𝖂𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖎𝖋 𝕲𝖊𝖙𝖔 𝕴𝖘 𝖄𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 (𝖝 𝕱𝖊𝖒 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗)

8-2: 𝔊𝔞𝔩𝔞 (𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 2)

❤︎ 𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙲𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃: 𝙶𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗! 𝙶𝚘 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 "7.5𝚔 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢" 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘 <3

❤︎ 1,599 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜, 6.5 𝚖𝚒𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎

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On the colour wheel, red and green never sit by each other. A colour wheel is called a wheel not because it moves anywhere, but only because it's round. Things are not always how it seems. The wheel doesn't go forward; it stays and stays flat. A faux wheel with a wannabe axis. An axis from which nothing radiates. Slices of colour form spokes between them. Spokes connecting to the axis. Spokes to axis. Spokes then axe. They spoke. They spoke and an axe fell between them. They spoke between themselves but across the axis, red and green. Red and green never sit by each other, their points only touching. Red is his favourite colour.

I know that just now because red is on me. Red is growing on me. He is planting red on me. Red stems encircle me. I am a stalk of flowers infested by a foreign body. Red vines bite into me. Bloody tentacles suctioning my body. Parasitic ropes syphoning off my life. Deep wine ropes in Geto's hands.

"What are you thinking about?" He asks, softly.

What does one think about when they are knelt on the floor, slowly bound in red ropes? Wheels, vines, tentacles. But I don't speak. I don't give him the luxury of a broken silence.

He folded the thick rope in half, then brought one end of the rope above my chest while looping the other to the small of my back, forming a slipknot around my torso.

Now, the rope crisscrosses between my breasts and then folds itself on my tender back. The rope hugs itself onto my bare skin, just enough so I breathe watchfully. My breasts are heavy, swollen, and bountiful. I am his bounty, his reaping from the lives he took. My lower body is scantily clad in a piece of lingerie, marble-black and laced. He also put me in a pair of webbed stockings held up by a garter belt. How old-fashioned.

His movements are tender, slow, and repentant. What better way to apologize to someone than by binding her up? When you've accidentally hurt your pet, you can say "It hurt my feelings first" and then buy it a nice toy afterwards, whether it likes it or not.

Geto lifts another rope and attaches it to the rope cage constricting around me. He winds it upwards: two braids, each running, vertically, through one of my clavicles. Braids made from jute, little doll pigtails growing from his hands.

When he's finished, I look down at myself. I am secured in a shiabari-style chest harness. It is shaped like a brassière with straps over my shoulders and towards my upper back. The body of the harness consists of a maze of ropes entangling my bosom and ribs.

He pulls me up to my feet and takes me in, his new toy. He cups my cheeks and kisses me darkly on my chapped lips.

Geto unzips a tight, ankle-length black skirt and moves my legs into it, encasing me. He then produces a billowy, white button-up shirt and encloses my arms with its sleeves. He closes up the shirt and smiles smugly at the cropped shirt, just sitting on my belly button. The harness is invisible now; visible only to me and him. He bejewels me with dazzling, dangling earrings and a thin golden necklace with a minute "G.S." pendant that matches the one on my collar. He also fixes my legs into peep-toe high heels. My toe tips peep through the shoes; the shoes look like fish with their mouths open, devouring my toes.