Bottleneck

"I'll shoot you, I swear to God!" She continued to scream, and he believed her. She swung the pistol madly around and fired up at the ceiling; plaster raining down on his bruised body as he scrambled backwards against the wall. She had him pinned in the corner, the muzzle of the gun against his head. Her voice grew suddenly soft; eerily, ominously, quiet. "One more time," she whispered, and he could see the insanity burning like a fire in her eyes, brighter than any flame he had ever seen. "I'll kill you."

"I know you will," Henry stuttered, his eyes welling with tears. "I can't remember anything. I'll try, please, just let me go..."

She was naked from the waist up, holding a pistol against his head. Her skin was flawlessly smooth, smudged with grime, and she was naked, cradling that pistol as though she were afraid of it and empowered by it all at once. The metal was cold against his scalp, and he could imagine the force of the spinning bullet that would enter him, blacken him, when she pulled the trigger. He felt his mind sharpen as he took in the sight of her, watching the florescent lights above begin to blur on the edges of his vision. This was the bright side of insanity, he realized, reaching without thinking for those slender arms, that narrow waist, those red lips burning him in a wonderful, terrible way.

Still pressing the barrel to his neck, she slid on top of him, pulling at the buttons on his shirt and ravaging his mouth with her own. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see, and he could remember nothing, but he could feel her swaying on top of him, like a wave, pulling at his jeans and lifting the silky fabric of her skirt onto his thighs, pressing harder into him with the cold metal. He felt her lower herself on top of him, gathering him into her, and ramming him father into the wall with every thrust, attacking him with the core of her body, controlling him, letting him possess her. He felt the metal, hard against his neck, and he heard her moaning on top of him, "I'll kill you, I swear to God, I'll kill you." And, suddenly, he remembered everything.

It was a game, and it had to be played.

He pushed her roughly off, pried the gun from her slender fingers, and thrust the muzzle deep inside of her. She was screaming, in pain and pleasure, and continued screaming as he pulled the trigger.

The End

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