. The colors I knew…and hated. My head drops and her eyes grow wide. She practically throws her body against my glass trying to look at me. Her mouth is moving, though the glass stops all sounds. Through the stands of dark hair I have I watch him, his lips they move. I know his voice without ever hearing him speak. I know despite his anger, he is soft spoken, his tone cruel by the way his worker cower before him. Yet he does not speak often I’ve noticed, when he watches me he rarely speaks. He speaks to her, and she likes it, I can tell by the shiver passing through her body. She taps my glass waving my closer, as if I would come to her. I don’t even come to him and he feeds me. She moves to the far corner of my glass, my cage the length of the room traveling from the ceiling to the floor. She lowers her body down and kneels trying to get a better look at me. I blink looking at her face and finding myself anger.
My eyes!
She has my eyes, the same stormy blue I gaze at her with are watching me with wonder and amazement. I hate him. I hate him for keeping me here, for taking me from those I love, and most of all I hate him for bring her here. I move before I can think, I rush to my glass and hiss furiously; I pull my lips back baring my teeth. I slam my hands against the glass and my actions cause her to fly back in terror. I turn to him and glare I move before him. He does nothing but watch. I slam my hands against the glass yet again. I open my mouth yelling, screaming doing all I can to show him my anger. If I had something to throw I would have by now. I’m breathing hard my hair a mess and my chest heaving my hands flat against the glass and still he stands there.
The seconds tick by before he lifts an eyebrow, a thin dark brown strip of hair on his otherwise clean face, and glance at the woman still laying on his floor in shock. He beacons her to him and like a dog she comes. He turns his attention back to me as he guides her back to the glass. She hesitant, as she should be, still she comes. He makes her face me placing her hands flat against my glass. Slowly eyes never leaving mine he moves to stand behind her. I glare as hard as I can; I refuse to look her in the eye, choosing to watch him instead. With slow steps he lifts his hand into my view and places it on her side, the action startles both of us and I frown. Eyes never wandering, he begins to explore her body. Those hands that have caused me nothing but pain, rub the naked flesh of her thighs in a manner I never knew him capable of.
So…so tender…
She closes her eyes, an act which I am highly grateful of, as he caresses her. He hugs her body close to his half naked frame and allows his fingertips to brush the underside of her breast, making her lips part. I don’t understand I’m scared I’m confused. I know what he’s doing, yet I haven’t the slightest idea. She leans her head to one side and his lips move to place light kisses against her neck. His fingers grow bolder and move to cup her breast squeezing them lightly before long fingers find a new target in dusty pink nipples. His toys with them, rolling them between his fingers and giving them playful tugs, all the while she loves it arching into his body as if she belongs there. His other hand has not stopped; no it continues its path along her long legs coming to rest on the nest of red curls. He needs not speak as she parts her legs and his fingers dive in. I...I can not watch, I will not watch. Yet why can I not turn around, why do I remain here enduring this torture?
Why?
Why does he touch her like that? Must I be his outlet for his pain and she his pleasure? Is it my fault he can not touch me and show me such things? Must I become his focus of hatred because of it? It kills me to watch him mold and shape her breast in his hand, to see her puffs of breath fog up my sweet glass. His hand, moving to stroke her tender region only to peek inside the heaven all women hold. Though what truly tears at my soul are his eyes, for they have not left me once. He brings this woman such divine pleasures and yet, he won’t stop watching me.
It hurts; it hurts like nothing he’s ever done before. I will take the hits against my glass, I will take the bottles thrown my way, give me my hours of darkness with not even my hum to comfort me. Throw your books, chairs, and lamps I’ll take them all so long as you make it stop. Don’t touch her there, don’t touch her in front of me…Damnit don’t touch her at all! This red haired woman who has stolen my eyes! So lost in thought it’s the sound of the tap on my glass the makes me open my eyes to find him looking at me, face empty of any emotion. Though he has stop, his hand no longer on her breast he point to his eyes. Eyes that I thought were cold and black are nothing more than dark gray. He then points to me and I lift me hands to my eyes, and I’m stunned to find tears. I’ve cried…alone in the dark many times, but I never cry in front of him. I quickly hide my face and turn around, he can’t see. I won’t let him see.
When I can control my tears I sigh knowing I must be strong and not let this effect me, as I take deep breaths the lights below me change. I spin around and there he sits, on the same black sofa he always sits on when he watches me. She is gone. There is no dress no nothing and I can’t find it in me to care where she has gone so long as she does not return. It is only he and I and I like it this way. He lowers the remote that controls most things, and then I hear it.
I hear it! Music it’s low and soft, a tune I can not place but its simple sublime. He has given me music, the melody rubs my soul and hugs my spirit and all I can do is smile. I turn to him and watch him watch me. He parts his lips and utters one word.
‘Dance.’
He moves his mouth slowly taking his time and making sure I hear him. He knows I can’t yet this is what he wants. He wants me to dance. Why should I? He his cruel, heartless, and sadistic in his own right, he mistreats me abuses me and brought that woman here. Why? I owe him nothing! But she danced…she danced for him without a second thought. He saw my tears and now she is gone…he…he gave me Music.
He, who keeps me locked away in silence and darkness, has turned on the lights and given me sound.
With my eyes closed, I lift my hands above my head and sway. It feels funny, childish as I rock my body from side to side, but I find a rhythm and give into it. I lean my head back and toss my hair. I stroke my arms and caress my neck and face. I turn my body spinning and dipping giving into to what feels right. I begin to wonder what it would feel like. To have his hands on me, like they were on her. Would he be tender with me? I flutter my fingertips across my neck as if they were his kisses, and I allow the shutter to travel down my spine. I think of the smell of thunderstorms over the night sea and I know this is his scent, strong, dangerous and without a doubt exciting and terrifying. It’s the only thing I can think of that makes me feel this way. He makes me feel this way; this is how I know his scent.
Oh what a delicious feeling this is. I giggle turning to face him and my body stops all movement. The man I have come to know is not the man standing before me. I know not who this man is, but me makes my heart race. His sofa abandon, he stands before my glass. His strong hand lay resting flat against my cold glass while the other, the other dear lord is stroking his shaft. His eyes clouded in lust watching me and I can not look away. His pants rest around his ankles and he pants heavily on the glass that parts us as his hair fall shaggy into his face. His swollen manhood is thick and erect caught tight in his grasp. His strokes, like expected, are long and hard. The tip an angry red, yet he watches, and for once I know not what to do. I can only return the favor and I watch him as well. My hand finds his against the glass and I rest my palm against his, the action makes him smirk and his strokes become more vigorous.
I know he would not be gentle with me, should he be allowed to touch me. He would hold me down and spread me open and take what he wanted without question. He’d make me beg and plead and punish me should it not be to his liking. He would be rough and demanding, there would be no middle ground.
And I…would love every moment of it. I would submit and beg and follow his every command without question.
…If I was allowed to touch him…
I ease closer against the glass and rest my forehead against our divider, he does the same. He’s close, his strokes have become uneven, just fast jerking motions and his face is flush and I can see the damp sweat cling to his hair now on my glass. My other hand moves to the lower section of the glass, just where his shaft is and he opens his mouth as he release a cry of pleasure I can only assume and a thick white substance coats my glass where my hand now rest. His chest raises and falls with each breath and he eyes slowly open. They meet mine and, stormy blue watches smoky gray. With a lick of his lips he glances down at my hand and what lies on his side of it, dropping to his knees. He dips his finger into it and moves it to form letters. He writes S I N in the white substance and then stands back up. I look at it them back at him and he smirks pointing to me. He comes close and presses his lips against the glass and pulls back I flush blinking at his actions. He is my keeper, my tormentor, and my only everything. Knowing him he will most likely throw something at me tomorrow. For this reason, I know now...he is mine. Because I will be here tomorrow and the woman with my eyes will not. Nor will any other. So I lean forward and press my lips to the glass as well. Kissing it softly, kissing him softly. He does nothing when I pull way, merely leaning down to fix his pants. He takes one more look at me then departs from the room.
My cage is now encased in a soft blue glow from my lights and the music fills my space. His cloths still lay on the floor and his stain now runs down the glass. The letters no longer readable, but I shall not forget them.
I am Sin.
I have the lust of a man.
He has the love of a mermaid.
I am forever trapped behind this glass, but for the first time I wonder…who is truly the one who is trapped?
~Fin~
Really detailed. Keep it up!