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Miracle
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
This is a 'true story' so to speak. I could think of no
other way of explaining it without using a 'story' as my medium.
comments appreciated, of course. wi.1005. :)
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Miracle pulls her shawl about her shoulders and knocks a
second time. She takes a step back from the door, glancing
nervously beyond the porch to the sheets of rain that pour re-
lentlessly from a sky which rumbles like an engine. Miracle's
mind empties as her eyes are hypnotized by the fall of the silver
water. This is what she wanted...to be lulled in thought away
from the visit she is making. Her heart jumps when she hears the
music from inside the apartment vanish into silence, and foot-
steps sounding heavily towards the door.
"Hi! Come on in," he says, stepping away from the door.
"You just dropping by or what?"
She stumbles across the threshold and into the warmth of the
tiny apartment. The question is not absolute..."just stopping
by," she replies. As usual, miracle feels self-conscious and
uncomfortable. She looks around for one of the three cats that
share their abode with Duncan, and smiles as one patters around
near her feet. She scoops it up and snuggles it close to her
body, thankful for the distraction.
"...so?" Duncan asks, leaning against the sofa and watching
her.
"I don't know why I came by, really. Just bored." Lie?
Duncan leans over and scritches the cat in her arms. "Oh,
well. Ok. I'm busy doing work stuff, but you can listen to
music or wach T.V. or whatever...wanna do my dishes?"
She chuckles a little, "not really."
"Once upon a time I could've made you..."
Miracle smirks, "yeah sure." in her mind cross fleeting
images...memories? She dismisses them. The conflict arises from
wanting but resisting, and how is she to resolve? She puts the
cat on the carpet and removes her shawl. For some reason her
soft voice speaks: "can I lie down on your bed?"
Duncan is in no way surprised. He knows far more about her
gears, and how to oil them, than miracle does herself. He says
casually, "sure, but mind the laundry." His eyes hold more than
his words. She chooses not to notice.
She walks down the short hallway to the bedroom, removing
her jewelry and shoes and climbing into the bed. Oh, bliss.
Waterbed. Heated. There is nothing better. It is like resting
on a giant's full belly. The thought amuses her until her eyes
feel heavy. A thought whispers in her mind, 'why are you here?
When will he come? Will you resist? Why do you do what you do?'
She turns over when he strides into the room, feigning sleep he
pretends to believe.
"Miracle?" he asks. She does not see him. She does not
acknowledge. She hears him take off his shoes and then feels the
liquid heave of the bed as it takes his weight beside her. His
fingers trace her arm. "Miracle?"
"Mmm?"
Duncan's hands, large and warm against her, pull and mold
her until she is trapped within his curled body. She twists a
little in annoyance, but not even she knows if the annoyance is
sincere. "I like cuddling you," he says in his characteristic
bluntness.
"I know you do," she mumbles. Sarcasm, they say, is a
weapon.
"Brat," he replies. His tone is familiar. She feels warmth
creep into her face. Maybe he won't notice.
"And how are you feeling?" he asks. At first she thinks he
knows, then recognizes the question as small-talk.
"Tired," she replies. "I don't know. Light-headed maybe."
She must prepare an excuse for anything that might happen. It is
true. She has willed herself into a warm silver gell where her
decisions may be taken from her, should anyone begi...
"I miss playing with you," he says.
"I know you do," she mumbles again. Her eyes are open but
he can't see them. Oh lord. She doesn't want him. She wants to
play. She wants to sub. She doesn't want _him_. Right?
"You miss it too." Duncan's voice has become firm. She
feels turned on immediately. There was a time, she remembers
with a mix of feelings, that he could merely command her to come
and she would, whether she liked it or not-- be it in a mall, a
playground, a bedroom, or in the midst of a normal conversation.
She feels his hands, so familiar, so frightening, pull her arms
behind her back. Just the beginning. Her mind spills fear, her
body emanates want. Which will he recognize? She wants to leave
it up to him.
His breathing has become deeper. His tone gruffer. She
senses the amazing concentration into which Duncan immerses
himself. Were she to open her eyes, miracle would see the in-
tense look in his eyes. But she'd stop if she looked at him.
She allows herself to be pulled around and lies on her back for
him. She leaves her hands folded behind her. His fingers find
her breasts, but she resists the sensations.
I'm so cold, she thinks. I'm so heartless. I will begin it
because I want it so badly, and I will end it for no reason. No
reason that I can find. I will disappoint him. We will have the
talk we always have. We will decide not to try this again.
Then, when I feel this urge, I will phone him, or I will come by
his house. And again it will start. Why do I do this to us.
He knows her too well, and she is wet before she can say
'no.'
He knows, she tells herself. He knows how it will end.
She does not stay his hand. She does not call safeword.
She does not say no. She does not stop him. Want. It is fill-
ing her body as his hands travel it. Obedience. It washes over
her, calling her to her role. Stop. Stop. The voice is so
smal. So insistent. Perhaps she can ignore it this time. No.
She is harnessed for now. Until what moment she does not know.
Want. Obedience. Slave. Now.
When it is over he washes her down with a rough cloth drip-
ping with sweet soap and hot water. She feels ashamed, not
because of what she did, but because she wantsit to continue.
he won't let it. She never does. He breaks from master to
Duncan, she from slave to miracle. There is no going back after
one scene. He would be willing, she would be fighting with
herself again. Perhaps she leaves. Perhaps they watch T.V.
Perhaps she does his dishes.
~ miracle
'love without anger'
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