"Story: Most Beloved « on: April 01, 2018, 12:12:23 AM » Repl" By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu) URL: https://pastebin.com/qfkzHjw9 Created on: Monday 2nd of April 2018 07:07:37 PM CDT Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:15:11 AM UTC Story: Most Beloved « on: April 01, 2018, 12:12:23 AM » ReplyQuote “So.” Melinda leaned playfully across the table, smiling a naughty smile and glancing around the crowded little restaurant. “If you had a beautiful girl, and you knew she’d say yes, no matter what... what would you ask her for?” To her surprise, the woman sitting across from her -- her college roommate, and semi-annual secret lover in the years since -- leaned back, her face closing up. Lallia looked around the room and crossed her arms. Melinda raised her eyebrows. “Ohhh,” she said, “a secret.” This was to be the last of their secret weekends, and Melinda wanted to make it memorable; Lallia was going back home Sunday night and then the following weekend she was going to get married to a man with very traditional outlooks on marriage and sexuality. Lallia would not need to be circumcised, but that had been a point of negotiation between their families. And Lallia took the whole thing seriously, too; she’d always felt torn between her decadent Californian girlfriend and her traditional upbringing. Finally, at twenty-five, she’d chosen the life she wanted, and Melinda wasn’t going to be in it. So their weekends would end; if they saw one another again, it would be as ordinary old friends, gradually falling further and further out of touch from one another as the years went by. The thought of it was like a knife in Melinda’s heart, but she worked hard not to begrudge her friend her happiness. Friend. They’d never gotten to the point of being “girlfriends”; “secret lovers” was as far as Lallia had been willing to go, and Melinda had settled for it. She wasn’t proud; she would take what she could get. “Do you remember,” said Lallia, looking uncomfortable, “Senior year, when you were writing your thesis on deviant behavior on the Internet? And you showed me those websites, where men fantasized about killing women?” Remember? Melinda still visited those websites often. She had a whole identity built around the message boards there; she shared fantasies and she masturbated to... “And there were women who fantasized about being killed,” Lallia continued, “Who wanted it, who talked about...” Melinda was focusing on not nodding too enthusiastically. Lallia’s body language was still closed off. Melinda reached across the table and put her hand on her friend’s arm. Friend. “It’s OK,” she said. “It’s just a question, just... meant to titilate a little bit, bring up ideas...” She gave her friend a seductive smile. “You know, for later.” Lallia shook her head, refusing to be comforted. Her dark, curly hair flew across her face. She caught Melinda’s eyes and stared into them, her face serious. “If I had a beautiful woman who would say yes to whatever I wanted,” said Lallia, “I would ask her if she would let me kill her. I would ask her if I could see her die in my arms.” Melinda gasped, just a little bit. She tried to ignore the spreading warmth in her cheeks, and... elsewhere. “Yes,” she gasped. Lallia had looked away when she made her admission, but now her eyes snapped back onto Melinda’s. “What?” she asked. Melinda opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She felt pinned to her seat, as though the whole world were suddenly watching her. “Nothing,” she said, cursing herself for a coward. “Nothing, let’s go for a walk.” The two women walked through the mall that connected their resort-casino with the one next door, not quite holding hands, their fingers brushing gently as they walked. Lallia had carefully researched to find a resort that didn’t have cameras in public spaces -- except the casino floor -- but still, she didn’t like taking the chance that they’d somehow end up in the background of someone’s tourist shot that ended up on the Internet like a time-bomb waiting to wreck her marriage years or decades in the future. “So,” said Melinda, careful to keep her voice pitched low, “This beautiful woman who would say yes. How would you, uh...” She looked at Lallia out of the corner of her eye. The other woman always very contained, was doing her best to look as though she were not listening. Melinda couldn’t keep her eyes off her; she never had been able to. The way her hips swayed as she walked in those lovely heels, the way her breasts moved beneath her conservative but alluring blouse... Lallia was not wearing a bra, which was as close as she came to provocative dress; her breasts were just the right size and shape to make it... “Knife,” said Lallia, suddenly. “I’d stab her, and look into her eyes while she bled away.” She looked sideways at Melinda, and Melinda felt her heart pounding in her chest. “I, uh...” She was flushed again, and felt completely tongue-tied. The mall directory she’d looked at when they’d first arrived flashed before her eyes. “Um,” she started again, “Let’s go this way.” She turned suddenly, darting down another corridor and leaving Lallia to catch up for once. She could hear Lallia’s heels clacking a little faster behind her, rushing to keep up. Up ahead, she saw the name she remembered from the mall directory: Milo’s Cutlery, in big brown Olde English lettering. She ducked into the shop furtively, as though it were an adult bookshop. She found herself drawn to the display of novelty blades, the kind that looked like they belonged in a fantasy movie involving wizards and warriors and things. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Lallia enter the shop, tentatively, as though she were walking into a pastry shop and worrying about her diet. Melinda stepped casually over to the display of men’s shaving gear. “I had been trying to think of a gift for Shahid,” she said, turning suddenly to face Lallia, putting on wide, innocent eyes. “Do you think he might enjoy a razor? Something really nice? I could...” Lallia’s eyes were smouldering as she met Melinda’s. “Shahid has his own shaving needs taken care of,” she said. She walked over to where a set of fighting knives were displayed, and put her hand on the glass counter over a particularly beautiful blade, long and thin and double-edged with an agressively plain handle. “That’s a lovely choice,” said the girl behind the counter. “It’s got a walnut handle and a titanium blade, perfectly balanced for...” Melinda tuner her out; the only thing she really cared about was that Lallia liked it. “Mmmm,” said Lallia. “Beautiful.” She looked up at Melinda, met her eyes, let one finger linger on the glass countertop over the knife. “Let’s go look at that swimsuit shop,” she said, holding Melinda’s eyes. “The pool looked lovely, and I didn’t bring anything to swim in...” “You,” said Melinda, her voice cracking a little bit with tension. “You, ah, go on ahead, I’ll catch up.” Lallia gave her an inscrutable little smile. “Alright,” she said, “But don’t be long, or the pool will close.” She turned and walked out of the shop; Melinda watched her walk away, watched her ass move under that skirt. As soon as Lallia turned out of the shop, Melinda was across to where she’d been standing, slapping a credit card down on the counter and pointing to the lovely long dagger that Lallia had been looking at. “That one,” she said to the shop girl. “And, can you gift wrap it, please?” They went swimming, taking their new suits straight out to the pool and changing in the changing rooms in the pool house. The hotel’s pool was beautiful, and the day was gorgeous, and Melinda alternated between watching Lallia’s body through the conservative one-piece swimsuit she was wearing and glancing over at where her bag sat beside Lallia’s, holding the beautiful, expensive, scary, exciting gift that she’d purchased for her lover. Eventually, Lallia swam up to her, getting as close as she ever would in public, and said, “Let’s go get changed for dinner.” They wore their swim suits upstairs, carrying their clothes and bags. Melinda paid careful attention to the lack of cameras in the hallway. Lallia’s name wasn’t on the hotel registry; Melinda had registered the room and hadn’t specified a guest. There was nothing to show that Lallia had been there at all. Lallia worked the card-lock and pushed the door open, holding it for Melinda. They put their stuff down, and Lallia went into the bathroom. Melinda reached into her bag and took out the carefully wrapped gift, complete with the little bow. There was a card, but it was blank. She reached into her bag for a pen, her mind suddenly blank as to what she should write. Her heart was pounding again, and she could feel the flush back in her face, and what it was doing to her crotch... She wrote one word on the card, and tossed the pen back into her purse. Quickly, she peeled her swimsuit off and tossed it onto her luggage, one piece after the other, and then knelt in the center of the floor, between the bed and the bathroom, and she held the wrapped present out in front of her. Lallia came out of the bathroom naked, carrying her one-piece suit; when she saw Melinda kneeling there, waiting for her, she stopped, her face guarded again. She turned and carefully folded her swimsuit and put it away, seeming to compose herself in the act, and then she turned back to where Melinda knelt, waiting. She took the gift and opened the card, reading the one word printed on it: YES, in big, clear letters. Then she carefully unwrapped the paper, opened the box, stared at the beautiful knife nestled in its packaging. Lallia met Melinda’s eyes as she placed the lid of the knife’s box underneath it, leaving the knife exposed and ready, and set it, box and all, on the night stand, right beside the bed. Then she carefully folded the paper and set it gently into the trash can. She reached out for Melinda’s hand, and Melinda took it, standing at Lallia’s prompt. Lallia pulled her close, and hugged her, and then they were kissing, hands roaming over one another’s bodies. After what seemed like forever, Lallia stepped back, holding both of Melinda’s hands in both of hers; she stared deeply into her friend’s eyes, her face looking... open, vulnerable, for the first time this trip. “Get dressed,” she said. “We should go and get some dinner, and talk about...” She indicated the knife with a toss of her head. Talk about it, thought Melinda. “After all,” said Lallia, with the hint of a smile, “It would be a terrible thing to get wrong, don’t you think?” They ate in the restaurant with the cabana, and they sat outside as far as they could from any other diners, to the evident dismay of the waitress. When they’d placed their orders, and their drinks had come -- Lallia got the pulled pork and a huge tropical alcoholic drink, a last indulgence before sinking into a culture of abstemiousness -- when they were as alone as they could be, without being in their room together, Lallia leaned forward and looked deeply into Melinda’s eyes. “Most beloved,” she said, “Most beloved, this is a beautiful fantasy, an exciting...” She closed her eyes, turning her head aside as though she felt a chill. “But it can only be a fantasy, don’t you see? You are my most beloved, you’ll always be my most...” Lallia suddenly realized that her voice had gotten loud, and she looked around, worried that they’d been overheard. “Most beloved,” said Melinda, hearing the bitterness drip out with the words. “Most beloved.” She looked down at the table, then back at Lallia. “I have always and only wanted to be your most beloved,” she said. “Always and only.” She reached out and took Lallia’s hands in hers, ignoring the other woman’s panicked look around for witnesses. “I have always and only,” she said, “Wanted to give my life to you. Wanted you to have my life, all of it. “But you don’t want it, not like that. So let me give it to you another way. Let me...” She shook her head, looking away, hardly able to believe she was having to plead for this. “Let me give myself to you, let this be my last gift.” “God,” said Lallia, and looked around again, obviously feeling eyes on her. She looked back at Melinda. She swallowed. “How do you want this?” Melinda felt her stomach turn over. How had she managed to be in this position, where getting what she wanted was so much more frightening than not getting it? “I want it how you want it,” she said. “This is my gift, this is my... you may have me however you like.” She lifted her chin just a little. “All of me.” Lallia nodded, and she smiled, just a little. “Fuck,” she said, suddenly seeming to relax, “This is so hot.” Melinda sniffed, and wiped away a tear she hadn’t felt welling out until just then, and smiled back at her friend. Her most beloved friend. And then their food arrived, and they ate. After dinner, they walked back to the elevator, and as the doors closed Lallia took Melinda’s hand in hers and held it tight; and when the doors opened on their floor, she kept holding it, as they walked down the hallway. When someone stumbled out of their room, paying them no attention at all, Melinda felt Lallia stiffen up beside her, but she kept hold of her hand, looking at the two drunken men defiantly as though daring them to comment. Melinda’s heart melted a little. If this was her last night... it was a good feeling, walking with her most beloved, holding her hand. Lallia opened the door again, and again Melinda went into the room ahead of her; she kicked off her sandals, then walked to the middle of the room, right where she’d knelt, and she stopped, letting her bag fall out of her hand, looking at the knife in its box beside the bed. She heard the door close, felt Lallia’s hands on her body, wrapping around her, stroking her belly, her hips. She felt Lallia’s lips on her neck. This is it, thought Melinda, this is the last time I will feel home. Maybe the last time she felt anything. Melinda was honestly not sure, deep in her core, whether or not she hoped that Lallia would kill her tonight, but she felt a deep sense of satisfaction at having made the offer, made it as forcefully as she could; that she had given Lallia this gift, whether or not Lallia took it. Lallia undressed her, pulling her tank-top up over her head, then unbuttoning her shorts and letting them fall; she stepped out of them, her hands over her head, letting Lallia touch her all over, gently, softly, neck, breasts, belly, cunt. Then back to her belly, stroking her all over but always returning to one spot, that spot just below her belly button, the little curve just above where her pubic hair would have ended, if she and Lallia had not take advantage of the resort’s spa to have all of it removed. She knew Lallia was thinking about what it would be like, to push the beautiful knife into her belly, just there. She wondered herself. Then Lallia’s fingers slid into her cunt, and her mind turned off, for a moment. Lallia pushed her forward, onto the bed, and climbed on after, and they made love, taking turns kissing one another’s bodies, every inch, from the top of the head to the tips of the toes. Lallia gave her an orgasm with her fingers, and then Melinda rolled Lallia over and gave her a thorough working-over with her tongue, licking her asshole and then her cunt and her clit and then alternating and then starting over again, pushing her until she started into the rolling orgasms that were always the sign that an evening had gone perfectly and that Melinda was hitting all the right spots. Eventually Lallia pushed her away and lay, panting, on the bed. When she’d recovered just a little, Lallia reached into the night-stand drawer and retrieved The Cock, the big black thing they’d bought together, the one with one end that fit tight in Lallia’s cunt and the other end that protruded, almost menacingly big, out in front of her; and Melinda rolled over and spread her legs and Lallia climbed between them and fucked her, long and deep, until she almost couldn’t stand one more second of being fucked, thighs quivering and sweat pouring off both of their bodies. Just as she was laying back, spent, she felt Lallia roll her over, pulling her on top, so she was riding the other woman’s big plastic cock, astride her. She looked down at Lallia, who was laying back on the bed, looking up at her with excited, lust-filled eyes, and she watched as the other woman reached out with one beautifully-manicured hand and grasp the handle of the knife, prying it from its nest of packing materials, shifting her grip on it until it was just so, projecting phallically out of Lallia’s fist. She looked down into Lallia’s eyes as the other woman positioned the tip of the knife just at that spot, below her belly button, adjusted her grip on the handle, adjusted it again. “Most beloved,” said Lallia, softly, “Most beloved, I’m going to kill you.” Electricity surged up Melinda’s spine, and she felt herself flush, felt her heart thump, felt her stomach lurch. “Most beloved,” she said, her voice sounding choked, “My life was always yours.” She swallowed. “Thank you for taking it.” Lallia moved the tip of the blade forward until it touched Melinda’s belly, then a little more, making a little dimple her flesh. The thought that this was the last moment for her to decide not to, to decide to live, did’t have time to make it through Melinda’s mind before the tip of the blade pierced her flesh, sliding into her almost gently. She almost didn’t feel anything at first, and then as it got deeper, gradually, it stung, like a razor cut, and then it was more intense; she could feel as the tip passed through the thin layer of fat over her belly and reached the muscle beneath; felt the sensation change as it pierced the muscle, cut through it as though it was nothing. Melinda gasped as she felt the tip of the blade slide into her body cavity. She looked at Lallia, saw the other woman staring at her face intently, as though watching for something. Melinda moaned, feeling the knife bury itself in her. She looked back and forth between the knife sliding into her body and the face of her most beloved. Lallia looked thoughtful, curious, but more and more ecstatic as the knife slid further and further into Melinda’s belly. Blood began to well up around the blade, dribbling down Melinda’s public mount and dripping onto Lallia’s belly. Eventually, the hilt of the knife touched Melinda’s belly, but Lallia kept pushing in, pressing the hilt into her. “Oh, God, Lallia,” moaned Melinda, “Oh, my God, you’ve killed me.” She looked down into her lover’s face, to find that the woman was smiling, her face soft, even gentle. “I have killed you, most beloved,” said Lallia, “But you have not died.” Melinda blinked down at her. Oh my God, she thought. I have to die. Just for a moment, she felt like she’d fucked it up, like she’d made a mistake somehow, and she thought frantically: I have to die, how do I die? But then Lallia pulled the knife out of her, not a sudden jerk but nothing like as gradually as she’d put it in, just sliding it smoothly out of her, and it was the most intense thing Melinda had ever felt; she whimpered, then as the knife finally left her she put her head back and moaned. “It appears,” said Lallia, playfully, “That I must kill you some more.” Melinda giggled, feeling light-headed and giddy, but the giggle did something in her ruined belly and it turned into another moan. “How much more,” said Lillia, still with the smile on her face, “Would you like to be killed?” Melinda stared down at her most beloved, mouth hanging open as though she was confused, but she understood the question completely: Lallia must stab her again, at least once, to complete the act, to bring about her death; did she want that next stab to be the fatal one, or did she want to... to play, more? Her mouth was dry when she tried to speak; she swallowed, worked her mouth a little bit. “This is for you,” she said. “This is... you...” she shook her head. “Yours,” she said, finally. “Hurt me as much as you like, before you kill me. Please, do what will make this... the best, for you.” Lallia turned her head to one side, looking at her appraisingly. Melinda felt her lover’s eyes on her; she moved her hips, fucking the plastic cock that joined their cunts together, feeling it inside her, feeling the deep wound in her belly. She let her head hang back and she moaned; she brought her hands up to her breasts, and pinched her nipples, making a show. She was determined to enjoy this, or, if she couldn’t, she would at least show Lallia that she was enjoying it. Lallia ran her hands over Melinda’s body. Every touch felt like fire, like her skin was supercharged. She moaned, not sure whether it was from pleasure or not; more like, from pure intensity. There was s prick, the barest sensation, on her left nipple. She looked down to see that Lallia had positioned the knife there, just below the nipple propper, right on the areola, and was adjusting her grip on the knife’s hilt. Fuck, Melinda thought, Oh fuck, and then the knife was doing the thing again, sliding gently into her. This time was more intense, whether because of the location or because her skin seemed to be on fire she couldn’t tell, but her long moan turned into a shriek as she felt the blade slide into her breast, between her ribs, into... something, behind there. Something happened, something that felt... bad, in her chest, and it was harder to breathe, and while she was thinking about that she felt the hilt strike her flesh again, the blade all the way into her. She coughed, and felt warm liquid come up, drops of blood spraying down onto Lallia’s body. The reality of it hit her, somehow, all of a sudden: She was being killed, she was about to die. She whimpered again, felt tears welling up in her eyes, felt a sudden panic welling up in her. “Oh God, Lallia,” she said, “Oh, God, I’m going to die.” “Mmm,” said Lallia. She sounded... lustful. Like she sounded when she was really, really turned on. “I know.” Now every breath was like fire in Melinda’s chest, the movement making the knife move in and out of her. “Oh, God, Lallia...” She was crying now, tears running freely down her cheeks. Lallia looked like she was bout to cum, watching. The look on Lallia’s face, almost ecstatic, brought Melinda back, made the panic recede a bit: She was doing this for Lallia, giving her life... “Again,” she said. “Do it again, at least one more time before you...” And then she shrieked a little, as the knife came back out of her, and then it was right back, just below her ribs, not as slow this time, just pushing right into her body and she screamed, just a little, because it hurt just as much as it had the first time, she wasn’t getting used to it or anthing, it was so intense and so much and... “Again,” she said, and the knife came out and went right back in, hard this time, right in the middle of her belly, and she squealed as it happened. “Again.” Another stab, another little shriek. “Again!” And then Lallia was just stabbing her, over and over, just filling her with holes. Every breath brought intense pain, and she could feel the blood pouring out of her mouth, down over her chin. Too much, she couldn’t take it... Lallia’s face, an ecstatic trance, staring at her open mouthed as she stabbed her again and again. “Kill me,” said Melinda, “Now, make me die now, make me...” and then she was sobbing, the fear and the pain and the panic welling up over her. She felt the prick of the knife on her throat and she opened her eyes; she couldn’t remember having closed them. She was leaned forward, slumped down over her lover, her face beside Lallia’s, and Lallia was kissing her as she pushed the blade into her throat. “I love you,” said Melinda, but it mostly came out as a gurgle, and then the blade was in her throat and her voice didn’t do anything and her breath hissed and bubbled and she could feel the blood just pouring out of her over her chest and over Lallia and things were going gray and everything as sort of distant and all she could feel was the deep love she felt for her most beloved and she closed her eyes and drifted away.