Slips Of The Tongue Ch. 05

"Okay. So?"

"So which are you Gwendolyn?"

Gwen didn't answer. To her, the question seemed more personal, more intimate than anything she'd said or done with Domenique or Tina or Julie and Mr. Sullivan. Suddenly, she was angry all over again, offended by the disembodied know it all voice on her phone, still playing her games. Gwen's heart began to race, her breathing quickened, her mind made up. Roses are dead. Fuck you for sure. Stay out of our head. I want things the way they were.

"You know what?" she said, seething, "This is bull shit. If you don't have the balls to show yourself, you are not worth being given an answer, though I imagine you have us figured out anyway, and you don't deserve another second of "our" time, so..."

Gwen cut the connection, and picked up the next call in her cue.

"MHIS help desk; how can I help you?"

It was dark by the time Gwen arrived in Domenique's driveway. Her car was parked in the same spot. The apartment was dark inside. She had her own key, of course. Gwen stared at Domenique's bedroom window and recalled her conversation with; with who? Who the fuck did she think she was; extravert, neurotic, psychotic? Masks; you're the one with the mask bitch. Me? I'm just a helpless little neurotic who was in the midst of undergoing a conversion, and Nique... Nique's got her own fucking bridge to cross.

Gwen quietly turned the key to Domenique's front door, and let herself back in. Other than the light from the stove's range, darkness filled the apartment. Slowly, she trailed her fingers along the wall until she could peer into the kitchen on her left and the living room on her right. Not here, she thought. Then, keeping left, Gwen found her way into Domenique's bedroom.

Gwen was sure of nothing at first, nothing she saw, nothing she knew. She'd even forgotten how she'd convinced herself that it was a good idea to check on her. There was the smell of sick and soiled bed clothes and something else; something metallic. As her eyes finally adjusted, Gwen realized two things simultaneously: one, that the huge mirror over Domenique's low bureau was shattered and two, Domenique was sitting silently in her bed, her hands in her lap. Gwen walked around the bed and switched on her night stand lamp. Then, shuddering and starting to weep all over again, Gwen saw the lamp light reflected in the tacky blood that covered Domenique's right hand. Gwen bolted from the room, switched on the hall light, and then sprinted into the bathroom. Returning to the bedroom, she flicked on the overhead light, and then set herself to work on tweezing all the tiny shards of glass from Domenique's knuckles. I will take care of her, and then I will leave. I will take care of her, and then I will leave her. I will take care of her...

Gwen's tears had subsided the busier she became, wiping blood away, finding more shards and then cleaning more blood away. She saw that Domenique could use a few stitches, but she could seal the areas well enough as long as she didn't mind the scars she'd have on the back of her hand. Neither spoke, though their eyes seem to say everything. How can you ever trust me again, Domenique's eyes seemed to say. I don't deserve you. I don't deserve your forgiveness. Gwen slid out of her shoes and sat crossed legged before her, searching Domenique's eyes between applying iodine, bacitracin ointment and bandages. You're right. You are a stupid ass and so am I. As much as I don't deserve you, I do, and I want you, I love you, I have to have you.

Finished with her treatment of Domenique's wounds, Gwen stepped carefully around the large blades of glass that littered the floor. She disposed of the glass pieces she'd plucked from Domenique's hand and the bloodied paper towels, and then returned to her side. Their eyes met until Domenique looked away, pathetic and shamed. Gwen slipped out of her clothes, and then worked Domenique out of the clothes she hadn't taken off from the day before. Presently, Domenique shifted to the other side of her bed, leaving room for Gwen to slide in beside her. Gwen held Domenique close, and gently stroked the hair away from her face. From there, Gwen's hand caressed the contours of her lover's supple curves and valleys. In the next instant, their mouths found each other.

They kept their kisses small, like hot rain drops crashing in slow motion; kiss after kiss, forehead, nose lips, chin, neck and chest, ever downward until one colored the other with her love. Gwen had crawled her way backward until her face was in Domenique's dripping sex, her clit poking up like a little cock. Gwen sucked it and enjoyed Domenique's shivers; knowing that it was her anguish and regret that made the pleasure as intense as it was. Gwen lapped and gently chewed for a long time before crawling her way back up to find that Domenique's face was cool and wet with tears. Gwen kissed them, mingling the juices of Domenique's pussy with the shed tears of her face.

Gwen crept her way off of Domenique so that she could reach her night stand drawer and withdraw the jock and its purple cock. Quickly she fit the dildo and the vaginal plug in place, and then strapped the jock on. There was no need for any lubrication. Domenique was wet enough. Gwen crawled back across the bed, parted Domenique's legs, and then knelt between them. Slowly, she slid her silicone cock inside Domenique, and adopted a slow rhythm. Domenique lay passively, humming tearfully to herself as Gwen took her by the ankles. As she fucked, Gwen dined first on the toes, ball and heel of Domenique's right foot and then her left. Then she brought Domenique's legs together, now driving her purple cock deeper and deeper, her thighs slapping Domenique's smooth ass.

"Your philosophy about control in this relationship," whispered Gwen, her words coming in pants as she parted Domenique's legs again, "should directly reflect how we engage, reciprocating, in our sex. Promise me you'll think about loving me the way you fuck me."

"Yes." Whined Domenique, beginning to come in earnest.

"Say it." Gwen demanded, pouring on her thrusts.

"I promise. Mmmmmmm, yes, oh, oh, oh, I swear to the Goddess, I promise, mmmmmm, yes, yes."

As Gwen herself came, her body rigid, her back arched, her face directed toward the ceiling, she knew that she would make Domenique understand how lucky she was to have her and how unlucky she'd get if she ever raged at her again. Power and control should be exchanged, not withheld or used as a reinforcer . How's that bitch? Put that in your fucking psychology text book!

As Gwen's orgasm relented, she saw stars behind her closed eyes: the three sisters in Orion's belt. She concentrated on them as she gently eased her false cock out of Domenique, and watched the three pin points of light morph into three white rose blossoms.

"We need to talk." She said as she crawled back beside Domenique.