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The Artist
A burnt smell, smoky, a hint of scorched rubber. Lying on top of her, moving, shifting, it was too dark to see her. He tried to learn more about her by scent and by touch. She remained a mystery. He caressed her naked body as she moved against him rhythmically, leaves and dirt their bed.
His fingers dug into her flesh and anchored the struggling woman in place.
A twig poked his knee each time he pushed against her. With a gasp, her mouth traveled over his skin, gently kissing down his arm.
Pain flared as she put her duct-taped mouth against his forearm and managed to bite through the tape. He made a fist with his free hand and hammered her head twice, stunning her.
He nuzzled along her collarbone and up the side of her neck. Her breathing became a pant, and his followed. He pushed himself up into leaves and limbs. His face broke a web, and a spider skittered over his ear and onto his shoulder. An insight: dark hair, almost black. With his hands he felt her body, trim and soft, full in the right places. The tip of his tongue traced behind her ear. Her panting changed to moans, so he stayed at her ear, licking and nibbling.
She screamed through the torn duct tape, loudly enough that had anybody been nearby, they would have heard. Nobody was, so he ground his teeth harder.
Hips moved, her legs spread, and he slid into wet heat. The odor of burned rubber intensified. Her long groan turned into rapid gags like she was choking. He exploded in an orgasm so intense that it was painful, and he bit her shoulder throughout his release. Her skin tasted of salt and copper. Rolling off, he collapsed deeper in the brush and waited for his heartbeat to settle. She crawled from him, exiting their nest.
Her wrists, bound by wire behind her back, prevented her from moving quickly. She crawled like an inchworm, her cheek in the dirt. Her panicked breathing grew louder now that she’d chewed through the tape.
A light source reached through the foliage, casting shadows of branches and leaves across her body. Out of the growth, she stood. Her dark hair fell midway down her back, between wide shoulders. Her narrow waist and Frazetta ass, wide and full, swayed as she walked away.
Struggling to her feet, she screamed for help through the tattered tape then ran without looking back.
She strolled to the right and headed down a hill, disappearing into night. Arms extended, he pushed from the undergrowth and felt cool air on his skin. He scrambled back, patting at the ground. He grabbed his clothes and reemerged from the brush. A distant glow, the moon stood sentinel as he hurried after her. When he came to a small lake, he paused to slip his legs into damp trousers and buttoned his shirt. Dancing on one foot then another, he slid on his shoes.
Footprints in the muddy shore led him to a tree line, and she moved behind a pine. He entered the trees and emerged under the moon in a grassy field that gently ascended a hill. Between him and the moon was the silhouette of a form surrounded by a low circular wall. He recognized her as she sat on a large rock within the wall, gazing into the distance. The water surrounding her reflected the moon. She sat atop a still fountain.
“Hi,” he said.
She sat stoically, facing away from him.
“Where... How did we...” He moved around to face her, and when the moonlight was behind him, he saw her hair was now a dark copper color, as was the rest of her body. He stepped over the wall and into ankle-deep water, creating hushed splashes. He wanted to laugh, or maybe he did, when he saw that she was made of bronze and anchored to the rock she sat upon. His hands went up and touched solid thighs that he’d caressed earlier. She stared out, unaware.