by Carla Blake
Rachel closed her eyes. How could she reply to that? When all Simon could see was an ex girlfriend he now perceived as being riddled with disease? She didn’t even know why he had such a virulent dislike of gays, or why he had suddenly decided to punish her for it? He was just crazy. Insane with some mixed up idea that he could save her from her sexuality and cleanse himself at the same time, and never mind the consequences.
“It’s not, you know.” She sniffed at last. “Contaminated I mean. You just think it is, but what you don’t understand is that before I met Kate I only ever went out with men. And I didn’t even fancy her at first, not really, but she convinced me that sleeping with her would be a good idea and so I did, and now I don’t even know why, or why I’m still with her. The sex isn’t all that great and you’re right, it is unnatural, but I guess I was just feeling unloved and vulnerable and I needed someone to care for me.”
“I cared for you!”
“But that’s the whole point, you didn’t!. You said you cared for me, and in front of your friends you even came close sometimes, but you didn’t really. You just bullied me, and made me feel inferior and stupid and worthless.”
“So now it’s all my fault is it?”
“That’s not what I’m saying!” Rachel said, frightened when Simon pushed her head even further into the sofa cushion. How did he expect her to speak!? “ I’m just trying to make you understand that sometime we do things without thinking them through first. I went with Kate because she offered me what I thought I needed at the time. She said she loved me and she made me feel wanted. All the things I thought I was missing out on with you.”
“So it is my fault!”
“No! Please, Simon. Listen! The reason I fucked Kate because she was there at the time and that is the only reason okay? She was there.”
“So you regret it do you?”
“Yes.” Rachel replied in a small voice. “I do.”
“And you really wish you hadn’t met Kate and got caught up with all this disgusting lesbian shit.”
Rachel nodded, as much as she could. “Yes, I do. It was wrong and I’m sorry. And I promise I won’t do it again.”
Simon took his hand away. Rachel, grateful and very relieved, lifted her head and sucked in air.
“You know.” Simon said, watching the redness drain from her face. “That time you almost sounded sincere.”
She was back in the bedroom again and handcuffed to the bed, but this time she hadn’t gone without a fight. Struggling and kicking and trying to bite, she’d fought Simon all the way whilst he’d hung grimly on, dragging her screaming towards the bedroom and shouting into her face to stop fucking struggling or he’d hit her so hard she wouldn’t come round for a week! Besides, there was no point. She couldn’t get away. No one could hear her. She was his, totally his. To do with whatever he wanted.
Rachel’s response to that was to try and whack him round the face with the handcuff she was still wearing, but with Simon still holding her wrists, any attempt to blind him with the still dangling part of the bracelet met was futile and he shoved her savagely onto the bed. The springs creaking loudly in protest as Simon wrestled her right wrist into position and then, holding her down with his knee digging painfully into her belly, rummaged through the bedside table and producing another set of handcuffs, quickly snapped those around her left wrist and to the bed head.
Now she was well and truly stuck and laughing at her infuriated expression, Simon slapped her across the face and told her she was scum.
Rachel spat at him, pleased when the saliva landed on the leg of his jogging bottom and soaked in before he had time to do anything about it.
Simon merely stared at her, then storming out of the bedroom, returned moments later with two bull dog clips.
“This.” He said menacingly. “Is going to hurt!” And he clamped them to her nipples.
Rachel screamed. Her voice high and thin as Simon cruelly pinched her nipples, twisted the bull dog clips around and then flicked the pair of them with his fingers. Then he left her, alone and in darkness and in incredibly pain. Her nipples on fire, the sensitive flesh feeling like someone was slicing into them with a razor blade as she bit into her lip and tried to claw back the screams and the tears that were now running down her cheeks.
Ten minutes later he came back. Carrying another bowl of water and a towel which he laid on the floor before sitting down beside her.
The sight of it made Rachel’s stomach churn. Her nipples felt numb, the pain now a raw ache that resided deep within the tissue of her breasts but which threatened to flare up the moment anyone touched them.
Sniffing back her tears, Rachel willed Simon not to touch them. Or to inflict any more pain. Or lean across like he was doing now. Smiling at her. Looking at her tits. Reaching out..
To touch her hair.
“Poor Rachel.” He cooed, brushing away the hair from her forehead before bending down to dip the end of the towel in the water. “ Feeling a little tender are we? Never mind. Let’s see if we can’t do something about it.” And grabbing hold of her right breast, he squeezed it until the nipple suffused with blood and whilst Rachel squirmed and cried and begged him to stop, stop! He removed the first of the bull dog clips.
Rachel howled. Screaming as the feeling rushed back into her nipple and Simon, compounding the misery by applying a cold towel to her breast, pressed down hard then reached across and removed the second bull dog clip, sliding the towel across her heaving chest and tutting loudly when she screamed even louder.
“Oh, for God’s sake, shut up and keep still!” He yelled, when she bucked beneath him. “It’ll help with the bruising and what’re you crying for? I’ve taken them off haven’t I? Or was that the wrong thing to do. Did you prefer them on, Rachel? Were you getting some kind of perverted, lesbian kick from having your nipples clamped?”
But Rachel couldn’t reply. Instead crippled with pain, she sobbed. Her wet eyes riveted to her breasts and to her nipples that felt like tiny, hot coals searing into her skin.
“I hate you.” She wept, trying her hardest not to move. “You fucking’ miserable son of a bitch!”
Simon shrugged. “Should have behaved.” He said, getting up to leave. “If you’d been a good girl, none of this would have happened.”
Twenty One
Darkness again. And pain. Pain in her shoulders and in her breasts. Pain in her head and behind her eyes. Pain in her heart, taking her on a personal tour of the depths of the human psyche.
She didn’t think she had much further to fall.
Simon had her. Completely. Absolutely. Irrevocably.
She was trapped, on this stinking bed. Her every movement triggering tiny spears of pain that stabbed remorselessly across her shivering, naked skin. She wasn’t even sure if she was really the cold that was making her shake or whether the goose bumps that were marching across her skin were just the result of all the torment, pain and humiliation she was suffering. She longed for the duvet. Or anything she could cover herself with. Instead she had only herself and pulling her knees up to her waist, the handcuffs too short to allow her to roll up into a proper ball, she tried to conserve what little heat she had.
Then she cried, loosing herself in a pool of her own misery as the tears ran hotly down her cheeks and into her mouth and she wondered how she could be so calm and defiant when Simon was in the room, and so low and broken when he wasn’t, and in which of these personas she would be able to put her trust when the chips were finally down?
My money’s on the feisty bitch, Kate whispered inside her head and she cried still more, turning her head so she could blow her stuffed up nose into the pillow and not caring that Simon would be furious when he found out or that he would probably punish her for ruining his Egyptian cotton sheets. What could he do that was worse than the pain he had already inflicted? Her breasts hurt like hell. The pain a
deep, throbbing ache that pulsed with her heartbeat and shot stabbing pains across her chest every time she moved.
At least she was still alive, although that wasn’t much comfort. She was broken, she sniffed. Reduced to a sniveling, quivering wreck just because she had believed what Simon had told her. She was pathetic! Weak. Stupid! Kate would never have got herself into this kind of situation and nor would Polly. They would have told Simon where to shove the bloody address book and stormed off, not followed him blindly into his trap. Only she was that stupid and bloody trusting. Stupid, thick Rachel. So easily tempted by a bit of money. So ready to believe in any old cock and bull story she was fed. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known there wasn’t any cash stuffed inside the address book. She’d known there hadn’t been, one hundred percent! Yet still she’d trotted along like a lamb to the slaughter.
To end up like this. Trussed to a bed, with nipples that were throbbing like twin Belisha beacons.
The bedroom door swung open and Simon appeared at the threshold. The soft, blue glow from the television replaced by a muted orange that spilt reluctantly into the bedroom, stopping a few feet short of the bed.
“Food.” He said, indicating a plate with a sandwich on it. “Eat it.”
Rachel regarded him silently, too afraid to say anything in case she antagonized him further and he tried to outdo the torture session he’d performed on her nipples.
Instead, she waited, her heart beating slow and thickly in her chest, her breath coming through her mouth as Simon stood in the doorway and examined her. His eyes sweeping up and down her naked body before stopping at the dark triangle between her legs, frowning as if trying to work out why it was there and what it was for?
Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, Rachel shifted and he rolled his eyes away. Walking into the room to lay the plate near her feet before silently turning and closing the door behind him.
Unwilling to believe that that had been it, Rachel stared at the plate. The edge of it was resting against the side of her right foot and she looked hungrily at the sandwich, wondering if she should just go for it, or whether she should wait and see if Simon was going to come slamming back into the room, demanding to know why she wasn’t eating and ready to ram it down her throat till she choked.
Her stomach rumbled loudly and she realised she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
The sandwich looked good too. Brown bread with cheese and salad. And if she wasn’t mistaken mayo! Smeared along the crust of one of the two halves.
She was going to have to eat. If she could reach it.
Crossing her left leg over her right, she grabbed the plate between her toes and nudged it up the side of her right leg until it reached her knee. Then rolling onto her right side, she ignored the pull in her shoulders and the brief flair of pain that seared through her breasts, and with her left knee, shoved the plate as far up her chest as it would go.
Then she ate like an animal. Reaching down and tearing great chucks off with her teeth before chewing hungrily. Aware that it was clumsy and undignified and that Simon had probably planned it that way, but determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing that she cared. She was beyond that now. If she was going to survive then she needed to eat. The decision had been made.
She was though with crying. It wasn’t getting her anywhere, other than deeper into despair, and crying was making her loose water she couldn’t be sure of replenishing. She also didn’t want Simon to think he was beginning to wear her down, although a certain amount of cowering obviously needed to be done if she was going to avoid another clamping of the nipples or some other such punishment for answering him back.
And no more thinking she was going to die, that was definitely out. From now on she was going to stay positive and think rationally. Take the groceries in the kitchen for instance. Why would Simon have stockpiled all that stuff if he was truly thinking of killing her? For one thing it was a blatant waste of money and for another, he had enough cans and tins in there to last a month and that was just so not Simon’s style. Simon liked his food fresh. He bought daily and he chose carefully. The tins in his cupboard rarely lasting more than a fortnight before he tossed them down the rubbish chute as too old to even contemplate opening.
Complaining about the waste and the environmental damage he was inflicting didn’t have any effect either. Nor did pointing out the millions of starving or the more sensible idea of simply buying the food he was intending to eat that week. Simon had cupboards in his kitchen designed to store dry goods, therefore he had to have dry goods to store in them. Everything was for show and everything was for effect, which was lamentable when taken into account the amount of visitors Simon had. He hardly had any, and those he did have, never looked inside his kitchen cupboards.
Therefore the groceries had to be for her, which meant he was planning on keeping her alive for some time. But for what? It certainly wasn’t to ‘save her soul’ from the horrors of lesbianism. Even Simon wasn’t daft enough to believe he’d ‘cured’ her of all things gay simply by making her watch a girl, girl romp on TV and then force her to confess how awful it all was. So why was he doing it? Revenge? Sick delight? She didn’t have a clue. All she did know was that she had to stop wallowing in self pity and get away.
The door opened again and Simon stepped back in. He had changed for a second time. Swapping jogging bottoms and sweat shirt for a dark blue bathrobe that gaped near his knees and afforded her glimpses of calves thickly matted with hair. He’d also showered again. The citrus smell of earlier now replaced by one that smelt vaguely of spice.
Reaching her bed, he picked up the plate and fastidiously brushed up the crumbs she’d spilt on the bed, then carrying it through to the lounge, he returned moments later with a tumbler and straw that he carefully set on the bedside table.
“Drink.” He said simply, pointing at the glass. “I’ll be back to collect it later. And don’t spill it. I don’t want to be clearing up your mess.”
Rachel bit her tongue. She was dying to answer back and remind him what a bastard he was and how he was never going to get away with keeping her tied up like this, but she didn’t want to get into an argument and potentially risk loosing the water, so instead of letting fly with curses, she allowed her eyes to follow him around the room, watching as he picked up the duvet, folded it in half and then shoved it in the wardrobe.
He’s loosing it, she thought, watching him ram the duvet in with his foot in an effort to get the wardrobe door to close. The Simon I knew would never had put a duvet away like that. He would have folded it, placed it inside a protective wrapping and then carefully laid it on a shelf. Not thrown it in any old how.
Simon turned to her. “You know.” He said, plonking himself down on the end of the bed and grabbing hold of one of her feet. “I’m getting kinda tired of seeing you lying there all tucked up and cosy on my bed while I’m the one sleeping on the sofa. Especially as I’m not the one who’s brought all these germs into my home. So what say we swap places? Or better still, why don’t I lock you somewhere out of my sight, where I don’t have to look at you and be reminded of the absolute filth you carry around with you.”
“Okay mastermind. What do we do now?”
Polly’s voice was edged with resentment. All of it aimed at Kate, who currently staring out into the darkness, refused to look at her. Which was just as well because Polly didn’t want to look at her either. She was fed up to the back teeth with Kate’s stubborn attitude and her absolute refusal to listen.
Because she wasn’t. Listening that is. Instead, every time Polly tried to talk to her, she’d get up again and start pacing the living room, smoking cigarette after cigarette and loudly declaring that she couldn’t understand why they were sitting around at home doing nothing. She blamed Polly for every terrible fate she imagined Rachel might be suffering too, which really hurt Polly, who desperately trying to keep her temper, nevertheless was
sorely tempted to shove Kate out of the front door and tell her to bugger off over to Simon’s if that’s what she wanted.
Instead she took her frustration out on the washing up and after fifteen minutes alone in the kitchen, it gradually dawned on her that maybe Kate’s feelings for Rachel were on a whole different level to her own, and she shouldn’t be so quick to judge. How would she feel if it were her lover out there?
Feeling contrite she went back into the lounge to confront Kate.
Kate was now standing amid a smoke induced circle and wafting the worst of it away Polly told her that she understood how Kate felt but they had to stick to the plan. Wait for morning. There was nothing they could do in the middle of the night anyway and nowhere they could go. They had to think rationally instead of storming off in a rage and taking their worry out on each other.
Kate told her to shut the hell up and then, snatching up her third packet of cigarettes and viciously tearing open the cellophane wrapper, she rounded on Polly.
How could she sit just there? She wanted to know. How could she wait? Morning was soddin’ hours away. It was driving her bloody crazy!
You’re not the only one, Polly thought, and attempted to calm her down, but Kate was having none of it and eventually, more to give her ears a rest than a genuine belief that they would achieve something useful, they’d climbed in the car and ended up here. Parked a little ways down the street from where Simon lived, with the engine running for warmth and absolutely no idea what to do.
“What are you asking me for?” Kate asked now, turning away from the window to moodily rummage in her handbag for a cigarette. “I thought you were the one with all the answers. You’re the one who suggested we came here, remember?”
“Yes, but not at three in the morning! For God’s sake Kate, it’s cold, it’s dark and how suspicious do you think we’re going to look if we roll in there now? The concierge is either going to think we’re a couple of hookers or else call the police.”
