1.
“One, two, three, two, two, three,” the voice moaned, floating down Wickard drive to scratch gently at Simon’s bedroom window.
Amber followed it out of unconsciousness and blinked sleepily, sitting in that hazy space where one might roll one way or another to full awareness or back to sleep.
Drums followed, suppressed only by a distance that was quickly closing.
I know that song, I like that song, she thought blearily. She knew it, yes, but not from the whirlwind of musical exposure over the last, nearly, three months, instead her mind turned briefly on the concept of doomed romances and how being a bad driver wasn’t a problem until you met another bad driver, but she couldn’t put the pieces together, couldn't quite remember where she'd heard it. At last the real start of the piece’s wailing lyrics, "Love is blindness, I…" but just as it drew closer the music almost immediately rolled away into silence.
In the absence Amber's mind took up the baton, “Don’t wanna see. Won’t you just take the night and wrap it all around me? Oh my love-” Her thoughts trailed off, lulling herself, bending back towards unconsciousness, but then reversed course as she caught the familiar purr of an engine, followed by tires rolling onto the driveway.
Amber's heart lurched, and she was all the way awake.
She’s back. She moved carefully, pulling away the covers, but below her skin her blood was running giddily in her veins.
Her feet pressed into the carpet and she stood, but in her mind’s eye she was already out the door, down the stairs, and shoeless on the pavement, rushing to hug Madaline.
She had her hand on the bedroom doorknob when she heard it, car doors, plural, opening and closing.
No. No- Probably just getting her bag.
Amber stood very still, swearing she could hear the key scraping the inside of the lock.
The door opened and reality viciously reasserted itself; soft voices, Madaline’s and someone else. Amber’s hand peeled itself off the door knob and clasped her wrist.
Okay, that’s okay, it’s not- I should… go introduce myself to her friend…
She looked down at herself and decided that even if that wasn’t presumptuous of her she wasn’t in any state to introduce herself.
Should have prepared better, instead of- It’s okay, this… was… it’s fine, I’ll just… it’s not like we were going to hang out tonight anyway like we usually do, her face scrunched slightly, her lips going thin, and… we’ll catch up tomorrow and I’ll…
Amber heard Madaline’s boots on the stairs, followed by lighter, but still audible footsteps.
Quickly and quietly Amber padded her way back to bed, meek as a rabbit hurrying back to its hole when it catches the rustling of predators coming near.
She reinstalled herself carefully, then lay in the dark, her breath stopping as Madaline and her guest came down the hall.
“It's not like it’s a problem or anything, it’s just weird,” said the hushed voice of the guest, “This is like the cleanest place I've ever been in and I spent half my childhood in a hospital.”
Amber tried to take the ambivalent remark as a compliment, the voice didn’t sound like the house being clean was actually a problem, but-
How is clean weird, it’s just clean, I keep it clean, that’s what I’m supposed to do, that’s my responsibility, how is that weird?
Madaline laughed, there was a slightly relieved sound to it, “Right, I had to get used to it, it’s all my roommate, she’s, ah, she’s good about that stuff.”
Amber’s heart pattered in her chest, at Madaline’s drawl, at Madaline’s reference to her.
“Type that likes all her ducks in a row, huh?”
It’s not about what I like, it's what I’m supposed to do.
Amber listened to the sound of Madaline's door being opened. “Hmmm, I guess, she’s a total sweetheart...”
She didn’t hear them step through the door due to the rush she received from the compliment.
SFX: Door closing.
“But, I suppose she can be… a little neurotic,” Madaline finished.
How quickly those words knocked her down, but at the same time Amber didn't hold them against Madaline, it would be the height of lacking self awareness to not understand what Madaline meant, it stung, but yes, she was the first to admit she could be at times a little high strung, still did she have to say it like that, it made Amber sound so..., I’m not neurotic, I’m not, Amber insisted, Keeping things clean is what I- Her mind came to a fast halt, everything going dead in realization. The consequence of Madaline’s guest pass that she hadn’t considered.
For almost three months, she’d listened: the sounds of keys, of movements, of weights, of groans and pants as she worked out, of music through headphones with the volume restrained for sleep, of Madaline occasionally mumbling or cursing to herself quietly, of Madaline moving or shifting around on her bed, at times she’d been sure she could hear the softest of her best friend's respirations.
Madaline had highly attuned olfactory senses, Amber meanwhile had hearing akin to a bat’s and the walls between them were paper thin. Oh god, has she heard me and Simon? Her mind went back to Madaline and her headphones, always on when Simon was home and Amber was out of the room, No... but.... she.. She doesn’t.. I don’t think she realizes-
“Neurotic huh? ” the guest said, clicking her tongue. “Mmm, and you haven’t cured her of that, must be slipping.”
Amber might have considered the ways Madaline had been helping her loosen up a bit, but hearing the word come from the guest.... she resented it far more than she could articulate.
“A girl does what a girl can, but that word, slipping, now that sounds like fun.”
“Yeah?”
“Ho, definitely. Gives me ideas, bu-” Madaline was cut off, her words becoming a groan.
Amber’s hands clenched the sheets; they were kissing, no question, no denial that would work, what she was hearing was the sound of them kissing, breathing, spiced with hums and moans and even the liquidy glide of lips and tongue.
Madaline’s guest had interrupted her with an open mouth, the image of Rikka kissing Madaline in the cafe, hung, glowing like a neon sign at the foreground of Amber’s mind, the sound suggested an even greater expression of intimacy then what Rikka had displayed, but there it was again, that particular notion, the guest had just done it, just kissed her, like it was nothing, like it was not only allowed, but easy.
Distinct from her usual anxiety, a little drop of poison fell off Amber’s heart and began to bore a pit in her stomach, each little noise digging it wider and deeper.
No, no, no, I need to tell- No, just calm, calm, it’s late, maybe, they’ll just make out for a bit and then go to sleep-
There was a smacking sound, a change in the breathing as the kiss ended.
“Mmmmm, Emily,” Madaline said, softly, turning the name over as though the syllables themselves were luxurious to her, as though to taste the name on her tongue. Then something, neither Amber nor Emily expected, “Muita areia pro seu caminhão.”
Amber bit her lip.
Emily laughed, “What?”
It reminded Amber of Ella at work, switching into Spanish, but that wasn’t Spanish, and it wasn’t Swedish, furthermore, Madaline would maybe pop a Swedish word she liked into a story about her nine months in Europe, but her linguistics were otherwise firmly anchored to English, Amber had never heard this language come from Madaline’s mouth.
“Oh nothing,” Madaline drawled in a tone that made Amber’s head light. “It’s just something my Vovó used to say… usually to people on TV, usually. Don’t worry, it's very very complimentary.”
“Something your “Vovah” used to say to the TV? What? Is that the same language or is that Gum Shoe?”
“ Vovó is Grandma or maybe more like Granny and no it’s not Gum Shoe. Anyway , before you interrupted me, thirsty girl, I was going to be a good host and see if you wanted any party favors.”
Creaking of springs as someone sat on Madaline’s bed, more creaking as she moved about, getting comfortable.
Amber struggled to think, from the pit inside her, a sensation like butterflies rose up into her chest, the negative twins of butterflies in one’s stomach that arrive due to happy or exciting circumstances; it was profoundly unpleasant.
That was her sitting down... on her bed... Emily... It took me weeks before I was- Amber bit her tongue, the pain stopped the thought. She reminded herself that she didn’t have the deed to Madaline’s bed.
“What kind of party favors? Also, I’m assuming I can’t just crack the window to smoke, can I?”
Amber heard Madaline moving around.
“No,” Madaline drawled, before her voice became a light hum, “But you can suck on this if you need it.”
Amber stopped breathing, her heart beginning to hammer.
SFX: Crackling.
An exhale, “Mmmm, apples, that’s good.”
Amber twitched. She was very familiar with that sound, she’d never felt the urge to try Madaline’s vape; now she felt positively foolish for never even having made the request, never having the thought.
SFX: lock clicking, a latch coming un done, a metal container opening.
Amber’s mind flashed to the lockbox that had entered the house with Madaline the day she moved in.
“Well, Mischief, what I’ve got is a bit of a sample platter, you have a hankering for anything specific? Drinks are also an option, I can go make you something.”
“Mischeif? Did I just rate a personalized Madaline Mellor nickname? Only took like two months. ”
Two months, she hasn’t known her for much longer than me then? Shorter even. Dating? Are they dating?
“Ah, no, you rated, pretty quickly, just hadn’t found one that worked best for you until now.”
Ha. She knew mine within a month. Amber thought in an absurd moment of hollow triumph.
“If anyone should be called Mischief, it’s you not me,” Emily said, clearly pleased with herself.
“You might be right about that, but lots of people give me nicknames and I don’t want to hog them all, though, many of mine aren’t repeatable in polite company, but I guess that just means you can have a list if you want one.”
Emily let out a faux offended huff. “Hmmm… any girl in there?”
Amber puzzled over the question, really hoping it was slang.
“Nah, sorry, E doesn’t let me buy friskie powder without giving her power of attorney, but if you’re looking for a pick me up, we do have Miss Anna.”
“Umm, just a smidge, cause you broke out your collection.”
I don’t know how much she has in there and I… I… don’t need to know… want to know… but… Simon cannot find out.
For all of three seconds, she was terribly aware of her boyfriend a country away on the other side of the mattress so dead asleep that he might as well have vanished with Madaline’s voice:
“Sure thing, in any case it’s gratifying to know you’re craving feminine things tonight.” From the tone alone Amber could picture the soft smile on Madaline’s face.
SFX: soft crack, crushing, grinding.
“You want to talk about a list of names you get called my…” Emily hesitated, “wart, invented a few new ones for you.”
“Oh yeah, does he need to be talked to?”
“Please,” Emily sighed, exasperated, “He’s desperate and he snores, the only reason I’m still… it’s like being trans, but not transitioning yet, sort of.”
“You don’t need to justify it to me, but if you need further justifications one way or another, I can feed you some of the best, though me, I don’t mind snoring, not when it’s our sort anyway, always good to know the person next to me hasn’t stopped breathing.”
Emily laughed, “Jeez Maddy, that’s a little morbid.”
“Maybe.”
For a moment all other considerations left Amber, flushed out by concern, she caught what Emily didn’t, the sudden odd shortness of Madaline’s single word, tossed aside and hurrying to move on.
Did something like… that…happen to her?
Emily laughed, “Our sort. You- You just don’t like it when basicmales are breathing.”
“Shhhhh, don’t say the quiet part out loud. Here.”
“Mmmm, thank you Daddy."
Amber seethed, why would she call Madaline that, why would she think that was even remotely all right, the muscles in her arms coiled preparing to push herself up, to go in there and… something…
Madaline snuffled into a singsong, “Back to Daddy, huh, I take it that means somebody is ready to get out of her clothes.”
"Maybe," Emily responded.
Amber’s muscles went slack, then rigid; her brain overloading, both the confirmation of what was about to transpire and Madaline's obvious enjoyment of the terminology trying to make it through the same door at the same time and getting jammed as a result.
SFX: Things being put away. Lockbox closing locking. Movement. Bed creaking.
“Ooooo, I knew if I left my lap open long enough you’d climb in it,” said Madaline with a satisfied chuckle.
The butterflies were back and all the way up in Amber’s throat, a hand was slowly closing around her heart, her face ached and felt hot, another hand slowly pressed two fingers against the backs of her eyes.
Emily did something that made Madaline moan, more kissing, the box springs gently singing.
SFX: Zipper starting.
“Mmm mmm, wait, I almost forgot, first you’re going to have to tell me what you said, or I might just be too preoccupied for sex.”
I need to go talk to them, tell them I can hear. Amber thought again numbly, not moving.
“See what I mean, Mischief,” Madaline drawled, then she sighed, “It’s a Portuguese saying, doesn’t really translate well, mmmmm, you smell-”
“Eh- Eh-, hold on, your Grandma used to say it so... she's from... You're from Portugal?” Emily said, suspiciously.
“No, Em, I’m from Marbleporte, well, Eastie originally."
”Bitch, you know what I meant.”
Hard clap of a hand. Emily gasped and sighed.
“What you want a pedigree check in case I knock you up?”
Another sharp breath from Emily. “What if I do?”
Amber’s hands clenched the sheets.
Madaline chuckled, “Alright, Brazil, my Vovo', that's to say my Grandmother Maria, was from Brazil,” her tone was playful, teasing in a way that made Amber dizzy, "Portuguese is a major language in Brazil.”
Emily let out a vibrating moan right atop the third Brazil.
“Ironically, she was a mmmm,”
Amber listened to the sound of gentle kisses laid upon exposed skin; the side of Amber’s neck tingled maddeningly.
“...call her a political agitator in the 70's, right, granddad too, fled here in 81, pregnant with my mom.”
Her middle name? Grandma Maria, Madaline Marie. Amber’s heart fluttered, the image of Madaline slowly kissing up and down her… that’s to say, Emily’s neck as she softly told her this little bit about herself that she hadn’t known was in truth one of the most, bizarrely, erotic ideas she’d ever encountered.
“Didn’t you tell me your mom’s name was Cynthia? Is that a Brazilian name? Is Mellor?”
“Grandma wanted her to have a Greek name, for Grandad, he didn’t make it, Cynthia is Greek. To Grandma and some family friends back in Eastie, she was usually Cíntia. Your childhood was spent in a hospital, I grew up with English going in one ear and Portuguese going in the other. Don’t get too many opportunities to use Portuguese these days, but it works for surprising pretty girls and I don’t butcher it the way I do with Swedish.”
“Was your granddad Greek?”
Madaline grunted, “Mmmhmmm.”
“Do you speak Greek?”
“Yep, gyro, but that’s it.”
Emily gasped sharply, clicking her teeth, “Okay… so… but… political agitators… You get it from somewhere.”
“Suppose I do, E says I’m… conflict oriented, personally I don’t see it.”
“Those eyes from your grandma too?” she let out a gasp.
“I wish, those are hand me downs from my dad, same with the height and the last name, I’m a bit of a mutt.”
Moggy, you’re not a mutt, you're a moggy, you're so obviously a cat, Amber thought.
“…quarter Brazilian, quarter Greek and one half grade A USA deadbeat. Sure you don’t want to get out of your clothes before you get your cute little shorts all wet.”
Even as Amber let out a harsh breath, a different part of her brain flickered on for a moment, she’d never really thought about it, but for all of Madaline’s stories, she tended to not go back to before her transition. There was an entire chunk of her life that was a blank.
Almost as a response to this idea, an offering, Amber’s brain numbly submitted, My family… is from New Orleans, my great great great grandma came up here a long time ago, other than that I don’t know, I had to ask for school once, but that’s all I got, just that.
“One half deadbeat, says the girl threatening to knock me up,” Emily groaned. “Your just running your mouth to distract me while you make me hornier, get me begging so I forget about the translat-”
“Fucking brat, the phrase… means… I mean I changed it to... you would usually... you're not going to get it.... ughh.. what I basically said was, too much sand... for his little truck.”
“What? What is that supposed to mean? I thought you said it was complimentary?”
“It is complimentary, you are not the truck, you’re the sand.”
“Still not seeing how that’s-”
Madaline growled.
Emily gasped.
Amber shivered.
“If I said you're the bee's knees you would understand what I meant without you being associated with bees or their knees, it's a phrase, an idiom, it would primarily be used in discussions of what a person can and can’t…”
Emily gasped again, this time sliding into a high moan.
“Handle,” Madaline finished. “Getting it?”
“Yeh, Daddy, I think I got it,” Emily said, voice lilting and high.
“Good.”
Then they were kissing again, and Amber understood any safe period she may have been sitting in was gone. Okay now, I need to, there going to- I need to tell them.
Madaline and Emily continued to moan into each other. Amber winced, listening, as they plummeted to the bed.
She peeled back the covers and made a discovery that made the prospect of going over there to tell them about their audience unlikely, one that filled her with horror, she’d been so caught up with their conversation, she’d missed something of what had been going on with her own body. No. This isn’t happening, this is- This is so mortifying. Why?
Her clit was constricted in her underwear, slowly soaking the garment, which was doing very little to dissuade it from being agonizingly hard. Harder than she could remember it ever being while she was awake.
Lacking line of sight had protected her until now, but no more:
Need crashed over her, like taking a match to a burner invisibly exhaling gas on full blast.
The pit in her stomach was now all encompassing, but also came with a sensation like pulling, hooks in her hands, gently urging them downward, the need for contact, for stimulation, between her legs, her thighs, her breasts, her skin.
Jealousy and it’s more dangerous sibling, envy are fascinating emotions, a powerful combo of several negative feelings, sadness, indignation, shame, and fear; insecurities laid bare and growing like chasms inside our chests and in situations involving romance, lust, named or denied, is obviously the ultimate accelerant.
Amber dropped the blanket back down and lay there, stiff as a corpse, mouth clamped shut, but wanting to scream, as creaks and moans leaked through the wall and into her ears, leaving traceries of fire through her head; she was too aware, too aware of everything, not just the noise, but also her clothes, her pillow, the sheets under her, the blanket atop her, the air against exposed skin; it all felt too heavy and frustratingly still.
Behind the wall a garment hit the floor.
The wasp buzz of a long zipper coming undone.
“Finally, this outfit was killing me,” Madaline hummed.
“Th-that was the goal.”
Amber’s brain flickered with a mixture of competitive contempt; longing, surely nonsensically, for the outfit she’d imagined in the school dream.
Madaline clicked her tongue, “See, remember what I said about your premise, about you being good?”
“I remember… you” Emily panted, “Disagreeing.”
Another article of clothing tossed.
“I did. Hmmmm,” Madaline hummed in pleasure, “Uberous.”
Emily whimpered. “Is- that Portuguese for nice tits?”
“Not Portuguese but kind of, it’s an old word, it means bountiful, yielding an abundance."
Amber’s eyes were bulging circles, a sense of severe betrayal cracking her skull, she had shared that word with Madaline and she was using it to- But at the same time she clasped her own chest in instinctive insecurity and with that the thought went dead, her body arched, she barely stopped herself from moaning.
The couple continued to sing the opening act of their pleasure through the wall as Amber shuddered, her body wracked with lust.
This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair. This isn’t fa- Amber’s brain chattered until it was interrupted from the back of her mind by a different one:
Fair?
Amber cringed at its presence and wished for Serpentine or Simon, anyone else’s voice, especially considering her current state of distress.
No, the voice sighed, far more nasal than the one Madaline had imagined for its owner, as well as possessing a fraction of that frightening calm reasonable quality that Amber’s own could take on. Nothing fair about this, but you can’t spell fairytale without fair and this isn’t?”
A fairy tale, Amber whispered quietly in her own mind. So does that mean it might be appropriate to… my.. body…
Had she actually asked that? Asked that voice if she could- Even presented with this scenario she wouldn’t have imagined herself capable, not in response to that voice. Madaline’s, yes, Serpentine’s, yes, but not her father’s; though it was perhaps a testimony to how scrambled Amber’s brain was at this point, that his voice was being as even and unjudgemental as it was, in circumstances that likely would have made the actual man… deeply upset.
I shouldn’t have… Amber’s head jerked back and forth on her pillow. Shouldn’t- Didn’t think that. Didn’t.
Emily made a long drawn out sound that grew nice and high before leveling into deep breaths.
It was like church bells banishing ghosts, sending the voice of her father back into whatever awful deep crevice of her brain, he resided in. Hidden in the mess of tangled feelings, writhing and biting, Amber felt a passive kind of gratitude.
Madaline chuckled. More clothes hit the floor. “Well, that’s it babe, down to socks, what should we do now.”
Emily giggled, “Ah, I don’t… um, I remember talk of skill points or something…
“Think you’ve earned that?”
Amber pressed her hands over her mouth, and shut her eyes tight.
Need to sleep. I’m supposed to be asleep, this is not alright. I could bang on the wall. Everything stilled for a moment, Amber’s eyes flicking back and forth under her lids, then her teeth clicked, No, no, I need to make it through this, I’ll just have to fade this later, cause I think if I admit I’d heard, then Madaline will know and then I won’t be able to just… I won’t be able to look at her in the face or she won’t-
Madaline said a single word, falling into a role, a performance Amber had seen shades of here and there. She stretched the syllable, and spoke in a tone that made Amber throb, not just her clit, her whole body.
“Beg.”
Emily began to beg: repetitions of please Daddy and apologies for something Emily had said earlier to do with Madaline’s skills, pleading over and over to have her pussy eaten.
A small part of Amber very badly wanted to talk over her, to be heard, to mock her over her lack of eloquence, the limits of her rhetorical skills, her lackluster loquacity.
Questions of skill sets aside, it did not occur to Amber that were their places reversed Amber might not have been capable of fairing any better.
Madaline never pronounced good enough, there was just a short huff of laughter, a sharp gasp, the sound of the bed shaking and Emily’s tune at last changing, first choking sounds of satisfaction then urgent solicitations for more.
Emily’s cries grew louder, spinning Amber up in a hurricane, her clit pulsing unreasonably to the noise, her own pussy crying out for contact.
Amber clasped her sheets, the hand around her heart squeezed and squeezed as though to pop it.
She closed her eyes, but her eyelids might as well have been cinema screens, an image projected on them: Madaline low under the sheets exploring Amber, it left her gulping for breath, weak and shallow.
She opened her eyes to disperse the image, but the sense of it remained.
She would prefer a panic attack to this; this was too much, it was inciting too much of everything, it was unmanageable, leaving her only to an endless swing of focus, each door not an exit, but a torture in itself, does she want to concentrate on the throbbing between her legs, or of her eyes and somehow her heart.
The focus shifted, the soaked slip of cloth around her was an agonizing restraint.
I… I have to… I'm not going to do anything I just need…
She listened as Emily shuddered into an orgasm growing louder until something muffled her.
“You need to be quiet, my roommates are sleeping, have a little respect.” Madaline cooed.
Whatever she’d done did quiet her, but it didn't eliminate the squeals and moans and suppressed recitation of Daddy and More, as Madaline went back to working on her.
Sick with shame, Amber started peeling off her dripping underwear.Why is this happening; this should at worst be annoying or… something I shouldn’t be- The thought went dead, the process of removing the article made her arch, nearly starting her wailing in pleasure, while the undercurrent, the need for more, urged her on, the demand for attention, for touch.
After a moment she whimpered and finished the process of getting the underwear down, it didn’t help, it was just a different kind of hell, any slight movement caused the blanket to brush her clit, a flicker of pleasure, followed by the maddening itch in her brain to do more, to go further, to give in and pleasure herself.
Surrender was unacceptable. Resistance was misery.
“Such a pretty thing, but so noisy.”
Amber’s nostrils flared. Her fingers trailed across her belly. She mewed softly, her mouth clamped shut.
“But that’s okay, think I’ve got a perfect way to keep you quiet.” A finger snap, “My gock, I want to feel the back of your throat. Then deeper.”
Amber found herself drawing her hands down her neck.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Mmm, fuck yes, arch your back, more, more, come on, give me something to play with. There.”
Amber’s back arched slightly once more, familiar ghostly hands teased over her , tormenting her with their incorporeality.
SFX: Flesh being smacked.
Emily choked and moaned, after a moment, “Fuck, I forgot. Seriously, estrogen is supposed to make you-”
Madaline laughed, “Oh, sweetie, it did, but I think I said your throat.”
SFX: Guttural sounds, choking.
Madaline moaning. “ Mmmmm, there’s the back. Now…”
SFX: Slurping, swallowing.
“There we go, see, you had no…mmmfff… you had no reason to be intimidated… I've been wan-ting to get this deep since I first saw you, all it took was a couple sessions…”
Emily gagged and moaned.
“And a little help,” Madaline cooed.
SFX: Madaline giving Emily a break.
“Say thank you for helping.”
“Thank you for helping me, Daddy.”
“Youre welcome Mischief, do it again… ahhhh… ha… fuck… there we go ….fuck…. All by yourself.”
Emily seemed inspired by this success, she got faster, noisier.
Amber’s head rocked slightly against her pillow, her legs spreading wider, she bit her finger, thoughtful enough to avoid her repaired incisor.
“Ah, Em, fuck, I take it back.”
“Mmmm? Mmmmppjikj!”
Amber’s chest rose and fell. She pulled the finger from her mouth and ran her hand through her hair.
“I said I take it back. Not get off my dick, fuck that’s good, no, I take back what I said… earlier…” Smack. Wet choking sounds.“ You are such… a good girl, fuck, such a... such a good fucking girl.”
The change hit so suddenly, so charged up, blowing away everything else, nuclear flash, white hot in it’s rush, it was as powerful as an orgasm, but it wasn’t.
Mechanistically, lust and rage couldn't be more different, where Lust is a rather broad spectrum, multi department, cerebral operation. In contrast rage lies in some of the oldest, tightest, most specialized corridors the brain has to offer and yet, how experientially they mirror each other, lust and rage are almost chirals, twin sisters who grew up in different homes:
Both restrict attention, both hijack the brain and suspend long term thinking, both can be pleasurable and rewarding, even addictive, both lower inhibitions centering around the craving of an act.
Is it any wonder that they can feed off each other? That one can detonate the other?
At last the initial blast began rolling back, thoughts flew in, burnt by the wave of heat; as her systems attempted to return to something like homeostasis.
I hate- No, it’s not her fault, it’s not her fault that I’m awake and my body is… reacting to.. This…. I hate- I don’t think I’ve… I haven’t cum in… a long time… not properly.. So… not her fault there’s no reason I should feel- I hate- I shouldn’t feel- there’s no reason- this isn’t appropriate- I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. I HATE HER. I HATE HER. IHATE HER. IHATEHER!
Had she not been overwhelmed by sensation from the rest of her body, Amber may have realized her face felt strange, lips back, teeth out.
Last year she’d reread the Complete Edgar Allen Poe, she doesn’t know what Emily looks like, but she doesn’t need to know to imagine chaining her up inside a wall and bricking it shut. Who cared if doing so drove Amber mad, she was already going mad, how else could one explain how she could imagine herself performing the act as merrily as Montressor, himself.
Madaline continued to moan, each word of praise like a lash against Amber’s mind, but after a few minutes the internal outburst was contained, in its absence Amber's mind felt so terribly chilled in a body that was overheating.
She’s has to cum soon, Amber thought desperately, agonized and besieged by unnamed jealousy like a ball of spikes in her stomach.
At last she heard when Madaline yanked Emily off of her once more, listened to them kiss and for half a second, thought it was over, at least if they went to sleep it couldn’t get any worse.
“Okay,” Madaline laughed, “Now, your getting fucked.”
There was movement, Madaline looking for a condom. Amber listened as she told Emily to put it on her.
Come on, you’ve been going for so long.
It was at this time Serpentine offered her sole bit of commentary.
Okay, I might have more to say later, but right now, I think you’ve got all that you can handle just dealing with this kind of thing for the first time, so I’m just going to point out, that, you say that, but it kind of feels like of the Lockmann/Mellor siblings, one of them was blessed with all the stamina.
Amber sat shivering, her body burning alive in the bed, Simon dead asleep and forgotten next to her.
It’s… the estrogen? Maybe?
Does the reason matter?
No, I guess not.
And so it went, Amber whimpering listening to the symphony of Emily’s pleasured cries and Madaline’s growls, the drumline percussion of flesh against flesh, the creak of the bed frame.
Amber writhed and squirmed through it all and at one terrible point, gasped in pleasure as she grasped herself, thinking that all it would take were maybe just a couple minutes of letting go and rubbing at herself and she would feel relief and then she could sleep, she held the thought, held herself, then groaned softly as she let go and slid her hands under her back.
Just a couple minutes after that the creaking of the bed reached a fever pitch, both women were broken down to cursing in pleasure, until at last Emily came. Madaline shushed her and based on the noise clamped a hand over her mouth, it helped a little. The wretched screech of the bed springs slowed but went harder for maybe thirty agonizing seconds and Madaline followed her, making a sound that was like a satisfied growling and moaning, but also like laughing.
Amber's eyes pulsed painfully in their sockets, she imagined what Madaline’s must look like in that moment, fixed, pupils wide, sparkling with furious joy.
Amber remained rigid in every sense, her senses inflamed, aching, burning. Hyper aware of the softness of the sheet against her clit, the softness, what it could provide and the hellish stillness as it laid on her, leaving her clit to do nothing but weep in frustration.
It’s not fair. She kept her hands behind her, not trusting herself. Why does she get two, but I don't get to-
What came after was worse, Madaline's whole tone changed, her act dropped, plain affection pouring through her voice, the sound of her planting gentle kisses on Emily, pulling her closer. Doubtlessly wrapping her arms tightly around her, telling her that she was lovely, telling her how good she’d felt, asking her how she was doing, getting her some water, sharing her vaporizer, making sure she’d enjoyed herself.
Emily was very clear that she had enjoyed every second of that.
The tempo cooled as they settled down; they chatted lazily for a bit, it seemed Emily had a thing for photography, after a bit she asked Madaline about Brazilian food.
Madaline told her that her Grandma liked to make Feijoada, a bean and meat stew and Pastel de Queijo, a fried meat pastry, but according to her Grandmother ingredients here weren’t as good as back in Brazil.
Emily started to ask if Madaline could make any of it and then:
“Oh, wait, no, you like eating trash.”
“That’s right Mischief, just ate the fuck out of you so-”
Amber heard a little slap.
“But yeah, you know, when I was little the menu was limited by... eh... circumstances, right, so, despite Vovó’s best efforts, I am more of a product of the US school system than Brazil. My mom makes some good stuff if you can get her to cook though.”
Slowly, the couple in the room quieted.
Amber waited for her body to relax, her hands had fallen asleep a long time ago, she slid them out to catch the circulation.
Her body, insanely, continued to insist that what she needed right now was to just touch herself a few short times and then she would…
“If you keep sucking my tit like that, you're absolutely getting railed again.”
No. Amber thought in pure disbelief. It's not fair. It's not. Once again, the bitter cruelty of it, filling her head like chilled bile, Amber hadn't gotten one orgasm tonight, hadn't had one, a real one… since… no it couldn't be that long.
It was like listening to somebody play in a pool while she died of thirst, but when had things ever been fair for her, why should that be different now.
At least I changed the sheets for them.
The second act was at least shorter, more relaxed than the first.
Amber suffered through it, at some point she had to place her hands back down behind her.
At another she began to recite bits of poetry to herself, trying to dull the noise, it worked, but it was a bit like a silencer on a gun, it only quieted things so much.
When they finished again, Amber lay bleeding heat, listening to them clean themselves up, and quietly cuddle, Madaline speaking softly, not really, sweet nothings, just verbiage of enjoyment and light affection.
She thought she could hear one running their hand through the other's hair.
It took nearly an hour after they went to sleep for Amber to be sure she could control herself, still she lay a victim of her own body, batting away images as they emerged, keeping her eyes open, they had such an easier time playing in the dark.
In between that she tended to the wounds; she minimized her emotional response first, really that hadn’t been so bad, just missing her friend, a little disappointment and frustration that she hadn’t gotten to say hello, nothing more, from there it was far safer to fixate on the physical response to the vulgar bit of theater she’d endured, one which should have at worst cultivated irritation, or maybe even a little amusement, but had instead caused serious, nearly painful arousal, which was still insisting on itself.
She returned again to the idea that she hadn’t had an actual orgasm in a very long time; the dissatisfying rush that shot her out of fragmented dreams, usually once every couple of months, didn’t count. It couldn’t have been as long as she was thinking though, like she had to have had one… a real one… at some point…
There was also the effect of the progesterone to turn over, as she had considered the morning she’d woken up from that one dream about Mis-U, that she didn't remember much of, she come up out of it with her body wracked with lust, but without even the tease of sleep bound orgasm, the medication was supposed to be helping her shape, but it was perhaps also turning some other dials as well, making her more sensitive... Making her more responsive to things that she wouldn't normally respond to.
Yes, these two circumstances had led to this nightmare. Mortifying it may be, but it didn't say anything about her.
What she needed to do was obvious, as her body implied, she needed to masturbate, but that wasn’t happening right now, there was no way that wouldn’t end with…
She batted away images from the inside of Madaline’s bed...room
And, well, hearing them hadn’t really been her fault, hadn’t been her fault at all, but if she touched herself and couldn’t keep those images out of her head.
Inappropriate.
So the process went, until the biting, chewing arousal at last trickled away with the dawn, when it was done she felt nothing but exhaustion. It was in her bones.
She was still awake when Simon’s alarm began to cry. Amber hid under the covers and pretended to sleep, she couldn't face him, she needed rest and time and a shower to put her head right before she saw either her boyfriend or her… roommate.
Pressed between the sheets she was growing drowsy by the time he climbed out of the shower.
Not neurotic though- Was the last thought she had before, as Simon left, pretend sleep at last became real sleep. Deep and uneasy and…
2.
Down and down and down and down and down, deep…
The first thing in the dream was the music, playing from the speakers of the bus, a tune made of heavy strikes upon a few tenebrous piano keys, then an ethereal female voice, high, almost child like.
” Bad Things happen…”
Amber was on a bus… resplendent in her ill fitting, faded pink, dysphoria hoodie, laughing into her hands trying desperately to keep herself quiet.
Next to her causing the fit of giggles, was Rikka, looking far more glorious in her street clothes. She’d just told Amber some highly amusing anecdote, but for the life of her Amber couldn’t remember just what it had been about, but did it matter:
“Oh god, that’s so good, I think I really needed to laugh like that, you know, I’ve just been so stressed… recently.”
“Sure thing, this has been great,” said Rikka with a pleasant kind of finality as though they were sharing a last meal, before wrapping Amber in a hug and releasing her a moment later.
“Yeah, I just really appreciate the company, I mean, I’m… so happy I ran into you here, didn’t see it coming, but happy.” Amber said, a little uncertainty entering her voice, she wasn’t terribly sure where she was coming from much less, where she was going.
Rikka nodded and rose from her seat, stepping back, letting Amber out.
Amber didn’t move. “Um…”
“This is your stop, where you’ve been headed, you’d better get going.”
Amber smiled pleasantly, “Right… it’s been a long trip,” she rose to her feet and shimmied out into the aisle, her hand finding her wrist and rubbing at it. At last she paused and sighed, hating what she was about to admit to, “I’m sorry, but maybe, with your memory… issues, if you don’t mind me saying it like that?”
Rikka giggled and shrugged.
“Yes, well, maybe you can appreciate my situation, you know, like I said it’s been a long trip and I've been under a little bit of stress recently… I think. And I haven’t been sleeping so well, so… I guess it’s fair to say I’m just feeling a little out of sorts, so… I guess… did I bring like luggage or anything?”
Rikka laughed and slapped her on the shoulder, “Oh princess, girls like you always have a ton of baggage. But no you didn’t get on with anything. It’s waiting for you where you’re going.”
“Oh, good, thank you… um, thank you.”
Where am I? The windows were opaque, she couldn’t see outside.
She slowly stepped towards the exit, nobody else was getting out.
Rikka waved goodbye as Amber went.
Amber returned the wave, kept going, stopped, turned back, waved again.
The light outside the door was too bright, all she could really see was a bit of street and sidewalk.
Amber took a deep breath, held it until her head went a little faint, then planted her PR smile firmly on her face and stepped down off the bus into the light.
She held a hand up and the glare faded, she instantly knew where she was.
Amber wheeled around her foot in the air to get back on the steps as the bus door swooshed shut, both her foot and face bounced hard off the barrier. She didn’t notice. NO! NOT YET! I’M NOT READY! Her mind screamed.
The bus whirred to life and began to pull away as Amber banged on the door in nothing less than terror, demanding to be let back on with a voice that suggested mortal peril.
It was to no avail, she chased the bus for a moment, as it sped up, Rikka waved, not unkindly, from the back window.
Amber didn’t have the capacity to decide whether or not to see Rikka not getting the bus to stop when she saw her as some sort of betrayal
The bus continued to accelerate. Unless Rikka changed her mind Amber wasn’t going to catch it.
Amber stopped, breathing hard more in panic than exertion, her legs were shaking.
The bus swung around a corner and was gone.
She stood shivering on a very familiar street, under the wrath of a steel blue sky.
I can’t be here. Not yet.
She looked around carefully, scanning for threats, she didn’t think anybody had seen her yet. Was that good or bad?
The streets were strangely empty for this time of day, the buildings small and old with peaked roofs, flanked by street lamps and trees rioting with the colors of fire.
Move now, bus station. Go! Go, now! The thought felt strange, there was a nagging sense that it should have been in Serpentine's voice, instead of her own.
She hurried back to the bus station where she’d been dropped, her speed clocking in at just short of running.
This was Main Street.
This was Cypress Fall.
She was home.