When the Dark Wins

“Because you’re different, I’m going to give you a chance.” He rocked me, the sole of his shoe hard and squashing deep into my stomach. “Red. I don’t want to remember your real name so you’re Red from now on.” Poignantly, roughly, the feel of his shoe summoned me back to the almost-orgasm I’d wept over minutes before. “Forget your name.”

How could I?

I stared. What did he mean?

A chance at what?

“Your name is Red from now on.”

Of course it was.

Chapter 3

I let her wake. She’d been my paperweight on my large, timber and glass-topped desk for some time, lying on her side on the blotter. It must be five AM by now. Having her there let me think while also admiring the view.

It was wise to let some of the girls drift away and forget, lessened their anxiety. I hadn’t been sure I could do this to Red but I had, with difficulty.

Her eyelids fluttered. Eyelashes so delicate a butterfly would be jealous.

I raised the calligraphy pen and considered where to write on her. One of my hobbies, though I’d never written on a girl. Red seemed a good manuscript.

She pushed me into a new realm. She could bear the consequences and the evidence.

Where better than her areolas. Pink, circular perfection. Her upper breast lay over the lower, presenting me with an exquisite female canvas.

I began writing in black ink. The lines and loops stood out against the white. When I reached nipple, I dipped the line and wove around it in a pretty curve.

I placed a dot lower above her navel. Let it dry for a few seconds, then licked. The mark stayed, if dull. Good.

Her eyes opened fully. Pretty, light-green eyes looked out through the fan of red hair I’d arranged across her face. Green eyes. What else for a redhead. Her pubic hair, the thin arrowhead she’d left herself after, I presumed, laser therapy proved her color was inherited.

After placing the pen on the desk, I leaned back into my chair, considering my prize.

“Who are...” she began then stopped.

“Isak Bain. You know that.”

“Yes.” The change in her eyes was from fear. I let it happen. Dampening all her reactions was probably futile with Red, as well as less interesting.

“Do you remember the last words I said to you when I left you in Cuba?”

Cogwheels turned somewhere in that skull, neurons clicked, and finally: “Yes.”

“What did I say?”

She wet her lips with tongue, then lay staring until I tired of waiting and leaned in. I gestured – flicking a finger. “Raise your leg. I want to see more of you.”

Her eyes flared with anger. “Why?” Anger was remarkable, that she could so easily get angry at me.

“Now.”

Though her leg shook, though her forehead crinkled in a cute line, she lifted her upper leg, bending at the knee and placing her foot on the desk.

Pushing my will at her came naturally after these years. I rolled my chair sideways, put my hand between her legs then idly played with her slit until she grew wet and wriggly.

“What did I say?” I drew the copious liquid lower and painted her leg, dipping my finger into her entrance, observing her shudders, the squeeze of her cunt.

“You said, not to find you.”