Geranio Rosso @ilgeraniorosso - Tumblr Blog

Denise's day wasn't off to a great start. She had run out of coffee that morning; then, we she finally walked still dreary eyed to her car to drive to work, she had found a parking ticket. She knew it wasn't her lucky day, so she tried to take it easy and avoid making any big decisions. She just wanted to go back home and lie under a blanket and watch some silly TV series.

But when she finally got back in her car to drive home, her blood froze when she heard a male voice coming from inside the car. "Just keep driving", he said. She didn't dare to turn around, but she could make out a hooded figure in her back seat. "Now turn left here", he said suddenly after a while. The road was taking her further and further away from home, and she started wondering if she would ever see her home again. "Look, I'll give you anything you want", she managed to bring herself to say as they were approaching an isolated area. He remained silent. She sighed. "If it is sex that you want, that's fine. I'll do anything. Just don't hurt me". Still silence on the other side. Denise could feel her heart beating fiercely against her ribs now, and her large, plump breasts quivering slightly from each forceful contraction of her vital organ. Her heart was beating so violently that she wondered if he could hear it.

"Now stop the car and get out", he said. They seemed to have reached a wasteland. "This doesn't look good", she thought. She was getting quite desperate at this point, so she tried reverse psychology. "Actually, you know what? It's fine with me. I was having a bad day anyway. You can end me if that's what you're after. At least I won't need to pay my parking ticket. Just make it quick".

"Not so fast, young lady", he finally spoke. "I am here to play a little game. You see, I have developed an extraordinary sense of hearing. That's because I am actually blind". As he said this, he took off his hood and black glasses, revealing two thickly veiled, non-functional eyes. "But I think I can hear a woman's heartbeat from metres away. So here's the deal: you step back ten metres. I take my aim with this crossbow and shoot. If I miss, you win. You run away and I end up in prison for life. But if my arrow finds your heart.... I win, and you get the quick ending you wanted. So it's a win win for you, really", he said with an ominous grin across his face.

Denise paused, speechless. Eventually, she asked, "what if I don't want to play this game?". "Well, you can refuse, but.... I am afraid you wouldn't go very far", he replied. "You see, this place is jam-packed with explosives. One touch of this button, and..." There was no need to finish the sentence. She realised that her only hope was that he would miss the shot.

"Fine", she said with a tone of resignation . "I accept. I am ten metres away... I am ready for you to shoot".

"That's very wise of you. One last thing though... You need to be topless, or the sound of your heartbeat will be muffled".

Denise hesitated, then thought that there was no point arguing with this psychopath. She took off her top and dropped her bra.

She stood there for what felt like ages, but was probably only a few seconds. She could hear her heart pumping fast, and wished she were able to slow it down, but knew it wasn't really an option in her circumstances. She wondered what was about to happen. A blind person hitting her small, beating vital target from a distance of ten metres seemed impossible, and she wondered what it would feel like to run away and go back home after all. The police would never believe her, she thought, and couldn't repress a fleeting smile. But on the other hand, she had had a sense of unease and foreboding running through her spine ever since she had found her coffee jar empty that morning....

"Twang... Tchk!" The sound of the crossbow and of the arrow flying through the air reverberafed in her ears. Moments later, she felt a slight twinge in between her breasts. She looked down, and saw that the arrow had sunk right between them.

"Of course... Right into my f***ing heart", she said, with one last touch of irony. After that, she started feeling faint, and slowly began to allow her body to fall to the ground. She knew that the arrow had penetrated deep into her heart, and she was entirely aware that she was only a few heartbeats away from the end. "I should never have gone out without coffee", was one of her last thoughts. After that, she felt her heart become more and more feeble, and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift away into unconsciousness . Less than a minute later, her heart was entirely still, and Denise lay motionless on the floor, with her beautiful bare chest, which was no longer rising and falling with her breathing, skewered by an arrow.

blackpump

...panic sets in...there's no hope now...betrayal...she's going to pull the trigger. In an instant tiny pieces of metal will invade your pounding heart muscle...the beautiful pump that's been keeping you alive your entire life is about to stop beating. A flash and muffled explosion...the incredulous blur, feeling that first bullet entering your heart...ripping, spinning through both ventricles...the world slowing down as your damaged heart frantically races to push lifeblood through your body...the precious blood that's now pouring directly into your chest cavity. Just as you begin to comprehend the shock of what just happened, the second bullet enters the mortally damaged muscle, permanently sucking every molecule of breath from your useless lungs. Euphoria...exhaustion...feeling the life ebbing...slowing...darkness enveloping...the precious heartbeat fading...till it is no more...eternally still.

hotheartgirl

La vera nudità è il battito che lasci ascoltare.

True nakedness is the heartbeat you allow someone to hear.

~strawberry heart🍓~

prismgenixz70

What is your perfect setting for listening to someone's heart? Could be something simple like a bedroom, the beach, or maybe a historic location? Leave a comment / reblog!

ilgeraniorosso

It depends on the circumstances and the mood. For a pleasant, relaxed, romantic listening session I would say on the bed or sofa, in the afternoon, while a gentle breeze is blowing from the sea. Her blouse unbuttoned on her chest, a stethoscope to hand. Both of us letting her slow, calm, secure heartbeat massage our ears.

(freely inspired by the movie and book “V for Vendetta”)

“So... you have come to kill me. Thank God... thank God” Dr Laura was asleep when V walked into her bedroom. A troubled sleep, tormented by continuous nightmares. But now that she was awake, she felt strangely peaceful. “I knew you were going to come for me. I was expecting it”, she went on calmly, as if she were talking to an old friend. “Two years ago, when it all happened... I had thought about killing myself. But then... I thought I could maybe hide in plain sight and go on with my life. But I was wrong. I can’t hide from myself, and as it turns out, I can’t hide from you”. Dr Laura took a deep sigh. V edged slowly towards her and sat on her bed, facing her. She was wearing a low cut silky night dress. Despite being no longer young, Dr Laura was still undoubtedly strikingly beautiful. She did have a few wrinkles around her brown eyes, but far from detracting from her beauty, they had only made her face even more expressive. Her deep cleavage revealed the bronze skin of her chest, upon which a long silver chain ran all the way down to her round, plump breasts, between which was tucked what appeared to be a religious medal. “I am glad you came. I do not deserve to be alive. Are you... going to do it now?” “Yes, I am”, came the answer, in V’s deep, masculine voice. “Is it...” - she hesitated - “...going to hurt?” “Very little”, he replied. “Just close your eyes, Dr Laura”. “I know it is too late to apologise.... but I am so, so sorry”, Laura said, as a tear rolled down her cheek. As she said this, she closed her eyes and lay back on her pillow, as she mentally surrendered her life to the masked man and tried to prepare herself to be executed. Suddenly, she felt something like a bee sting on her chest. She half opened her eyes. “Done”, V said. “Already?” she said, confused. “Have you killed me? Am I dead?”. “I have killed you, but you are not dead yet”, he explained, as he showed her the long, thin and very sharp ice pick he was holding in his hand. “I have just put this through your heart, Laura. At the moment it is still beating, but it is going to stop soon. It is barely visible from the outside, as you can see - barely a red spot between your breasts - but inside your chest, your heart is irreparably damaged. Quick, painless, and respectful of your beauty”. “This is so kind of you, V”, Laura whispered. “I thought you were going to choke me or empty an entire magazine into my chest... thank you for killing me in such a considerate way”. And as she said this, her heart stood still in her chest, and her eyes slowly shut again. V dropped a rose on her bed, and vanished into the night.

Monique and Henry were in his flat when they received the message. They had agreed to have an informal meet up that evening, to discuss further plans and unwind a bit. They had cooperated a few times over the years, but they had never really had the opportunity of getting to know each other well. It was normal in their line of work not to be too intimate with their colleagues, but they had come to a point where they felt they could trust each other. So when his invitation came, she was pleasantly surprised and accepted with a smile. She was cheerfully absorbed in small talk with him, glancing every now and then at his dark hair and at his strong hands, when their phones went off at the same moment. Few seconds later, the atmosphere had completely changed. “Your covers are blown - run for your life if you can, but don’t get caught alive”, the message read. At first, they tried to pull themselves together and hatch an escape plan. But the sense of anxiety soon turned into dread when they spotted from the windows armed watchmen at every corner in the street. The mafia assassins were already there for them. And if they had been caught, the only possible outcome could have been torture followed by a slow and painful death. “Monique, I am so... so sorry”, said Henry, still coming to terms with the terrible new reality that had landed on them. “I was just hoping to offer you a relaxed evening, and instead...” “And instead, it’s our last evening on earth”, she sighed, with a wistful smile. “That’s ok. It’s not your fault. We’d better get round to it then, we don’t have much time before they get here, and I certainly don’t want to be alive when they come through that door. How are we going to do it then?” Monique was now speaking relatively calmly now, and the speed with which she had adapted to the fact that the only possible option left for them was their demise took him by surprise. He attempted to recover some composure, coughed once, and started saying, “well... we have guns, so...” She interrupted him briskly, “I guess what I’m saying is, I am not afraid to die, but I would like someone to hold my hand while I go”. She managed a half smile while a tear rolled down her cheek. “I see! I mean, sure...” replied Henry. “Thank you”, whispered Monique. After that brief moment when she showed her vulnerability, she was ready to take the lead again. She grabbed his hand and pulled him to the sofa. “Let’s do it here”, she said, and they sat down while holding hands. Henry was so mesmerised by her countenance and decisiveness, that he had almost forgotten that after hers, it would be his turn. He pulled a revolver from his jacket, put it to her head, and gently asked “can I... shoot, then?”. “Not so fast!” She said. “I know we don’t have much time to get to know each other, but I would like this to be a little more... intimate. For a start, I don’t like a hole in my head. It doesn’t suit me. How about you aim at my vital organ instead?”And as she said this, she pressed her hand to the middle of her chest. “Oh, of course...” he said, a little embarrassed, and started lowering the gun to her chest. “But first, you may want to gain better access to it”, she preempted him. “You see, it’s winter, and I’m wearing a fluffy jumper. How are you going to find the target like this? It would be a shame if you missed it. Come on, find your target first”. Henry thought he could see for a moment an inkling of playfulness on her face. He delicately lifted her jumper. To his surprise, this revealed her two soft, round, voluptuous breasts. He blushed slightly. “Oh, sorry! I couldn’t imagine...” “That’s good, you’re getting close to the target, Henry! And now, how are you going to find it more accurately? Any clues?” Monique was properly smiling now. It’s as if they had momentarily teleported out of that hopeless situation, and they were alone in a secure haven. Henry finally realised that if she wasn’t wearing anything under her jumper, it meant that she had probably been hoping for a different ending to their evening... Reassured by this realisation, he tried to play along. “Well, to find my target, I could of course place my hand on your chest, and see where I can feel it beating... or place my ear, and listen for it”. “Very well!” she exclaimed. “And you will do both of those things, in a moment. But before that, is there anything that you can see, that might suggest approximately where my heart might be? Something that sometimes people keep next to it, perhaps?” Only at that point, he noticed that around her neck was a delicate gold chain. He had been so enchanted by the sight of her bare breasts, that he had not even seen it until that moment. The gold chain was long enough that it ended in the middle of her chest, just above the level of her nipples. A small gold crucifix was hanging from it. “Oh, do you mean your crucifix?”, he said, a bit sheepishly. “Precisely!” she replied, satisfied. “This little crucifix has been living next to my heart ever since my eighteenth birthday. Quite a few years ago, now. And it has been listening to every beat of my heart. I have never taken it off, not even once. Anyway, so now, you know where to put your hand!” He placed his hand in the middle of her chest. At first very delicately, then applied a little pressure. A vortex of emotions and physical sensations flooded his consciousness. He could perfectly feel under his hand her warm, smooth skin, her supple breasts, the slightly rough edges of her necklace and crucifix, but above all, he could feel the regular, strong beats of her source of life, slowly working away right in the middle of her chest. They both savoured that moment for a while. Then, once more, it was her who interrupted the silence. “It’s very good of you to get to know better my vital organ, before you put it to sleep for eternity”, she whispered. “But before you do that, I think it’s time for you to listen to it. See if it wants to say anything, before it goes quiet for ever”. Henry felt a rush of blood to his face as he lay his hear on Monique’s chest. For a few long moments, he was completely inebriated by the sweet, regular sound of her heartbeat, as his face bobbed gently up and down with her slow, deep breaths. He could smell the scent of her skin, he could feel the warmth emanating from her vital organ. Monique did not say a word, but a slight increase in the frequency with which her chest was rising and falling and the vital pump in the middle of chest was contracting, told Henry that she was deeply enjoying the moment too. But that bubble was suddenly burst by a loud noise outside their door. The criminals were approaching. Monique looked deeply in his eyes and whispered, “we need to be quick now. The moment has come... our hearts must stop beating within the next minute”. He nodded. He knew she was right. “You are now very familiar and intimate with my heart. It is only right that you are the person who ends it. Henry - please, now put a bullet in my heart”. As she pronounced these words, she grabbed the barrel of his gun and pressed it against her own chest. Then, she closed her eyes and pushed her chest out slightly. The meaning of that gesture was very clear. She was ready, and she was waiting for her heart to be pierced. Henry did not disappoint her, and pulled the trigger. A loud bang ensued, and her body jerked for an instant as the bullet made its way through her heart. Her breathing became immediately shallow and frequent. Henry placed his hand on her chest again; her heart was still beating, but the beats were now fast and feeble. To his surprise, she opened her eyes slightly and spoke with a whisper. “Thanks Henry, this is exactly how I wanted to go. Now please keep your hand on my heart until its last beat... and make sure my crucifix is right in the middle of it... I feel my heart is about to stop beating”. With tears in his eyes, he nodded, and kept his hand in the middle of her bare chest. Sure enough, very soon her beats became fainter and fainter, until they stopped altogether. Colour drained from her face, and her chest ceased to rise and fall. Monique’s heart was now completely still. He would have wanted to remain in contemplation of what had just happened for hours, maybe for days, but he knew there was no time left. The mafia assassins were just outside the door, and would soon be in, but he wouldn’t let them catch him alive. He covered Monique’s chest again with her soft, fluffy, green woollen jumper. She looked as if she was asleep now. He felt his own chest with his hand. She hadn’t told Monique, but he also always wore a crucifix on a chain, exactly on his heart. He put the barrel of the gun against his chest, just left of the crucifix, and then, while still holding Monique’s hand, he pulled the trigger twice in rapid succession. Moments later, his heart had met the same fate as Monique’s heart. They would share eternal peace together.

Monika had woken up a few minutes earlier. Through the dark, peaceful night, the sudden sounds of screams and loud thuds had travelled to her ears and gradually pushed her back to wakefulness. At first, her mind still shrouded by the sweet haze of sleep, she had thought that it must have been morning, and that the farmers were offloading the barley off their carriages and shouting at the horses. Then, she started feeling slightly anxious, and thought that maybe his father had slipped and fallen down the stairs. But once she was fully awake, her anxiety gave place to boundless dread. All those menacing noises could only mean one thing: the unthinkable had happened. Her family’s castle had been invaded. She lay motionless in her bed for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only five minutes. Her room, where she usually felt so safe and calm, was now a prison in which she was trapped and powerless. She briefly entertained the idea of peeking out of her door to see who was having the upper hand in the battle, or of grabbing a sword and joining the fight. She would certainly have been killed within seconds, but at least she would not have had to endure the wait. Instead, she stayed in bed, trying to calm herself down and telling herself that their armed guards and her valorous brothers were going to fight off the invaders in the end. But calm down she did not. She remained in bed, fear running down her veins. Her heart kept pounding right in the centre of her chest. She had always liked the sensation and the sound of her heart beating. She used to cherish its harmonious rhythm as a symbol of life. She was enchanted by the idea that God had placed it perfectly right behind her breasts - one source of life next to the other. And right on her heart lay the wooden cross that her elder sister, Margaret, had given her before leaving the family and moving into a nearby convent. Monika had promised her never to take it off, until the last beat of her heart - and she was faithfully maintaining her promise. But this time, she was not enjoying hearing the sound of her heart. It sounded to her like an ominous omen, similar to a bell tolling slowly and gloomily in the distance. Eventually, her fears materialised. The door to her room sprung open, and a hooded figure walked towards her in the darkness. She immediately knew what it meant. Her family and the guards had been vanquished and slain. The invaders were finishing off anyone still alive, and now it was her turn. She had no escape. She was about to follow the rest of her family into the afterlife. Despite being paralysed with instinctive fear, she did not move. She loathed the people who had done that to her and her family, and did not want to give them any satisfaction by crying or pleading for her life. The other thought that was becoming very clear in her mind is that if she had to die, at least she wanted to be slain like a warrior, not like a pig. She wanted the sword to be plunged right through her chest. The mysterious marauder lifted a candle to illuminate her lying in bed. She could see his sword shimmering in the faint light, but she did not want to deign him of making eye contact. Instead, with a sudden motion, she fully bared her chest, pressed her index finger on a point just left of where her cross was lying between her breasts, and whispered “right here. Straight through my heart. That’s the least you can do to partially redeem yourself”. The evil warrior was clearly taken aback by her gesture and her words and hesitated for a moment, which to Monika felt like an eternity. Then, probably struck by her countenance and her determination, he muttered “very well...” and lifted his sword over her chest. Despite being defeated, Monika had at least won this last psychological battle. He had clearly accepted to dispatch her the way she had chosen. Monika focused her gaze for a moment on the tip of the sword looming over her chest, her deep blue eyes almost mesmerised by the metallic blade that was about to unceremoniously make its way through the vital organs in her chest. Instinctively, she arched her back slightly and pushed her bare chest upwards, almost as if to offer her heart to the sword, and make sure that the blow did not miss. The blade came down in one swift, forceful motion, first piercing her skin, then going through her still beating heart, and then puncturing some of her left lung and vessels before coming out through her back, and stopping in the mattress beneath her. Monika looked down to her chest, only to see that the hilt was the only visible part of the sword, sticking out of the middle of her chest. She could barely breathe at this point, but to her surprise she did not feel any pain. Her consciousness was now altered and in a dreamy-like state - maybe the result of the adrenaline being released by her struggling organs, or maybe because that is how the people who are about to leave this earth feel. Her assassin at this point decided to retrieve his sword, and after twisting it a little, he pulled it out. Blood poured out of Monika’s devastated left ventricle. But not for long. Her heart had been so badly wounded, that it only attempted two or three more beats, and then - as if sensing that any more effort would be in vain - decided to lie still altogether. Monika felt one last intense rush of incomprehensible pleasure and excitement, which soon gave way to peace, as she started to make out a bright, white light in the distance... Her assassin, who was usually not exactly what one would define a pious man, experienced an uncanny sense of unease after she exhaled her last breath. He reluctantly closed her eyes, adjusted her cross to lie just to the right of her mortal wound - then crossed himself, and walked away quickly.

Monica was deeply asleep when she was unceremoniously woken up with a jolt by one of the soldiers. She was dreaming of sunbathing on a boat in the Med, gently rocked back and forth by the sea. But when she opened her eyes, she found herself once again in her prison cell. She had been there for several weeks now, since she had been convicted for her role in the resistance against the military coup. But then, a chill of fear and mysterious excitement took hold of her as it dawned on her that today was not just another day. Today was the day of her execution. Today, she was going to be shot – in the heart.

Monica looked at herself in the mirror. She had been given a few minutes in the bathroom by herself to get ready. She dropped all her clothes to the floor and focused on her reflected image. So, this is it, she thought. This is the last time. She put her hand on her chest and closed her eyes, then inhaled deeply. Under her hand, she could feel the rhythmic action of her vital organ pumping away in her chest. Under her palm, she could also make out the shape of the little cross that she was wearing around her neck. She always kept it on her heart, ever since she was in her twenties. She had always been a believer, and it gave her comfort.

Yet, now that she was approaching the end, she could not entertain any spiritual thoughts. It was as if her senses were heightened, and her consciousness was dominated by her sensory experiences. The smell of the soap. The sound of the water. The sight of her naked self in the mirror. And above all else, the beating of her heart.

That sound was so familiar to her. She had always been fascinated by hearts. That continuous beating that gave her life. Hearts had been a constant source of interest throughout her existence. She had listened to a few hearts during her time, and spent quite a lot of time focusing on her own. They had been a source of unlimited wonder and secret pleasure for her. And now, the idea that her own heart was going to be hit by bullets filled her with a mixture of dread and inexplicable excitement.

In the end, she decided to wear a simple buttoned up blouse for her execution, but without a bra. She remembered that Mata Hari is said to have exposed her bare chest to her executioners right at the last moment, and she thought that maybe she would find the courage to do the same.

She was walked to the place of the execution. It was just after dawn, and the sun was painting the whole sky in orange and yellow hues. Monica squinted at the sun for a second, feeling the warmth of the sun on her chest.

The captain was a young man with greasy, blond hair. “Well, well. A lady”, he addressed her. “Don’t worry darling. For you, special treatment: you can sit on that chair, we’ll put this blindfold on you, and maybe we’ll use a bigger calibre rifle, just to make sure that your little heart blows up immediately and you don’t suffer”.

The defiance in Monica’s eyes turned into rage. “You won’t do any of that. I’ll stand against that wall, with no blindfold, and you’re going to use the usual rifles. I have no fear of a bullet in my heart!”

“Very well”, the captain said with disdain. “Then so be it”. He gave order for her requests to be followed. Monica was made to stand against the wall. A doctor then came up to her – he was tasked with sticking a target on her chest, right over her heart. He was clearly quite nervous, and it took him a couple of minutes to do the job. In order to find the perfect spot, he used a stethoscope and listened to Monica’s heart for a while.

Monica did not flinch. She felt the fear, of course. But by that point, she was entirely living in the moment, appreciating and savouring all the small pleasures that life could still give her. She quite liked the tactile feel of the stethoscope on her chest, her heart pounding against it, the little cross moving imperceptibly on her skin.

Eventually, the target was placed. In order to do that, her blouse had been fully unbuttoned and taken off. Maybe they intended it as a punishment for her insolence, but Monica was glad they did, because she could feel the warmth of the sun all over her chest now. Monica stood there, topless, for what felt like a long time. Her skin kissed by the glowing light, her heart pounding under the round target and her little crucifix.

Suddenly, a loud bang resonated through the air. Monica felt a searing pain in her chest. She looked down and saw a red rose blossoming rapidly right at the centre of the bull’s eye. There was no doubt – the bullet had gone straight through her heart.

He legs started feeling a little weak, and she slowly fell to the ground. But she was still lucid, and her mind couldn’t stop imagining the bullet slowly making its way through her beating heart… and her heart, fatally wounded, still trying frantically to pump blood… and again, she experienced mysterious, uncontainable excitement at the thought.

She looked up, and saw the captain approaching. He was screwing on a silencer on the muzzle of a handgun. “You’ve been very brave, darling, I’ll have to concede that… but now, it’s time for you to go”.

Monica looked at him with defiance and contempt one last time, and barely managed to whisper “shut up and just f***ing do it”.

She felt the silencer pressed hard against her chest, right between her breasts. He could feel her heart beating against it… then, he pulled the trigger. A muffled sound was produced, and a second bullet transfixed Monica’s heart. Seconds later, she felt her heart grinding to a halt… then nothing else. Her eyes were closed now, her heart completely still in her chest, her little crucifix twinkling in the bright sunlight.

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Geranio Rosso