Title: Dance of The Damned Author: Rhondda Lake E-Mail: rhonilak@icontech.com Catagory:V, A keywords: MSR?? Rating: R to NC-17 for sexual content Summery: What is joy without sorrow? Disclaimer: None. Nope, not a one. I didn't use a single name in this piece, so I don't have to disclaim anything. It could be ANYONE. Dance Of The Damned by Rhondda Lake The flavor of my own blood is bitter in my mouth. It is a new penny that brings an ache to my teeth. The pain, bordering on pleasure, makes me hate you, makes me hate myself. It makes me realize that I am now in a hell of my own making. Your mouth is too hard, too demanding. You really are devouring me. You share the taste of my blood, savoring it like some rich, dark wine. I am both repulsed and aroused. Your tongue presses into the wound. You caress my bitter pain with the tip. Does it makes the sharp tang taste sweet to you? For too long we have denied this thing that promises to be both barb and balm to us. For myself I hid behind my first sin, my Pride. I was too proud of my career, my knowledge, my own self control. Until at last my pride became an enemy that kept me from any and all comfort. Your fingers dig bruises into my wrists, where you hold them over my head. Each pressure point a threatening promise beckoning to me. I know if I resist, if I simply utter the word, you will release me. You will walk away and leave me here. Shaking, standing on some great precipice of understanding that still threatens to swallow me whole. This precipice is one of the mouths of Hell and my second sin is Lust. A thousand twisted demons await me in that Hell mouth, each awaiting their turn to ravish me with fiery organs and flesh-tearing instruments of eternal torture. I refuse to say the word even as it rises like bile in the back of my throat. I want this. I crave it more then I fear it. I accept my own damnation as I return your kiss. This is not love. There is nothing of tenderness or quiet pleasure here. This is demanding, unforgiving, carnal, animalistic HUNGER. My third sin must, therefore, be Gluttony. Not for food but for you. You rip our mouths apart and I feel the agony of that separation. Your hands release me to tear at my clothing. I do not fight, indeed, I help you. My suddenly clumsy fingers yank and pull at your own inconvenient coverings. I hear ripping sounds but I couldn't say if they came from my clothes or yours, I don't care. Your mouth is fire on my throat. It causes my skin to blister and blacken, the nerves to shriek with unbearable pleasure. The pleasure itself is the punishment, the torture. The torture is that I have denied myself this for so long. That in the end I know this agonizing sweetness will be our undoing. My freed hands form claws that rake reddened furrows of passion down your back, and you arch into me. I can feel the giving hardness of your flesh and muscle. Covetousness, my fourth sin. I have longed for your body for so long that at this moment I am prepared to sell my soul for it. Your hands sear the skin they glide over, leaving a raw and bleeding wasteland behind. My foolish flesh feels so blessed by this devastation that it yearns for a second burning. Envy, my fifth sin. I envy the ease with which this comes to you. Despite your obvious hunger, there are no pangs of guilt or doubt. You fear nothing and I am jealous of that. Your mouth... dear God, your mouth upon my breast... Tugging, pulling, your fingers on the other, pinching, tweaking until the pain and pleasure are one and the same. The sixth sin, for me is Anger. Rage that this moment which should taste of the song of angels and sound of the sweetest ambrosia has become this hell for me. What should be only most glorious desire has instead become filled with my own dread and uncertainty. It is through this veil of rage that I feel you. When you enter me I am impaled on a flaming brand that consumes me from the inside out. Tears stream from my eyes and I cannot tell if they are from pain, pleasure or loss. This voluptuous heat of friction and delight are turned into a curse of my own making. My mind, too long lingering on what can and will happen, keeps comparing even this ultimate bliss to the ravages of damnation. I lean forward and take the hard tendon of your shoulder in my mouth. As the fire consumes us both beyond any hope of redemption I bite down to stifle my cries and to share some measure of my pain. The flavor of your blood is bitter in my mouth. We are the same. Poor condemned souls unable to achieve anything but our own downfall. As my overburdened limbs start to shake I feel the acrid tears slide down my cheek to fall onto the wounds I have given you. You do not flinch at the sting. Instead of anger your grip loosens, and you are cradling me softly. My name is murmured close to my ear. It is a supplication. Fool; poor, beautiful, trusting and innocent fool. I can not save you. I can not even save myself. So I weep bitter tears all the harder for it. You ask me what is wrong. How can I tell you? How can I explain the futility of all this? How dare you ask me to be the one to shatter this moment of peace brought about only through exhausted satiation? I have never fallen victim to Sloth until now. I want nothing more then to lie there and bask in our shared ruination, yet even now you press me for answers I cannot give. No! I don't want to hear that! I pull away from you, more afraid now than when the savage need in us both let lose the animal furies. My eyes search yours with a terrified frenzy. Oh God, we ARE truly lost. In your eyes I see the truth of your words, and the fear of my answer. You do love me. May God have mercy on us both. I swallow the molten ball of leaden fear and force a smile. When I answer you it is not a lie. This would not be a Hell if it were. The dizzying waltz we dance to the music of demonic instrumentalists would not be half so bad if I didn't love you. You hold me close again and make impossible promises. I nod against your bleeding shoulder and allow you to think my tears are of joy. Fin ---- Feedback met with open arms. Flames are met with marshmallows.