by Cerys du Lys
“You are so sweet,” she says. Then the craziest fucking thing happens. She says my name. She says it, then she says I’m fucking sweet again.
I’m not sweet. I don’t know how to be sweet. I don’t know why or how she thinks I’m sweet.
She didn’t call me Noah, either. She said my real name. I’d almost forgotten I had one. I barely fucking remember it myself. She knows it, though. How? How the fuck should I know.
I don’t know what happens next. I black out. She shoved a needle into the side of my neck. That’s the last thing I remember. I don’t think she accepts my apology. There’s no fucking way I can even begin to apologize for my existence. I am a sick and twisted individual. I’m going to die. I’m already fucking dead.
Goodbye World.
*** Chastity
I wasn’t going to let her do it. That woman couldn’t stop me from seeing Noah. She didn’t own him; he wasn’t hers. He was his own, his own person, and he could do whatever he wanted to do.
I didn’t know what she did, but she did something to him. Why else would Noah try to tell me that he didn’t want to leave? That made no sense. Of course he wanted to leave. She treated him so badly and she hurt him.
I knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to turn Noah into one of her men. The men that wandered through this lonely, isolated house.
I knew something else, too. Sometimes the men talked to each other. I didn’t hear what they had to say most of the time, but sometimes I saw them talking. They spoke quietly, barely breaking through the ominous silence surrounding them. Sometimes if I asked them questions and they needed words to answer me instead of gestures, they spoke, too. Just a little, but it was enough for me to figure out what they were like.
That’s what she wanted to turn Noah into. That woman wanted him to become a quiet, lone figure wandering through her mansion, rarely speaking, bound to her service and her whims.
She was dangerous, though. She wanted to hurt him. I watched her hurt him the first day we came here, and I heard screams echoing through the halls days after that, too. It was him, I knew it. I didn’t know how, and I didn’t know what she was doing to him, but I knew it wasn’t good. She would hurt him unless he gave in to her. If he didn’t, I thought she might kill him. If he accepted her and caved to her demands, he would become like all the rest of these men.
I couldn’t let that happen. I needed to save him before she hurt him again. I needed to stop her.
I knew something else, also. I knew more. I knew how to stop her and how to save Noah. I didn’t want to have to do this, but she didn’t leave me any other choice. This was my only option.
*** Angeline
I bring Noah to my bedroom. I arrange for someone to carry him most of the way, but I do not allow anyone to intrude on my personal sanctuary. This is not like the white room, which is also a sanctuary to me. The white room is a sanctuary for anyone who wishes to use it. My bedroom is my own, only for me.
No one has been in it but me. I make certain of that. There is another room before it, acting as a gateway. It is considered a salon, but I do not keep much there. I allow people in that room if I need to, but they must leave before I enter my bedroom. They are not allowed to see anything beyond what I wish to show them, and I do not wish to show them that.
The man carrying Noah brings him into my gateway room and leaves him on the floor. Noah is sleeping again. I do not know what to do with him. The nameless man who carried him leaves and closes the hallway door behind him. Now it is Noah and I, alone, by ourselves.
“Noah,” I say to him. “I do not know what to do with you.”
He is sleeping. I have drugged him. I hope he dreams of wonderful pleasantries, but I do not know if he will. The last time I placed him into a forceful slumber, he did not seem to have good dreams. Does that mean he had bad dreams? I hope not.
Nightmares frighten me. They burn into my soul and my body until they become a part of me, so that when I wake, they remain. They cut and pull and drag me into darkness, forcing me to remember all the pain and anguish I have ever dealt with. My body shivers and shakes and I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to move, my eyes transfixed on one spot, gaze wavering and quaking from the force of my trembling body.
When that happens, I sweat, cold, and I want to open my mouth to scream but I cannot.
I do not want that to happen to Noah. I do not want that to happen to anyone. It is too painful to bear.
I glance from Noah to my bedroom door, then back to Noah again. His listless body rises and falls with every breath he takes. For a moment, I wonder if we can remain here in this gateway room. I know that is not possible, though. It is a possibility and a choice I may make, but it is not what I will do, nor what I want to do, and so it is impossible.
I move to the floor and lay with Noah for a moment, feeling the strong warmth of his body. He is comfortable. I like the way Noah feels. He is nice like this when he is sleeping. He cannot hurt me like this and I do not wish to hurt him. Our lives are much simpler when we sleep. I wish we could sleep forever.
I leave Noah and rise to my feet, heading towards my bedroom door. I place my fingers around the knob and I open it slowly. I look back to see if Noah sees me, or if he understands what is happening. No, he does not. He is still sleeping.
I open the door wide and grab Noah’s arms, dragging him along the carpet into my bedroom. Once we are both inside, I shut the door, trapping us within my domain. It is safe here, Noah. We are safe. Do not worry. I will protect you.
I do not know if I can protect Noah for always. I will guard him while he sleeps, though. Once he awakens, I do not know what I will do. He can hurt me. He has hurt me. I do not want him to hurt me. Why did he hurt me like that?
I ask him now. “Do you hate me, Noah? Why did you do that?”
He does not answer. I get on my knees and crawl towards him.
“Do you love me, Noah?” I ask. “Is that why you did it? Do you wish to have children with me? I think it is too soon, Noah. It is. I do not know if we can do that, either. I do not know if we should. Do you understand? It is not good. We are not good people. We cannot care for our children, Noah. How will we? I... I would like that, but I know it is not possible. I am not a mother, Noah. I will never be a mother. I do not know what is good or bad. I do not know how.”
“Maybe it is easier if you hate me,” I say. “I think I will like it if you love me, though.”
I get up again. Noah and I will take a nap together. I have decided it. He cannot sleep in his clothes, though. No, I will not allow that. I have pajamas for him. Do you want cute pajamas, Noah? It will be fun.
I go to my wardrobe and open the doors wide. I peer inside and find what I am looking for. A pair of soft pink pajama pants with a lighter matching shirt hang on a hook in my wardrobe. I take them, along with a matching pair that is pale blue. The blue pajamas are my favorite. I think they look very cute. I like how I look in them. They go well with my dark hair and pale skin.
I bring the pajamas to Noah. Before the nameless man assisted me with Noah, I returned Noah’s pants so that they covered his legs again. I did not castrate him. Yet. I am unsure, but I know I should do it. When he wakes up, I will explain to him and make him understand. It will be fine, Noah. I do not believe it will hurt too much. You must be strong, Noah.
I unbutton and unzip his pants, then pull them down his legs. It is a struggle while he sleeps in his drug-induced state, but it is not too difficult. I remove his shirt next, lifting it over his head. He lays naked on my bedroom floor. I do not put the pajamas on him yet. I will do it soon.
I remove my own clothes now, and we are both naked. I lay at Noah’s side and place my hand on his stomach. I place my ear to his chest and listen to his heartbeat and his breathing. He continues, constant, like a musical metronome. I count his breaths and his heartbeats while keeping time in my head. None of these things match. None of them are the same. I find that fascinating.
I realize something beautiful and profound all of a sudden. This is what I so desperately want. I do not know if anyone else wants this, but it is what I want. Here is what it is:
Instead of counting time by the passing of seconds, what if I count time by Noah’s heartbeat or his soft breaths? I like that idea because of the ramifications it will have.
When Noah is excited and his heart beats faster, that would mean that time becomes slower. There is more of it in the same amount of space. Do you understand? When his heartbeat slows, time becomes faster, because there would be less of it. Minutes counted by Noah’s heartbeat instead of using a second as a standard of measurement would become dynamic and living things, instead of static constants.
The same is true for his breaths. If he becomes excited and is breathing fast, time will slow and I will have more of it. When he sleeps quietly like he is now, time will speed up.
I do not know if this will work, but it is something I wish to believe in. A second is a long time. A second hurts sometimes. Many seconds can hurt many times over. Listening to Noah’s heartbeat doesn’t hurt at all. I love it. It sounds so gentle and natural.
I caress his muscular torso with my hand and feel the lines left by his abdominal muscles on his stomach. He does not stir, he does not know I am touching him. I move my hand lower, towards his thighs. The soft hair on his legs teases and tempts my fingertips.
I trace gentle lines towards his core. His masculinity is currently softened, but I enjoy the feel of it in my hands. I cup and fondle his testicles, rolling them between my fingers with light movements. His soft cock begins to stiffen somewhat. I think maybe what I am doing is not a good thing to do, but I enjoy it.
Noah stirs slightly in his sleep, but he does not wake. He will not wake for some time now. I know this.
I wrap my fingers around his half-erect cock and stroke him lightly up and down. He twitches and tenses in my hands as his cock grows. In a matter of moments, he is completely erect. Beautifully slick precum drips from the head of his cock, coating my fingers. I play with it between my thumb and index finger in between stroking him to keep him erect.
I am naked, too. This is not good. Noah cannot hurt me in his sleep, though. You will not hurt me, will you, Noah?
I move to straddle him, but I do not let him enter me. I place my hands on his chest and I stare down at him. Bending low, I kiss him on the lips while I press my upper body to his. We are tight and close together, hugging one another now. I hold his cheeks with my hands and kiss him softly.
I should not do this, but I do it. Reaching behind me, I hold Noah’s shaft and guide him into me. I am slick and ready for him. It is not difficult to be this way for Noah. He is so beautiful and handsome and he is mine. He is inside me now and I sink down onto him until he fills me completely. His cock twitches and tenses in me, but that is all.
We stay like that, Noah and I. I feel him in me, as a part of me. I kiss his lips and hold his cheeks and I love him.
Whispering to him, I say, “Do you love me, Noah? Will you release inside of me? Will we risk everything? I do not know if we should do that, but if you do it right now, I will not blame you. I cannot. You are sleeping, my sweet Noah. You are innocent and beautiful and flawless.”
I know I am doing something inappropriate, but I cannot stop. I am not innocent right now, I am guilty. I lift myself partly off of Noah’s erection, then sink back down again. I do this once, then another time. We set into a smooth motion, Noah and I. His breathing is quickening now. When I place a hand on his chest, I can feel his heavy heart beating faster and faster.
I rise fast, then sink faster. Once, twice, and another time. I want him. I do not want him. I cannot do this. I need to stop. I stop. I breathe quickly now to match Noah’s breaths, but I lift myself off of his erect cock and remove myself from atop his body.
I lay at his side and I kiss his ear and whisper sweet nothings to him. Time passes with every beat of Noah’s heart. It takes awhile, but slowly his erection softens until he is no longer uncontrollably excited. Moving to his waist, I lick and kiss the crown of his previous excitement. I taste us together, his sweet precum and my slick arousal.
We are good together, Noah and I. I enjoy our taste. I like the taste of Noah’s blood on my lips. I like the taste of his skin when I lick him, too. I love the taste of our sexuality commingling, though. It tastes sweet like a butterscotch candy. I swirl my tongue around the head of his cock until none of our erotic flavor remains, and then I stop.
I dress quickly after that. I don my favorite blue pajamas, with the pants darker, but still light, and the shirt a pale dusting of baby blue. I fidget with the pink pajama pants and fit them onto Noah’s legs. They fit loosely on me, hanging off my hips, but they are tighter on him. I give him the shirt, as well. I do not know if Noah likes pink, but I think he looks good in it.
“Let us go and take a nap, Noah,” I say to him.
He does not respond because he is already sleeping. I will join him in a heartbeat.
I pull Noah to my bed, where I sweep back my blankets, then lift him up and in. He is heavy, but I am strong enough for this. I slip him onto the bed and lay his head on one of my pillows, then I get in with him. I crawl over him so I am closer to the window. I pull the blankets over us. It is late afternoon now and it will be nighttime soon. My bedroom is growing darker with each breath Noah takes.
I shimmy close to him and lay my head on his chest so I can stare at his chin and his face. He sleeps soundly and looks very handsome and sweet right now. I put one arm over his chest and hold him tight. Before I close my eyes, I kiss his cheek gently.
“Goodnight, sweet Noah,” I say.
When we wake, I shall decide what to do. I will tell him and he will understand. He will know.
*** Noah
Fuck. My body aches and I want to bury myself beneath these blankets and fall back asleep or die. One or the other, doesn’t fucking matter which. It’s practically the same thing sometimes. You ever feel like complete shit, like your sick or you’ve got a hangover or you just don’t want to fucking deal with life right now? So you go to bed and fall asleep and when you wake up you feel like a new fucking person. Maybe. Sometimes. Yeah, this is that, except I just woke up and I already feel like complete shit.
Fuck.
It’s still dark out. I can see the moon shining through a window, which is really fucking odd because when I wake up in the middle of the night in my bed, I usually can’t see shit. There’s this tree in my yard and a fucking hill in the way. It’s kind of a shitty bedroom if you like a view, but it’s great for everything else. Sometimes you’ve got to make concessions, so that was one of mine.
I can see the moon, though. There aren’t any trees or a hill. Oh shit. This isn’t my bedroom. Where the fuck am I? I realize it after a second and everything comes rushing back to me. It helps that there’s an arm and some fucking sleeping bitch’s face on my chest. She’s holding me in a hug and breathing softly with her lips parted slightly.
The moonlight shines through the window and illuminates her face and her hand. I can’t see any of the rest of her because she’s under the covers, but damn, she’s fucking gorgeous. I almost kiss her. I don’t know why the fuck I would do that, but I almost do it. I almost press a finger to her lips just to feel how soft they are.
You know what I almost fucking do? I almost wrap my arms around her and hold her tight and go the fuck back to sleep, because I’m going crazy. Angeline’s stupid fucking bullshit insanity is rubbing off on me. I’m becoming a lunatic. I try to blame it on the full moon, but the moon isn’t full. Fuck you, moon. Go fuck yourself.
I don’t do any of that shit, because I’ve got more important things to do right now. Mainly, I scramble to shove a hand down my pants to see if I still have balls. That shit’s important. I do. They’re there. Good. Good? No, fuck good. It’s fucking great. She didn’t chop off my testicles. I’ve got to say, any day where you don’t lose your nuts is a pretty go
ddamn fucking good day in my opinion. I never thought about it before, but sometimes you need to put these things into perspective. Priorities and shit.
I don’t know what to do now, though. I check extra carefully, because who the fuck knows if she just made a snip or something? Fuck. Is that good or bad? I don’t want kids. I don’t think I want kids. What the fuck would I do with kids? What the fuck do you even snip if you’re snipping shit? I’m pretty fucking sure Angeline isn’t a doctor, so I don’t think I should trust her to have snipped the right shit if she was snipping shit, anyways.
Oh, she’d say, I’m just going to snip this shit for you, Noah. Pretend that’s Angeline. I don’t fucking know how to talk the way she does. You get the point, right?
She does that, except then I don’t have a penis. Snipped. Fuck.
I have a penis, though. Balls are all set and in their proper place, too. I can’t feel any other surgical cuts or slices or whatever the fuck I should look for. Everything feels regular. I know what my man parts should feel like, and they feel like that.
Going with that, which is a good fucking thing to go with, I’ve got a few options here. I’m not chained to anything. Fucking great. Angeline’s sleeping on me. Not so fucking great. Maybe not bad, though? Who the fuck knows? I peer around, but fuck if I know where I am. A room. Some bedroom. That’s all I’ve got.
There’s a knife, though. On the bedside table, there’s a knife. Looks dangerous. Yeah, I just said that a knife looks dangerous. All knives are fucking dangerous, alright? A fucking butter knife can gouge your damn eye out. Don’t play around with this shit, kids. I’m a professional. I know things. This knife looks really dangerous, though. Definitely some kind of hunting knife, on the smaller side, handle with a special grip that makes it easy to hold, with maybe a five or six inch blade.
