Lia in the Dark

Lia drowns in the darkness. It clouds her eyes in umbral shades, fills her mouth with cloying emptiness, burns her skin with the absence of anticipation. Lia is lost in it, her mind afire, her every thought pounding through her brain like battery acid, her heart galloping as adrenaline courses through her swollen veins. She has been here for an eternity. She has been here for a moment. She has been here for exactly seven minutes and twelve- thirteen seconds. She has been Julia for twenty-five years. She has been Lia for seven of those. Lia has been lost in the dark in the depths of the JYPE building for an aeon. She has only just awakened. She is alone in the stygian nothingness. She is... aroused. Aroused? Oh. Yes. Definitely aroused. The cock-lust of the dawn gnaws at her... Has she always had a penis? The explanation is irrelevant, less than nothing, demeaning in its insignificance. She must slake her urges, that is all that matters.

Ah. A light-

Lia nearly collides with the other being, the unknown, her nerves screaming into the void warns her of their nearness, how could they get so close? Were their footsteps masked by the drumbeat of her heart? Their breaths matching hers, exhalation for exhalation? No matter, her salvation is at hand. Their embrace is as natural as the twilight, Lia pressing her body against her newfound compatriot, wordlessly gorging upon one another in the chthonic gloom. She does not question this, the consent is as unspoken as it is unneeded, the empty stars would weep before this joining was unallowed. Their tongues writhe like worms in each other's mouths, clinging to one another as if drowning, gasping with relief and a desire that was agonizing to endure. Lia grinds her encumbrance against her partner's toned stomach, her lover lithely hiking a nimble leg around her waist to indicate her willingness, to allow the steamy warmth of her groin to breathe against Lia's womanhood. Neurons fire, and like a broken puppet Lia jerkily hoists the daughter of shadow up into her arms, using a newfound strength that slides along her muscles like razorblades. And beneath the faintest, dying light, Lia penetrates her.

The pleasure is mind-breaking. Lia has felt the penis-joy before, the cock-frenzy of molding a woman's hole to her contours, the filthy mindlessness of breeding, the guilty pleasure of ruination. But not like this. Before it had been a temporary state, a dabbling, a brief interlude to slake an idle curiosity; or an idol's curiosity? But here in the cryptic murk that urge was permanent, it was unending, an inescapable need that would echo for eternity, an act that would last so long as there was shadow. The noises were cacophonic; the squelching, the splattering, the slapping, the squealing... was that her voice? It was so hard to tell where her moans of delight began and her partner's ended, it was as if they were singing the same song of lust in perfect synchrony. She climaxes, or has she been climaxing this whole time? It was so hard to tell, every time she impales her lover upon her womanhood it was an unimaginable ecstasy. Surely her testes could not handle such an endless eruption of seed?

Lia was now able to distinguish the vague shape of her partner, her bride, an angular void writhing against a tapestry of shadow, as familiar to her as her own hand... What did her hand look like again? This merest evidence of her lover's permanence is enough to spur her on. She has always hidden the true depths of her lechery from her fellows, masking her guilt in righteous indignation, even as she herself partook. She has raged at Yeji's nymphomaniac frenzies, bemoaned Yuna's sickening desperation for love, wept to Chaeryeong's inevitable corruption, and gnashed her teeth while Ryujin broke bitch after keening bitch; but it was all a front. Or was it? The dark hides everything, and reveals everything. Even as it lightens...

So she unburdens herself. Lia vomits up her most vile truths into the caring nothingness, and enacts those gospels upon her lover. No act is too depraved, no desire left unacted upon, she dredges up the very filth of her soul and unleashes it into the sopping black. She pounds. She plows. She rails. She licks. She sucks. She squeezes. She gropes. She gags. She swallows. She slaps. She gasps. She screams. She pisses. She weeps. She begs. She gnaws. She fingers. She fists. She gurgles. She breaks. She breaks and she breaks and she breaks and she breaks until her mind has become an ouroboros of lust. Until the sheer act has become the means to the end, the excess of the moment overcoming any deeper introspection; any clarity receding with lessening gloom. For without the comfort of the unknown, comes madness.

Lia smiles up at herself. Lia looks down at herself. Lia smirks. Lia whimpers. Lia drowns in a depthless pool of semen, the endless bounty of her licentiousness, its murky depths surging up around them. Lia's sanity frays as the unwelcome light reveals her foulest, most naked innermost admission; this was what Lia wanted. She wanted to be ravaged like a shrieking slut like Yeji, she wanted to gorge upon the creamy evidence of her lovers' affections until she pukes like Yuna, she wanted her holes to be stretched and broken and retightened ceaselessly like Chaeyeong, she wanted to relish in the perversity of her sisters and unleash that upon her adoring fans like Ryujin. She wanted the world to know the depths of her shamelessness, to outshine even her sisters in all of their deviancy and eroticism. Which was why she had to keep that all inside. It was so much more enjoyable that way. Without the warm comforts of the dark, how could she survive such an intimate revelation?

Lia looks out now upon the harsh, hateful vista of reality, its brutality and its hate, and gazes upon her sins carpeting it. There are many Lias. Lia really wishes that she could not see them. So she does not.

She wakes up.

With a start Lia jerks herself awake, bathed in sweat, her heart pounding like a drum, sprawled amongst tangled sheets and the warm bodies of her lovers. Shuddering, she staggers up out of bed, easing her way around the supine forms until she reaches the bathroom, breathing heavily. She glares into the mirror, her eyes bloodshot, and sees a continuous field of herself spreading into the infinite distance. She shudders, winces, before shaking her head in refusal, denying her nightmare, denying herself. With a wrench she forces herself back into the dusk of her room, back into the darkness, back into the warmth, back into Itzy. Her lip curls once more into its signature expression of righteous disgust.

Those filthy sluts...

And in the mirror, Lia smiles sweetly.