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The Rope
By Toran
PART I
Dear Diary, Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday
dear dipshit, happy birthday to me.� Well Diary, it's my sweet sixteenth.� No, I didn't get the Trans Am wrapped in a
bow.� I wish.� I didn't get John Travolta, either.� All I got was you.� Life sucks, diary.� I'm going nowhere.� School sucks, boys suck (I wish), life
sucks.� No one listens to me.� No one cares.�
All Mom and Dad have time for is fighting.� And Vodka Martinis.
My dorko little brother, Micky
keeps taking my panties out of the dirty clothes basket.� What a creep.�
I can't wait 'til they go up to
Dear Diary, Steph is going to invite ...
Finally, the weekend! I'm ...
Diary, my world is over.� I'll
write later.� If I'm
still alive.
Diary, I'm numb.� I can't stop
crying.� Everyone is gone.� Micky, Mom, Dad.There was a bad car-crash.� I'm going to
Diary, the scenery just blurs past me.�
I know I'll get over it all sooner or ...
Diary.� Had a strange dream last
night.� I'll tell you
tomorrow.� I'm so tired
...
Diary, I hate it here!� Why did
all this happen to me?� I miss my Mom and
Dad!� And even dipshit
Micky.� I miss
my friends.� I miss my life.� I hate
I'm not going to be able to write much more, now, Diary.� I'm running away. Maybe I am crazy, maybe
not.� S is HERE!!!!!� The Shadow guy!!!� No dreams this time.� He is HERE.�
He came to me last night, only this time I wasn't awake.� Not at first.�
I felt this big cold thing between my legs and when I tried to shake it
off I woke up and I was tied again.� My
hands on both sides of the bed and my legs too.�
And He was there, looking down at me. Grinning.� Diary, it was horrible!� His ... dick ... was what I felt.� It was huge.�
And cold.�
I think he fucked me.� I can't
remember.� He WAS in me.� I swear to God that he was!� I felt like I was being ripped open!� I tried to scream but I couldn't.� It's his eyes.� He held my chin so that I had to look in his
eyes.� I didn't notice right away, but he
started slapping my face every time he slammed that thing into me.� And he came. Cold.� So cold. I can't
Sorry, Diary.� I couldn't finish
last night.� I'll write a little more,
then that's it.� I don't know what's
going on, or if I am crazy, but it doesn't matter.� I'm on a bus to
Good-bye.
I
closed the crinkled, fake leather book.�
It's little toy key jingled against it's twin
and I carefully locked the worn hasp.� I
was surprised I'd kept it.� Those were
the thirteen worst days of my life.�
Once, I thought that my life actually stopped during those days.� A timeless swirling of dust
and silence.� Then a new life started,
with new ways, new ideas, new scenery.
It is
all just one life, I realize now.� One bridge over a difficult gap.� The mind builds that bridge with whatever it
can find.� In my case, a deranged Shadow
Man, who came to me in my sleep and made me pay for still being alive while my
family died.� In the fourteen years
since, I've grown, matured, learned to reason, learned to live.� I've practiced confronting my fears and now
fear nothing.� I've erased
self-doubt.� I've grown to love myself
for the first time since those early years.
I put
the diary down on my nightstand with a trembling hand.� Slowly pulled the covers up
to my chin.� Closed my eyes and
opened them once more.
It's
still there.� Dangling from the brass
frame at the foot of the bed, like a silky white snake.� Since I'd woken up this
morning.
Why
has he come back?
She's
suspended, legs splayed widely apart, each ankle connected to a thick, bristly
rope running up almost forever, disappearing in the darkness.� Her hands are lashed tightly together with
more of the same, at wrists and elbows, behind her.� Another rope pulls her wrists almost ninety
degrees from her body, anchored to the stone floor.� Her long golden hair, streaming past her
flushed face, lightly touches the floor.�
But the damned rope that pulls on her wrists keeps her bent slightly at
the waist, defying gravity to save her already throbbing shoulders.
Through
a haze of pain, she squints at her upside-down world.� A great wall of fire encircles her, the
flames lapping and sizzling barely a few feet from her pinkly, sweating
flesh.� There is darkness beyond the
flames, but she senses entities in the darkness.� Watching her fight for
consciousness.� Her agony has
consumed her mind, licking at rational thought like the flames consuming the
air.� She barely notices the beast enter
the circle of fire.
It�s
enormous, black phallus is all she can focus on first, as it bobs before her
eyes.� The monster behind it is likewise
a black as cold as death.� Two clawed
legs, long arms with razor sharp talons, and a bull-like head with too many
teeth.� But its eyes are insanely
intelligent.� They glow behind the
phallus with enormously malicious intent.
She
tries to move her head away from the throbbing cock but this only angers the
beast.� With a single blurring motion, it
slices her breasts with the talons of one paw, nearly severing a crimson nipple
and baring a rib.� She stares at the
wound in wonder for a moment and then the pain hits, like a spoiled child.� She shrieks loudly for several moments before
the beast lashes out again, this time with closed fist.� Her head rocks from the blow to her ear,
stopping her braying.
The
beast's grin has broadened.� It dangles
its paw� in the
flames for a few moments then squats next to her cheek.� Looking intently in her eyes, it traces a
claw along the gaping wounds, bubbling the flesh until
the blood stops.� She begins to scream
again, but is stopped by a claw that snakes into her mouth and hooks her
tongue.� Her jaw snaps closed on the
finger, but the beast only closes it's eyes slightly,
as if in pleasure, as it gouges a deep groove in the pink flesh of her
mouth.� It digs the claws of the next two
fingers into the soft flesh under her neck, locking her jaw closed.� With a casual flick of its other paw, it slices
the wounded nipple cleanly from her breast.�
Her eyes close and her body tries to thrash, but the strain of her
shoulders stop her short.� In the end,
she just looks up and into its eyes.
Straightening,
the beast removes its claws from her mouth and throat with only a slight
tearing.� It walks around her then,
silently appraising.� Shaking its
ponderous head, it stops at her exposed pussy.�
She doesn't see it clearly now, as her neck strains to keep her
shoulders from popping out of their sockets.�
When the beast comes into view again it holds something in its paw.� Long and thin, it looks like a red snake, but
in place of its head is a small orb with tiny teeth.� Yellow slime runs the length of the thing and
a silvery fluid drips from its mouth.�
The beast holds it out before her, letting a drop of the yellow fluid
drop on her cheek.� Cold, it burns the
flesh like acid and she moans, jerking her head away.� The beast seems to laugh, then disappears
from her vision to stand once more over her pussy.
At the
first drop of the fluid, she screams as loud as she can.� It hits her soft lips just seconds before she
feels the thing's head sliding down and into her pussy.� Its fluid burns a cold searing path deep into
her womb, the only traces of the thing that now coils inside.� She feels its bulk there, like a cold
cancer.� Her legs, held wide apart,
thrash helplessly.
She
feels a sharp prick, then, on the very tip of her labia.� And another on the opposite
fold of flesh.� And back and
forth, one side to the other, each crossing accompanied with a snug tug to her
lips.� The beast was sewing her
shut.� With the thing
inside.
Her
moans turn to gentle sobs.� Her neck,
finally giving in to gravity, slides back, putting the full weight of her torso
on her shoulders.� With a grateful sigh
of pain, she sees the orange flames slowly turn black.
PART II
I
awoke, feeling sweaty, numb, and a sense of foreboding I was sure I�d lost
those many years ago.� That was all in
the first instant.� Hitting me in the
second instant was the searing pain in my arms and shoulder, as if part of my
dream had followed me.
It
had.
I
raised my head and every small movement made my arms shoot tiny streaks of
white pain through my body.� I was
hanging, naked in the coolness of my bedroom, from a course rope about my
wrists.� I tried to look up, to see what
could be holding me.� The rope went up
and into the ceiling, as if the stucco plaster was just an illusion.� No fasteners, no beam, just a simple ending
of the rope.� I hung my head, the only
position I could handle without upsetting my arms.� My ankles, tied snugly together, as were my
knees and upper thighs, were floating over a foot off the floor.� My diary, still on the nightstand next to the
disheveled bed was still locked where I put it.
I
closed my eyes and a long slow shudder worked its way up my spine.� I was in trouble.� Again.� Just like before, He had come back and fucked
up my life.
I
heard noises in the kitchen.� Sounds of running water, the refrigerator opening and closing, the
microwave, plates smacking together. My arms hurt horribly.� This could not be happening.� All those hours in therapy, all those spoiled
and ruined relationships.� All wasted, now.� I had finally, suddenly, quietly lost my
mind.
After
endless minutes, He poked his head through the doorway.� I shuddered with cold, but welcomed the
possible ending of my pain, or at least a change.� His eyes glinted, sharp steel, his smile
filled with many teeth that were sharper still.�
And yet he looked human.� Not the
beast I remembered from before, or even the demon from my dream.� He was an illusion of a man, but a very good
illusion.� Pallid skin,
white as the harsh moon, black hair darker than an idiot's soul.� And malicious eyes.
He had
come home.� For me.
Casually,
he brushed thick, black hair away from his eyes and flopped down in the vanity
chair.� He held a plate to his chin and
slowly, delicately, fingered a slab of thawed raw beef.� I noticed the vanity mirror behind him cast
no reflection of him or anything else.� It
was a smoky red, from frame to frame.
I
didn't speak and this seemed to amuse him.
His
eyes traveled the length of my body, searching and probing every gentle curve
or taught and straining muscle.� I
blushed in spite of the ridiculous situation.�
Something was happening, I later realized, that would have helped my
Freudian therapist label me.
I
averted his gaze.� "Untie me.� Please."�
Though it came out meekly, I was surprised it came out at all.
He
stopped his destruction of the side of bleeding beef, seemed to consider it,
and stood.� He tossed the empty plate on
the floor, holding what was left of the raw meat in one hand.� A flash of steel, and a steak piece of my
cutlery was in the other.� He began to
grin, in a grin that grew much larger than would be possible, were he
human.� As he sauntered close to me, I
felt my breath catch, and all the pain in my arms instantly covered with
ice.� A body could lose a lot, looking
into those eyes.� Maybe
everything.
His
breath was foul, worse than just raw meat.�
It smelled of death, of rotting bodies, of vile evil, of the darkest of
dark.� And still, it was sweet, as sweet
and sticky as the raw meat.� He brought
the knife up to just below my chin and I felt the cold tip press into the flesh
at my neck.����� "Please," I
whispered.
The
knife moved down, lingering for an instant at my left nipple, and the instant
flashback closed my eyes.� But I felt the
knife move further still, past my belly, to the soft fur below.� Again it hesitated.
"Please
... Master."
The
knife was gone, and I felt the ropes about my legs suddenly cut.� As I opened my eyes, I felt a cold grip on my
ankles spreading them wide. The movement sent fresh jolts of pain down my arms
and I must have yelped, because my mouth was open for just the shortest of
moments.� His hand was at my lips
immediately and I tasted blood in the instant before the first bit of raw beef
was jammed in.� Gagging, I tried to push
the slippery mass back, but He kept working, packing my mouth tight with the
meat.� In the end, all I could manage was
a soft gurgling sound.� Both chewing and
spitting were out.
My
heart was racing as I finally looked into his eyes.
He was
pleased.� The grin was back.� One hand still held one of my ankles
aside.� The other disappeared between my
legs.� I felt His fingers slide between
my pussy lips, so cold, and I squirmed violently.� The pressure on my held ankle increased
painfully, until I was sure He would snap my foot off.� I moaned and relaxed.� His fingers probed deep within me, so far in
that I began to lose feeling in my entire vagina.� His fingers were so cold.� Then I felt him withdraw.� He released my leg and my arms screamed as my
weight once more pulled at the rope.
Through
half lidded eyes I saw him show me something in his hand.� The something he had pulled out of me.
It was
a small red snake.
With lots of teeth.
She lays in the dank cell, the smells of her own excrement
filling her nose.� The dirt floor is
cold, so cold to her bare ass.� But warmer than the slick, cold stone walls.� It is almost complete darkness, the only
light slants through the narrowly barred window, high up the wall.� The course soiled rope about her hands behind
her back have long since robbed her fingers of feeling.� Dirt, where the tear streaks had once blazed,
cakes her face and most of her starved body.�
Thought has left her, with the tears, and now she is only an animal,
able to react not contemplate.
The
door is thrown back and shards of red light cut her skin an angry red.� She screams reflexively, trying to get up and
run at the same time.� A large nozzle,
held between two darkly cloaked figures issues a stinging wall of water, and
she is pushed back into the corner by its force.� Screaming whenever she can gulp air, she
huddles with her back to the water.� �The dirt is blasted away, forming a black soup
around her.
The
nozzle cuts off.� Arms lift her up and
turn her around.� The nozzle
resumes.� Her bound wrists thrash
helplessly against her ass, but the arms at her sides hold her.� Her screams are cut off as a last wave hits
her square in the face.� Her legs buckle
and she is dragged limply outside.
She
begins to see again as her hands, re-bound by the now dripping rope, are anchored over her head.�
Flicking the long matted strands of blonde hair away from her eyes, she
peers into the bright red light.� Her
vision comes slowly, the painful light forcing her eyes to squint.
Many
robed figures huddle around her, beneath her.�
She is tied to a post on a stone platform, under the blood red sun for
the first time in what seems like years.�
Through the hazy vision she can only make out cold steel orbs beneath
the hoods of the robes.� Another robed
figure stands to her left on the stone.�
He holds a long strip of animal hide in one clawed hand.
The
sound of her harsh breath is all she hears.�
The figure next to her suddenly snaps the strip and the tip bites her
left breast.� She yelps.� The robed figures look amongst each other and
one howls a strange guttural howl. Another does the same.� She waits, feeling the flesh of her breast
stinging hotly.
The
strip bites her again, this time on the hips.�
Again she yelps, trying to move away against the pull of the rope on her
hands.� The first figure howls again, as
well as the second, and now a third.
A
soft, steady whimper now comes from her throat, and the strip finds her inner
thigh.� They're all howling now, the air
ripe with the rotting noise.
Her
flesh hot and stinging strongly, she is untied and half-carried, half-dragged
off the platform by the robed figure that had howled first and loudest.� Through a dusty, ramshackle street he takes
her, passing other robed figures milling about.
To a
run-down wooden shack he finally deposits her.�
Her hands are again raised over her head and tied to a beam.� She looks about the room, not in fear or
wonder.� Only in a cold interest, as an
animal regards a new cage.� Another
figure stands with its back to her.� This
one wears no robe and its shiny black skin ripples over hard muscle.� It works a long shaft of iron in a bed of hot
coals.
As it
turns, the air rushes out of her body and a new intelligence glints in her
eyes.� Thoughts and memories return and
with it, the pain.� The thing's cold eyes
glow and its mouth opens into a razor-toothed grin.� It casually lifts the brand out of the pot
and touches a clawed finger to the tip.�
A puff of smoke, a small sizzle, and the beast closes its eyes in
pleasure.� The other figure takes the
brand and lets his robe fall away.� These
eyes she remembers, from a circle of fire.
A soft
mewing comes from deep in her throat as the orange tipped steel is raised to
her neck, below her left ear.� The depths
of his eyes, locked onto hers swim with the smell of her searing flesh.
PART
So it
was in me all along.� That
... perversion.� Coiled in my womb
with teeth and slime ... Physically, symbolically, whatever.� That's what that fuck was telling me.� I could see his logic now, warped and
hateful.� Many sleepless nights in the
life I fought so hard to forget and now would resume had walked me right up to
the edge and forced me to look down into the yawning darkness of ... what?
Me?� My own broken line?
Look
too hard and you lose your balance and fall headlong into that darkness.� Glance once or twice and you may miss what
slides out from the depths and tickles your soul.� In my waking moments, between dreams that
both aroused and maimed, I took in my pit of darkness, at once glancing away
then staring dumbly.
The
heavy metal collar around my neck kept my body from escape.� My mind was spared even this luxury.
She
wears a path in the cold stones at the perimeter of her dark cell.� Twenty steps.� Ten steps. Twenty steps.� Three steps.� Door.� Four steps.� In
darkness so rich her hands are only visible at a foot's length, she lets the
flood of thoughts come, as a woman may try to remember
how she came to wake up in a strange place.�
Her capture is only dimly remembered.�
Her brand on her neck and the welts on her body are fresh yet have no
name as yet.� What she is sure of is that
she is property of a beast.
She
pauses and mentally forces the blurred images of Him from her mind.� The darkness of her cell already seems to be
filled with His teeth.
Her
breath evens and her legs resume their mechanical motion.� Memories of what she was before are
gone.� She is as fresh as a newborn, as
scarred as a leper.
To be
property is an idea that is foreign to her, this she is sure.� Loss of freedom, pain on a
whim, a thoughtless future.� Her
mind reels.� Would resistance
matter?� Would He set her free if she
fought or merely stripe her back?� And
laugh.� But the fighting is what she
knows she should do.� It may buy her a
free life.� Or it may cut her hard.� One satisfies the mind.� The other, the body.
Metal
slams home in the lock in the door, jarring her.� Instinctively, she bolts for the far
corner.� The lock turns and a hard,
silver light cuts away the dark of the cell in a sharp sweep.� She loses her sight for just a bare second,
as the light pounds her eyes into squinting pain.� Around her she hears shuffling of feet, then hands are on her, yanking her wrists before her.� She yelps and is slapped.� Rough cord binds her hands and another loop
of rope is tossed about her head.
In the
agonizing daze, she sees a two hulks on either side
and a third in the doorway.� This last
holds the end of the rope about her neck.�
On this, it pulls hard.
She
staggers about, flailing at the air with two arms now made into one.� Her shoulders are prodded hard and she is
pulled from her cell by her neck, slamming into the side of the metal door in
the end with her hip.� Up a long dusty
corridor she is led, each step giving more sight to her adjusting eyes.� Cells line both walls, moans of female pain
coming from behind metal doors.� The
three figures wear the same brownish robes of the others, with any skin peeking
out a jet black.� Once on their way, the
figures seem not to acknowledge her, save for an impatient prod or pull on the
rope.� Once, she cracks her toe on an
upraised bit of stone and falls, skinning her legs and one thigh.� The rope is pulled tight about her neck,
robbing her of breath, good for a few well-placed kicks on her sides.� Coughing, she scampers back to her feet.
The
corridor ends at stone steps, going steeply up through the dark and webbed
ceiling.� She manages the climb with only
cursory prodding from below and only a little rope burn at her neck.� At the top, a door.� It opens and she is thrown inside.
Living
with a beast, definable, palpable, physically available to be beaten back, is
far easier than to live with a blackness that rises up from your very soul, a
blackness bearing your name.� And
somewhere, as that blackness rises like a bile, the
lines of reality are softened, dimmed, then blocked out completely.� Everyone has a blackness,
as different as the person.� Mine was
something at first alien, later a womb sister.�
Growing as I grew, this thing was inside me.� Maybe, at conception, we were apart and
different.� Now, the only now, we are
one.� It has shaped my life as I have
fostered its maturity.
My
collar wouldn't permit me from straying far from the rough wooden post that
materialized in the center of my bedroom sometime during one of my delirious
dreams.� One foot of
freedom.� Not even enough reach to
pull the sheets from my bed over my bare, cold body.
Two
cycles of night and day have passed since I last saw Him.� Two days without food or water.� After holding my wastes as long as possible,
I finally completed the circle of toilet training, fouling a spot on the
perimeter of my chain.� My butt and knees
were sore from alternately sitting or kneeling.�
One foot of chain, anchored high on the post, is barely enough for a
timid crouch.� The pains in my stomach
were a constant stream of agonizing contractions.� My lips were cracked, my mouth a dry pit.
The
sounds of the world outside my apartment taunted me with their freedom.� Birds, voices, life.� Reality.� All beyond my reach.� Beyond that damned foot
chain.� I tried many times to call
out when I was sure there were human voices within range.� But each time only a feeble croak came
out.� Monotony was now working its way
into my mind, playing with time the way an artist paints shallow strokes on a
canvas.� A slash of red: was that five
minutes or an hour?� Green over blue:
yesterday or today?
I
would have gone mad within five cycles of day and night, if not for the
woman.� Her appearance signaled the end
of the beginning.
The
chamber, like a wet, hot cloth, presses in around her instantly. Her feet skids from the force of the shove and she slides
through the doorway and lands on the slimy stone floor. Her wind leaves her and
she has a few moments of panic and dry heaves before she can again
breathe.� The robed figures use that time
to pull her up and face her master, seated on a throne of gold.
Still
coughing, she avoids his gaze.� To look
there would turn her docile, and if she is to have any strength for what she
thinks she must do, she needs to have control of her mind.� To look into His eyes is to fall forever.
The
rope is cut from around her neck and tossed into one of many burning firepits.� She counts
the number of robed figures in the chamber and tries to plan her moves.� Though forced to develop work muscles in this
world, she has never been known for her grace.�
Yet, it is grace and luck that she lives by now.� Two robes on her left and
two holding her arms, still tied and resting against her belly.� She tries to breathe deeply, to save oxygen,
to calm her mind.� It is her heart that
betrays her, thumping furiously in her chest.�
And, in the end, her fear.
Her
master palms his clawed paw downward, indicating she should kneel.� She feels the weight of her handlers
shift.� And she acts.� Her elbow flies up and connects with the
robe's chin on her left.� It shrieks, a
loud squealing like that of a wounded and indignant animal, and crumples beside
her.� Using the motion of her arms, she
puts her weight on her left leg and pistons her right leg out and lands her
foot in the thigh of the other robe.� It
too squeals and falls.� Deep, rich
rumblings fill the chamber, in concert with the braying of the robes.� She whirls completely around, ducking
slightly to avoid her Master's grasp.� And falls in the moisture of the stone floor.� The rumblings increase to a deafening roar
and, as she tries to quickly find her knees, she realizes it is her Master's
laughter.
There
would be no escape.� Not now.� Not ever.
Rolling
onto her side, she slides her knees beneath her.� To a shaky kneel.
And waits.� Head bowed.
Ashen gray.� A gray that lacks any specific color, yet is
made up of all colors.� It was the color
of the woman's skin, a stark contrast to the deep golden hue of her eyes.� White hair, the color of fallen silver,
rested on her shoulders.� Her small
breasts were chained at the nipples by small golden rings and a thin, fine chain.� Mid-point along the chain, just below the
curve of her neck, a second chain was connected.� This chain rose up and threaded the small
golden ring in the center of her nose.�
The tautness of the chains seemed to force her to keep her head bowed
slightly.
She
materialized out of nowhere.� Or maybe I
just thought so.� When every thought you
have concerns feeding your wanting belly, images come and go with regularity.� I had never seen a woman, or man, chained as
she was. But, I had never been collared like a dog before, either.
She
looked at me coldly, in that odd, bowed-head way.� Her golden eyes quickly scanned my bedroom
without expression.� Looking at me once
more, she cautiously crossed the room to where I sat, chained to the post.� I watched her breasts, unconsciously
wondering if the rings hurt her as she walked.�
With every movement, the chains stayed tight, and she was careful not to
raise her head the slightest bit.� When
she got close to me, about at the perimeter of my chain, she stopped and knelt
before me.� Without hesitating, her hand
felt the back of my head, adjusting the chain, all the while her eyes coldly
looked into mine.� I could see that her
pupils were slits, not round as mine.
As she
looked at me, they dilated slightly.� Her
hand had stopped and was nestled in my hair at the back of my head.� Slowly, never taking her eyes away from mine,
her other hand came up and unclipped the chain from her nose.� As it fell away, her head moved close.� Her kiss was soft, her taste bitter.� I tried to move my head away, but her hand in
my hair held me.� I closed my eyes and
returned the kiss.
Then
she was gone, out the door to the living room, leaving me to look down at my
hands that had done nothing to stop her, and my nipples that had suddenly gotten
hard.
Her
ankle is held tightly, so tight she wonders if it will be snapped in two.� Her Master bellows loudly and the two
remaining robes come to his side.� She is
lifted hard, by only her ankle, and is left to dangle, upside down, before her
Master's gaze.� The air rushing from
between all those sharp razor teeth with every deep roar is putrid.� His eyes, smoldering orbs of fire, motion to
the others.� Hands grab her arms and legs
and she is roughly carried to the center of the chamber.
She
lays meekly in their arms, unwilling to fight, ashamed at her fear. The
punishment will now be more than before, and it will have been her doing.� In the future, she knows, she will be kept
more secure.
Her
hands are pulled up from a rope dangling from the ceiling and she feels herself
rising.� The hands that hold her slowly
let go as she is pulled up and when she feels her feet leave the floor, ropes
cut her ankles and pull her taught.
Her
head rolls from the pain in her wrists and ankles.� Every breath pulls on either her hands or
feet.
She
returned with my portable CD player and a CD, the cord from the player trailing
her like a tail.� She didn't look at me,
which was good, because I wouldn't be forced to look away.� And look at her was what I wanted to do now.� The nose chain was back in.
Deftly,
she plugged in the cord, popped the CD into the player and folded herself into
a sitting position before me.� Working
the fast-forward and skip buttons, the CD came to life.
"hello" it said,
only it was Teri Nunn's voice from
The
woman looked up at me expectantly.
"What?," I whispered.
Her
eyes flared.� Again her fingers moved the
buttons.� "you ...would...try...answer."� Pause. ���"hello,"
she said again in Teri Nunn's voice.
"Hello."� I searched her eyes.� For what, I didn't know.� Too many things had happened to me to stop
wondering what was real and what was dream.
Her
fingers moved."..we...are...both...prisoners...I...am...your...mirror...you...should...do
... what...I...do."
"You're
supposed to train me?� For
Him?"
She
looked back with cold eyes.� "you...do...not...ask...me...again."
She felt behind her back for something.�
When her hand came into view it held five things.� Three small golden rings.� Two lengths of golden
chain.
He
stands before her now.� His claw goes to
her neck and lightly traces the brand there.�
His other paw holds her chin, forcing her to look at Him. Slowly He
shakes his head.� He punctuates this with
a hard scrape across her cheek.� As she
begins to yelp, He pushes her head roughly away.� If her thumping heart had betrayed her
before, it is close to exploding now. The four robes are hunched over the firepits, working with long, bamboo-like sticks.� As the flames leap up and lick at the sticks
they seem to become supple and a thick syrup substance begins to flow from the
skin like blood.� The
Master, now sitting again on his throne, impatiently waves to them.
She
lifts her head up, tries to move her knees and only succeeds in pulling on her
wrists more.� One by one, the robed
figures, bleeding bamboo sticks in hand circle her and wait for the Master's
signal.
"Fuck
off.� You and your
asshole, blood eating, raping, family killing, rope-lord master."� I tried to stand, forgetting the collar and
chain, got half-way and was yanked down hard.�
The pain in my ass was only fuel.�
"If you think I'm going to let you drill my fucking nose and
fucking tits you'd better hope there isn't another ring up your ass to get in
my way, because that's exactly where-"
She
was beside me in the blink of an eye, even before the CD player rolled lazily
away from where it had moments before been sitting in her lap.� She had a fist full of my hair in her free
hand and used this to slam my head back into the post.� My tongue, which had just gone ballistic,
crunched between my teeth and only the taste of blood in my mouth kept me from
quickly blacking out.� And then she was
back and out of reach, had I thought about retaliating.� Casually, she gathered up the CD player and
settled back into a folded legs position.
I
winced at the pain in my tongue, which was throbbing with my heart, and spat a
mouthful of blood in her direction.� She
didn't look up, merely wiped it off her leg.�
Her fingers moved across the player's buttons once more.
"that...again...I...will...die...you...he...is...to...be...respect."
I spat
again, this time on the player.�
"I'll respect him.� For fucking up my life."
"you...would...have...come...to...him."
"You
can be his whore, not me.� Take this
collar off me or I'll pull on it until my neck snaps."
She
smiled.� Normal teeth.� "you...would...not...do...this."
I
looked away.� Fuck her.� Fuck me.
She
doesn't see His signal.� Her head hangs
down, eyes closed, blood dripping from her cheek, hands and feet pulling her
apart at the middle.� The first crack on
her left side snaps her head up.� The
second on her back follows before her muscles begin to respond.� The third takes a thin line of her skin on
her right side before she can draw breath for a scream. �The fourth bares her belly as she begins to
scream.� As each stroke of the bamboo
sticks hit, a thin spray of scalding syrup splatters her and slowly starts to
run downward, pinkening the skin as it goes.
���� As the second round begins, her Master
feels the need to laugh once again.
"it...is...not...all...pain...your...inside...self...know...this."
My
temper, potently futile had shriveled.� I
wiped more blood away with a trembling finger.�
"What else is there?"
She
looked at me with those strange, golden eyes, and I thought she was
incredulous.� "You...understand...inside."
I
sighed.� "There is no escape, now,
is there.� For me or
for you."
"never"
She
left the CD player going as she once again slid up next to me.� For the first time, as I looked into those
eyes, I saw something that might be human.�
An unconscious emotion that I'd only seen long, long
ago and from a family now dead.
She
unclipped the ring in her nose as Teri Nunn's voice began the second song on
the CD.
'We walk into your room, A mirror's caught
your reflection'
She
held the back of my head again, running her fingers softly up the back of my
neck, against the tuft there...
...Her
body writhes as the bamboo whips rip her skin, around and around, leaving
trails of fire with every hit.� Her
screams have ceased as the pain overwhelms her.�
The rhythm, intense and filling her world pounds her soft flesh,
sparking something else...
...'You look away and call to me to fill in the frame'
Her
eyes filled my vision, golden orbs that drew closer.� Her lips tasted soft, as before, but now my
blood mixed with her bitterness as her tongue gently probed my wound...
...A
soft moan comes from her, and her eyes are rolled back deep in her head.� Pain from everywhere,
without end.� Her legs strain and
slowly rub together, defying the rope around her ankles...
...I
opened my eyes and saw a golden ring in her hand, two sharp, needle-like tips
poised on either side of my right nipple.�
I put my hands around her, not tightly, closed my eyes again, took a deep
breath, and kissed her harder.
'You are the answer now, you don't know.� You can be anything, you don't know.� You don't believe it now, you don't know
anymore...'
...The
pain rises up, out of her body and fills her mind with a deafening wave, like a
hot wall of fire that tears her very soul in two. Her body shudders and the
bamboo continues to fall...
...The
ring clicked shut and I dug my fingers deep into her back.� Her mouth covered my moan and my nipple was
on fire.
'You are the reason and the rhyme...'
...A
second ball of dark pleasure explodes in her pelvis and rolls across her body,
numbing her mind.� Her legs rub fiercely
together and blood now soaks the ropes at her wrists and ankles...
...'You are the only one, you don't know.� You are the fire of love, you don't know.'
The
second ring closed on my other nipple and I bit her lip, drawing bitter blood.
'You can't believe it now, you don't know anymore.� You are the reason and the rhyme...'
The
bamboo suddenly stops.� In the silence,
the Master stands before her.� She hangs
her head, her eyes closed, her lips drawn up into a
contorted smile.� Syrup still runs down
her striped and scalded body, but subtle muscle twitching is the only
indication she still lives.� He gently
lifts her head.� And
smiles.
All teeth.
'I walk this road, you follow me, I don't know why.'
EPILOG
She
stands motionless, eyes closed, feeling the rings buried in her nose, nipples
and labia begin to throb with pain as The Beast methodically chains the four
together.� The stench of his breath, the
roughness of his skin, the burning heat that comes off of him in waves, all
these start the damnable warmth in her belly.�
Her hands fall motionless at her sides as she waits for the rings to be
pulled taut by the heavy iron chain.� All
around her, she hears the moaning of the slaves the Master has assembled to
watch. Their fate, she knows will not be the same.� It is with immense pleasure that she is first
and last to submit to this torture.
`It's been nearly 3 years since my `awakening', when I stopped running
and turned around to gaze through the threshold of my deepest desires and
longings.� For many, including me, a
lifetime of running would end in death without growth.� And that's what it really is all about, isn't
it?� Growth.
"To thine own self be
true."� God what a
statement.� And yet, the
alternative is living a lie.'
I put
down the diary and looked out at the sunny, happy spring day. The little worn
diary had been relegated to a beat-up box of oddities in the closet.� So much had happened in those last three
years that self-documentation was almost out of the question.
Almost.
I bent
my head to the book in my lap and took up my pen again.� Some soapboxes support a good deal of weight.
A
grunt from the Master tells her to open her eyes.� For a moment, the being before her looks
almost human, with shiny black hair and obsidian eyes.� But the smile has too many teeth; the eyes
too bright.� Over His shoulder, she sees
the ashen gray woman, holding the ends of the chain which now binds her
body.� She too smiles, the light of the
sooty fires burning in her eyes and making her face glow.
Abruptly,
the Master grabs the slack chain and pulls hard.� She screams as the four rings strain to rip
free of the human flesh it pierces.� The
Master's other hand shoots out to smack her cheek, drawing a trickle of blood,
and causing her to suck in her screams.� Silent agony.� She
thought she had learned this lesson well.�
This transgression will be punished severely.
`The Beast, as I had come to call him, is me.� The side that lies
waiting with its coiled tail and sharp talons.�
The embodiment of everything I SHOULDN'T want, yet everything I
need.� You don't look at yourself in the
mirror and honestly say that you would be a different person if your boobs were
bigger, or your ass a little smaller, or your hair a crisper shade of evening
blonde.� You might voice it.� But you don't really think it.� At least deep down where the real thinking
is.
`To thine own self be
true.
`I was pierced.� Physically in the nipples.�
Spiritually in my womb. Even though I was
marked since birth, or before if you want to get existential, I needed to be
`baptized' by my own desire.� To be
washed in the water of yearnings I could summon but not control.� To birth the only person I could faithfully
be.� Only when I was forced to see what
it is I am, could I begin to understand all of it,
including the Beast.
`He is my Master.� I give Him
control and responsibility over my body. I need Him to tie me, hurt me, subject me to tortures.�
The human body is sometimes nothing more then a complex web of raw nerve
endings.� We wash it, feed it, care for it.� Yet the
`we' part is in our mind.� Only when I am
forced to feel pain and pleasure at the same moment, does the perfect meld
between mind and body happen.� Spiritual.
`My last threshold.'
Her
eyes again closed, she feels the chains slowly lift her body from the
floor.� The rings pull her sensitive skin
to the breaking point.� She tries not to
flail her arms and legs for fear that the earth will again claim her newly
ripped body.� So she dangles, body a screaming traitor of flesh, and feels the first wave
of pleasure ripple from the four tiny rings.
'The ashen woman, as I came to call her, was my tutor.� Always there to prod me in
the right direction.� She was the
one who branded me with the small golden rings I wear in my nipples and labia,
the larger silver ring I wear in my nose whenever I am not in public.� Did she ever exist?� Do any of us?�
Time turns all of us into ashes.
'My entire family died in a car accident.� My world died with them.� Heavy shit for a teenager.� The fetal position is what we fold into in
times of anguish.� All terms go to
zero.� Nothingness.� Except it isn't really
zero.� Something exists where we
think nothing should.� And when the light
of our consciousness graces its face for the first time, it may look like a
Beast.
`It was the ashen woman who turned me into a slave.� It was she who taught me obedience.� And it was she who was the keeper of my dark
side until the Beast came to teach me about myself.� In this world of instant gratification, I
learned to wait for direction.� I learned
to mindlessly do what was demanded of me.�
I learned to submit.
`I went out.� Seeking that which
only existed in a pseudo-fantasy life, I looked to the practitioners of this
dark religion.� Bars,
nightclubs, organizations.� All of
them were churches of faith devoted to the seeking and finding a climax to the
fire that burned in all of us.� Lifestylers, performers, everyone had their own niche.� Except for me.� I needed more, wanted more.� In stark contrast to the world of the Beast,
this looked like dress-rehearsal for the High School Prom.
'And I still haven't found what I'm looking for.'
Her
Master cups one breast, tracing the line of taut skin to the base of her
torso.� Then up the
other breast, this time allowing his razor sharp claw to dig a ragged path to
her nipple.� She swallows a burst
of agony and nearly submits to the waves of pleasure and pain that control her
body.
`He will embody all that the Beast embodies and more.� He is of the same vein as I, always a
traveler, never an anchor.� I will be his
slave for life.� He and the Beast will
merge.� My fantasy will become reality
and that reality will be my life.
`And so I wait for my next threshold to appear.� When it comes, I will not hesitate to step
through.'
She
feels his cock, swollen and enormous, enter her stretched pussy.� As he rams into her, the strain on her rings
is picked up by him, causing a brief moment of respite from the pain.� But almost immediately, he jackhammers down
and the rings scream in agony.� Again and
again, he impales her, forcing her body to cry in pain anew with every thrust
and withdrawal.� The fire now rages
through her body and she feels the ashen woman bury her tongue in her
mouth.� She climaxes and for a second
that could last an eternity, the pain, the pleasure, all become one.� The force of this new beast sends wonderful
blackness to her numbed mind.� Her body
hangs limp, a smile on her face, a glow in her belly.� Yet the Master pumps on.� It will be some time before He gets His fill.
I
closed the diary with a snap.� The song I
had been waiting for came up on my CD.� I
closed my eyes and lay back on the silk sheets as Metallica�s
muse, James Hetfield, sang to me.
'Where do I take this pain of mine.'
I
stretched my toes and fingers as far as they would go, imagining hard, course
rope holding me.
'I run but it stays right by my side.'
The
silk rustles beneath me and I feel his breath on my skin.� Hot.�
And sickly sweet.
'So tear me open, pour me out.� There's things inside that scream and shout.'
He
pulls on my nipple rings and the first electric pain warms my impatient flesh.
'And the pain still hates me.'
I open
my eyes and He towers above me.
And grins.� I am lost in His teeth.
'So hold me until it sleeps.'