deja

Deja lies there, wrists cinched tight behind her back, the gag stretching her jaw wide. Her body burns hot, sweat beading on her skin, a fever making everything sharper. She pulls against the rope and the ropes hold, digging in just right. Every breath comes heavy through her nose. She tugs again. The burn feels good. She wants more, even though her head throbs. The gag catches her tongue and she drools anyway, can’t stop it. The ropes hug her arms close, pinning them in place. Her thighs twitch. She wants to close them but the spread is locked, deliberate. Heat rolls through her and the sickness makes the ache feel bigger, darker, like her body’s turning against her in the best way. She fights the ropes once more, harder this time, breath stuttering, and the gag muffles the sound that slips out of her throat. The fever spikes. She keeps struggling, slow, greedy, the illness turning every restraint into a dirty secret she can’t stop chasing.