Sadistic Games

by Lucian Bane

  He angled his gruesome face at her. “Does that mean you plan to stay?”

  She choked on incredulity with that. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, Mordecai. Will I get my head chopped off if I walk out this freaking prison? I don’t know! So, I guess I am staying until I know what the heck else I can do and as soon as you’re well enough, I’d like to discuss that with you.”

  “Discuss what?” he wondered, sounding guarded.

  “Discuss… my… existence, what is going on, and whether I’m in trouble, will I ever be safe again, or am I facing death row for murder, that kind of what stuff!”

  “Cut my eyes so I can see you.”

  The reason for wanting his eye cut made her gawk at him. “So, you can see everything you mean. Because wanting your eyes cut just to see me sounds really… unhealthy. Mordecai.”

  He lowered his head. “Unhealthy according to whom? I want to see you, is that something sick to want? I like seeing your face when you talk, am I mad for that? Cut my fucking eye or give me the razor.”

  “I’ll do it!” she scolded, approaching his face. “Look up.”

  “Outer edge, just at the bottom of the brow line,” he instructed, presenting his swollen eyes.

  “God, your whole face needs ice-packs.”

  “You’ll get those when we’re done.”

  She paused, irked. “I will if you ask nicely.”

  “Tell me how you want me to ask and I’ll ask.”

  “No, I won’t tell you, you’re not a child. You’ll have to… Google what manners are and how to use them. Or get creative, I don’t care, just so you’re nice.”

  “What if I don’t want to be the kind of nice you want me to be?”

  “Then I won’t be nice either.”

  “I don’t care if you’re not nice. Who made that rule, anyway? Why can’t I just tell you what I want and need how I choose to? I’m not requesting you do things like I do them, why do you insist on doing it?”

  “Its common decency!”

  “Says who? You? Your God?”

  “Society! Alllll of society.”

  “Give me the razor.”

  “I’ll do it!”

  “Today?” he wondered.

  “Just be still so I don’t accidentally gouge your eye out. If there even is an eye left!” She moved in with the razor and held her other hand on the top of his head, mostly to keep steady. Her fingers sank into his silky hair and the tips pressed into his scalp.

  The slight moan he gave sent a streak of electricity zapping through her, sending her pulse racing. She took a couple seconds to steady her breaths then moved in, making a small incision into the puffy skin. “Shit, shit,” she gasped at the sudden spill of blood.

  She spun and ran to the towel bar, yanking a white hand towel from the rack. She hurried back and dabbed carefully at the blood. “Oh God, that’s… your face is horrendous.”

  “Other eye.”

  She moved to the other side, allowing herself to look again at his leg. Big mistake. A wave of nausea hit her, and she released a shudder.

  “What’s wrong,” he mumbled, sounding exhausted.

  “Your leg… are you sure it doesn’t need something?”

  “My leg doesn’t need anything.”

  She paused at the unspoken but direct request for other kinds of services. “I’ll do whatever I can for you.” She approached his eye and again made the tiny slit, catching the spill of blood with the same hand towel. “Does it hurt?” She remembered there was such a thing as medication. “You have any pain killers?”

  “The pain is fine.”

  “What do you mean the pain is fine? You can’t tell me you’re not in agony, I can hear it in your voice.”

  “You’re going to be pissed if I ride the pain?”

  He asked that with an almost curious fascination, like she was the strange one, not him. “Ride the pain? Why?”

  “Why not?”

  “Are you telling me you like pain?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Well, do you like pain?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “So, if you don’t like—”

  “I never said I didn’t like it, I said I didn’t particularly like it.”

  “Can’t you just speak plain English? You know what I’m asking. Are you a masochist? I just need to know,” she said, remembering her primary role. “To help, not judge.”

  “There’s nothing to help. I don’t like it and I don’t not like it. I have no feelings toward it one way or another aside from the fact that it’s a nagging reminder of a huge inconvenience. Do you have a fixation for pain?”

  His mindsets never ceased to dumbfound her. “No, I don’t have a fixation for pain,” she began lightly. “I just don’t like unnecessary suffering.”

  “And… why do you think pain from an injury is unnecessary suffering? Didn’t you learn the basic benefits of pain during your limited nursing?”

  She cocked her jaw. “You can see now?” she wondered, as he seemed to be looking at her.

  “Ninety percent vision.”

  She raised her brows, catching a sudden trickle of blood down his face with the towel. “Good then. I’ll leave you in peaceful agony then. Is there anything else I can do for you before I retire to my section of the prison?”

  “You could… probably help me shower,” he finally said, lowering his head. “Sloppy bastards fractured a few bones.”

  Oh, dear God. How the hell was she supposed to endure that? “Nurse Miriam, at your service.” She realized then. “Wouldn’t a soak be more appropriate? With some salts?”

  She watched as he reclined his head against the wall with closed eyes. “Yes,” he murmured like he was about to pass out.

  Desperate to get out of the whole Mordecai being naked event, she suggested, “Are you sure a round of meds and a bed shouldn’t be the first order of treatment?”

  His head barely shook. “Second.”

  She glanced behind her. “I’ll… I’ll get the bath ready then.”

  “Thank you.”

  She resisted the urge to retaliate with I wasn’t being kind. She wouldn’t be like that, like him. Although, she never encountered anything but pure logic in his thought processes, those processes possibly ending in sadistic tendencies was another matter altogether and one she was not okay with.

  Thankfully, the tub was huge and built into the floor with steps leading in. Locating salts and even essential oils, she dumped a lot of both into the tub full of water. More like a pool. It had seats nearly all around, thankfully. Would make her job much easier.

  She turned to find him gazing at her with his head reclined against the wall. Her pulse hammered in her stomach, wondering what he was thinking. She focused on her job only to run right into the wrong kind of problem. Getting his pants off. “How do we… get you undressed?” she wondered.

  He stared at her for many seconds and she was beginning to wonder if he heard. “Scissors,” he muttered.

  What was he thinking about? She looked around, wondering how to do even that. “You should… get next to the tub. Lay on the floor maybe. I’ll get a clean towel.”

  Nurse Miriam. You’re just a nurse, now get to it. She got everything ready and hurried over to him, taking his arm. “Ready for this?”

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  She was fully irked with her body’s response to his every little word and tone. His steps to the tub were jerky and measured. Each one looked like he was walking on a rickety bridge and any second it would break, and he’d collapse to the floor.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have crutches or a wheel chair?” She hated to see him walking at all in that condition.

  Head shake between non-stop grunts and shaky breaths.

  “Two more steps,” she encouraged.

  When he stood next to the towel, he began to lower his shaking body. She did her best to support him, praying he didn’t collapse.

  The sound of agony h
e gave when he made it to his knees had her ready to cry. “Okay,” she soothed, unable to keep the tenderness from her voice even though she’d sworn to only use professional, brisk tones with him. Screw his issues, he needed caring for and not just the physical kind. A nurse did what the patient needed, and he needed every manner of care whether he liked that or even agreed.

  “I got you,” she said, fighting to hold him as he made his way to lying prone. She held his head last, laying it carefully on the floor. Pants next. God help her.

  She cut from the bottom, her stomach getting sicker with every inch of bruised flesh revealed. And swollen. How was he even walking? “Those bastards.”

  She blinked the tears away, forcing her eyes off the six-inch-long cut on his leg already burned shut. “We’ll get you in the water and the… the salts and oils will help…” Her words strained out hoarsely when the bruises on his groin came into view. And then her breath froze at the next discovery.

  C H A P T E R N I N E

  Nurse Miriam

  Her reaction to his hard cock was almost amusing. That she still had no idea what she did to him was a fascination by itself. He was literally high as he absorbed the narcotic-like effect that her touch and voice brought into his blood stream. It was another derivative of their unusual dynamic and he couldn’t imagine ever having lived without such an addictive thing. Her every single touch held data he not only wanted but needed. He realized the exchange of information was a two-way even though Miriam wasn’t as acutely in tune as he was or as analytical. She was too busy trying to dodge and deny everything. Despite all her denials and dodging, her need to explore him all the way to the depths of his being screamed at him.

  He just needed to get her to that place where she could allow herself to explore, where her religious restraints no longer held her prisoner.

  “Let’s get you sitting.” She worked her hands under his shoulders, her touch careful and soft.

  He needed to figure out how to get her to wash his body. He craved to know what kind of pleasure that would produce while his pain receptors were wide open and his body in such a heightened state of awareness.

  The hot water was like an orgasm to his pores the second he began to submerge. When he was settled in and his head lay against the towel she’d placed for him, he turned his gaze to her. “I’ll give you ten thousand dollars…” he said, still winded. “If you’ll wash me.”

  Seeing the moral dilemma war clashing in her eyes was like consuming real food.

  “Please,” he added, sure he’d never used that word before in his adult life.

  She turned her attention to the water then stood. “I… I’ll have to get my clothes wet.”

  “I have dry ones,” he mumbled as he gazed at her, feeling drunk.

  She nodded a lot, taking a breath. She was talking herself into it, making the necessary exceptions and converting them into obligations, probably even moral ones. She slid the sweat pants up and over her knees then retrieved the bottle of wash along with a cloth. Mordecai was torn between studying her calves and figuring out how to get her to wash him with her hands, not that obscene material.

  “Wow, hot,” she whispered, stepping in. “Is it too hot for you?”

  He barely moved his head left to right against the towel-bed she’d made for his head. He watched her every move and expression, feeling his body fill up with things, the kind that had to be released or he’d explode. And judging by the agony in his balls and lower back, his cock was, without a doubt, the release mechanism.

  “Not the washcloth,” he croaked when she moved to load it up with liquid soap.

  She eyed him with that look she often had around him. The moral conundrum one.

  “Please.” Had he just begged? He was pretty sure it qualified. And yet, nothing had ever been more essential. While he’d never beg for his own life, he would expressly beg for what she gave him without trying. He fought to place his arms on the top of the tub. “I won’t… touch you, I swear it.”

  He watched as her fears melted, replaced with pity. But just behind that he saw it clearly, her own need.

  “If the washcloth hurts, then…” she placed it on the floor next to the tub and turned. “I’ll… get here.”

  His pulse hammered in his cock when she moved exactly before him. He was fascinated with how she created the logical dots out of thin air and connected them to her moral convictions. The little by-pass worked like a charm and allowed her to do what she’d normally never do. Kneel between the legs of a naked man and wash him with her bare hands.

  She leaned and pumped soap into her palm and rubbed them together then faced him. “Shoulders first,” she announced, forcing courage into her voice.

  He had to close his eyes for the event. The moment her hands made contact, he felt the battle she was locked in—finding a professional balance while fighting her needs. One that remained detached while at the same time going softly and carefully. He was glad for her struggle. He craved to know, in every way something could be known, that she needed to touch and feel him. He lusted to weigh the difficulty in her hands, measure it in her breaths.

  “Let me know if it’s too hard, too… whatever,” she said, her voice light and shaky as her hands glided over his arms.

  He couldn’t speak. He could only breathe and consume and silently beg her to go lower, faster.

  “Please let me know if I’m hurting you.” Her worry sent a shock wave into his balls, nearly giving him an orgasm. “Am I?” she gasped when he couldn’t stifle his groan.

  His breaths came harsh and unsteady. The truth was, the pain and pleasure were the most intoxicating things he’d ever felt. “Don’t…”

  Her hands left him.

  “Stop.”

  “I’m stopped.”

  “Don’t stop.”

  “Don’t stop?”

  “Don’t stop,” he barely managed.

  He couldn’t open his eyes and see what held her so quiet. He couldn’t take seeing and feeling at the same time.

  Her hands touched softly on his chest.

  “Please… don’t stop.”

  He didn’t know what was happening in her head but whatever it was nearly had him thanking her God. The slow movement of her palms over his chest was different. It was… perfect. He wasn’t sure what to call it but when her hands went below the water, her touch had taken an even different turn. One that made his cock burn with a hard fire. He forced his eyes open barely, needing to make sure it was real, needing to see what she looked like while touching him that way.

  At finding her eyes riveted on what she was doing, her lips parted and sent another heatwave through him followed by a buzzing current of electricity. He wanted to see, to watch the event but he couldn’t lift his head, didn’t want to break whatever spell she was under. His cock stood stiff in the water and he opened his legs, the movement of the water feeling like a soft lick along sensitive skin.

  The begging words returned to his mind and tongue as the idea that she would stop hit him. “Yes,” was all he managed, wanting her to know it was good, no, it was perfect the way her fingers stroked along his abs. “Please,” he added, craving for more. “I’m begging you.” The confession broke with his shameless desperation.

  In complete silence, her hands crept lower. Her pace said she feared what she was about to do but hungered too much for it to care.

  He watched the mix of desire and curiosity on her intent face, still focused on what she was doing. He was spellbound. “Touch me,” he finally said, watching her gasp and swallow.

  Her fingers carefully wrapped around his cock and he couldn’t stifle his ragged breaths. When she had him in a soft grip, she moved her hand along his length, calling forth a blast of air from him.

  “Don’t stop. I’m begging you,” he croaked.

  She answered with shaky breaths as she got bolder, moving to the very top then very bottom of his cock. She wrapped her other hand around him and he brought his head forward at the sur
ge of pleasure and fire, pushing into her tightening hold, a hold that locked his every muscle and held him tight.

  “I need to…” He didn’t know what to call it. Coming didn’t quite cover it. His breaths came harder and faster. “I need to…”

  At last, she looked at him and the heat and agony in her gaze imprisoned him in a new fire. He fought to breathe, sure there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room. “Release, Mordecai,” she whispered. “I have you.”

  “Fuck,” he moaned, looking down at her hands on him. The burning pressure built until he groaned non-stop with the intensity. “Miriam,” he shot out, realizing he wasn’t even sure what this would feel like, what he’d do. But he was there, he was racing toward the waterfall at the end of the violent rapids sucking him in. “Miriam.”

  Her brows drew together with that same agonizing desire that consumed him and he fought to hold on to that image. He opened wider and thrust into the detonation, a violent seizure of hot electrical ecstasy clamping harder and harder on his muscles. She turned up the painful pleasure, stroking faster with soft moans as his cum jetted out of him in pulsing waves. Her delicate cries lit another hunger in him, the one that turned on the two-way feed between them, the one that required him to do the exact same to her.

  With his muscles coated in ecstasy, it was easy to push through the pain and pull her so that their positions were switched, only his face was next to hers, his hand already inside her pants. “Let me.” He didn’t beg this time but commanded as he slid his finger into her tight heat. She answered with a shocking moan and he kissed at her open mouth. “That’s it,” he shuddered, watching her give in, her hands gripping the edges of the tub. He fingered her faster, deeper, harder, and she opened her legs and cried out, making him growl with a surge of hunger. “Touch your pussy for me,” he said, fighting to remove her pants so he could see her.

  The obstruction finally off, she put her heels on the edge of the seat and opened her knees, lost to the pleasure. “Oh Mordecai,” she gasped.