"If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."
"Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."
"Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?"
"Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer."
"O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair."
"Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake."
"Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.
Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged."
"Then have my lips the sin that they have took."
"Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!
Give me my sin again."
"You kiss by the book."
*~*~*
As the sun sets, a pair of green eyes open. The figure attached to them sits up quite abrupt. Lids wide and pupils dilated. Lips curl into a smile of relief and smooth, well shaven legs are tossed over the bedside.
The room wreaks of sex. Nothing new. The green eyes are soon covered by a floppy mess of black lanky hair stands. A hand reaches up to idly scratch at an itch before the figure stands completely and heads for the door.
On the way, fingers reach out to grasp a robe hanging from a hat stand by the door and is soon applied to the naked body of the man now searching for sustenance. Pale lips look cracked and chapped. Bags aren't just accessories, but purple marks under his lids. Finally, the body is sweaty from motion and stinky from not being cleaned.
In passing the living room, he sees the mess he left behind the night before that his partner had yet to see and, as always, clean up.
Meanwhile, another body laying in the bed is awoken. This time eyes of magenta, not emerald. A small, pale and bruised hand is extended to the empty side of the sheets the first figure had vacated. The once calm magenta eyes begin to widen and the arm is pulled back under the covers while skinny fingers pull them up to the little boys chin.
'A-Again... it's... Happening again...' The Voice in his head is quiet after that note. In fear of being caught, though he knows thoughts aren't broadcasted. The boy curls his toes inward as eyes fill with saltwater at the slight pain felt in his backside and all along his torso.
The small hand reaches below the covers and grasps a caff. It comes back red and leaves a burning sensation behind mapping the shape of his hand. The magenta in the eyes begins to fade as if in discoloration. Something has made the boy think he has no way out.
Footsteps return to the direction of the room and the small boy's head turns while eyelids shut to feign sleep. For the sake of safety. The second body sits down bed dipping with his weight. A pressure is felt on the small boys thigh, but it was too numb to see what exact pressure that was.
A small twitch gives his act away and the determination once clouding the small boys mind with hope dissappears within a few simple words... 'You're mine now, you little whore.'
Eardrums thump hard and loud, mimicking the beating of his heart. The magenta eyes are open once more to meet the eyes of the person he is terrified of. A thin fingered hand wrenches the pale boys wrist from under the raggety covers. On one of the five fingers sits the weatherworn wedding ring along with the equaly bland engagement ring.
What was once thought of as a dream come true has turned into a shadowy depth to which the boy regrets traveling into.
Living life with only fear, only anticipation. Waiting and pondering the next move his partner will make and when a decent time would be to escape. This situation in particular was one the small boy knows he can never escape.
The breath he inhales is filled with the scent of old stale beer and knock off wine. His stomach convulses and he happens to dry heave which doesn't play off well for his partner.
The enemy stared the teen dead in the eye and ripped the blanket off. Chilling air licked the sensitive and bare skin of the small boys body. Sweat pastes his hair to his forehead and his legs together to protect his area of utmost sensitivity.
The tip of a whip is sent idly brushing a tingly line across his left thigh before a smack makes him nearly jump from his skin. Adrenaline of the surprise knocking out the instant pain. Instead, he utters the word he knows in his mind will only make things worse... "No..."
"Yes..." Suddenly, the whip begins to crazily slap every bare inch of his body with precision and the strength of two full men. "Yes! You're mine, you bitch don't defy me!!!!!"
"I don't want it anymore, please! It hurts, it hurts, really bad," the small boy states between endless screeches and screams. Tears soak his face and cheeks puff and turn red. Hands grasp the whip, hands that have been broken many times but mended with special magic.
The slightly chubby, childlike palm is held out to the abuser in defense for his life, while the green eyed man has nothing but a masochistic craze and maddening sense of bloody, gory humor. "You bleed for me and me only... You hear me...? YOU HEAR ME??!!"
"YES sir!!!" The short arms of the even paler, aching, bleeding victim stretches over his face to protect his eyes from being injured again. It is bad enough the condition he already stands in.
"Good little who're, ehehehe... Go make me a goddam meal you piece of shit."
YOU ARE READING
A White Castle Wonderland
FanfictionDomino High is idealistic. The people are down to earth (however if you aren't, the rough ones bring you back); The imaginations are thoroughly undiscovered. There is much to be explained from the new generation of High School Students. Like the nec...
