home alone part 01
It started when you said you were starving. I looked up from the floor where I was surrounded by A4 cartridge paper, maths self-consciously scribbled as I tried to get my head around some fluid dynamics algorithm that would lead to better jiggle physics.
“I cooked you breakfast. You ate a doctor yesterday.”
“Didn’t know she was a doctor. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“The wrong place being walking from her car to her front door in a secluded neighborhood.”
You grin your butter-wouldn’t-melt grin. “And the wrong time being dinner time. Anyway,” you trace your fingers over your mountain of a belly. Poor discipline on either of our parts has led to a steady gain. “You liked playing with her stethoscope when I got home, didn’t you?”
You watch me look into space, remembering. My knees inch fractionally toward my body, a slightly defensive gesture you’ve noticed I use when recalling something cruel but hot. “She was still struggling when you got her home…”
“And you drew me a long, hot bath and played doctor while she cooked inside my belly. But…” You lean forward on the couch, fingers interlaced. “That was yesterday. I’m hungry now.”
I look torn between pleasing you and entertaining that certain evil light that flickers behind my eyes sometimes. You raise your hands defensively. “Whatever you’re thinking better involve a full—”
“C’mere, Rey.”
What follows after I get on all fours then grab your defensive hand is a wrestle like we sometimes do. I’ve never lost. There is a number of reasons I’ve never lost: I’m highly trained, athletic, experienced, and I know that if I lose there’s a very good chance you’ll decide round two will be in your gut. The main other reason is that you know this too, and for now, at least, have not employed the whole of your abilities. We don’t know who would win a pitched fight between us. At least where you didn’t employ your tendrils. I might be able to handle Vampiric strength and fangs, but extra limbs are beyond my abilities.
So you start by fighting to get free and keep getting pulled into difficult positions, like between my crossed legs where I can control your upper body and seek to wrap up your arms. You’re canny enough now to avoid my favourite tricks so you dig an elbow into my thighs and force an opening. I sweep you to the side but you somehow keep the momentum going and end up back on top, half-standing. I grin, and stop grinning when your fangs flash out at my defensive arm. Avoiding that makes an opening you use to flatten me with your whole weight—what, 150, 160kg? And I’d be in serious trouble if I weren’t a slippery motherfucker who managed to interpose a shin across your belly. It sinks deeeep into your fat and compresses the passages vacated by Dr Shah but it gives me a weird amount of control over how close you can get your fangs to anything biteable.
I’m out from under you before you properly frenzy from the frustration of prey fighting back. That would go bad for me. Seeking a quick end I isolate one of your arms and try to lock it off. You’re too quick but I know you’re that quick so I’m already transitioning to attack the other arm. You’re too quick for that too, damn you, but while I have to avoid an elbow to the jaw I manage to get an arm around your neck and lock it off with my other arm. A rear naked chokehold. I’m pinned to you, you can’t throw me off, and the gentle but firm pressure coming from forearm and biceps on either side of your throat make it clear I can bring you—painlessly—to unconsciousness.
It’s a technique you’ve learned and used yourself. A dance instructor once drifted away in your embrace then came to only when half-swaddled in wet, crushing darkness. The feeling of her coming alive in your throat was deeply exciting.
You know you’ve lost this bout, too. Slowly, you bring your hand to my arm and tap, the universal sign for “stop”. “You win. What’s this about?”
“I want to play a game. Simple game. Be mine, for a day or so?”
A day? Flashbacks to punishments, but this isn’t a punishment. “I’ve been a good girl.”
“You have, mostly.” My dangerous grip relaxes and turns into a firm cuddle, still pinned to your back. “We’ve both been a bit neglectful of your diet. Want to change that? Be mine?”
Your mouth becomes a straight line, but you lost the fight and you were fighting as hard as you could without using your arts, so…
“Fine.”
My kiss on the back of your neck sends tingles down your spine.
Rope. It’s always rope. Your stomach growls as I tie your bound wrists to a thick metal loop drilled into brick in the living room. You’re on all fours, your belly hanging low and soft. So soft that the weight pulls tight around your middle, giving you a narrower waist but a belly that tickles carpet.
“What’re you going to do?” you ask in a small voice.
“Feed you.”
You relax a notch or two. Your hips sway, causing your kneeling bottom to make little figures of eight. A happy wiggle.
“That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“Eventually,” I conclude. The wiggle stops. “You’re too quick to satisfy your whims. It won’t do you any harm to be hungry for a while.”
I’m happy with the tie. You’re bound next to the fireplace by a length of rope run through a hook, which lets you extend one arm or the other, but not both.
“’m hungry now…” Your voice turns from dejected to sweet as treacle. “Why not feed me now? I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll work off my prey. Feed me someone and I’ll let you fuck me while they’re still fighting.”
Your get another kiss to the nape of your neck. “It’ll be worth it. I need to leave on an errand. Scissors are right here. Do not touch them unless it’s Red. Understand? Just there for safety.”
You scowl over your shoulder at me. I grin and give your proud round arse an affectionate slap. The waves of jiggling are mesmerising enough to make me briefly lose my train of thought.
“PlayStation there. Water there. Phone there. You can do anything except lure someone here, or get someone to untie you. Call me if you need me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” My face appears in your field of vision. I kiss your lips, though they are thin with displeasure. “You make me very happy, Rey.”
“Then feed me,” you say, sulkily..
“You’ll have your fill.”
And I’m gone.
It’s like your stomach went from zero to we’re-going-to-die within minutes. A gurgle turned into spasms of powerful muscle roiling against itself, squeezing the empty void inside you like it’s checking for an occupant to work down.
You swear one gurgle streaks from beneath the notch of your collarbones all the way down your stomach and intestines to the very edge of your digestive tract.
Still no sign of me. You play a desultory game of something and fantasise about me bringing you live prey. Big prey. Prey so fat I’m going to have to push her chubby thighs down your throat for you. Prey so huge she’ll take two days to break down and you’ll be gloriously full because I’m stuffing you with all sorts of takeaway while she digests.
You almost drool. Saliva floods your mouth. Where the fuck am I?