Good Sick: A Dark Psychological Romance

by Sansa Rayne

  “Fine,” she said.

  “Good. Continue.”

  She kept her burning gaze locked onto me for a minute, then her expression softened. “There was Meredith, who’d been there just a little longer than Elspeth…”

  I listened intently as she described one girl after another, flogging her chest periodically when her emotions threatened to overwhelm her again. The pain I caused wasn’t meant to motivate her, but distract her from a far greater source. Maybe that was why it worked. She told me about Meredith, who banged on the walls of her room the first time she discovered she was locked in. Then there was Lila, who only lived on the farm for a week before she disappeared.

  “She was so beautiful,” said Abigail, unable to hold back tears. I could have cried too, had I not been on the verge of having an aneurysm from pure rage.

  After Lila, she told me about Grace, a true believer in Good Souls, but Grace left a few weeks after Abigail arrived. Then there was Ophelia, who always seemed paralyzed by fear, and remained mute as long as Abigail knew her.

  I cataloged every detail I could, though much of what she was telling me had already been provided by Elspeth Connors and some of the other girls. She must have been rubbing off on me though, because the more stories she told, the less inclined I was to flog away her tears. Each name that passed through her lips was a bullet in my gut, though she had no way of knowing.

  When she finally said, “That’s it, that’s all of them,” I couldn’t even look at her. I barely kept my voice steady as I said, “I need a minute,” and left the room. I shut the door to the dungeon behind me and launched up the stairs. Abigail belted out a stream of invective, but I had to get out of that room.

  I swept through my apartment at category five, blowing my case files across the room, upending the table in a satisfying cacophony of breaking glass, crunching plastic and wood hammering on wood. I buried my fist so far into the wall I couldn’t pull it out at first, like a finger trap made of drywall and insulation.

  When I finally burned through my fury, I stepped over the sharp shards on the floor and found my phone.

  “Frank,” I said.

  “What is it? You couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” He sounded sleepy. How late was it? Fuck, it’s fucking late.

  “Sorry. I just talked to Lamb.”

  I could hear him slide out of bed, followed by the door to his bathroom closing behind him.

  “What did you learn?”

  “A few things. But…” I held back the urge to toss my chair through the apartment window.

  “Nothing about her,” Frank groaned.

  “No,” I replied. “She didn’t know Kaya.”

  Lying there, tied to the bed, I couldn’t believe I wasn’t mad. I felt disbelief, more than anything else, with a hint of confusion. I heard the racket upstairs. Why was he so upset? It’s not like he was there. Brady didn’t keep him locked in a room. Ironically, that’s what he was doing to me.

  I didn’t mind, though; not in this case. The ropes felt amazing around my wrists. Knowing that I couldn’t get out kept my engine humming, ready to shift into drive and hit the gas. I closed my eyes and focused on the sensations running across my skin: the grip of the rope, the soft sheets below me, the throb of my flogged breasts. I could hear the buzzing of Mason’s voice distilled down to its bass tones; he was talking to somebody. Or maybe he’d turned on the TV? I wasn’t sure. Had his phone rung? Could I have been hearing that instead? I didn’t know.

  He had been right about one thing: talking about the other girls helped. I hadn’t realized how many I’d known throughout the years. They all came flooding back to me, so fast I could barely get to all of them. It was like trying to remember all the classes you took back in high school, and all your teachers. You saw them every day for months and months, but once the calendar rolled over, the new replaced the old.

  More importantly, mentally chronicling my six years at Good Souls made me aware of a fact in a new context: why had I been there for so long? None of the other girls lasted more than 18 months before their “ascension.” They all disappeared eventually. I was the lone deviation from this pattern. Why? What made me different?

  Guess I’ll have to ask Brady, I thought ruefully. I’m sure if they ever find him I won’t be the only one with a few questions.

  One thing I discovered that night was that time spent in bondage moved very slowly: with little to do to pass the time, seconds expanded into minutes. Though I enjoyed the experience, I didn’t want to be left like that all night, which seemed very, very possible.

  However, after what felt like an hour, I heard Mason’s footsteps pound down the stairs.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “You couldn’t have untied me before you left?”

  He shrugged. “You didn’t enjoy it?”

  I sighed. “I did. If I had yelled, would you have come let me out?”

  He grinned. “Depends on how loud you were. If you’d hit the sweet spot.”

  “What’s that?” I felt a fresh stirring inside.

  “Yell too softly, it wouldn’t sound urgent enough. Too loud, I’d have to punish you for making noise.”

  “I see. Loud like this?” I screamed.

  “Are you trying to earn yourself a flogging?” he asked, smiling to himself.

  “Maybe,” I said coyly. Whatever was bothering him, I wanted to help soothe it, considering he’d done the same for me.

  “I have a better idea. Something more appropriate for dealing with somebody who’s being too loud.” He scanned one of the shelves of toys along the wall of his dungeon and picked out an item I had never seen before: some kind of large, red ball attached to a black belt. He moved so quickly I gasped, and opening my mouth to do so gave him the opportunity he needed to slip the gag between my teeth. I screamed into the thick ball, my tongue depressed and overwhelmed by the sterile taste of rubber. He reached over my head and fastened the buckle, pulling it tight.

  “Try to spit it out,” he ordered.

  I forced my tongue against it, I opened my jaw as wide as I could, I shook my head — nothing worked. The gag wouldn’t come out.

  “Very nice,” he said. “Think you can be quiet now?”

  I moaned and nodded. I blushed, hating how hot the gag made me feel. Humiliating and confining at the same time, the sense of fullness in my mouth stoked my hunger even further.

  Mason sat down on the bed and caressed my breasts, tracing his fingers gently over the flesh reddened by the punishment he’d dished out. My breath caught in my throat as pain welled up from my sore skin. I felt his touch like a burning feather: so soft it could barely be said to be real, but hurting enough that it couldn’t be ignored.

  Using his other hand, he reached down to my sopping core and massaged me gently, eliciting my needful cries.

  “I don’t know how he did it,” said Mason.

  “Huh?” I mumbled.

  “I don’t know Brady resisted doing this. I don’t picture him being a strong man, but all those years… I wouldn’t have been able to.”

  Though his words tickled me, my thoughts turned dark and a chill ran down my spine. Maybe he resisted because his true desires were more twisted. Maybe his sickness had something to do with the other girls’ ascensions. I forced myself not to dwell on the notion, because Mason didn’t stop exploring between my legs.

  Suddenly he stopped and withdrew his hand, causing me to buck against my bonds, desperate for him to keep going.

  “Behave, Abigail, or you won’t get the treat I had planned.”

  Treat?

  He got up and picked out another toy, another object new to me. It was long and white, with a handle and some kind of orb at the end. A wire came out the end of the device, and Mason plugged it into the wall.

  Oh wow, I thought. The demons would be cackling and rolling on the floor if I still believed in them.

  “Know what this is?” he asked, waving the toy in the air.

  I didn’t, thou
gh I had some idea of what it could be. He pressed the orb against my tender entrance and flicked a switch. As soon as he did, my world exploded. A powerful passion erupted in my core, as the vibrations passing through my body electrified every part of me. I shifted and thrashed on the bed, but Mason held the toy firmly against me.

  “Come whenever you want,” he said. “Don’t hold back.”

  I experienced an intense bliss beyond belief. I writhed and jerked in my bonds, buffeted by the waves of ecstasy. Mason followed my movements, keeping the vibrator planted against me. The bedposts jostled as I tried kicking my legs, but there was no escaping the ropes. The futility fueled my hunger even further, and when I gazed up into Mason’s eyes, he stared back with the same desire. His rod bobbed in the air, hard as wood, but he was content to watch.

  When my orgasm reached its peak, I screamed in joy. Warmth flooded my body and my synapses burned. The sheets below me grew damp as my fluids soaked into them, and I went still, basking in the afterglow of the monumental climax.

  However, the vibration of the device didn’t stop. I watched Mason expectantly.

  Surely he could tell I came?

  “Mmm?” I mumbled.

  “Nope. You’re not done yet,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “I want to see how many orgasms you can have. As long as you’re mine, Abigail, I’m going to test your limits. I will push your threshold for pain. You will discover turn-ons you’ve never imagined. Look around. There’s a very long list of ways to enjoy your body. Now you’re going to find out what it’s like being unable to stop yourself from coming over and over.”

  I had not thought of it that way, For such a long time, I would never have imagined experiencing such release even once. To have it multiple times in a row? Such a sinfully decadent idea… Not even the demons would offer such a bold suggestion.

  So I didn’t fight the resurgence of euphoria as the second orgasm built. By the time I moved onto the third, I was starting to lose the ability to differentiate one orgasm from another: they became a single sustained state that continued while I flew off into a realm of contentment unmatched in my life. Like I wasn’t even there in the room, I floated through space, propelled by an overwhelming joy that didn’t stop until I passed out, spent and lost to the world.

  —

  I couldn’t tell how long I’d slept. In Mason’s basement, the lack of sunlight could have meant it had been 15 minutes or 15 hours. All I had to go on was how incredible I felt: impossibly rested and happy. Sometime while asleep Mason had taken the gag out of my mouth; though it was gone, my jaw ached slightly. I didn’t mind; it helped accentuate the throb in my core. He had left my hands tied, though my feet he’d freed.

  “Mason?”

  I listened, and in a minute heard his footsteps.

  “Hey,” he said as he came in. He wore dark blue jeans and a tight muscle shirt, and for a moment I didn’t want him to untie me anymore. How he looked so handsome in everything from a tank top to a suit, I couldn’t fathom. He kissed my forehead, then worked out the knots in the rope, releasing my wrists. I rubbed my hands together and then clutched my breasts.

  “Thanks for last night,” I said. “It was wonderful.”

  “You’re welcome.” He kissed me again, then helped me to my feet. “Come, I made breakfast.”

  I followed him, watching the floor for debris and shards of glass, but it appeared all clear. He must have cleaned up. As soon as I saw I didn’t have to watch my step, my attention immediately shifted to the enticing aromas emanating from his kitchen: eggs, bacon, toast and coffee. We ate without speaking; I felt starved and ate ravenously, while Mason watched, amused at my frenzy.

  “Abigail, I have to meet up with a work associate today, so when you’re done, I have to kick you out.”

  “Today? It’s Saturday.”

  “I’m aware. Still have to go. This isn’t like last time though. I want to see you again. I’ll call, all right?”

  Is that normal? I suppose I hadn’t thought about what would happen the morning after. I hadn’t the last time either. “What kind of work associate?”

  “Somebody who’s helping me on a case, all right? I can’t go into it.”

  Too bad. I still wasn’t satisfied. “What case?”

  “I can’t discuss it, Abigail. There’s no wiggle room on this, all right? Please.”

  I dropped my fork onto the plate I’d cleaned. I hated the fact that his tone had roused my desire once again, and that it reminded me of Brady, the way he used to speak to me when I asked too many questions about ascension.

  “Brady used to shut me down too, you know. When he didn’t want to explain himself.”

  Mason scowled and swiped my dishes away. He practically threw them into the sink, then grabbed my upper arm and lifted me out of my seat. “Time to go,” he muttered.

  On the counter my clothes were folded neatly; Mason pulled me toward them and said, “Get dressed.”

  Mentioning Brady really seemed to set him off. Could I blame him? I wished I hadn’t said that, but it was too late. Mason waited impatiently for me to dress, then handed me my purse and opened the door to his apartment.

  “See you, Abigail,” he said. “I’ll miss you.”

  I shook my head as the door shut behind me. I felt foolish, wearing an evening dress. This feeling exploded when I stepped out the door to his building. Waiting out on the sidewalk were a group of photographers, all young men with big, bulky professional cameras. As soon as I emerged, one of them shouted, setting off a flurry of clicking shutters and blinding flashes.

  “Hey, stop it!” I shouted.

  “Just a few more, Ms. Lamb,” said one. “Unless your boyfriend is coming too.”

  “Yeah, I’m right here.”

  I turned around and there was Mason, moving like a blur toward the photographers. Two of them turned and ran immediately, but the third stayed put, snapping off more photos.

  “Try it, asshole. Try it,” he said. When I heard him, I could swear his voice sounded familiar. I couldn’t place the face, but I recognized it somehow.

  Mason lurched forward, but it was just a feint. Still, the move was enough to make the photographer flinch, stepping backward and falling off the curb. He fell onto his backside and dropped his camera, which clattered against the asphalt.

  “Watch your step,” said Mason, kicking the camera away. He turned to me and said, “Get going, all right?”

  “Okay,” I replied, then turned to go. Eyes burned against my back as I moved, a quick clip as fast as my heels would allow. I didn’t look back, and soon I rounded the corner and hailed a cab.

  I smiled to myself as we sped through the city streets back to my neighborhood. I ignored the fact that the paparazzi had been waiting for me to emerge from Mason’s home, replaying in my mind the way the photographers scrambled when he approached, as if Mason were an 800-pound gorilla on the war path. Like he could have ripped them in half.

  —

  I napped when I got home, then spent the rest of the day studying and working on my college essay.

  To the admissions director,

  Most of the essays you read are written by teenagers on the cusp of graduating high school. They have impressive extracurricular activities, they have recommendations from their teachers. Also, they’ve never been convinced they could go straight to heaven by a cult leader who may have killed dozens of young women.

  And then there’s me…

  Maybe honesty is overrated? I shut my notebook, frustrated. What was I supposed to do? Lie?

  I didn’t want to work on the essay. I wanted Mason to call, and offer to pick me up so we could go out again. The demons had their hooks into me: I felt insatiable. Now that I knew what I’d been missing for so many years, I wanted to make up for lost time. However, I didn’t hear from him. I went to bed that night thinking of him, but also the bite of the rope. My wrists and ankles tingled, desperate to submit to its implacable grip.

&n
bsp; When the phone rang the next day, it was not Mason, but Elspeth, on the line.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi Abigail,” she said, voice low and tense, like a lion poised to strike. My blood ran cold, a premonition, like hair standing up on your body before a lightning strike.

  “Elspeth, what’s going on?”

  “Well I just finished moving to the city, and then to my surprise, I saw a photo of you.”

  The bottom of my stomach dropped out. “What?”

  “Oh, you haven’t seen it yet? You will. You looked gorgeous, Abbi. Truly stunning in that dress. In the morning. Leaving some guy’s place.”

  I didn’t say anything. What was she expecting? An apology? It’s not like I planned what had happened.

  “What did he say to you, Abbi?” She spat out the diminutive of my name like it had gone rancid in her mouth. “Did he promise to always love you?”

  I should have hung up, but part of me felt oddly relieved. This was the reaction I had expected from Elspeth before. I wanted to get it over with. Still, that didn’t mean I was going to take her abuse. That wasn’t the kind of pain I like.

  “He made me scream that ascension was bullshit, if that makes you feel any better.”

  Elspeth huffed indignantly. “During sex?”

  “Yup.”

  “That’s pretty weird.”

  I suppressed a laugh. She had no idea. “I guess so.”

  “Seriously, Abigail. What happened? How could you sleep with the first man you meet, after being anti-sex for years?”

  Patience, I thought. “I wanted us to ascend to heaven. Would a few moments of pleasure be worth sacrificing an eternity in paradise?”

  Elspeth sighed. “Except it wasn’t real.”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “No. But you just met this man. You told me you liked him; I didn’t think you hop on his cock a day later.”

  I blushed at her crudeness, but didn’t shy from the truth. “It was the day before, actually.”

  “You’re unbelievable,” said Elspeth. I heard a click, and then my phone went dark.