MAKE A WISH (Part 3)
He halted in mid-step, transfixed by what he saw.
The girl had changed. She was different. Not substantially, not in any way he should have noticed - but she was different nonetheless. More distinct, more ... herself. There was no other way to describe it. Her eyes had deepened to a clear glacial blue, her hair shimmered like fine white silk. A thousand subtle alterations had taken place over the last hour or so, from the tone of her skin to the smooth curve of her thighs . Almost as if she were ... what? Transforming? No. Evolving? Closer, but not quite. Developing? Yes, that was it. She was coming into focus, like an image sharpening to a higher resolution.
He raised a hand to his throat and drew it slowly down to his cleavage, revelling in the aria of sensations his fingertips raised over his (her) body. The desire to caress that soft, ripening form was overwhelming. And why not? She was beautiful. Staggeringly beautiful, impossibly beautiful. He roamed his gaze over her lithe, pliant figure, indulging his voyeuristic impulses.
Of course, he could do a lot more than look. He could touch. Touch her in ways he'd never touched a woman before. His girlfriends had always refused him any kind of intimacy (they invariably dumped him as soon as he tried to get physical), but who was going to stop him now? It was his body, he could do anything he pleased. Jesus, he could take her back to the bed and live out every panting, masturbatory fantasy he'd had since he was twelve years old. And why shouldn't he, for fucksake?! He had every right. And anyway -
(she wants it)
Yes, she wanted it. Why else would she have dragged him over here to the cheval? Why else would she be posing in the mirror, flaunting her breasts and thighs and underwear like some cheap Frisco streetwalker? Yes, she wanted it. They all wanted it, no matter what they said in the women's magazines. He'd learnt that much through painful experience. Look how often he'd been ditched in favour of someone better looking; some rich, fast-talking scumbag with a leather jacket and a porsche. The sort of guy who treated women with the most abject contempt, lying and cheating and tossing them aside like used condoms once he'd had enough -
(oh, they want it allright. They just don't want it from YOU)
"Fuck off," Danny replied. Why should he be overlooked, simply because he'd lived off welfare cheques all his adult life? That's what he resented most about women. Despite all their self-righteous, feminist rhetoric about justice and equality and everything else, they still dismissed him as some worthless, unattractive failure. Lower on the scale of humanity than wife-beaters, racists or petty criminals. And Christ, if convicted felons were allowed conjugal visits, why wasn't he?!
Well, he finally had an opportunity to make up for the years of frustration he'd been forced to endure. He had access to a young girl's body. And not just any young girl - no, she was a nymph, a goddess, the Erotic Virgin every man secretly yearns for. He'd be a fool if he didn't take advantage of the situation. It wasn't as if he'd be hurting anybody, after all. It wouldn't be a rape, because there'd be no victim. As he'd reasoned before, Danni wasn't a human being, she was just some excess storage space in the emotional warehouse of his brain. It certainly wasn't her body, it was his. Which meant he could fondle and play with it any way he chose.
Unaware he was employing the same logic used by generations of serial killers and rapists, Danny looked into the mirror and slipped the bra straps off his shoulders. He'd forgotten about the antique shop, forgotten the Gipsy and her magic looking glass. None of that mattered any more. The only thing that mattered now was satisfying his libido, his voracious, carnal appetite.
He tugged the brassiere down, exposing his breasts to the mirror. The breath caught in his throat as he surveyed their firm, supple contours. His nipples were as huge and dark as cherries, their carmine tips throbbing with arousal. He could almost see them pulsing in time to his heartbeat. A gentle, sensuous warmth began to spread through his torso, flowing downward through his belly.
He cupped his palms under his breasts, carefully slipping his fingers over the engorged nipples. A flare of pain erupted from each point, as sharp and bright as the edge of a razor. Danny gaped in shock, looked down, and - inexplicably - squeezed again. Gingerly at first, then with increasing force. Streaks of pleasure lanced through his body, all the way down to his tummy button. Oh my GOD, he thought, arching his back, this is GOOD. Better than Cosmo said it was, better than he'd ever imagined. It hurt - bordered on agony, to tell the truth - but he liked it.
And this was only the beginning.
Eyes wandering over his reflection, Danny lowered one hand to the trim of his panties and slid his fingers under the red lace. A surge of adrenalin seemed to hit his bloodstream. His knees weakened, the room lurched beneath his feet. He felt a surge of delight in his nether regions, far more intense than anything he'd experienced as a male. It was alien, exotic, unfamiliar. And the most wonderful thing he'd ever known.
Was this how it felt to be a girl? He inched his way a little further south, threading his fingertips through the downy blond thatch at the junction of his legs. He'd have to proceed with caution; Danny knew from a thousand Cosmo articles that the feminine organ (what was it called? Clitoris? Clytoris?) was unspeakably sensitive. He'd have to go gently, at least at first. He explored a little further, swallowing air in swift, panting spurts. God, he felt aroused. If he'd been a man, he would have been hovering on the brink of orgasm.
His fingers encountered a series of complex folds, moist and slick with some hot, sticky ejaculant. Lubricating fluid, Danny guessed. Her panties were almost saturated with it. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, moaning through half-parted lips. A wild, transgressive joy seized him, so profound it was almost a bolt of panic. It wasn't only the illicit thrill of probing a girl's trinket box. It was her defenceless, helpless state. It was as if he was inside her, violating her semi-naked body by sheer will. It was power. Power he'd been seeking for as long as he could remember.
Her vestibule was an intricate, fleshy rose, covered with tiny bulges and dimples. Lubricant seeped from its pulpy heart (oozing with pussy-juice, Danny thought, relishing the obscenity for no apparent reason), soaking her upper-thighs. He delved into her tight little girl-thing, feeling it melt in his hand. So unfamiliar; an alien landscape waiting to be mapped and charted.
The minutes drifted by in a purple fog. His fingers darted back and forth, teasing and tickling and nibbling away like a minnow. His temperature rose to feverish levels, he could barely stand upright. He found himself shivering like a leaf in a hurricane, his belly was strumming like an overtuned guitar string.
Huge, mauve stars suddenly exploded across his field of vision. His index finger had brushed against something. An inconspicuous bump near the top of her cleft. A hair-trigger, waiting to be squeezed. The slightest prod would send him into a vast, spiralling climax. He paused in his crude fumblings, unwilling to launch himself over the precipice. It was too soon, he wasn't ready yet. He wanted to get his fingers inside first, feel his way around that soft, dripping labyrinth.
(i want to fuck her)
Yeah, that was right, no sense denying it now. He wanted to screw her, hump her, spread her legs and make her scream for mercy. May have lost his weapon somewhere along the line, but he still had his fingers to work with. They'd do the job just as well, given his unique circumstances. Who needs a harpoon when an awl was sufficient for the task? The girl was practically begging him to mount her saddle - Jesus, she was wetting her pants with expectation. As he'd said before, she wanted it. She may not actually exist, but she wanted it all the same.
Danny's questing fingertips followed the line of her cleft, searching for an opening. It had to be here somewhere, all women had one. His pulse was cantering in his head, his tummy began spasm, shaking his frame from crown to heel. He was approaching some physical zenith; he wouldn't be able to postpone his orgasm much longer. He drove his middle finger into the centre of her labia, groaning with exhilaration. So close, so close ...
Realisation burst on him with blinding urgency. She was a virgin. She had to be, she was only born yesterday. That was why he couldn't find the opening. It was blocked by some kind of membrane, he remembered that from high school. Well, that shouldn't prove a problem. From what he'd read, it wasn't very strong, he could probably pierce it with a little effort. Might sting a little, but that didn't matter. Most girls lost their virginity by before they turned fifteen, so obviously, it was no -
(what?)
She was here. Danni. He could feel her presence all around him. Growing, spreading out through the pathways and conduits of his mind. Danny stepped away from the mirror, almost tripping over in his desperation to escape that haunting, alluring image. She'd tricked him, tempted him with her body. Distracted him long enough to take possession of his consciousness once more. The little whore had seduced him!! How could he have been so blind, so gullible, so fucking stupid?
(no! NO!! STOP IT, DON'T!!)
This couldn't be happening. She was nothing, just a collection half-forgotten memories and infantile day-dreams. She had no reality, no identity - she wasn't a person, for Chrissake! She couldn't drive him out, couldn't usurp his birthright this way. He was a man, not some mincing teenaged slut. He'd proven his right to exist. It was his life - miserable pointless waste though it was - and she couldn't have it.
The transition hit him with seismic force. There was no gradual blending of the waters this time. It was a storm, a cyclone. Danny fought to maintain his dominant position, but felt himself being swept away in the deluge. His psyche began to dissipate before that torrent of thought and emotion. A chasm seemed to open up beneath him, an endless, black ravine beneath his conscious mind. Falling into the abyss, he clawed desperately for purchase. Once, twice, three times -
and was gone.
TO BE CONTINUED
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