Scenario: by Angelpie, 5.27.02
We hurriedly take our shoes off and throw them in the pile. Apolo’s big jackboots knock over the strappy little brown leather lace up Jimmy Choo’s and orange patent leather Nike slides already on the floor.
“Ease up, Hurricane,” I say. “You’re gonna fuck up the Qi.”
He places the shoes as they were.
“Hey, I know these shoes,” he says as a smirk appears on his face.
A smile plays on my lips. We race up the stairs. We stop at the metal door. Brushed chrome. I brush my fingers along the rivets, in the shape of a cross, old school Greek. Apolo is shifting from one foot to the other.
“You got ants in your pants?” I ask.
“Baby, I thought you said these pants would breathe like my skin suit.”
“So, I lied, sorry,” I flip back.
He is standing there in his black vinyl PVC pants that fit him like a coat of shiny paint. His black mesh tank makes me crazy. I reach over to tweak his nipples.
“Ease up, baby,” as he grabs my wrist. “They are still sore from this morning.”
He nips at the palm of my hand, right at the base of my thumb. He looks up at me. I bite my bottom lip. He knows how much I like that. I tug at the waistline of my black stretch twill flares with the front to back zippered crotch. The metal is cool against my skin. I adjust the laces of my maroon satin bustier, running my hands down the slippery fabric.
“Let’s do this,” Apolo says as he opens the door.
We
walk through a dimly lit passageway.
The walls dank with moisture and lack of light.
We arrive at the opening; we stop and are instructed to choose a
weapon. Apolo twitches with
anticipation, his hand gliding over the heavy artillery.
He finally chooses a chromed
out Billenium. Passing it
from hand to hand checking the balance.
Damn, he looks so butch holding that pistol in his tight shiny
pants. I choose something a
little more demure and progressive. It’s
rather phallic. The metal
smooth in my hand. I press
the button and it unfurls its metal petals, like a flower. The ring on the
outside moves for different levels of
intensities. The
penlight glow disguises the power from within.
We walk into the arena as instructed.
There are murmurings but we cannot see past the edges of the floor.
Music starts to pound out.
Apolo leans into my ear and whispers, “Lock and load baby.” He bites my earlobe before plunging his tongue into my ear. I rub his ass for good luck. We are alone. Suddenly, a metal sphere is on a trajectory straight for Apolo’s head. I take aim. The pulse glances off the sphere, but momentarily knocks it from its fatal path.
“Damn. Thanks girl.”
“Apolo, get your back up! This is no game,” I say a little harshly.
My heart is doing 360bpm. I hear the whining of the sphere above the hammering beat. So does Apolo. This time he is ready. His aim is right on. The sphere explodes into a million particles. Hanging in the thick air like dust, swirling on the currents. The murmurs grow louder. I lick the perspiration from Apolo’s upper lip. He sucks on my bottom lip. I feel an ominous presence at my back. I instinctively follow through with an adrenaline infused roundhouse that knocks the presence to its knees. Apolo locks on and the apparition is blown into oblivion. The crowd gets louder. The music intensifies. Apolo gives me the “what-the-fuck-did-you-get-me-into” look. I shrug.
A hush falls over the crowd. Now hundreds of miniature robots are converging upon us. Each holding a tiny stiletto. Marching in unison. The light bouncing off the blades like glitter. Apolo is blasting away but they are too much for us. One falls and they keep advancing over the top of the fallen.
“Ahhh! Fuck!” I exclaim.
I set my weapon to maximum, grab his hand and aim it at our heads.
******
We open our eyes and find ourselves on a bed with Ben Webster playing softly in the background. We are both shaky and exhausted. I reach over and grab the Tiger Balm from the nightstand. We take turns rubbing the ointment into each other’s sore muscles. The smell of cloves is permeating the air.
“Baby, I’m so tired I just want to sleep,” he says.
“That’s okay you just lay there.”
I smile as I get on top of him. I lean down to kiss him long and deep. I tug on his soul patch with my teeth. I can feel him getting hard. He groans low and soft. He smiles into my eyes as I guide him in and we find our rhythm. I look into his face and can see this is not going to last long. I take his hand and guide it to my clit. He matches his movements to my facial expressions. I finish soon after him. I collapse on top of him. I trace his jaw line with my finger.
I watch my soft angel sleep.
If you get inspired and have a song scenario you want to submit, don’t hold back. Email us here at Dark Blades, darkbladeweaver@yahoo.com.