Blood Lace

She choked in froth, her lips a blood laced origami as words spread in red threads, bubbling as she breathed a poetry so pure, so true it flowed: "Robin, robin, oh God...." It was almost a rhyme, his rhythm of hate, of fists and teeth carving her mouth, as she whispered, "Help me, help me, God help me."

Bent and dizzy she began to slump, then she sat, almost falling onto the curb. Beneath her, rainbows exploded as she bled into the oily gutter and the world spun. Looking up, the buildings spun as people gathered in a jagged circle.

Squinting her eyes, she tried to remember... a man; yes they had met online and then later arranged to meet in a bar. When he came in, she recognized him from his picture. He was a nice looking gentleman in his late forties, maybe early fifties. His dark hair had a twinge of grey at the temples giving him a distinguished look.

------------------

Online they had talked of a lot of things, their lives, their dreams and soon it lead to them sharing their fantasies. Oddly she felt connected to this man and in the time they talked she came to know him, not just superficially, but on a deep, profound level. He told her things he said he never told anyone, not even his wife. Similarly, she shared things with him she had never spoken of before.

Their online conversations led to some sexual play: cybering, her friends had called it. Both shared in a fantasy meeting, typing and masturbating together. The heated exchanges then led to phone calls where they listened to each other as they brought themselves to climax.

Even though they were separated by thousands of miles, she felt they shared an intimacy they had never experienced before. When she touched her clit, she felt his hands caressing her, when she pushed the dildo into herself, it was him, hard, excited, as he gently fucked her.

Finally after several months they discussed meeting in real life. Despite her friends' concerns, she felt entirely safe to meet this man, this man she knew so intimately. She had been so comfortable with him that their meeting was to be a reenactment of a fantasy they often played online, an enactment of one of her deepest, darkest fantasies... to be raped.

They had arranged the meeting place and even agreed upon a safe-word... a word she would speak if the experience got too painful or intense for her. If she felt things were out of hand or if she was ready to stop, all she had to do was say, "Robin," and they would stop. Pure and simple, "Robin."

----------------

Now her head spun and she tried to remember... They had left the bar. She thought they would got to a hotel, play the roles in a hotel room, but he began touching her as soon as they left the bar. Initially she played along as he squeezed a breast too hard and then pinched her ass. But then the alley, yes... he forced her down an alley behind a dumpster.

She remembered being thrown down on some flattened cardboard. That was when she first said, "Robin," to him. He didn't stop, instead kneeling down, he began undoing his pants as he held her down.

When she came to her senses, her skirt was hiked up around her waist and he was pulling off her pantyhose. She moaned, "Please stop... robin, robin."

"It's not that easy, you have to be frightened for it to seem real," he drooled as he spoke.

"Robin," she whimpered again. Not knowing what else to do, she reached down, her hand brushing over his cock as she grabbed his balls as squeezed. She felt an immediate release as he pulled out of her, but then everything went black.

She sat on the curb, her body trembling as she began to hear the sounds and voices around her.

"What happened?" "Girl got mugged." "Boyfriend?" "Slipped off down some alley." She heard the words, they echoed, echoed and flowed around her and she remembered the word, the word he spoke once, twice, how many times?

"Bitch."

"Bitch," he had said again and again.

All she could think to do was whisper, "Robin." Then she felt someone stroking her head and heard a voice shouting numbers, "9-1-1."

The morning died in each gasping breath as she slowly faded to gray. Her eyes closed and tears wrang from the torn, tufted pillows streaked in mascara, eye shadow and salt. Her face flashed red as the distant horns, and sirens came close.

She blinked and saw choking faces, strange eyes, and long thin tube. Then a burning black, bagged breath penetrated her. "Breathe, breathe, then counting, two, three, four..." On her chest she felt pressure, pressure... faint voices. She listened, she listened, she listened to a calm, then silence.