Chapter 9: Silk and Submission
The chili sat heavy in their stomachs, a mundane anchor in the surreal quiet that had settled between them. Ashley was rummaging through her oversized dance bag, the one stuffed with leotards, leg warmers, and the detritus of her life. Alice watched, curled on the mattress, the blanket pulled up to her chin. The air still hummed with what they’d done, a charge that made the fine hairs on her arms stand up.
Ashley’s hand emerged holding a slip of deep purple silk. It caught the dim light, shimmering.
“Remember,” Ashley said, her voice low and a little rough, “how we used to play kidnap as kids? In the backyard?”
A memory flickered: summer heat, the smell of cut grass, Ashley tying an old bandana over her eyes. The game had always been Ashley’s invention. Alice, the captive. It had been thrilling then, a safe, childhood fear.
This was different.
Ashley moved with a dancer’s economy, kneeling on the mattress before Alice could form a protest. The silk was cool and unnaturally smooth against her skin.
“Ash—”
“Shhh.” Ashley’s breath was warm against her ear. The world went dark. The scarf was tied snug, not tight, but absolute. The faded patterns of the van’s ceiling, the faint light from the lamp, Ashley’s face—everything vanished.
Sound rushed in to fill the void. The generator’s hum became a distant industrial heartbeat. The rain was a soft, persistent shushing against the metal roof. Her own breathing, suddenly too loud.
Then, Ashley’s hands.
They started on her shoulders, thumbs pressing into the tight knots of muscle there. Alice jumped at the contact. Without sight, every touch was amplified, a seismic event on the landscape of her skin. She could feel the individual calluses on Ashley’s palms from the barre, the smoothness of her fingertips.
“Just breathe,” Ashley whispered, her voice coming from nowhere and everywhere.
The hands moved down her arms, a slow, deliberate slide. They traced the line of her spine through the thin cotton of her t-shirt, and Alice arched into the touch, a silent plea. This was the reversal. Ashley, the guide. Alice, utterly dependent, her body a ship in a dark sea.
A finger hooked under the hem of her shirt. Cool air hit her stomach, and she flinched. Ashley didn’t stop. She pulled the fabric up and over Alice’s head, the movement efficient, leaving her exposed in the cool, dense air. The blindfold was damp now with the heat of her panic, her anticipation.
Ashley’s hands returned to her bare waist. They spanned her ribs, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just below her breasts. Alice’s breath hitched. She felt a sob building in her throat, part overwhelm, part a strange, desperate gratitude.
“You’re shaking,” Ashley murmured. Her lips brushed the shell of Alice’s ear, then her neck, a soft, open-mouthed kiss that made Alice whimper.
It was too much. The lack of vision, the intensity of every sensation. Ashley’s mouth traveled lower, down her collarbone. A hand cupped her breast, thumb circling a nipple until it was a tight, aching point. Alice cried out, the sound strangled in the dark.
She reached out, her hands finding purchase in Ashley’s hair, tugging her closer, needing to ground herself, to feel that she wasn’t floating away. Ashley complied, her mouth finding Alice’s, a deep, searching kiss that tasted of canned chili and something darker, something uniquely theirs.
Then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped.
Ashley pulled back. The absence of her touch was a physical shock. Alice heard the rustle of clothing, the soft thud of Ashley’s jeans hitting the floor. The mattress dipped as she moved back into place, straddling Alice’s hips now, her bare thighs warm against Alice’s sides.
Alice’s hands were grabbed, gently, and guided upward. They were placed on Ashley’s skin, on the sharp angles of her hips.
“Your turn,” Ashley said, her voice breathless.
For a moment, Alice was paralyzed. Her fingers rested on the familiar, yet suddenly foreign, territory of her sister’s body. Then, instinct took over. Her hands began to move, mapping the landscape she knew as well as her own, but now rendered new and mysterious by the darkness. The delicate ridge of Ashley’s hip bones, the tight, firm plane of her stomach, the soft weight of her breasts.
She felt Ashley shudder above her, a sharp intake of breath as Alice’s thumbs traced a path inward. This power was dizzying. She was the one drawing the gasps now, the one making Ashley’s body tremble.
A particularly loud crack of thunder broke the moment. Ashley flinched, a full-body jolt, and in that split second, her bravado vanished. She curled forward, her forehead pressing against Alice’s, their blindfolded faces inches apart. The generator chose that moment to sputter, the light flickering wildly behind the silk before dying completely, plunging them into a blackness so profound it felt solid.
In the sudden, absolute dark and silence, stripped of every sense but touch, they clung to each other. Two identical hearts hammering against two identical ribs, stranded in the eye of the storm.