Chapter Summary: I could say 'I don't even know why I'm doing this,' but I know myself too well. If I destroy her, then she will hate me for the monster I am. I always have to be right. I always push it. I always go too far. And she always has forgiven me ... until now, that is.

"How shall we proceed?" she asked, staring into my eyes that didn't roll up into my head and release me from this nightmare.

"If I were a boy," she said factually, "there would be no subtlety about it, I would just make a grab under your shirt and treat you like you were some unruly livestock that needed to be broken, grabbing, mauling, twisting and pinching, until I shoved you onto the dirt, or your fell there, — doesn't matter, either way, you're there on the ground after a good hard feel-up feeling manhandled exactly as if you were a piece of meat at a butcher shop, and I'm here standing over you, just so aroused, so taut, at your utter and complete debasement — and then that's when I would drop heavily on top of you and mount you properly, riding you hard, fucking the shit out of you until I was good and properly done with you, until I was entirely spent..."

We were at eye-level, but it felt like she was glaring down at me.

"... which would be a long, long time after you were," she clarified ominously: "... a long time after."

And then she looked away and whispered, "I know."

I felt weaker than a leaf, shaken in a stiff fall gust of wind, no longer attached to the life-giving branch, not rooted, nothing to hold onto, no bearing at all.

"But I'm not a boy," she said, but her statement, delivered so dispassionately, gave me no hint of hope, only a dread of what was coming, and what can be worse that be treated like a piece of meat? I feared I would be finding out

I didn't fear long.

"So," she continued quietly, "I can be soft, and slow, and ... gentle, ..."

And just as softly added, "... but you will never, ever forget, not for one second, the power, the total, complete and absolute power, I hold over you, even with the softest of strokes and the sweetest of caresses, and you will feel the need I call up from your inmost being that will have you begging for me to release you from this unrelenting torrent of desire. And, baby, I can bring you to those heights, but then leave you there, and not give you that sweet release until I decide when you've earned it with your begging, and pleading, and whining in desperation that's pure music to my ears. You will never know a torture more exquisite than my softest touch, lifting you higher and higher up toward pure white-hot pleasure but not letting you sink down into that sea of satisfaction and contentment."

"And when I do let you go from those heights ...?"

Again, her terrifying smile.

"... you will come down so hard, you won't know if you've actually just died ..."

And her smile twisted even more cruelly.

"... and you won't care. You won't even feel the release of the unrelenting torment, because your senses will be so full of me and what I have been so sweetly doing for hours and hours. You won't even know when the torment stopped, my soft, sweet, gentle hands on your breasts, my lips pressed to your lips, then to your cheek, then neck, then collarbone then ... will you let me drift lower?" she asked softly.

"Yes, you will," she answered herself. "You will beg me to kiss you all over, your hands will be pushing my head down and pressing me into you as you lift your whole body up to meet mine, seeking the release of my soft, sweet, teasing lips, that only, paradoxically, my lips can release you from."

"You won't be able to stop yourself. You won't even recognize that it's your own voice begging me to take you."

Her lips, the only thing I could see of her face besides her cobra-sharp black adder eyes, ... her thin, bloodless lips both twitched upward.

"You'll feel my lips trace a soft trail down to your breast, and you'll feel my nose tickle your nipple as I breathe you in, as my breath caresses you, just as my nose does, just as my lips reach out to kiss, and to nibble, and to tease, until your nipples are so rock-hard they actually hurt from want."

She paused and looked down, and I could feel her gaze penetrate my coat.

"Just as they are now, baby."

I felt the heat of my blush suffuse me in my shame.

"And you will pull my head into you with all your might, trying to get my lips to kiss and to suck on your nipple, burning with desire, and ... baby," she purred, "I will. I will kiss you there, and so much more than that, but that's just the beginning, because imagine how much burning desire my lips can give you ask a softly suckle at your breast, giving you exactly what you want, but putting more and more burn into you, wanting more and more, and only receiving just enough to keep you desperately on the edge?"

Then she pulled me into her, and my chin rested on her shoulder, and I felt her nose nuzzle against my ear, and she whispered so softly, not into my ear, but right beside it, so that I had to strain to hear her words.

"Now imagine what my tongue will do to you."

Rosalie had pulled her fists together, bunching my coat tightly in between them so that I couldn't move to save my life, in fact I could barely sip in a breath of air.

But her words were ... affecting me. I felt funny in my tummy. Tight. It felt like I was going to be sick or it felt like I needed to pee, or both. I squirmed and whimpered, and my legs were like quivering. I had so much energy in them that I was trembling violently, and they were making a little movement like I was almost trying to run ... to run away ... to run somewhere, anywhere to get some space from here, to clear my head so I could breathe and think again.

Her words were terrifying and intoxicating, and I was drunk with the fear of them.

"O, my tongue," Rosalie gloated. "It is o-so-teasing, o-so-flexible, so demanding, so frisky, so ... playful, ... so agonizingly, luxuriatingly, ... slow. It may even make you forget that my lips are nibbling, that my mouth is suckling, my tongue is that precise, that demanding, that frustrating, that pleasing, that it will tantalize you with pleasures you could've never have dreamt until you are there, transfixed, speared, seared, and, ultimately, when I do give you that sweet release, so satiated that you won't be able to catch your breath ... you won't even be able to move for several minutes? hours? days? You actually wouldn't know. And I'll have to carry you to the bed, just so you can recover well enough simply to be able to rise up back enough from your ecstasy that you'll drop away into a deep, satisfied sleep, a sleep of no dreams, a sleep unto death itself."

"And you'll drop off gratefully. You won't even know if you'll ever wake up again. You won't even care."

I felt like a rag doll. I felt the edges of my eyesight dim as I tried to take little, tiny sips of air into my lungs, but I couldn't even do that, because I was hyperventilating from the things her words were doing to my mind and my body.

I had never felt these things before I had been captured in her arms, before I had been transfixed by her eyes, and now her words were making it all so much more palpable, so much more terrifying, so much more ...

I was so confused, my cheeks burning holes in my scarf, I'm sure, and my chest squeezed so tightly, bound by my coat, but as tight as that was, it didn't feel anything like my tummy did. It felt like ...

It felt like a stone, like a tight, tight stone somehow squeezing me into it. I felt like I was collapsing into my belly.

Rosalie slowly extended her hands away from her.

That is, extended me away from her, holding me at arms length, examining me. Watching. Waiting.

"So," she said so easily, so casually. "You've heard rough like a boy, or ... gentle ... like ...me."

At each word, she slowed down, further, and even further, giving each word more and more weight until the final word: 'me' ... that is: her.

"So," she said expectantly, "How shall we proceed? Rough or gentle?"

Then she looked at me patiently, that is with the patience that Death wait for the maiden, eternally patient, and that patience filled with menace.

"Which way do you choose?" she demanded.

And she waited for my response.

A/N: 今日は ('Konniti wa') from Narita International Airport. Perhaps I'll write another chapter as I connect further into Asia. Can't promise anything. Other than this will continue to get worse ... that is, until it gets worser. So. Which one will our girl choose, rough, and get it over with quickly? Or ... 'gentle'?