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Nothing

By Toran

 

Music pulsed around her, wrapped itself around her flesh, soaked in past the drunken pores, touched her deep down inside.� At that moment, it was her soul that was awakening, the soul that followed every sip of tequila, the soul that was one with the music and one with the world as she now knew it.� Thumping, throbbing.� It was real, so fucking real.

She danced, her limbs touching immortality.� All was clear, fogged in and clear.� She paused in between an oldie from REM and something new from Outkast.� It didn�t matter.� Tequila awoke the ear in her and that in turn awoke the eye.� What was lost and obscured before tequila was once again all that there was to know.� Oneness.�

She would be tied.� The small voice inside her knew that the tequila that awoke the ear and opened the eye would also cross the wrists, spread the impatient legs, surrender.� And that was good.� All was good.

The world tilted and she steadied herself against the barstool.� The guy with the huge brown eyes helped with a firm grip on her arm.�� That was good.� Firm was good.� Firm had voice, power.� Firm controlled the ropes.� God, she needed to be tied and fucked.� Soon.� Just a little more nectar � a little more tequila.� Firm ordered her another shot and that disappeared in a fiery blaze that splashed through her stomach and raced to her fingers and toes.� Maybe there would be nipple clamps and that would be bad, so bad that it would be good.� Firm would maybe need to be coached and she would have to swim away from the tequila to teach, show him he was boss.

She knocked away from the electric bar and headed out onto the floor just as retro-Pretenders flowed from the speakers.� Speakers were voices and grips were firm and a voice could be gagged and a firm grip could tie and she would allow it � make it happen.� Soon.

The midnight hour was fast approaching and there was little time.� She pulled firm close in a firm grip of her own, and snarled what she wanted in his ear.� Tequila hadn�t cast its spell on him and he wasn�t quick enough to open his ear and listen to her, read her, see into her.� Ropes could only go so far � after the symbolic act there had to be more.� God, to be tied just for the fuck of it � not cool.� Not oneness.� The music would continue into the night, down the taut ropes, through her flesh.� And into her soul.� But only if there was oneness � the soft flesh that tied the soft flesh.

She stumbled past the bar, catching the glare of a few of the tramps there.� One snarled and there was only one response to that.� Oneness, one finger, one special finger.� Out into the crisp cool night with the music fading away behind her and nothing but possibility before her, firm gripping her arm tightly � he had sensed her soul after all.� Yes, there would be ropes, and there would be freedom, freedom in surrender.� By fuck, there would be or the world meant �

 

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