Date: Sat, 09 Aug 2003 09:29:20 +0000
From: Kristy Leigh <kristyleigh2001@hotmail.com>
Subject: Make a Wish (part 3)

MAKE A WISH (Part 3)

3.

He halted in mid-step, transfixed by what he saw.

The girl had changed. She was different. Not substantially, not in any way
he should have noticed - but she was different nonetheless. More distinct,
more ... herself. There was no other way to describe it. Her eyes had
deepened to a clear glacial blue, her hair shimmered like fine white silk. A
thousand subtle alterations had taken place over the last hour or so, from
the tone of her skin to the smooth curve of her thighs . Almost as if she
were ... what? Transforming? No. Evolving? Closer, but not quite.
Developing? Yes, that was it.  She was coming into focus, like an image
sharpening to a higher resolution.

He raised a hand to his throat and drew it slowly down to his cleavage,
revelling in the aria of sensations his fingertips raised over his (her)
body. The desire to caress that soft, ripening form was overwhelming. And
why not? She was beautiful. Staggeringly beautiful, impossibly beautiful. He
roamed his gaze over her lithe, pliant figure, indulging his voyeuristic
impulses.

Of course, he could do a lot more than look. He could touch. Touch her in
ways he'd never touched a woman before. His girlfriends had always refused
him any kind of intimacy (they invariably dumped him as soon as he tried to
get physical), but who was going to stop him now? It was his body, he could
do anything he pleased. Jesus, he could take her back to the bed and live
out every panting, masturbatory fantasy he'd had since he was twelve years
old. And why shouldn't he, for fucksake?! He had every right. And anyway -

(she wants it)

Yes, she wanted it. Why else would she have dragged him over here to the
cheval? Why else would she be posing in the mirror, flaunting her breasts
and thighs and underwear like some cheap Frisco streetwalker? Yes, she
wanted it. They all wanted it, no matter what they said in the women's
magazines. He'd learnt that much through painful experience. Look how often
he'd been ditched in favour of someone better looking; some rich,
fast-talking scumbag with a leather jacket and a porsche. The sort of guy
who treated women with the most abject contempt, lying and cheating and
tossing them aside like used condoms once he'd had enough -

(oh, they want it allright. They just don't want it from YOU)

"Fuck off," Danny replied. Why should he be overlooked, simply because he'd
lived off welfare cheques all his adult life? That's what he resented most
about women. Despite all their self-righteous, feminist rhetoric about
justice and equality and everything else, they still dismissed him as some
worthless, unattractive failure. Lower on the scale of humanity than
wife-beaters, racists or petty criminals. And Christ, if convicted felons
were allowed conjugal visits, why wasn't he?!

Well, he finally had an opportunity to make up for the years of frustration
he'd been forced to endure. He had access to a young girl's body. And not
just any young girl - no, she was a nymph, a goddess, the Erotic Virgin
every man secretly yearns for. He'd be a fool if he didn't take advantage of
the situation. It wasn't as if he'd be hurting anybody, after all. It
wouldn't be a rape, because there'd be no victim. As he'd reasoned before,
Danni wasn't a human being, she was just some excess storage space in the
emotional warehouse of his brain. It certainly wasn't her body, it was his.
Which meant he could fondle and play with it any way he chose.

Unaware he was employing the same logic used by generations of serial
killers and rapists, Danny looked into the mirror and slipped the bra straps
off his shoulders. He'd forgotten about the antique shop, forgotten the
Gipsy and her magic looking glass. None of that mattered any more. The only
thing that mattered now was satisfying his libido, his voracious, carnal
appetite.

He tugged the brassiere down, exposing his breasts to the mirror. The breath
caught in his throat as he surveyed their firm, supple contours. His nipples
were as huge and dark as cherries, their carmine tips throbbing with
arousal. He could almost see them pulsing in time to his heartbeat. A
gentle, sensuous warmth began to spread through his torso, flowing downward
through his belly.

He cupped his palms under his breasts, carefully slipping his fingers over
the engorged nipples. A flare of pain erupted from each point, as sharp and
bright as the edge of a razor. Danny gaped in shock, looked down, and -
inexplicably - squeezed again. Gingerly at first, then with increasing
force. Streaks of pleasure lanced through his body, all the way down to his
tummy button. Oh my GOD, he thought, arching his back, this is GOOD. Better
than Cosmo said it was, better than he'd ever imagined. It hurt - bordered
on agony, to tell the truth - but he liked it.

And this was only the beginning.

Eyes wandering over his reflection, Danny lowered one hand to the trim of
his panties and slid his fingers under the red lace. A surge of adrenalin
seemed to hit his bloodstream. His knees weakened, the room lurched beneath
his feet. He felt a surge of delight in his nether regions, far more intense
than anything he'd experienced as a male. It was alien, exotic, unfamiliar.
And the most wonderful thing he'd ever known.

Was this how it felt to be a girl? He inched his way a little further south,
threading his fingertips through the downy blond thatch at the junction of
his legs. He'd have to proceed with caution; Danny knew from a thousand
Cosmo articles that the feminine organ (what was it called? Clitoris?
Clytoris?) was unspeakably sensitive. He'd have to go gently, at least at
first. He explored a little further, swallowing air in swift, panting
spurts. God, he felt aroused. If he'd been a man, he would have been
hovering on the brink of orgasm.

His fingers encountered a series of complex folds, moist and slick with some
hot, sticky ejaculant. Lubricating fluid, Danny guessed. Her panties were
almost saturated with it. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back,
moaning through half-parted lips. A wild, transgressive joy seized him, so
profound it was almost a bolt of panic. It wasn't only the illicit thrill of
probing a girl's trinket box. It was her defenceless, helpless state. It was
as if he was inside her, violating her semi-naked body by sheer will. It was
power. Power he'd been seeking for as long as he could remember.

Her vestibule was an intricate, fleshy rose, covered with tiny bulges and
dimples. Lubricant seeped from its pulpy heart (oozing with pussy-juice,
Danny thought, relishing the obscenity for no apparent reason), soaking her
upper-thighs. He delved into her tight little girl-thing, feeling it melt in
his hand. So unfamiliar; an alien landscape waiting to be mapped and
charted.

The minutes drifted by in a purple fog. His fingers darted back and forth,
teasing and tickling and nibbling away like a minnow. His temperature rose
to feverish levels, he could barely stand upright. He found himself
shivering like a leaf in a hurricane, his belly was strumming like an
overtuned guitar string.

Huge, mauve stars suddenly exploded across his field of vision. His index
finger had brushed against something. An inconspicuous bump near the top of
her cleft. A hair-trigger, waiting to be squeezed. The slightest prod would
send him into a vast, spiralling climax. He paused in his crude fumblings,
unwilling to launch himself over the precipice. It was too soon, he wasn't
ready yet. He wanted to get his fingers inside first, feel his way around
that soft, dripping labyrinth.

(i want to fuck her)

Yeah, that was right, no sense denying it now. He wanted to screw her, hump
her, spread her legs and make her scream for mercy. May have lost his weapon
somewhere along the line, but he still had his fingers to work with. They'd
do the job just as well, given his unique circumstances. Who needs a harpoon
when an awl was sufficient for the task? The girl was practically begging
him to mount her saddle - Jesus, she was wetting her pants with expectation.
As he'd said before, she wanted it. She may not actually exist, but she
wanted it all the same.

Danny's questing fingertips followed the line of her cleft, searching for an
opening. It had to be here somewhere, all women had one. His pulse was
cantering in his head, his tummy began spasm, shaking his frame from crown
to heel. He was approaching some physical zenith; he wouldn't be able to
postpone his orgasm much longer. He drove his middle finger into the centre
of her labia, groaning with exhilaration. So close, so close ...

Realisation burst on him with blinding urgency. She was a virgin. She had to
be, she was only born yesterday. That was why he couldn't find the opening.
It was blocked by some kind of membrane, he remembered that from high
school. Well, that shouldn't prove a problem. From what he'd read, it wasn't
very strong, he could probably pierce it with a little effort. Might sting a
little, but that didn't matter. Most girls lost their virginity by before
they turned fifteen, so obviously, it was no -

(what?)

She was here. Danni. He could feel her presence all around him. Growing,
spreading out through the pathways and conduits of his mind. Danny stepped
away from the mirror, almost tripping over in his desperation to escape that
haunting, alluring image. She'd tricked him, tempted him with her body.
Distracted him long enough to take possession of his consciousness once
more. The little whore had seduced him!! How could he have been so blind, so
gullible, so fucking stupid?

(no! NO!! STOP IT, DON'T!!)

This couldn't be happening. She was nothing, just a collection
half-forgotten memories and infantile day-dreams. She had no reality, no
identity - she wasn't a person, for Chrissake! She couldn't drive him out,
couldn't usurp his birthright this way. He was a man, not some mincing
teenaged slut. He'd proven his right to exist. It was his life - miserable
pointless waste though it was - and she couldn't have it.

The transition hit him with seismic force. There was no gradual blending of
the waters this time. It was a storm, a cyclone. Danny fought to maintain
his dominant position, but felt himself being swept away in the deluge. His
psyche began to dissipate before that torrent of thought and emotion. A
chasm seemed to open up beneath him, an endless, black ravine beneath his
conscious mind. Falling into the abyss, he clawed desperately for purchase.
Once, twice, three times -

and was gone.


TO BE CONTINUED

Email me for more:
kristyleigh2001@hotmail.com
kristyleigh2001@yahoo.co.uk