revolvingdoor (revolvingdoor) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-10-25 23:35:00 |
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Entry tags: | rehab |
Who: Rehabilitation
What: Her own wedding party
When: Saturday, the 24th, 4:20pm
Where: Her apartment
Warnings: A definite R. Heavy sexual content. I apologise in advance, as I think I've forgotten how to write smut >.>
By the time it finished she was on her knees. She wouldn't have been able to say how she'd gotten there, not if her very existence had depended on it. She laid on her bedroom floor tangled in skirts and petticoats. Her dress half unbuttoned to the waist and her hair uncharacteristically out of place. Blonde strands framed her prone figure like a halo. The outline of her breast could be seen, the tip peaking underneath the thin layer of yellow fabric that her dress was made of. Underwear was wrapped around her ankle, almost discarded but not quite. The Goddess of Rehabilitation could only murmur unintelligible phrases and eye contact would have been little to none—her eyes had rolled back in her head some time ago and had yet to refocus. That ankle with the underwear wrapped around it twitched ever so slightly, along with her fingers and toes. She couldn't move, but for the first time in her life she could feel.
So what had happened at four hours and twenty minutes past noon on October twenty-fourth?
Mira had prepared herself for so much on this day. Heroin and Marijuana were getting married and she'd long come to appreciate the fact that there would be no changing this. So she'd prepared herself for any number of things. What would their inevitable power surge do to her? She'd emptied her medicine cabinets in preparation. There wasn't even the tiniest pill of Advil in her home. Her computer was unplugged and she'd cut the tip off of her Ethernet cord, for internet addictions could be a very serious matter. After cutting the cord she'd hid anything with an edge. By noon Mira had locked the door of her room and laid down on the bed to wait. Her bedroom was empty and the key was slid underneath her door. She would be able to get it back later with a wire hanger and a bit of effort, but she knew that her other self wouldn't have the dexterity or patience. More than likely she'd go out a window if anything and that would slow her down. There would be no moving for at least an hour or so if she cracked her head open on the sidewalk.
At some point around quarter after four she knew somewhere they were preparing to unite in marriage, with no thought as to what it might do to thousands of mortals around the world. Certainly with no thought as to what it might do to her. Mira could only assume that they were hoping she would relapse back to them, marijuana, heroin, coke, ecstasy, and their other brothers and sisters. Even she was assuming the worst, that she'd wake up from some blacked out state with dark hair, meth teeth, and cocaine on her nose and upper lip. She was waiting for it, expecting it, when something else completely happened.
It started in her toes. It was a slow, winding pleasure worked its way slowly up her feet, but then stopped. She couldn't tell what it was, and at first it felt almost like that virgin heroin high, the one she'd not felt since the 1970s. It was glorious, but then it was gone.
Then it was twenty past four. Four twenty.
Mira gasped at the breeze of a touch against her thigh. Her legs spread instinctively, though she'd never felt anything like this before. There was another touch and after a sharp intake of break from her she felt something push itself inside. Her eyes flew open wide—almost wider than her legs were spread—and she gripped her sheets , knuckles actually turning white as whatever she had imagined for herself started thrusting, pushing and churning from side to side and some how manage to touch every corner of her. Her hips moved up and down, over and under those pushing thrusting movements and she squirmed as a familiar feeling built up inside.
There was no washing machine this time. No constant vibrations from the giant white thing underneath her. Instead it was something invisible and all she had to do was slip her hand underneath her dress and push her damp underwear down her legs. Mira felt short of breath as she moved and struggled to keep her fingers from shaking long enough so that she could undo the buttons of her dress and reach around to unhook the clasp on her bra. It seemed then that she couldn't lay a hand on her breast fast enough. Her hands moved everywhere across her body except for between her thighs where phantom hands were doing their own job.
Mira could almost hear the first 'I do', she could as she pinched her nipples between her fingers. She gasped again and bit down on her lower lip before closing her eyes and beginning to writhe around on the sheets. When she fell from the bed onto the floor it barely registered. It should have hurt, perhaps, but there were too many other feelings racing through her body. Her hips bucked and her back arched upwards towards the ceiling as the girth inside her increased.
Then came the second 'I do', the pronunciation of the marriage, and the kiss to seal it off. Mira's jaw dropped and the yell that came forth was almost guttural in nature. There was no pain in it, only surprise and pleasure. She'd felt this before, of course. She'd grown close to her washing machine over the past few weeks, but this was different. It was an explosion, and that feeling that had only teased in her toes before spread quickly. It sizzled through her body like electricity, jumping from one spot to another and culminating in her center in that one place she dared never touch. But now, still pinching herself with one hand, Mira had to reach down and feel the nub between her legs.
That was all she needed to push her completely over the edge. Her vision blurred and her toes and fingers curled as she called out again. Her back arched again and she couldn't help it when she hit her head hard against the floor. Again, the pain was ignored. Everything else she was feeling was too good.
Her muscles clenched down around whatever invisible force had been helping her along, an act that only prolonged the pleasure. Small waves hit her again and again over the course of twenty minutes. The wedding was over, but the celebration was beginning. There was pleasure flowing through her, and there was drug. Maybe a bit of heroin, maybe a bit of marijuana. Her breaths were heavy and uneven as she laid on the ground, unable to move.
She couldn't believe that this was a harmful addiction. This was the ultimate pleasure and perhaps the happiest she'd felt in her entire existence as herself. She'd never known this was possible, not in this form.
Mira closed her eyes as she began to come down. Her breathing slowed, just slightly. All she could think –and it was horrible—was that after an orgasm of that nature, she needed a cigarette.
Pity, she'd thrown out all the lighters.