ink 03
I look sheepish. “This is technically a little dangerous. But I tested it on myself first.”
“If it’s dangerous it’s more likely to hurt you, you idiot.”
I grin and kiss your knitted brows. “A&E would fix me up fine. We’re not sure if they’d find anything incriminating inside you, though.”
It’s been two hours since you swallowed the curiously heavy marble in its waxy, hermetic plastic. I’ve been tappy-tapping on my laptop while you write long-hand in a pad, the perfect picture of alone-together comfort. I broke the separateness by slapping your bottom, a wonderful staccato sound for me and a brief, refreshing sting for you. A brief, playful scuffle followed, ending with me wrestling you onto your back on the bed.
We both know that if you meant it you could probably put me anywhere you wanted.
“You’re looking at my belly again. More ink?”
“No. We’ve got stuck with our mapping project. Your ileum is just too kinked and whatever you eat gets too spread out by the time it’s worked its way that far down.” I cup your lower abdomen with a hand as I speak, almost proprietorial. Despite my matter-of-fact voice you can see the sparkle in my eyes, that same old thrill of picturing your dark and desecrating paths. “Hopefully this will help.”
This is a thin white plastic tray. You look at me sceptically.
“You’d better start making sense or you’re going in after your marble.”
“Patience, dear Raven. Here, watch.” I rest the chilly melamine on your belly, above the navel, clearly trying to work out the marble’s current position. Then I take a little bottle of black shavings and tip them roughly around the tray.
Circular lines appear, a radial bull’s eye demonstrating the location of the magnet.
I’m clearly thrilled by the discovery. You’re watching the way the lines of force hold steady even as I jostle the tray. Something inside you, way down deep, is communicating with the outside world. How does that make you feel?
“Here, hold still, I’d like to check something.”
A kid with a new toy, I carefully press down on the tray, just hard enough to keep it as still as your breathing allows. You reach up to boop me on the nose and I throw you a pretend glare. This of course encourages you to fuck about more, so the only resolution is to set aside the tray, grab your wrists, press them down to the bed and kiss you with startling force. You are shocked by the gesture, but melt into it, joining the kiss with indulgent heat and hunger.
When I break away I raise an eyebrow at you, the unspoken question being “are you going to behave?” You take a long time in deciding, but honestly you’re curious about where I’m going with all this. Your arms fold behind your head and you watch me over your prone body.
The tray retakes its place, a little more iron filing is scattered about. The target reappears, and then I watch, patient, while nothing l obvious happens…
The lines are moving. Like the sand in shifting dunes, iron creeps into or away from the magnetic lines, responding to the pull of the magnet unseen and unfelt. We both watch it a while as your patient peristalsis bears the magnet along its path. Reverence is on my face.
“That’s…” My voice starts up thick, and I clear my throat. “That’s fascinating. But I thought you might want to play with it. This is the dangerous part.”
Arms still behind your head you cock an eyebrow. I lean over to the side-table and pick up a foam ball that I’ve clearly drilled into and then hot-glue-gunned closed.
“The foam keeps a bit of distance. Trick is not to let them get too close. But… have you ever felt something struggle this far down?”
Your smile is slightly pursed. Perhaps I’m not aware that far enough down is only so far up. Thoughts fill your mind about how you might show me a very special way to degrade a meal. Come to think about it, am I even aware that your pussy, too, demands fearful respect? But perhaps you find me cute, playing with your body like a science project, discovering for myself its secrets.
“Ready? Okay.”
The feeling starts faint at first and grows as I move the foam ball closer. It’s startling and strange, like a finger stroking your guts from the inside. Nothing living has ever felt that part of you, so you’ve never felt a struggle quite there before. Like scratching an itch you never knew you had, it feels extraordinarily satisfying.
I trace the ball backwards, attracting the magnet along the path it has just descended. The walls of your intestine apply pressure, keep it trained inside the path, make your belly tingle. With a little growl you grab the ball from me and guide it yourself.
Surely the act is absurd, but you can’t help but explore. Surely you should only be turned on when it’s a glut of prey filling you out. But we both find your body endlessly fascinating, and it’s your turn to be distracted by the windings of your own body. When the ball presses too close to your skin the pressure peaks in a way you find thrilling, like being dangerously full, only lacking the fullness.
My hands free, watching you, I feel the unconscious twisting of your hips. Fine, I think to myself. Let us both explore you. My hand trails down to between your legs where I knew you would be already wet. You gasp as my fingers enter you, your body now being explored in two ways.
“This isn’t— ah— enough.” The feeling, though thrilling and intense, only kindles the kind of hunger that would stretch out the channels you are now teasing. “Make me come. Then we’re going out.”
I kiss your flank, your inner thighs, then settle my lips between your own. Your perfume, the sound of your breathing… your tightness around my fingers, your command, your taste. If only you knew, I think to myself, how easily you put me in Heaven.