by Cerys du Lys
“I’ll think about staying,” I say. “I want you to fucking listen to me, though. I’m not playing games here, Angeline. You better fucking do what I say, or else.”
She tilts her head to the side, blinking at me, curious.
“I made a fucking promise to you, love. I told you that if I could, I’d give you my fingernails, right? I used to scratch your nose when you had an itch. Well, you’ve got six of the fucking things, and I’ve got four left, so you better just fucking take the rest. Today. Now. Before I change my fucking mind.”
You have no fucking idea how terrifying this is. I don’t know why the fuck I just said that. I’m pretty fucking sure I’m going to regret this. It’s going to hurt like hell.
I change my mind really fucking fast, though. I stop doubting a single fucking thing. She pounces on me and hugs me and starts fucking kissing my face. She’s fucking rabid for my lips. I kiss her back and squeeze her tight and she’s holding me and nuzzling her head against my neck and being some loving fucking cuddly bitch. Fuck.
“Do you love me?” she asks
“No,” I say immediately.
“Do not lie to me, Noah. Are you lying to me?”
“Yeah.” Fuck off, fuck her. I can fucking lie if I want to.
“Can I lick your fingers after I am done?” she asks.
“You’re a sick fuck, Ange,” I say.
“I know,” she says sadly.
Well, fuck.
“Yeah, you can,” I say.
“I love you, Noah,” she says.
“Fuck off, love.”
“You are being very bad, Noah,” she says. She runs her fucking tongue from my collarbone, up my neck, to my ear, then she nibbles lightly on my earlobe.
I shiver. Fuck, that is some good shit. This crazy psychotic bitch is fucking amazing.
I turn to her and I growl in her ear, because I’m done being nice for today. “You better fucking get twenty packs of condoms real fucking quick, love. After this is done, I’m going to fuck the shit out of you, whether you like it or not.”
“I will send someone,” she says with the utmost sincerity. It’s fucking adorable the way she does it, like this is some serious fucking shit she’s promising me. “How many are in a pack? What kind do I request?”
“Twenty-four if you get the value pack. I don’t care what kind.”
“I will send someone to purchase one of the value packs,” she says.
No. Fuck you, Angeline, no. Go to fucking hell. I tell her this as gently as I can. “Fuck you, Angeline. I told you I want twenty.”
She gives me some strange as fuck look, like what the fuck do I want nearly five hundred condoms for? You know why I want five hundred condoms? Because I’m going to use every fucking one of them with her in a day or two, then beg her to get twice as many next time, and then I’m going to say fuck it and drag her to the doctor to get some goddamn fucking birth control pills because we’re going to spend more on condoms than we do on everything else combined.
I’m going to fucking live in this bed with her for a week. You want promises, Angeline? That’s my fucking promise. I’m going to fuck you, and we’re both going to fucking love it. If you don’t agree, fuck off.
“I do not know if you are sweet anymore, Noah,” she says. She’s got a beautiful fucking smile on her lips. “I think you are trouble.”
I kiss the fucking smile off her lips, but it comes right the fuck back. What the fuck, bitch? I do it again, and she just keeps fucking smiling.
*** Angeline
I take Noah’s hand in mine and we leave my bedroom. I do not want to leave because I want to make love to him, but we cannot. Noah and I are dangerous together. We will do dangerous things if we are allowed to. I am unsure if that is a good or a bad thing. I desperately want to do dangerous things with Noah. I am eager for him to tell me who is good and who is bad, so that I may smile softly at the good people without worrying they are bad, and so that I may kill the bad people so they will not hurt those who are good.
This is why I have brought Noah here. This is why I love him. He understands. He has always understood. He did not know me, but he knew that I wished to be good during a time when everyone else treated me as if I were bad. He knew that they were being bad and he punished them for it. He killed them and he saved me. Was that good of him or bad? I still do not know.
I like Noah’s version of good and bad, though. It seems correct to me. I know that sometimes he is bad, but I also know that sometimes we are all bad. I do not want to be bad.
I have been, though. I took Noah without his permission. I wanted to do it very badly. I hurt him. I removed his fingernails because of his promise to me. I did not want him to forget or to go back on his word. I did not know if he would listen to me or remember me if I told him who I was. In truth, I do not always remember who I was, myself.
Noah is almost everything I remember, though. He is a little more rough around the edges and he has a problem with speaking excessive amounts of vulgarity, but I think I can deal with that. I will punish him. I will slap him on the face and refuse to kiss him, no matter what. I think that is a good punishment because I read about it in a book one time. It seemed very bad in the story.
Maybe I will punish him differently, though. Maybe I will tie him up and hurt him but I will be careful and then afterwards we will make love together. I know that does not sound normal, but I will not hurt him a lot. It will be a different kind of hurt.
I think about it now, because it excites me. I will bind Noah to a chair and remove his pants and stroke his cock until he’s thickly erect, but then I will stop and watch him squirm and dance and beg. Then I will start again. That is not bad, is it? It will hurt, but in a fun way. I think that is fun. Noah, do you think that is fun?
I squeeze his hand and look over at him but I do not ask him. I liked when he choked me on the bed the other night. That was fun to me. I think he liked when I choked him, too. If we use condoms, oh... oh, I will like that. Then we are safe. He will not hurt me. I think this is a good idea. I did not think about it at first, because I wanted to feel Noah’s cock inside of me and I thought he would know to remove himself before he released his seed, but maybe that was not a good idea.
Does he really want to use five hundred condoms with me? That is a lot. What will we do with that many? Is that possible? I squeeze his hand again and I almost ask him about it, but I do not. I am excited because I hope we can do that. How many seconds would it take to use five hundred condoms together? How many breaths would Noah and I take? How many times would our hearts beat while we used one, then another, a third, until we reached the end?
I want to have sex with Noah. A lot.
We walk hand in hand down the halls. I lead him to the room with the nail ripping machine. He is a gentleman and opens the door for me. I nod to him.
“Thank you, Noah,” I say, then I step inside.
He enters after me. “Yeah, sure thing, love.”
“You may sit in the chair,” I say. “If you promise not to move too much, I do not have to keep you completely bound.”
“Sounds like a real bad fucking idea to me,” he says. “If you don’t strap me in, I’m going to move like I’m on fire.” Then he mumbles to himself, “Fuck, this is going to hurt. I don’t know why I agreed to this shit.”
I do not know if what he said is a joke or the truth, because of his previous propensity towards flames. It was just the one instance with the church building, but I do not remember anyone who was on fire moving in any particularly erratic motion. I do not recall ever noticing dead people move at all, if I am being truthful.
“I will strap your hand in, and your fingers,” I say. “Will that be enough?”
“Fuck,” he says. “Yeah, I guess so.”
I stare at him. “Noah, I do not like when you say words like that. You did not ever used to say words like that.”
“It was ten years ago, love. I started saying fuck and shit and everything
else since then. I don’t know why the fuck you want me to stop now.”
“I do not know how I am supposed to kiss someone with such a dirty mouth,” I say. “I will need to wash myself constantly in order to remain clean.”
He stares at me while he sits in the chair and I begin strapping in his one arm. “Was that a joke?” he asks.
“No,” I say. I finish strapping in his arm, then I go to retrieve my nail ripping machine.
“Oh,” he says, and he stares at me some more.
“Yes,” I say. “It was a joke. Did I trick you?”
I am good at jokes, am I not? I am sneaky. Does Noah think I am funny and sneaky? He does not look it. He looks at me as if I am strange. I know I am strange, so he does not need to look at me like that. I will know it whether he looks at me that way or not.
I begin bolting the machine into the table in front of Noah’s hand.
“Why don’t you just say fuck?” he asks. “Or shit? Fucking shit? Bullshit. Damnit? Any of that shit fucking works.”
“I do not like those words,” I say. I line up the crescent wedge so that it is even with one of his fingernails, then I tighten it so that it presses hard beneath it.
“Why the fuck not?” he asks.
Without warning, I slam both hands onto the lever of the device and Noah’s fingernail pops up and free. He is bleeding now. Also, he screams.
“Holy fucking shit, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
I pluck his fingernail loose and lay it on the table in front of me.
“That was a joke,” I say. “I am not truly angry with you. You did not know it, though, did you? I seemed angry.”
Once he is no longer screaming and squirming, he stares at me with a blank expression. “Seriously, don’t fucking do that again.”
I thought it was funny. I do not understand why he does not think it was funny.
“Are you mad at me?” I ask.
I try to pout. I hope I am pouting. I have heard that it helps mitigate a man’s annoyance towards a woman, because it makes her look attractive and sweet to him. Does Noah find me attractive? He is my sweet Noah, but am I his sweet Angeline?
“I am actually really fucking mad,” he says. “I’ll get over it, though. Just don’t do that shit. Fucking warn me or something.”
I do not understand that. “It will hurt the same whether I warn you or not,” I say.
“Yeah, but...” He looks at me as if he is attempting to discover words appropriate for this situation. “Fuck you, Ange.”
“Will you call me Angel?” I ask him.
I begin unstrapping his finger and setting another one into place. That is one, but we have three more. One of the ones left is regular and should be simple, although we must also remove his thumbnail. That will hurt the most, I think. I am not sure, though. His broken finger remains, as well. It is the smallest one and should usually be the simplest and least painful, but I am unsure if the fact that it is broken and currently mending will cause any unforeseen issues.
“Why the fuck would you want me to call you Angel?” he asks.
I finish strapping his finger in and then turn the bolt until the crescent-wedge is pressed tight under his fingernail.
“I do not know,” I say. “You used to call me Angel. It reminds me of then.”
“Look, Angeline,” he says. “That was a shitty fucking terrible time. I literally don’t understand why the fuck you would want to remember it.”
“It is not that I wish to remember everything,” I say. “I like to remember you, though. You were very special to me, Noah. Will you still be very special to me now?”
“It sounds nice, you know?” he says. “Yeah, it sounds real fucking nice, like we can go back in time and pretend nothing ever happened and everything’s the same, but it’s not, love. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Are you saying we may not be good together?” I ask.
“I am abso-fucking-lutely sure we’re not good together, Angeline. How the fuck is this going to work? We’re twisted, love. We’re seriously fucking twisted. I know what I said before, and, yeah, fuck, it sounds good. Lots of shit sounds good. You can write it down on a goddamn piece of paper and then read it out loud and it’ll sound real fucking good. What the fuck do you want me to say?” He changes his tone of voice to one reminiscent of an adult telling a child a fairytale. “And then Angeline and Noah lived happily ever after?”
“Do you wish to live happily ever after with me?” I ask him, tilting my head to one side.
“Fuck if I know.”
“You are scared,” I say. “I can tell. I understand. I will remove another of your fingernails now, Noah.”
I wait this time. He scrunches up his brow and clenches his eyes shut. I give him a moment before sneaking up alongside him and kissing him on the cheek.
“I love you,” I say. “I want to live happily ever after with you, Noah.”
He opens his eyes and I kiss him again, but this time I press my lips softly to his. “Shh,” I say. “Close your eyes, my sweet Noah. It will only hurt for a moment.”
That is a lie and we both know this, but he closes his eyes again anyway. I let my hands hover over the lever before slamming them down and ripping his fingernail from his flesh. Before he has a chance to scream, I pull it free from his cuticle and place it with the previous one.
Noah screams, but I comfort him. I go to him and I kiss away his tears. I understand. It hurts. It hurts very much. Oh, my brave, sweet Noah. I am so thankful to him. I am thankful for what he did a long time ago, but I am also thankful for this. I know that he is vulgar and sometimes he is rude and insensitive, but he is not those things. Would a cruel, ignorant man freely offer his fingernails to me? I took them before, yes, but these ones he is giving to me of his own free will.
It excites me. I am a strange, bad girl, and I think I am in need of punishment, too. I do not know if that will happen. I want to be bad with Noah.
Quickly, I fumble with the straps holding his finger in place. I release him and lift his hand up, cradling it in my palms. I go to him. I hurry. Swiftly, I kick his seat back, pushing him away from the table. He kicks his feet, too, but I think it is because of the pain and frustration he feels. Oh, my sweet Noah, I understand. I appreciate you. I love you.
I sit in his lap while holding his hand. Carefully, I bring both of his injured fingers to my lips. I kiss away his blood, then lick my lips afterwards. He tastes so wonderful and delicious and sweet. I open my mouth and place the tips of his fingers on my tongue. After, I close my mouth and hold him there.
He looks at me and I look at him. I have an idea. It is good.
My tongue swirls around his fingers, careful near his fresh wound. His blood slows, but I can taste it still. Holding his wrist in one hand, I hold near his knuckles with my other hand, and then slowly I begin. I move my head back, releasing nearly all of his fingers until they almost move past my lips, then I slowly take him inside of me again. I swirl and twist my tongue around. I treat his fingers as if they were his masculine erection.
“Fucking hell,” he says. “You make the weirdest fucking shit sexy, Angeline.”
While I suck on his fingers lightly, I move back and forth, grinding my lower body against him. He stares at me in a trance. I feel his body stirring beneath me. I am excited and elated. He is becoming aroused, but I did not think he would. I understand that pain is a difficult feeling to overcome. It makes everything easier, though. There have been studies on it, that we are more willing and able to deal with bad situations and disturbing things if we are aroused and excited.
“I want to take a break,” I say, pulling his fingers from my mouth and holding them near my lips. I stick out my tongue and lap at his fingertips.
“I think we should just get this fucking shit over with,” he says. “We’re halfway there.”
I place his hand on the table. “I want,” I say, placing forced emphasis on the words, “to take a break.”
I move off of his lap and kneel in front of him. My hands grab for his pants and I unbutton and unzip them with haste. He is not fully aroused and erect, but his cock is nowhere near soft, either. I pull it out from his pants and stroke it in my hands. Before he can protest, I lower my head towards his crotch and place the crown of his erection between my lips.
Noah stutters and gasps. “Fuck... what the fuck are you...?”
I bob up and down, bringing him to full arousal very quickly. He tastes good. The smooth, soft skin of his cock and a sudden gush of precum shuddering near the tip makes it easy to lick and tease him. My tongue swirls around the head of his cock much like it swirled around his fingers before. I lower myself until my nose nearly touches the shirt covering his stomach and I hold myself there for a moment.
When I try to pull back, Noah stops me. His uninjured hand is pressing hard against my head. I try to pull back more, but he pushes me down. I begin to gag and choke, covering his erection with my saliva. My eyes start to water, adding choked tears to the mix.
“Fuck you, bitch,” he says. “That’s fucking delicious. Suck my fucking cock, you whore.”
I like it. Oh, I love it. I know that is strange, but that is how I feel. I love Noah. I enjoy him very much. I like the feel of his cock pressed hard against the back of my throat. I try to take more of him in my mouth. I swallow and push past my unintentional gagging until I feel him sliding in deeper. I swallow more, breathing through my nose. The convulsing in my throat as I swallow seems to have a large effect on his arousal. His cock twitches and trembles in my throat, hard and deep.
My throat clenches and swallows around his cock of its own accord now. It feels as if I have something stuck in the back of my throat that I cannot get rid of, which I suppose is somewhat of the truth. Noah digs his fingers into my hair and pulls me off of his cock.
I do not want to do that now, though. I try to keep him in my mouth, but his grip on my hair is absolute. I stare at his erection with intense adoration while he holds me away from him. My tongue slips out of my mouth, trying to touch the head of his arousal, but I am not close enough. A small slip of saliva connects us together, though, running from my lip to the delightful ring between the head of his cock and his throbbing shaft.
