Nila #4
This was an experience of a lifetime and my lifetime was almost over. My mother was here. My grandmother was here. Every ancestor had somehow come to life and existed in the flames of the enchanted fire.
We all lived the same path...and failed. I was supposed to be the last Weaver taken but time no longer held sway on my plans. It charged forward, dragging me with hardship, hurtling me toward a conclusion I didn’t know how to stop.
A woman appeared in front of me. Coconut beads and crocodile teeth decorated her neck, draping between naked breasts. “You. Drink.” Shoving a crudely made bowl beneath my chin, she tipped the milky substance toward my lips.
I reared back, shaking my head. “No, thank you.”
Cut tugged on the rope, his face alive with power. “Drink.”
I pursed my lips.
“You must.” The woman tried again.
I turned my face away. The liquid smelled rank and rotten.
“You will drink, Nila.” Lashing out, Cut fisted my hair, keeping my head in place as the woman once again held the bowl to my mouth.
I scrunched my face, protesting. The silty liquid splashed against my lips.
I didn’t know what it was, but it was powerful—the otherworldly smell warned me I wouldn’t be the same if I ingested it. I wouldn’t like the results if I gave in.
Stop! Please, stop.
The woman tried again, bruising my mouth with the rim of the bowl. Crushed up leaves and smashed up roots lingered on the bottom, splashing with her attempts. The woman cursed in Swahili, looking at Cut for help. “She won’t.”
“She will.” Still holding my hair, he reached with his free hand and captured my bleeding palm. “Open.” With ferocity, he dug his fingernail into the fresh wound. I did my best to prevent drinking, but his hold was agonising.
The heat and pain wrenched my mouth open, and a gulp of disgusting liquid shot down my throat.
My eyes watered.
My stomach retched.
I spluttered.
The woman nodded with satisfaction. “Good.” She stood, slipping back to her fellow dancers.
Alone, Cut hugged me, kissing my cheek. “Good girl.” His tongue slipped out, licking a droplet off my lower lip like a lover would his bride. “Let it transform you. Let it own you.”
I shuddered, fighting his embrace. “Let go of me.”
Cut chuckled, kissing the corner of my mouth. “Don’t fight it. You can’t fight it.”
“I’ll fight whatever you do to me.” Our eyes clashed. My heart roared with hatred.
But then...
Something mellowed.
Something simmered.
Tiptoeing through my blood, stealing rationality and sanity and coherence.
“What...what did yo—you give m—me?” My ability to speak in correct dialect fumbled as the drink merged faster with my thoughts.
Cut beamed wide; his face rollicked as my vision washed in and out. “Give it another moment. You’ll see how useless fighting is.” His lips caressed mine again. Softly, teasingly, coaxing me to react.
And this time...I couldn’t hate it.
My loathing turned to liking. My hatred to harrowing welcome.
My heartbeat left the epicentre of my chest, cannonballing into every extremity. My toes felt it. My ears felt it. Even the strands of my hair thump-thumped in time.
I’m hot.
I’m cold.
I was sick.
I was cured.
What’s happening?
A gust, a gale, a monsoon ripped through my body. Whatever the woman had given me tore up my denials and aversion, switching them into the sudden overwhelming desire to kiss him back.
God, a kiss. Such a delicacy. A tongue, such a gift.
Kiss him.
I tore myself away, spitting on the flax mat. “No!”
Cut turned into a rippling watermark, decorated with flames and starlight. “I don’t believe you.” His fingers traced my skin, drawing hungry blood to the surface. My mouth said no but my body said yes.
No...this can’t...
I moaned, struggling against the ropes as I fell deeper and deeper into whatever spell he’d fed me.
I didn’t know what lacquered my mouth.
I didn’t know what made its fiery way into my belly.
But I did know it was aggressive and possessive and persuasive.
Vicious.
Far, far stronger than anything I’d ever had before.
I can’t fight it.
My tongue went numb, followed by my throat and skin. My pussy throbbed for release. My mind howled for connection. I’d never been so disappointed in myself nor so annoyed at preventing such delicious need from billowing.
I split in two.
I became something I wasn’t.
I became a creature with no morals or humanity, just an animal wanting to fuck.
Shivers hijacked me as I fought against the overwhelming sensation to let go. To give in to the magic. To be swept away by the river of sin.
“Do it, Nila. Let it take you.” Cut’s fingers were tiny birds upon my spine, feathering into my hair.
I moaned, trembling and wanting.
“Let it win and tonight won’t be rape. Tonight will be the best fucking sex of your life.”
No.
Yes.
No!
Oh, my God.
His words were invitations to my destruction, beckoning closer with every word.
My heartbeat thundered harder, feeding the drug into every part of me.
“That’s it. Let go. Forget about the past and future. Think about how good my cock would feel. How delicious it would be for me to fuck you right here.”
Fuck.
Sex.
Mate.
God...
I squeezed my eyes, swirling down a rabbit hole of fanaticism.
His fingers licked through my hair, blazing with lust and horror. “You want me, Nila. Admit it.”
My soul turned wild, snarling at the power of the drug.
The fire burned brighter.
The stars twinkled faster.
The dancers twirled harder.
The world twisted and turned, rushing quickly then slowing down as the hallucinogenic played havoc with my senses.
I lost track of time.
I lost track of myself.
My mind swam with images of the dark dripping walls of the mine. My hands locked and squeezed, smearing my blood over Jethro's initials, wanting nothing more than to touch myself and orgasm.
I need to come.
I need to fuck and love and consummate.
I was a black and white painting, an enigma, a shivering contradiction.
I was numb.
I was alive.
I was dead.
I was reborn.
What’s happening to me?
I shook my head, fighting the intensity, refusing to become hypnotised by sex and want and music.
But then hands were grabbing mine, tugging me to my feet.
Cut’s laughter laced around me. Commands to dance consumed me.
I tried to dart away, but the ground rolled like a funhouse. Vertigo latched me in its horrendous arms.
I fell forward. I was caught.
I swayed to the side. I was propped up.
Daniel’s eyes. Cut’s eyes. Laughter. Dangerous promises. Lust and greed and pain.
I couldn’t.
I couldn’t fight it anymore.
My vertigo balanced. My veins sang with drunkenness and I lost everything.
In a circle of sweaty ebony women, I shed my worries, my fears, my hopes. I ceased to be Nila. I stopped being a victim.
The diamonds on my throat increased in weight and warmth, squeezing me tight and drenching me in rainbows from the fire.
I stopped pining for Jethro.
I stopped fearing my future.
I stepped into the magic and danced.