Chapter 7: Connecting with People Matters

Tyler and I stood in the hallway and stared at each other. Tyler has always liked me, but in the past, I saw him as the little kid who never said a word. However, in that fluorescent-lit hallway that washed out his skin, and gave everything a slight dead appearance, I wanted him to kiss me. His pale pink lips moved, and bright white teeth appeared and disappeared as he talked. My stomach burned from him so close and the objects inside me.

He placed his hand on my shoulder and asked, “Are you ok?” My knees buckled, my insides exploded, but I didn’t orgasm. I had to close my eyes and bite hard on my lower lip to stop myself, but I made it. His sour sweat turned into a sweet aphrodisiac, and I wanted him more. I needed him.

His warm, strong hand squeezed my shoulder as he asked again, “Polly, are you ok?” I couldn’t open my eyes. My hands pressed against my stomach with the hope that the pain would interfere with the pleasure below and above. I tasted iron as blood from my lip filled my mouth. His sweet aroma, and my musk, filled my nostrils and caused red and white to splash across my closed eyes.

“You didn’t, did you?” he asked. My eyes shot open, as I stood straight, erect, and vibrated. The burn subsided in my belly but moved to my face. Did he know? I would die. I stared at his hazelnut eyes, with his dilated pupils. He loved me. He has always loved me. I pushed his hand from my shoulder and ran to the female washroom.

“Polly!” Tyler yelled but didn’t pursue. I slammed into the washroom, dodged a druggie and their glass pipe, and hid in a washroom stall. The blue walls hid my shame. Tyler knew. Tyler, who I didn’t like that way, knew. For some reason, it mattered more than anything.

My hand trembled as I lifted my phone, steadied my breath, and restarted the stream.

“Update: no punishment for us, but I almost had an orgasm. You will notice the spiked heart rate and temperature, but it didn’t happen. This challenge is going to kill me. It’s only been three hours, and I have no idea how I’ll make nine more hours,” I said.

I switched on my phone light, put my feet on the edge of the toilet seat, and held the phone to show off the dildo, butt plug, and my face. I have no idea how people can watch this. Stray hair stuck out of my braids, and my face glowed red, with a bite mark on my lower lip. The large pink dildo forced my pussy lips wide, while my pubic hair, matted with my juices, framed it. The butt plug glistened in the overhead fluorescent light, with my thighs red and white splotched. My hand trembled, and only the anti-vibrate feature of the phone saved the video quality.

“I hope you like the pain you cause me. I can barely hold the phone steady,” I said and pouted. My mind returned to Tyler’s strong hand, and electricity shot from the spot he touched me into my chest. I shuddered and closed my eyes to stop the dreaded pleasure.

“Hey, do you need help?” the druggie asked. Her blonde head, pink smile, and button nose appeared under the stall door. Her dilated pupils stared at my pussy and ass. Freckles covered her cheeks. Her gaze almost tipped me over in the orgasm abyss, but I held my legs wide and continued to stream.

“No, it’s the double challenge, Megan. Just go back to your pipe,” I said with a smile at the camera. Megan, a younger Dead, with a nine rank on the scale, must have to hit the pipe continually to get a high because her healing would take the buzz off so quickly.

“The high’s gone, and I have no more,” she said and wiggled under the door. Her thin, anorexic body stood in front of me. Short, but at least an inch or two taller than me, her clothes draped off her. Dead’s always had trouble maintaining weight as healing takes a lot of energy, and it’s hard to eat enough, particularly when you are used to pain, so the hunger pains don’t matter much.

“Megan, I’m streaming here,” I said and glared at her. A pretty girl if her cheeks weren’t so hollow, her hair so dull, and her arms so thin. With a bit of white powder people would think of her as a skeleton. I do not envy her as the military will use her in dangerous situations, and most will involve her squeezing into places that will break her bones and cut up her skin. The nickname, Dead, doesn’t just come from the rampant drug use, Deadheads, but also because we have the highest mortality rate in the war, at nine in ten, the Dead walking.