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Deep Wounds

By Aliya Leigh

 

  

The wound was so deep… Like gush spewing blood that made B cry out in pain and anguish.  The wound was deep within her soul, was as if someone had poured a gallon of salt water in the wound. She hated the feeling that nothing would be able to heal  the wound.  She wanted it to kill herself slowly hoping she would die with feeling, but the wound made her hollow inside.  The wound made her not feel; the sense of touch, pain, love or any other human emotion at all.  The wound made her hollow as if she was already dead, like the walking dead without a sense of belonging or self.  

 

To think back, B didn’t have a care in the world for anyone; only herself.  She was

self center cunt. She would never think twice about anyone because she didn’t give a shit.  Now, she cares, why? Because a girl broke the one thing she only had; heart.

 

B walks around in the apartment trying to think.  She sat down on a couch.  The wound is deep and the pain is torture.  She looks at the sharp kitchen knives; there is one, a knife that can cut through anything.  She looks at them and studies them.  She could use the knife to curve out the deep wound in her heart.  She wanted to do it, but she was a coward.

 

“Damn, damn, damn,” all that come out of B mouth, but no feeling or knowledge of the words, only nothing.

 

The wound is so deep, that to cure it, she needs to be a hollow – a person that is nothing.

 

 

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“Yaa, Yeah, Yaa, Yaa,” the moans of sexual torture B made.  She was in sexual heaven and hell all at the same time. 

 

“Oh, god...  Yes,” B said over and over again in a sexually charged tortured love song.  This would be the tenth time she has cum and the women were not planning on stopping. 

 

The torture made her feel human – pain of life, the joy of sex and the fear of no control, all at the same time.  She enjoys that feeling more than having an orgy.

 

She couldn’t move and was powerless, in her own bedroom.  She was blindfolded and tied to her own rod iron bed, each limb tied to a single post; suspended above the mattress. This bed frame had been custom made just for this purpose.  Each post of her been was specially designed so that a rope could be tied securely even against the struggles brought on by her sexual play.

 

So there she was suspended above her own mattress with one woman sucking and lapping at the delicate folds of her pussy while alternately sucking her clit, while the other wiped her with leather riding wipe. You could hear  the force of the blows to her skin, with each crack of the wipe she was brought closer to orgasm. With each passing moment and each blow the flesh of her body would rise in an angry red line. B didn’t feel the leather against her skin because to her, it felt like a sensual tongue licking and teasing her most sensitive of body parts.

 

She cried out in a tortured sexual bliss. 

“Oh, Ohh, Ohhh, Fuck, Ohhh”, B cried out, not wanting these twisted felling of ecstasy to stop.  She was cuming, the juices from her hot pussy where dribble out creating an ever growing puddle in the bed below. The intensity of the pain brought on by the torture and the pleasure that she had been longing for this whole week was at its peak, and she was about to make her pussy into a fountain. 

 

“Oh Fuck, Ohh, Ohh… (ring… ring…) What the fuck!,”  B said as a generic sounding ring tone emanated from the cell phone in a chair off in the corner of the room began to play without any warning. 

 

“Come on, don’t fucking stop!  Come on!” B yelled.

 

The women continued, but the phone continued as well.

B was doing her best to block out the sound and to concentrate on her own self fulfillment, but the phone never stop, like a bad song stuck in your head. 

 

“Stop, just stop, I mean stop. I’m serious. Get me down,” B said and then cursed under her breath. 

 

The two women untied her as quickly as they could and B took off the blindfold.

 

She got up from her bed in a huff and walked over to her chair. 

 

“I thought, I put this thing on silence, damn, this better be good,” B said.

 

The women didn’t make a sound, as they were order to apply torture, but never to speak.

 

B dialed the phone number with her face red with angry, but worry, wondering if someone had died in a plane or car crash, murdered or something dreadful. If not, she was going to kill the person who made her stop her multiple orgasms with no reason.

 

“What,” B said.

 

“Oh, thank god you picked up.  I have been calling and calling…”

 

“About what…, Judy,” B said.

 

“Cindy. You know…,” Judy said.

 

B wanted to put her hands through the phone and choke the living daylights out of Judy.

 

“What about Cindy? This better be good.  I swear, it better be good,” B said in a very annoyed sounding voice.

 

“Oh, honey, she called me and …,” Judy said.

 

“So what… You want a fuckin prize,” B said with a bit of disdain in her voice.

 

“No... Honey.  She should be knocking on your door soon.  Now, remember your anger management,” Judy said.

 

“Shut up.  What the hell?” Beatrice asked.

 

“She wanted to have sex with the famous hoe of the valley,” Judy said.

 

“I don’t think so, I would rather have sex with a toothless, smelly old woman on skid row in the middle of street, then Cindy, while I’m sober,” B said.

 

“Tell her that. I’m just warning you. See you have a rep,” Judy said.

 

“Please. See you tomorrow.  I’ll handle this,” B said as a knock came from the front door.

 

B puts the phone down and walks over to the front door naked with not even so much as a tissue cover her shapely form.  She opened the door, wide open so that the world at large could admire her toned, shapely, mocha colored body. She was proud of it and went to the gym everyday to keep it. 

 

B stood there framed by the door way in front of Cindy with a body that looked like it was shaped by the sculpture of ancient Rome. Her Legs where long and shapely, her pussy hairless still dripping wet with cum, she had perky breast that flowed down to rock hard abs, her arms were toned with a superb definition, and her face was one God molded himself to perfection.  Her short red hair made her look like a young girl with a woman’s body.

 

“I want to fuck you,” Cindy said.

 

“Too bad, I have nothing for you,” B said as she crossed her arms.

 

“I know you want it.  I can give it to you.  Look at you, I see you were playing with yourself,” Cindy said.

 

“Why would you say that,” B said.

 

“You left the club alone,” Cindy said.

 

“Because I had an appointment,” B turns her head in the apartment, “Girls, come here.”

 

The women walk over to B and stand in front of Cindy, both on either side of her. 

 

Cindy’s eyes showed a bit of surprise and sadness all at the same time, this just as a man was walking his dog only to almost trip and fell. 

 

“I know you like what you see old man,” B said and the man continued to walk pass her door with an obvious hard on in his pants.

 

“So, do I look like I’m lonely?” B asked.

 

“You’re a slut,” Cindy said.

 

“No, I’m a hoe.  There’s a big difference,” B said.

 

“You going to catch something,” Cindy said.

 

“And to think, you wanted to sleep with me. I’m the hoe, remember.  I sleep around.  I have a rep. Did you think, it was fake? I have pleasured and been pleasured. I’m just that good.  Look, even you want a piece of me.  But because I’m with two women and just had multiple orgasms, I’m a slut.  Bitch please.  Now, go before I kick your ass down stairs. I’m trying to be nice, Good Bye…” B said, closing the door and locking it.

 

B looked at the women in front of her and said, “So.”

 

One woman got down on her knees and started licking B’s still dripping pussy and the other stood from behind massaging her breasts.

 

B was in ecstasy again and her juices started to flow but only slightly.

 

The touching and the licking only made her feel like this was work. Normal and not very exciting, more like something you do to past the time away in a long meeting.

 

She looked down at her stomach and saw the raised red welts across her stomach, she smiled.  It reminded her that she could be hurt, she had feeling those of a human, not some arrogant goddess she made herself to be.

 

After B had her fill of the women and her sexual urges satisfied, the women had their bragging rights and left for the evening.  The taste of B was like honey and sweet cream; a flavor so perfect one would crave the taste. The juices made a person’s mouth water for days and made you want more, so much so it would make you do anything just to taste that perfectly sweet combination of paradise in your mouth again.

 

Being with the Queen Bitch B, had its perks, but you had to be willing to throw your morals in the trash and be trash in the process.

 

Little did they know, but B had secrets; she never opened up or trusted anyone.  If you thought about it, there must have been a reasons why a street smart with a Masters in English, taught at a local college, who was a screen writer and novelist would want to wear an electric dog collar around her neck, want her body to be in pain due to blunt objects and whips leaving behind bruises, cuts and marks, make her wrist bleed and to be powerless in her own condo twice a month.  If only her friends knew; she was sick and troubled, they would have locked her away a long time ago and threw away the key.  She would have been forgotten and all her accomplishments would have been a joke.

 

Why would a person put themselves through torture and pain, to make themselves feel alive?  To make them understand fear.  To make them understand pain. To make them understand their own existence in the world.  B called this therapy; but a normal person would call it madness. 

 

Since B was born into New York City high society, she never knew the meaning of failure or fear.  Those two words never entered her mind and never came out of her mouth.  She was born to succeed at any cost.  She was driven, a goddess in her own mind that she even worshiped herself.  But, lonely B had secrets that only she knew and forgot about and no one knew, until she failed for the first time in her life. This unlikely incident made her face her fear dead without the security of her whips and the chains.

 

 

 

“There’s she is, the little hoe,” Lisa said as the tired squealed, B walked into the restaurant. 

 

B had on one of her exclusive custom made hats, sunglasses to block out the killer rays of sun and the normal lighting in the restaurant, a tee shirt and jeans, with one of her coach bags and matching sneakers.  She looked like a black trash version of Paris Hilton. 

 

She looked to the table and sat down.  As always at Sunday brunch the women would stop chatting and there would be silence. She would snap her fingers and the waitress or waiter will place a fresh pot of coffee on the table in front of her, without saying a word. She would lift up her glasses to see the server and would than order her regular breakfast. After the Sunday brunch ritual that her friends knew so well, she would pour the coffee and they would stare at her. 

 

“Cindy, she called me last night. You had marks on your body,” Lisa said as the women studied her.

 

B looked at all of them as if they were delinquent kids with disciplinary problems. She looked at each one of them, with her thick glasses on, took a breath and shrugged. 

 

“Are you being abused?” Karen asked.

 

B rolled her eyes and said, “I don’t do relationships. Sometimes the fuck gets rough.”

 

Tracy looked at her in disgust, “I can’t understand why you, an intelligent black woman can’t grow up?”

 

B looked at her and took off her glasses.  The lights from the ceiling almost blinded her, as if she was locked in a dark cave for days.  She continued to blink and rub her eyes to get her focus and then looked at Tracy. 

 

“Why, is this black thing?  Yes, I’m black. I know.  I look at myself in the mirror everyday.  One thing is, I’ll never grow up. I’m like the female peter pan, but sexy. I love my life and I bet I get more sex then you guys anyway.  By the way, if I’m such I child, why did you try to date me? So, do you need to grow up too,” B said.

 

There was as dead silence as the waitress delivers B’s food.  It was one pancake, one slice of french toast and one egg sunny side up with cheese. The chef made this meal just for her; the meal was called Queen B. 

 

“Listen, the way you are going, you’ll be alone, what will you do when you can’t do your threesomes, quads, orgies, one night stands and all your other things that I don’t even what to think about.  You know, meaningful relationships that last a long time,” Jovanee said.

 

“If that’s what I want, I’ll marry an Asian,” B said.

 

“You can take things seriously,” Lisa said.

 

“No, I can’t.  Life shouldn’t be serious.  Life should be fun and exciting.  You can’t find that in a long-term relationship only in a quick fuck. Liz, you understand,” Beatrice said.  

 

The group of women looked at the thin long straight black haired Latina in a nice pressed white collared shirt. She could feel their eyes piecing and stabbing every inch of her body. It was as if they were looking into her very soul.  They wanted the truth from Liz, since she did pass her hoe crown to Miss B.

 

Liz looked at them and toke a deep breath, “B is right…,” with a long pause, “she also wrong.”

 

“What?” B asked.

 

“A quick fix is exciting, but knowing you will be awaking up to the same person for years is a powerful experience,” Liz said.

 

“Until, they leave your ass,” B said.

 

“Shut up, QB.  I gave her everything, but she still had a thing for the opposite sex.  But, I did learn a lot from her, like how to maintain a long-term relationship,” Liz said.

 

“You two would still be together, if you were a man.  Come on, I love my life. I love how I live.  Can’t you just accept that?  I feel comfortable in my own skin and practice safe sex, ok.  God...  I love feeling young, like my college days,” B said.

 

“You’re not in college,” Tracy said.

 

“Yes, I am. Remember, I teach class at ASU. So, I’m in college. Tracy, age is just a state of mind, not a reminder of old bones or shit like that.  When I die, I will die happy,” B said and continued to eat and drink.

 

All the women at the table knew what type of woman B was.  Liz, was the only one that got close to her, but knew she was hiding something.   Liz, slept with her once and heard B talking in her sleep, she seemed to be talking to her parents, but when she questioned B about it she simple dismissed it as a regular dream.  For a while, Liz and B had a bit of a contest going.  It was to see how many women  they could sleep with in a month. Since B, doesn’t the meaning of failure, she won.  Since then, they have been rivals, but remained friends.  B had to thank Liz because the contest made her reputation grow in the valley of the sun. 

 

The remainder of the brunch focused on the gay pride events that were coming up next weekend and what if any plans they had. The women wanted to go as a group to show their gay pride; which B wasn’t interested in.  The only way she showed her pride was having sex with women and turning straight women gay.  She felt that she was the gay ambassador for the straight and gay world. 

 

No one knew why B was a bitch and proud of it.  Liz was the only one that knew B was a tormented soul that needed to be help and loved; even though she was accomplished in her field.  Liz could only see the glimpse of the goodness B had. 

 

Like the time when Liz was kicked out of their house because her girlfriend of 8 years decided she wanted to move her boyfriend in. B got Liz an apartment and paid the move in cost, gave her some money for food and furniture and was a big support for her.  Liz will never forget what B did, but she always wondered why B was the way she was. 

 

On the outside it all about the sex romps, bad attitude this was all just superficial, but inside Liz knew there was pain and sadness, but didn’t know why or what.  Only if she knew, she could help Queen B.

 

After brunch, the women paid for their meals, said their goodbyes and left. 

 

B walked outside the restaurant and put on her sunglasses.  She looked like a young butch girl with a fashion sense. She opened her bag and took out a long thin cigarette. She placed it in her mouth as if she was making a fashion statement, but she never lit it. 

 

B looked around her surrounding as if she was in another world; in another time.  The restaurant, the stores and streets all changed as the seconds of time ticked away, she could feel her world turning in front of her eyes.  She wanted to cry, wanted to laugh, but she didn’t want to remember.  The memories felt as if salt was being thrown on open wounds; which she tries to stitch up everyday. She felt so alone, confuse and hurt.  She hated life. Life wasn’t supposed to be so cruel to her, but it was.  She looked up at the sky and cursed God. I didn’t give a fuck, if it was a man or woman.  She didn’t give a damn.

 

She walked passed her red BMW and walked out of the parking lot.  She stepped on the sidewalk and walked North.  As she walked, she lit her cigarette and started to smoke.  She continued to walk and walk, as if she was on a mission to get somewhere fast, but not really knowing where to go.

 

B crosses the street and step on the sidewalk, where she stopped dead in her  tracks.  She looked around and everything, the trees, grass, buildings, light poles and even the sidewalks disappeared.  It was isolated deserted, wild land there was no civilization in sight except for one house.  She walked up and stood in front of the house. She stared at the house as if it were a statue. 

 

The air was dusty, the sun was hot and the land was dry and cracked. It was a desert wilderness, with only one house. 

 

B knew about the house well.  It was brown sandstone colored stucco finished house, with a distinctly southwestern look, the house had what looked like a half made attempt at a porch. The windows were sad and the house looked depress, like it needed crank or even meth to make it alive and energized. 

 

She had her last drag of the cigarette and drops it on the sidewalk.  Studying the house took her back to her younger rebellious days.  The days when she was out of control, a fighter, when knowledge was power and the time was of love and passion.  Love and passion, she wanted that again.  She yearned for it.  She was even willing to die, just to have the Love and the Passion back again. A time when the level of passion reached heights, where her orgasms felt so intense it was as if a thousand tiny needles were piercing he every square inch of body, each one no causing pain but pleasure. It was a com so great, it will forever be written in the history never to be repeated again. 

 

The mere thought of it made her weak in the knees and she just wanted God to grant her that same pleasure again; she longed for it.  For the gift of passion would make her change her life, be more compassionate and her good side would come out, but when she opened her eyes, the dream was gone and the house looked sadder than ever, like it would do anything to be demolished. 

 

In that moment, B knew what real love was. She had it and felt it, but sometimes good things ends, but the memories are still the same.  She only had her memories and she would cherish them in her heart and soul, like a cornerstone to her being.  Life was happy then, now it’s miserable.  One reason, to fuck away the pain.    

 

B saw a stone near her feet and picked it up.  She throws it at the house as if she was in her younger years and ran back to her car.  The streets, cars, lights, and other buildings started to appear again, but she looked like she had not aged since high school. She pressed the cars button and pulled into street with a bit of a squeal and drove away, as if she was being chased by the police.  She raced to her house and cried about the death sentence the house had placed on her.

 

B parked the car and ran into her condo. She was done for  the day and life was already done with her. 

 

During night, as she tossed and turned, the nightmares were coming back to light.  Everything that she buried in her soul, the wounds they were coming to the surface and the wounds started to sting and she was unmovable.  She needed the pain to be dead.

 

She awoke in a cold sweat.  Her nightmare became reality again and this time she was going to end it.  She wanted to end her torture and she was preparing for this moment.  All the torture sessions she paid for was going to pay off.  She had no fear, she felt no physical pain, and she wanted the ultimate orgasm so she could die with a smile on her face.  She was ready. 

 

She walked into her closet. On the top shelf was a black box with a knife in it.  She had been planning this for years.  As she opened the box, all her emotions came to life as if she was living in it again. In the box was a red velvet bag was a sharp knife that had never been used.  Her legs went limp and she slid down the wall.  She was ready. 

 

She slid the knife across her wrist slowly to feel the intensity and sensual feeling of the blade slowly opening her skin like cutting soft butter. The pain made her cum and the wetness began to puddle beneath her. It was heaven. When she was done, the sexual arousal lingered like the last rays of the sun trying hard to stay in the sky. She didn’t want to feeling to end.  She did the other wrist and cum multiple times once again. It was the best sex she had ever had; she was smiling ear  to ear.  There was no pain, only pleasure and climax.  The knife dropped. She sat there in ecstasy, with her eye close.

 

“What are you doing?” a woman voice asked.

 

“Hello, what the hell are you doing, you look like shit?” the voice said again.

 

With a hard slap to the face, B woke up.  She was in a place with no balance, just floating with a woman looking at her.

 

“Sharon?” B asked.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Sharon asked.

 

Beatrice blushed and smiled when Sharon talked to her, but Sharon slapped her again. “What the hell?”  Sharon asked.

 

“I missed you. I want to be with you.  I need you,” B said as the blood was gushing out of her wrists.

 

“I know, but you need to move on.  You will always have me. I’m always there. I have been helping you, idiot.  I have given you good women and you treated them like trash. Why?” Sharon asked.

 

“They’re not you,” B said.

 

“Of course not, but babe, I’m dead. You can’t have me,” Sharon said. 

 

Sharon sat next to B and B put her head in Sharon’s breast. B soaked up her smile, energy, spirit, smell and taste. She was whole again, not hollow.  She was alive, not a zombie. She was finally at peace.

 

“Babe, you need to live, for me. Please do. I’m begging you too. Don’t die because of me. I’m not worth it.  I was a coward and stupid.  I should have relied on you. I should have told you everything, but I didn’t and that’s why I’m not with you. I’m a coward. You were always the strong one.  Babe, my parents cut me off and I thought I had no one, but I forgot; I had you.  You need to survive and be strong,” Sharon said.

 

“I want to be with you,” B said with an ounce of breath.

“Babe, it’s not you time.  I’m not asking to forget about me, but remember you have a life.  Live it.  You will find one soon.  Promise me you will live your life the way you always wanted and I’ll always be there, watching and helping.  I love you.  I will always love you. You promise never to do this again?” Sharon asked.

 

B looked at her lover and cried, “I promise.”

 

Sharon put her hand in her chest and pulls out a piece of her heart. Sharon put the piece in B’s chest. 

 

“I will always be with you.  Now, live,” Sharon said.

 

With a breath, B opens her eyes slowly. She was in a white room and tubes were in her arm. There were bandages on her wrists.

 

In a weakness state, she looked around. She saw Liz by her side.  

 

“You’re awake.  Thank god, I had a key to your apartment.  You fool.  You tried to kill yourself.  If you would have died, who would be the Queen Hoe?  I passed the crown to you remember.  Plus, honey,” Liz said as she stared into B’s eyes, “I care so much about you.  If you’d died, I wouldn’t know what to do.”

 

Liz leans over to B and kissed her gently on the lips as if she was fragile piece of priceless glass. B looked at her and smiled. Liz leans over again and gave B a long passionate kiss. B closed her eyes and thought about what Sharon said.

 

B needed to live her life and in the future, she will be joined with Sharon at the end.  Soon, she will not be hollow anymore.

Category:Aliya Leigh Live - Podcast -- posted at: 1:59am EST
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