by Kira Barker
Even though I had briefly considered suicide as an out minutes before, that thought sent my teeth on edge. Just how desperate must the other girls have been to give up and ask for that? There was nothing humane or merciful about forcing anyone to beg for relief.
“No?” he concluded when I remained silent, flashing me a brief grin. “I know that you’re a fighter. I admire that about you, although it is likely the cause of why we didn’t work out. You try and try to fit in, but deep down you never wanted to be happy with me. You were always so quick to jump at anything you could use an as excuse to shove in between us. Your job, Brigitte, people’s expectations, your own insecurity… the list is endless. That I haven’t dragged you down here weeks ago just shows you the measure of my patience.”
Done with his little speech, he raised his hand, and my throat seized up when I saw the old-fashioned straight razor he held up catch the light. My body went rigid as he approached, still studying the blade. It took him a moment to notice that I was shaking, but, if anything, that just furthered his amusement.
“Oh, don’t worry, this isn’t going to hurt unless you make the razor slip. So hold still and take it like a pro. You should be used to that.”
With measured steps he walked around my chair, stopping between my spread legs. His eyes roamed up and down my prone figure again, and he didn’t even try to hide that he greatly enjoyed what he saw. The worst part about that was that it didn’t even seem like an overly sexual enjoyment.
Try as I might, I jerked away when he touched the soft flesh of my upper thigh with the back of his hand as he hunched down, his face inches away from my privates. For a second I had the perverse fear that he’d start licking me now any moment, but then a much more ingrained fright took over when I considered just how much damage he could do with that razor. I tried to get a hold on my panic, but it was impossible, my entire body now shaking so hard that I felt the chair rattle ever so slightly underneath me.
“Shhh, calm down,” he cooed, one warm hand splaying across my lower stomach in what wasn’t a very calming gesture. “It will be over soon.”
Screwing my eyes shut, I bit down as hard as I could on the inside of my cheek, vowing to myself that I would live through this. Whatever he did, whatever scars—physical or mental—he’d leave, I would walk away from this. How, I had no idea, but I would cling to this very thought until my last breath left me.
It was almost disappointing when instead of a sharp cut I only felt the razor scraping lightly over my skin, smoothly shaving off the discreet strip of hair covering the very middle of my pubic mound. Two more excruciatingly slow passes and I was completely bare, and Darren put the razor away again. Sagging with relief, I couldn’t stop the tears gushing from my eyes, a pitiful sob wrenching itself from my chest.
“Hush, now,” Darren murmured, his hand still stroking my stomach, and in that moment the physical contact was actually calming, at least until my mind snapped back from the temporary recess of madness it had succumbed to. Then revulsion gripped me and I felt my spine go rigid, for all the good it did me. He, of course, noticed, making him smile down wryly at me before he stepped away.
I thought he was done now when he didn’t return to the circle of light for a full minute, but I could still hear him rummaging around. Letting my head sag back against the uncomfortable steel slate underneath me, I stared up beyond the lights still tormenting my eyes. I had no idea how long I’d be able to keep my wits together, not like this.
He returned to me with two spray bottles and a stack of napkins, confusing me. I had no idea what he was up to until he sprayed some of what was in the first bottle on a napkin and wiped down the area he’d just shaved, the immediate cool sensation making me realize that it must be some kind of alcohol solution. He let it evaporate, then applied some of the other liquid before he pulled something else from between the stack of napkins now resting on my upper stomach. I couldn’t really see what it was but when he flattened it out over my pubic mound and pressed it against my skin, then pulled it away again, I felt my stomach sink.
I didn’t need to have any tattoos myself to know what a tattoo stencil looked like.
Darren’s eyes briefly flickered up to mine when I started to squirm, trying to dislodge the napkins, but my position was hopeless.
“You know, if you hadn’t threatened to leave me, I wouldn’t have to do this,” he told me matter-of-factly, then disappeared again.
After the last half hour I hadn’t thought it possible that my heart rate could kick up further, but when he returned, pulling a small cart behind him, I was close to hyperventilating. Ignoring me for the moment, he sat down on a stool between my legs, then snapped on gloves and finished his setup. I tried to look away but I just couldn’t. I also swore to myself not to make a single sound, but broke that promise as soon as he reached for the tattoo gun.
“Darren, please, don’t—“
“Shut up,” he snapped, then glanced up, catching my gaze. “First, you made me suffer through weeks of knowing that other men were touching you, although that should have been my privilege only. And then you just decide from one moment to the next that you’re done with me? This will remind you who you belong to.” Another one of those creepily charming smiles followed. “It’s almost a shame no one but you and me will ever see it, but the real gestures of love should only be for the people involved, anyway.”
With that he turned the tattoo gun on, and seconds later I felt that burning, scratching sensation on my most private parts. Suddenly no longer wanting to watch, I turned my head away, staring at the stark line between light and shadows, quietly weeping to myself.
It didn’t take him long, maybe twenty minutes, but every second of that I felt like dying. In so many ways I would have preferred him to just hurt me and be done with it, but this was a different kind of torture—one I found myself ill equipped to deal with.
When he was done, he cleaned up and slathered a thick layer of lotion on, then left, the sound of the door falling into the lock final, and not quite the salvation I’d hoped it would be. It took me another ten minutes or so to get up the courage to turn and lift my head, and stare down at the reddened, irritated skin right above my pussy.
In curly, perfect letters, two words were emblazoned there: Darren Hunter.
Chapter 30
I’d never handled being bored well, but now I was learning a new kind of torture. With my mind clouded by one insane scenario chasing the next, my body forced into complete inactivity, I felt like I was going crazy. All too soon I wished for Darren’s return, because while I was terrified of what he would do to me next, it was still better than not knowing. But the hours dragged on and on, and soon other issues started cropping up.
My stomach started to growl, but that was the least of my problems. I was thirsty, then felt the lining of my gums start to dry while my lips cracked. Every single swallow hurt, and soon my eyes stopped watering from the lights, leaving them swollen and burning. Eventually my bladder filled, my body incapable of retaining the water that was so badly needed elsewhere. I considered just letting loose, but held back. I could only imagine how he’d react when he returned and found that I had soiled myself.
And, a while after that it wasn’t just urine that my body felt it had to get rid of.
Still no sign of Darren.
I must have drifted off eventually, my dozing filled with terrified thoughts and mad half-dreams, because the sound of the opening door startled me to full alertness. Immediately I tensed, but not just in dreadful anticipation but because I really, really had to pee by then. That already left me feeling at a terrible disadvantage, but when I saw Darren come strolling into the light as if he had not a care in the world, I wished my maddening solitude back.
He first checked on the tattoo, the skin still red but no longer quite as swollen as before. Even his gentle touch increased the need for me to scratch the damaged skin to the point where I had to bite back a whimper. He still noticed, smirking
up at my face, before he got some more lotion and gently slathered it onto my skin. My cheeks started to burn with humiliation when I felt myself get aroused although he was only close yet not directly stroking over more sensitive parts of me.
“Miss me?” he asked once he was done and took his favorite place next to me where he could better gloat right into my face.
“Terribly,” I replied, my voice so brittle that I doubted he even understood. I tried clearing my throat, but that hurt just too much.
“Here, have a sip,” he offered, then made a small pack of fruit juice appear out of nowhere. It was a kiddie drink, one of those insanely sweet things that I hated, but as soon as the straw touched my lips, I greedily pulled the juice into my mouth. He let me have exactly that one pull, then removed the pack from my very limited reach. My whole body was clamoring for liquid by then, and it took me a lot to not just swallow right away but keep the juice in my mouth, swishing it to and fro. Tooth decay wasn’t really something that was bothering me right now.
That single swallow hurt like mad going down, and moments later it wasn’t enough already. I couldn’t stop myself from gazing at him pleadingly, but his face was set in a stony, impassive mask now, making me want to cringe away instinctively.
“I already told you, you will have to earn water. For the time being, I don’t intend to feed you. Until I know you’re worth keeping for a little longer, I’m not going to provide you with anything that will create an additional mess for me.” Looking down at my body, his eyes focused on my lower stomach. “Speaking of which—“
I gasped as pain shot through my abdomen when his fingers expertly prodded my full bladder through my stomach. I clamped down on my pelvic floor muscles but still felt the tiniest bit of seepage happen, but thankfully not enough for it to drip onto the ground. After an excruciating five seconds he removed his hand again, leaving me panting for breath as the pain slowly subsided.
“You see, you don’t have any control over your life anymore,” he observed, as if I needed that reminder. “The sooner you realize that, the better, for you. If you do everything I want of you, I will be kind.” Whatever that was supposed to mean. It sure didn’t sound like my definition of that term. “What do you say?”
I studied him intently, but he betrayed absolutely no emotion. Before, I’d felt like I could at least try to work with him, appease or anger him, but now he was as responsive as a robot.
“I understand,” I eventually ground out, my voice only marginally clearer than before.
“No, you don’t, not yet,” he replied, then reached for my belly again, this time making me yowl with agony. “But I will teach you, if I feel that you are willing to learn.”
“Please—“ I whimpered, and finally he removed his hand again. I took a few calming breaths, although “calm” was really not the right word for it, then tried again. “I want to learn, I really do. I know that you don’t trust me right now because I’ve disappointed you”—the understatement of the century—“and I’m aware that you think that I’m just promising you because I want to gain your trust, but I’m not. I really, genuinely, want you to forgive me. Please. Please?”
I thanked every single dumb fuck of a client of mine who’d been like Ray and required me to slip into a role where I had to humiliate and debase myself, because without years of training, I couldn’t have pulled this off. Not that I was convinced that I was actually fooling Darren, but at least he looked kind of pleased.
“I guess that’s all I can expect from you,” he replied, then turned away, only to return with a stainless steel pan. The moment I saw it and realized what it was for, I felt more color creep onto my cheeks. Darren looked from my face to the pan, then shrugged as he stepped between my legs. “You’re not coming off that chair any time soon, so you are kind of short on options. You can, of course, piss yourself, but I’m not going to be very happy with you if I have to wipe up after you. And your bladder is a little too full to catheterize you, although I doubt you’d enjoy that much. It would be one less degree of freedom. But if you disagree, just say the word…”
He let that hang in the air between us.
“No, thank you, the pan is fine,” I said, then screwed my eyes shut when I felt the cold steel touch my ass as he moved it into position. Even with my muscles screaming in pain, it took me forever to be able to just let go, and I felt like the skin on my face should have melted off by the time I was finished.
Using a similar napkin as before, he cleaned up any residual drops, then put the pan away somewhere in the darkness. My eyes continued to burn although no more tears came, and I prayed that he would just leave me be.
No such luck, I realized, when he returned carrying an IV stand with an enema bag attached. The look of horror on my face made him snort. He didn’t ask my preferences this time, but at least set to work without any further taunts or threats. I still hated feeling his gloved, lubed-up finger prep my anus, the sensation too familiar, dragging up memories I didn’t want to think about. At least he didn’t linger and quickly inserted the nozzle, then watched me in silence for an endless eternity before he got a good-sized bucket from somewhere. If peeing had been bad, expulsion was so much worse now. He put me through three rounds of that before he was satisfied, then quickly wiped down my ass and thighs and left me alone again with my thoughts.
Chapter 31
It’s interesting how quickly some things that are huge issues get reduced to minor nuisances. After that second visit, I didn’t feel like my growling stomach was something I needed to do anything about any time soon. I’d rather starve to death than go through that again, although I had the sinking feeling that it wouldn’t come to that.
But thirst was a different matter entirely, and over the next endless hours I learned that nothing, really nothing is as important as water.
I was half delirious by the time he returned, ready to ask for a thousand enemas in exchange for one sip of water.
Darren looked just as measured and composed as the last time, but there was a certain slowness to his movements that made me think that he seemed tired. With no way of judging the time, I wondered if it was evening and he’d just returned from work. Or maybe it was morning and he hadn’t had his coffee yet.
Thinking about any kind of liquid was torture, but I couldn’t help but see rivers of brown ambrosia flow all around me, that heavenly scent teasing my nose—
The loud sound of fingers snipping right next to my ear tore me out of my reverie and made me focus on Darren once more. I wanted to glare at him but probably only managed a pitiful grimace that instantly morphed into hopeful begging when he produced another pack of juice.
“Let’s play a game. What is this…” He held the juice closer so I couldn’t not look at it—it was cherry, this time—“worth to you?”
“Anything you want,” I croaked, not hesitating for a second. It wasn’t like I could keep him from doing whatever he wanted in the first place, and what I estimated was at least a full day almost without water now had been enough to hammer the message in that I was a very weak-willed person.
“Anything?” he teased, that lilt in his voice making me want to puke, although I doubted that my stomach still held enough acid to facilitate more than dry heaves.
Staring up at him, I tried hard not to keep looking back to the juice.
“Anything. It’s not like we haven’t done it all before.”
His lips curved up into a small smile.
“Oh, you mean sexual things.”
My mind took several agonizing seconds to understand what he meant. I’d thought he was referring to that from the beginning, because, really, I was naked, tied down spread-eagled, and he’d just branded my privates with his name. What other conclusion was there to reach?
“So you’d actively want to have sex with me? Want to touch me? Or even just want me to touch you?”
I could tell that he was still teasing me, but I was beyond caring.
“Yes.”
“Can you really consider it consent when it’s sex in exchange for water?”
“You didn’t have any qualms when it was for money,” I pointed out, a little proud of myself for that scathing response. And because he looked at me cross-eyed, I couldn’t hold back anymore and started to laugh, all that tension, dread, and hysteria leaking into it.
His eyes hardened, and for a moment I was afraid he’d punch me, but I was beyond caring. This was just too hilarious. Ridiculous even. Ask a whore about having qualms trading sexual favors for something she really, really needed?
“Well, then not,” he ground out and whipped around, stalking out of the circle of light.
If I hadn’t been so far gone, I would have tried to stop him, but with the floodgates opened, there was no return.
Suddenly, the lights above me switched off, leaving neon afterimages across my vision from endless hours of torment. Before I could even start blinking them away, a different set of lights switched on, illuminating the entire room for the first time, mostly focused on the walls.
My laughter cut off with something between a hysteric whine and a hiccup, the sound of my pants deafening in my ears.
They were all there. All twelve of them. Skin waxy, hair that had lost its shine, dead, soulless doll eyes staring at me.
He hadn’t just killed them. He’d also preserved them.
My heavy breathing morphed into a scream that seemed to come from the very bottom of my soul and went on forever, long after Darren had shut the door behind him.
Chapter 32
It took me hours to get a grip on myself after that little meltdown. Hours that I spent screaming when I had air for it, dry-heaving when I didn’t. My mind lay in shambles, unable to latch on to anything but snippets of observation or thought.
