Thank you readers!  I welcome ANY and ALL feedback- good or bad.  This is my first time doing this, as I know it is for many others-

and I really would appreciate the comments.  Oh, and there is more to the story- this first part is slow, but the second part is not.

 

I moved in with Nick when I finally hit rock bottom.  Jobless and homeless for over two months- having crashed in apartments of family for too long now, starting to stink like fish, I had to try something new.

 

Nick was the slickest kind of charmer- meek and soft-spoken and willing to please, but truly a devious manipulator inside.  He offered me half of his apartment at my first mention to him of my situation.  I refused repeatedly- thinking I would never let it come to that. But soon his offer became the last vestige of hospitality I could find, and I was hard-pressed to refuse any longer. 

 

Reviving chivalry with fanfare and flourish, Nick took the few bags I had and wouldn't let me lift a finger to put anything away myself.  He insisted I relax on the couch.  He even remembered to put marshmallows and a cinnamon stick in the hot chocolate he made for me.  How thoughtful that he remembered exactly how I had told him I liked it once- a long, long time ago. 

 

This treatment was the precursor to a beautiful honeymoon Nick and I shared briefly.  He wooed me and bewitched me perfectly.  Even without the drug he was putting in my drinks, unknown to me at the time, I would have sat cozily nestled in the palm of his hands. 

 

The plan Nick had plotted all along became unhidden one evening when I began throwing up.  Awful, violent retching consumed me till my eyes were teary and the gunk in the toilet was tinted with red.  I felt chills all over- it turned out my temperature was over 103.  I had no medical insurance, so I thought I would just have to bear it out, hoping it was a simple bug that would leave after its unwelcome 24-hour tour of my body.

 

Nick was still the perfect gentlemen and the perfect nursemaid.  After a couple of days with no reprieve from the sickness, I asked Nick's opinion.  I thought he would have some insight based on his medical background at Columbia.  He mumbled something technically obscure and came up with the idea that I needed to go see a friend of his, an internist nearby, who would have the tools to diagnose me correctly.  Nick assured me that he would take care of any fees incurred.  I was not in a state to argue very clearly even if I had wanted to, so I agreed.

 

The doctor made his inspections and prescribed a remedy for me- of which he handily happened to have samples in his office.  I thanked him for his help and Nick took me home. 

 

The medication worked quickly and wondrously- I almost felt high.  But I thought it was my imagination.  Nick, of course, took care of dosing me- so I never even knew where he kept the drugs or what they were. 

 

Then another evening, I had the same symptoms of that night before.  That is when Nick checkmated me.  While I knelt over the bowl, my eyes blurred from the tears, and my throat too raw to cry, he crouched next to me, his hands pulling back my now disgustingly matted hair.  He put his lips next to my ear to whisper the truth of my life during the past two months with him. 

 

"Ah, Mara, you're undone now.  Your body needs something, doesn't it?  Do you feel an inescapable craving, a harrowing yearning for something?  Something- and you don't even know what?"

 

I was in a fog, so wearied from all the retching, I couldn't think enough to realize I didn't know what the hell he was talking about.  But the words he said clicked- I did _need_ something, but what?  I wasn't clear-headed enough to wonder why- why did I feel this burning need, borne only of drug addiction, which I remembered well from my long-ago coke-stupored days.  In those moments so weak, I just knew I needed it, and it seemed Nick had it for me.  Always the gentleman.

 

He continued whispering, straight into my brain, "Mara, do you know what you want?  Do you know what I have for you?  I can make you feel so much better.  I can make you feel normal again."  Then he chuckled- like I'd never heard him do before.  It was suspiciously eerie, and almost... sadistic.  I still couldn't come out of my haze enough to respond properly to his change of attitude and tone... I was balanced just between this need he described and my dignity, which I sensed he was about to throw on the floor and grind to dust under his boots. 

 

I managed, "Yes, help me, Nick.  Please, I do need something.  I know you can help me."  Completely losing the struggle between my physical and my spiritual beings, I heard myself begging him to sate the desire I had.  I was fiending, I finally realized it.  But why? Now I did ask myself... but only briefly, before I retched again, ripping myself apart inside. 

 

Nick had positioned his body right behind mine.  We had never slept together in all this time- he had gallantly insisted I take the bed and he never once even asked for it.  But now, somehow, his body's front pressed to my body's back brought sexual thoughts to mind- forceful, non-consenting ones.  Ones I probably would not enjoy.  My mind remembered briefly a little debate Nick and I had made on the phone once.  Does a woman’s body enjoy any intercourse, even if unwelcome?  I claimed no, but his defense for the opposite stance was the wetness proof.  I wondered if he had had this plan in mind at the time.  I wondered if it also came to his mind in this moment, as it did to mine.

 

I felt his strong body press into my back, forcing my chest against the bowl, just enough to slightly wind me.  His hands reached around my waist and up to claim my breasts- but somehow I wasn't as shocked as I certainly should have been.  Could I refuse these advances in my state?  I was sick from whatever drug my body was not getting and I couldn't say no to the physical needs that were now ruling me. 

 

As he squeezed my breasts, surprisingly not roughly, he kept talking quietly to me, "Mara, do you want it?  Do you want what I can give you?  Do you want the medicine I have for you, dear?  Your body is punishing you severely because you've gone without.  You need it- you need it so badly inside you.  You can have it, just ask me for it, Mara.  Ask me as nicely as you can, baby, and I’ll give it to you.  I’ll provide you with everything you need, Mara."  He punctuated these words with a kiss- much rougher than his hands on my breasts- behind my ear.  The kiss soon became a nibble, teeth sharp and large on my skin, until I yelped.

 

What could I do?  I could try to fight him, but I doubted I would win.  Here he had me pinned, literally and metaphorically.  And though the double meaning of his "offer" was not lost on me, and I didn't want the sinuous one that he was forcing on me now anyway, I felt completely cornered.  But from that corner, my mind gave a weak shout of "Fight, Mara!  Don't let him do this!"  I almost thought I could try to jab backwards and elbow him, but even then, as if he could hear my thoughts as well, he pressed tighter against me, leaving no elbowroom for me at all.

 

I was left with nothing but begging.  My drug addiction was controlling me more strongly than the sense of self I had.  The fiending need was crawling all over my skin from the inside, becoming intolerable.  I felt sensations simultaneously burning cold and freezing hot all over; my head pounded with an inexplicable fear and nervousness.  Twitches and tremors ran through my fingers and toes.  I could not endure it anymore.  I had to have the remedy for this chemical dependence Nick had forced on me.  I gave in and didn't turn back for a long time.

 

"Nick, please, give me what I need.  I know you have it.  Please just give it to me now.  I don't know what it is, but please let me have it."  Even though I felt that was my only option- to beg him this way- it wasn't at all easy to do.  I hated hearing those words coming from my own mouth, even in a voice so quiet and small and forced.  Nick noticed how unenthusiastic my pleading was.  He didn't like it. 

 

"No, Mara, that won't do," he said as he squeezed my nipples painfully and pulled my head back by the hair so my eyes met his.  "I said to ask me _nicely_, little chienne.  Make me feel your need.  Let me hear the desperation in your 'Please'.  Make it tangible, give it a body I can touch and squeeze just like the body I'm holding now."  He shoved against my back and mashed my breasts in his big hands.  I had to scream, I had to, but my throat was too raw, so the tears just welled up more in my eyes.  I realized he enjoyed that- that's what he was looking for.

 

"Nick, please," I cried, meaning it more now, letting more feeling into it, my pride dissipating into clouds that rose far away from me.  "Please, please, please," I just kept repeating, each one sounding more and more despicably sycophantic to my ears.  Each one bringing out new watersheds of tears for the nightmare into which I'd let myself.

 

 

I open my eyes to see Nick's balls above my face, waiting to be dipped.  Every time I open my mouth to let him in- whether balls, shaft, tongue, finger, or any other tool of invasion he chooses- the shame and humiliation rise quietly in my mind, taking me back to that first night.  When the voice of dignity becomes so persistent that I start to listen, my craving kicks in.  I need the synthetic heroin Nick has been feeding me.  So I open my mouth now, voraciously, to satisfy his sadistic desire to see me so desperately needy.  He likes to wait to give me the dope- he waits till I can't stand it anymore.  He likes the tears in my eyes, the anguish in my voice, knowing he controls it all.  Knowing he controls all of me. 

 

When I get that strung-out, I let him do anything to me, just to have what I need.  I let him make me do anything too- disgusting things, unimaginably humiliating things.  I'm so detached from them that I can think about them easily. I've detached myself from my own pride, out of self-preservation, so as not to feel the self-loathing that would crush me if I didn't. 

 

As I continue to mouth Nick's sac now, greedily, he grabs the sides of my head to help the process along.  I caress his asscheeks going up and down, grazing my chest.  Sometimes I don’t know if the pure physical beauty of this body- wonderfully tight and strong, with the right amount of hair everywhere- makes the ordeal more or less bearable.  His face is just as beautiful, like Inigo Montoya from the Princess Bride.  I stare up at what I can see of it now, hidden behind his shaft. 

 

He starts talking to me- quietly at first, so I can't understand his words.  Then he raises his voice just enough so I hear him tell me what a good job I'm doing, with vulgarity he only uses in fevered moments of passion.  He tells me I'm the best cum sow he's ever owned, better than any ball-sucking bitch he could buy.  And he didn't even have to pay for me.  He always praises himself on how he got me with his own cunning.  I've heard all his talk before.  I'm no longer insulted.  In fact, I mostly agree.  It's hard to think I was ever anything more than his junkie slave.

 

 

Sometimes he demands my active participation in the verbal barrage, making it a dialogue between us.  He tells me what to say, although I know what he wants to hear already.  Feeling powerless to refuse, I collaborate with creative self-effacing descriptions to fuel his ego.  Between mouthfuls of his penis, I chant my submission to him with words of his own style.  Those were the words he wanted dragged out of me; they were difficult at first me for me to say, but resignation makes them flow now from me like my first tears did.  My speech brings Nick to the edge, my hard palate the freefall cliff for the jizz of his hard member.  Now he gags me, cutting my breath off momentarily, making me swallow, as always, until he finally pulls himself out. 

 

I lie in the bed, under Nick’s crotch, his flaccidness on my cheek.  It is a familiar position for both of us, almost comfortable now for me.   I’m accustomed to my body being an object of use for the man sitting on top of me- I’m his pillow, his bedframe, his footstool; my mouth is his receptacle for any possibility of things, my tongue has served the nastiest of needs. 

 

After he rolls off me, and before he can push me off the bed, I get down to make sure he has all the necessary accoutrements to smoke a cigarette.  He chuckles and makes his usual joke about good training.  I wait on the floor for his daily instructions.  Besides the mundane housework, Nick always gives me some odd errands to run.  But today...

 

"Mara, I have a surprise for you today."

 

A surprise- happy for him, probably unhappy for me.  I wait in numb dread, but he would keep me in apprehensive suspense till the time came.  He says no more about it. 

 

Copyright (c) 2007 M.R.

 

 

"Mara, I have a surprise for you today."

 

A surprise- happy for him, probably unhappy for me.  I wait in numb dread, but he would keep me in apprehensive suspense till the time came.  He says no more about it. 

 

 

 

There was not much to be done today.  Nick has purposely not left any errands so that I would simply stew in anxious wonder at what he would bring home tonight. 

 

He has even put a coded lock on all the television channels- a distraction he knew I would seek.  I have read all the books in the apartment. 

 

So I sit at the windowsill to watch the world into which I venture only when instructed or permitted.  I stare at my left wrist, marveling at how invisible the tracking chip is inside my body, how small, yet how big in my life. 

 

 

 

A few weeks after Nick had told me the truth about his drugging me, there were some days when I experienced mental clarity, during one of which I decided to get the hell out of here.  I remember thinking it should not be such a big challenge just to leave, even without money and without the keys to my own car, which Nick had taken from me.  But I still had two healthy legs on which to walk. 

 

I took a shower and made myself look as nice as I could.  I went on a mad treasure hunt for any cash that could be lying around, but found none, unfortunately.  I was also worried about the cravings and then withdrawal symptoms I knew would attack me once a day passed.  I searched for the drug stash I thought might be here.  But I had no fiending to drive me since Nick had just dosed me that morning.  I gave up, not wanting to waste time on a fruitless pursuit- I knew the drugs must be either locked up or with Nick at all times.

 

In the phonebook, I had researched homeless shelters within a 20-mile radius, since I had nowhere else to go.  If I had found just a few dollars or some change, I might have been able to take a bus and get much further away.  But that was not my good circumstance.  So I would walk.

 

I would walk to the shelter furthest from Nick's town- it was 12 miles away.  Nothing in a car, but at least three hours on foot.  I did not even know if I would be able to walk that long.  And what would I find at the shelter anyway?  I feared disease-ridden criminals more sadistic than Nick.  I had heard nasty stories about shelters.  And I worried what I would do when I started to need a fix.  I could imagine myself begging any stranger for help.  But I weakly resolved to stay strong when the withdrawal symptoms started.  I would just get through them and get over the drug.  I knew that most drugs were not truly physically addictive, so I would just have to suffer the effects of my body trying to make it on its own for a few days.  I knew after that, I would be okay again.  That was my decision.

 

As I walked, I let my life float slowly past me in chunks, big and small.  Inside my head, I viewed images of places I used to live and parties I had had with friends, remembering the laughter and the warmth I had felt.  Then I moved forward on the timeline, closer to now- how did I get here?  How did I let myself continue to make choices that would eventually lead me to imprisonment inside one of the most luxurious apartments I’d ever seen?  I live in a place of extraordinary conveniences- Nick’s elegant condo on the seventeenth floor- but with no freedom.  Very unlike the caged bird, I cannot find a way to sing. 

 

I thought about my life with Nick from day one, musing on my naďveté in trusting the sincerity he had presented.  How all the while he had sent me to gourmet cooking classes, Italian and French classes, it had only been to upgrade the girl who would soon be his strung-out slave.  I cooked for him now everyday.  He threw Italian and French into our conversations when it served him.  Fond of degrading me in each language, he sometimes called me his foro piccolo or tre-forata femmina, interchangeable in French with petit trous or trois-trouee chienne.  But the elegance of these foreign languages did not erase from my mind that I was simply his “little hole” or “three-holed bitch”, in plain English.

 

I had planned my walk to the shelter so that I would still arrive many hours before Nick would get home from work.  Although he sometimes called me from work, today I thought it would not matter much after all was said and done.  However Nick was smarter than your average evil genius- or maybe I just had given away too much subconsciously.  Maybe I had been my own stool pigeon without even realizing it.  Somehow, Nick had known my plans.  I had taken with me all scraps of paper that could possibly be incriminating.  But I suppose Nick too knew there were not many routes of escape for me. 

 

Exhausted, I finally walked through the doors of the Welcome Arms For All Shelter and registered myself for the night.  A staff member showed me around the place and assigned me to a spot in a huge room filled with cots and noise from all the other homeless folk tonight.  I even made an appointment with a counselor for seven that evening.  I thought things looked positive. 

 

After a brief nap on the cot that had looked so inviting despite its pitiful state of squalor, I began exploring the shelter and surrounding area.  I met Shaley and Coal, two seemingly nice enough characters.  They shared the stories that had brought them to Welcome Arms; I told an edited version of my truth.  We continued talking until it was time for lunch- Shaley and Coal claimed the shelter food was so sad they would not allow me to eat it.  But I had no money.  They offered to treat me to a meal at McDonald's- Dollar Menu to the rescue!  What lured me to accept their offer was not the temptation of that deliciously unhealthful food.  It was that I knew I couldn't make it if I remained completely alone.  Besides, I really enjoyed their company.  I wanted to create and strengthen a bond between us.  I thought my experience with Nick should have taught me otherwise- to lose trust in anyone who promised to have good intentions.  But my human weakness for the company of others and the need for allies made me vulnerable. 

 

Beautiful Shaley was mothering and sweet, her strong arms wrapping around me frequently in a warm gesture.  Almost waist-length brown hair full of loose curls gave her an inviting femininity, one that I could see Coal appreciated.  Shaley was bubbly and full of laughter, making us forget that we were three floundering souls navigating a maze of destitution.  I could even ignore Coal’s dirty appearance of fingernails and hair filled with things that did not belong there.  Contrasting Shaley’s manner, Coal remained quiet throughout our discussions of the things we missed doing, past relationships, and muted jokes about the passersby.

 

When Coal offered me a cigarette- the perfect one, long and light, I almost refused.  Although Nick smoked himself, he did not allow me to engage in that activity; and I had to be partly grateful, knowing the horrors cigarettes could bring upon my anatomy.  Coal’s offer momentarily entranced me in the memory of how Nick broke my smoking habit, remembering the feel of the cigarette’s burning head on my flesh.  After that day, I would beg him not to smoke the many cigarettes he would insistently offer me.  My mind traveled backwards to the balcony that afternoon, where I had been relaxing with a smoke, my eyes closed, my ears savoring the passionate voice of Fiona Apple. 

 

____________________________    ______________________________

 

I had not heard Nick open the sliding screen door.  Suddenly, he was sitting in the chair across from me, staring at me and the cigarette I held.  He had mentioned to me once that he found smoking in a female very unattractive, but had not yet forbidden me to do it.  Somehow, however, I felt I should put it out... and yet, in a mood of rebellion, I refused to follow that instinct.  For some reason, perhaps because I still had not seen the depth of Nick’s mercilessness, I challenged him, staring back into his striking, blue eyes. 

 

“Put it out, Mara,” he said to me with quiet command.  I hesitated, not wanting to kowtow to this man over and over, but knowing I ultimately would, whether by choice or coercion.  How many more pieces of my will would I carve out and offer to him?  At the very least, I did not want to quit because I enjoyed my cigarettes, no matter how damaging they were.  So with difficulty, I ignored his words, part of me wanting to snivel and plead to be allowed to continue smoking, part of me wanting to exhale directly in his face.  I did neither, choosing to simply take another drag calmly. 

 

Carefully, Nick changed the expression on his face from hushed anger to one of patronizing cheer. 

 

“Alright, my little foro, would you like to smoke?  Go ahead,” he smiled at me, pushing my pack closer to me. 

 

Of course, this sudden, obviously artificial consenting attitude made me worrisome.  But I felt trapped:  either putting out the cigarette now or continuing to smoke would be some form of punishable behavior.  He had broken my challenging stance, making it worthless and trivial; he had made laughable the strength and courage I had summoned to defy him.  Like an audience of sports fans engaged in a critical play, he watched me.  Uncomfortable smoking under his trenchant gaze, I began squirming in my seat, wanting more and more just to squash the butt in the ashtray.  Finally, there was no more tobacco to burn, and as I brought the filter down to crush it, Nick stopped me.

 

“Wait.  Did you enjoy your cigarette, Mara?”  Rhetorical as it sounded, the question, I knew, was meant to incite an actual response from me- of what the correct answer was, I did not have an idea.  With hesitance, I answered positively that I had indeed enjoyed myself.  Nick seemed pleased, pulling his chair closer to mine so he could caress my cheeks in false tenderness.  Fearfully, I recoiled from him like a startled lizard retreating into an open crevice.

 

“I’m glad that cigarette was good for you, my darling.  Since you take such pleasure in smoking, I will not tell you to stop again.  There will just be one condition.”  His tolerant words and kind manner were causing me to panic internally, knowing that something terrible would be coming.  I just could not conjecture what it would be.

 

His face centimeters before mine, one of his hands roaming towards my neck, he said in a voice almost whispered, “Open your mouth, Mara.”  Beginning to wrap around my throat, like a thug backing up a wiseguy, Nick’s hand tightened just enough to make me gasp and obediently open my mouth.  I could see the satisfaction in his eyes at the alarm my face surely showed.

 

“Now, Mara,” he continued, still quietly, “Stick out your tongue.” 

 

Fear guiding me, controlling me, smacking me back down into submissive compliance, I did as Nick ordered.  He looked at me and laughed- one short, condescending laugh that crushed my self-esteem as if it were the first time.  Always as bad as the first time, every time I caved in to him made me cringe inwardly.  Tears welled in my eyes- at being unable to breathe, at the pain of his fingernails digging into my tongue, pulling it out further than it would go naturally, and at what I knew he would do next. 

 

All laughter gone from his eyes and voice, menace and anger returned, Nick told me once more to put the cigarette out.  As I sobbed, he continued to choke me placidly but painfully, my tongue feeling ripped out from the base.  Knowing mercy was not an option, in shaking hands I slowly brought the burning butt towards my mouth.  Whimpering loudly now, trying to brace myself for the pain I knew would be unendurable, I heard the hiss of fire going out on my wet tongue as I followed this man’s sadistic order. 

 

 

 

When Coal said my name, I came out of the memory with the taste of ash on my tongue.  I looked down at the cigarette he held out to me.  Despite my flashback, I still wanted to smoke now, to inhale toxic fumes deep into my lungs, so I accepted what Coal offered.  I relished the feel of the smooth filter between my lips, the grinding sound of the lighter’s flint wheel, the smell of the smoke, and the taste of that first drag after so long.  Luxuriating in the sensation of synthetic, unnatural air flowing into my body, I could not believe how normal I felt smoking a cigarette with Shaley and Coal in the parking lot of the McDonald’s.  I smiled to myself as I extinguished the butt on the ground, crushing it to bits.

 

Finally, our conversation turned to recreational drug use.  I was fiending, but trying to hide it.  Shaley noticed, though, and commented.  She suggested we take care of my craving- I shouldn't be suffering, she told me.  So warm and comforting, her arm around me, her mouth close to my ear, she whispered soothing words like a natural caretaker.  In actuality, she was graphically describing the aches my body was suffering, the distress that was heightening rapidly, the discomfort in my seat as I tried to ignore the withdrawals.  She talked to me just like Nick had the night I hugged the toilet, but in her own malevolent style.

 

"Mara, baby, we've got to get you something.  Mamita, you're in bad shape- your bones and muscles are aching, your head is hot, you have chills, your mind is everywhere and nowhere with anxiety you can't stand.  You know you won't last without getting what you need.  I don't want to see you go through this when I can easily take care of you- such good care of you, ma.  Come on."  Her regionalism reminded me of a friend I had had long ago, that Latin-tinged urban slang making me feel cozy and open towards her.

 

Thus she convinced me by rubbing my face in my own misery, by pushing my brain into the vivid description of my ugly need, she convinced me to follow her to a bus, to a train, to a building I only belatedly recognized with deep fear.  In retrospect, I do not blame Shaley- she was not leading me, she only provoked my shameless recidivism to lead me.  Only my own subverted will was responsible for bringing me to that which is my bane and boon in one.

 

So as we walked into the lobby of Nick's apartment building, I did not fight Shaley and Coal- although they insisted on tightly holding one of my arms each.  As the number of floors to Nick decreased, my two "friends" became increasingly forceful, beginning to grip me more tightly.  Resignation squashed any wonder at how Nick had planned with them my recapture. 

 

But resignation would not be enough to protect me from whatever punishment Nick would dole out- my fear burst from me and I used all my strength to attempt to wrestle free from Shaley and Coal.  I cried and screamed and kicked and tried all the usual means of escape people used in the movies and books.  But of course Shaley and Coal easily predicted my behavior, suddenly tying my wrists together behind my back with a piece of dirty cloth pulled from Coal’s pocket.

 

Nick's door opened and there he stood, the Cheshire cat himself.  My heart, already racing, accelerated to an even higher pace.  Shaley and Coal gave me no time to live in the moment, pushing me into the apartment as Nick stepped aside to let us enter.

 

One hand of each of my traitorous captors pressed down on each of my shoulders, forcing me to kneel in front of the man who would own me- the man who had kidnapped me from myself.  He sat in his armchair calmly.  I wondered with perverted interest why he was holding his monogrammed keychain with a pair of fine pliers in one hand and in the other a lighter.  A frightening scenario flashed through my mind- a picture of another movie scene, one in which I should be Nicole Kidman and Sandra Bullock should be here to save me- making me forget the aching and the fever of my withdrawals and fear anew. 

 

Nick began talking to me, quietly and caringly as he usually did, though his words never matched the tone.  I noticed the flame of the lighter touch the circular keychain as Nick talked.  I breathed hard and my heart pounded while chills of hot and cold alternated routes through my body.  Anxiety kept me wired and unable to control the wildly visible twitches of need for the drug on which Nick had hooked me.

 

"Oh, Mara, dear, you tried to run away from me- how adorably adolescent of you.”  He continued to heat the keychain.  “Endearing, but severely reprehensible, just the same, little girl.  Now, Mara, you know I take such good care of you.  I always fulfill your needs like no one else ever could.  Could you imagine, mia femmina piccola, landing in the hands of someone who wouldn't know what you need?  My sweet Mara, imagine- being all alone out there, vulnerable to anyone with the worst of intentions.  Come on, little foro, let's take care of this now.  Make sure that horrible possibility could never exist."

 

He approached me, crouching down close to me, as if he would kiss me.  I could feel the heat of the metal next to my face.  My face?  I wondered.  I had no doubts anymore, nor any strange curiosity, about Nick’s choice of punishment.  I tried to back away from him.  I was getting close to petrified now, my breathing becoming heavier and faster, practically a pant.  He stared at my face and neck, searching.  He put the lighter down to caress me delicately, gently molesting my face, my hair, my eyes, my lips. He moved his hand over my neck, down inside my shirt to squeeze my breasts painfully.  I winced, wondering in pounding dread where he would choose to stop. 

 

He played with me, "Hmm.  Where is the perfect spot?  There are so many classic places.  Thigh, ass, belly, even breast.  What do you think, Mara?”  With this, he waved the flame-hot key ring past my eyes, which turned wide, to stop in front of my cheek.  Oh god, no, not the face. 

 

"No, not the face?" he asked, mimicking my thoughts exactly with an awful laugh.  He looked into my eyes then with force that made me look away.  He toyed with the heated key ring close to my face, as if he was going to do it.  I cringed back, involuntarily letting a plea escape my lips.

 

"No, not that obvious.  But...I think, right... here.”  He pulled my pants down to my knees roughly and pushed my legs apart.  He rubbed the inside of my left leg, just at the meeting point of inner thigh and crotch.

 

"Perfect.”  He looked to Shaley and Coal, who then laid me down on my back, my bound arms under me.  Shaley held my shoulders pinned to the floor while Coal held one of my thighs down and Nick worked on the other.

 

Nick picked up the keychain in the pliers and heated it again for a moment.  I was breathing hard and heavy, heart beating with painful ferocity.  Tears pooled in my eyes and I began whimpering, "No, no, no," not bothering to scream, knowing how useless it would be.  Knowing my little efforts would only entertain Nick, but would not stop him.   

 

“Yes, dear, right here.”  Nick’s voice was quiet and tender just before he pressed the super hot metal into my flesh.  I screamed and cried and tried to bolt.  But I was held tightly until he finished.  I could not stop myself from bawling- not just from the physical pain, but from the shame and hopelessness this act gave me, depressing me beyond despair.  I was now forever marked as the property of “NJN”.  Nicholas James Northson was my owner and master, whether I ever spoke those words or not.

 

Now Nick took my head onto his shoulder, soothing me, rubbing my hair, telling me it was okay now, I could calm down.  I did not want to be near him this way, but I was afraid to fight.  Conquered yet again, I did not attempt to resist his comforts.  I did not bother to tell him to stop his mind games with me.  "You just fucking branded me with your keychain.  Don't act like you care about me,” I whispered unintelligibly to him, wondering if it would matter if he had understood me.  Would he have slapped me across the face? Or would he have just continued to touch my cheek affectionately, with his heartlessly insincere expression of caring? 

 

"Mara, don't you see?  You have nothing, no one but me.  Who else would want you?  Who else would take care of you like I do?  Who else would protect you like I do?  I do so much for you, sweet girl, to keep you safe and give you shelter." 

 

As he sermonized, he continued caressing me.  I let him put his arm around me, let him pat my head and rub my arm with my face pressed against his chest.  All the while, he brought his other hand in-between my legs, closer and closer to the display of ownership he had put on me.  His fingers dug into the wound.  I gasped, but did not pull away.  I let him keep hurting me, teasing the injury, all the while talking to me about how he was shielding me from all the cruel people out there.  People who would never treat me as well as he did. 

 

"Now, let's stand up and strip, Mara,” he said suddenly, extricating himself from the embrace.

 

In a daze, I obeyed with help from Shaley and Coal.  Nick brought me to the mirror to view my new, marked self.  Now I had an external brand to match the internal one Nick had already embossed on me, which was the real reason I could not escape him.  He had already taken possession of everything inside of me.  Pressing me to the cold glass of the mirror, he stood behind me to wrap his arms around me and spread my legs apart.  I watched him in the mirror squeezing my thighs, rubbing the fresh wound that he had strategically placed to cause me utmost pain.  My knees wanted to buckle from the stinging agony, forcing me to lean into Nick for support to remain standing.

 

"Look, Mara.  Now you can never be mistaken for anyone else's.  You can stay with me forever.  And I know you won't be a bad girl again.  No, no, ma petite chienne.”  He molested my body while Shaley and Coal watched with drooling eyes.  Suddenly I knew they would have a reward.

 

Nick began singing:

 

Mara, Mara, ran away.

But now I’ve got her back to stay.

And how much fun we’ll have today.

 

Mara, Mara, my dear joy,

Such a pretty little toy-

Fun for a girl and a boy!

 

Then he turned me around to face the hungrily waiting Shaley and Coal, who were ready with a collar to throw around my neck with a leash attached.  I remember following all of Shaley’s instructions and all the while, never getting over how enamored I had been with her just hours before.  They pulled me roughly into the bedroom and tied me into uncomfortably impossible positions, using the bed’s footboard to assist.  Thus, they were unencumbered by having to restrain me in any way- their hands were free for all the cruelty their minds could conceive to apply to me. 

 

As I lay on my back, my legs bent double over my torso and spread apart with rope from the footboard posts to my ankles, my head hanging upside-down partly over the bed's edge, and my wrists still tied painfully under my back, Shaley and Coal delightfully ravaged my body using anything from old-fashioned metal spatulas to an egg-slicer.  My skin was the palate, my welts the medium for their designer torture. Shaley's eyes twinkled as she squeezed my breasts into an undersized strainer with widely spaced openings, my flesh popping out through each tiny square.  When I closed my eyes in pain, Shaley slapped me.

 

"No, Mara, you watch what we do so you see how we smile every time you wince and squirm to hold in the screams.  And I want to see your eyes, mama- when they fill up with tears or when they open in fear.  That's all part of the fun!  Silly!"  Her tone suddenly became light and breezy, like we were going to a party together.

 

While Shaley was exploring the most interesting ways to mark and hurt me, Coal was conducting vaginal and anal discovery with the various instruments they had brought into the room.  If he chose, he could obscure himself from my view.  Since he was silent about his work, I was left to guessing or Shaley's occasional give-away outbursts to know exactly what Coal was using. 

 

First it must have been simply handles to stirrers and ladles entering and retreating repeatedly from both holes to which Coal had access.  Then a classic move:  clothespins on the labia- the concept may have been trite, but the pain was anything but dull.  At one moment, Coal purposely brought a tool into my view that widened my eyes into circles of horror.

 

"Now, you keep on being a good girl like you're doing, and we'll keep this one aside," Coal, finally speaking more than a single word at a time, winked at me.  Shaley was on the side, working my legs over with a handheld, plastic chopping board, so Coal was able to lay the lemon reamer between my breasts as a reminder to cooperate.  The evil-looking device seemed to point directly at me with a malicious will of its own. I nodded my head vigorously to show I would, oh I would, comply.  Nick's brand on my thigh was sweetness compared to the thought of what Shaley and Coal might do now.

 

After no inch of my legs, belly, or breasts was left unmarked, Shaley brought out the cheese grater.  I shivered each time as she passed it over me from ankle to thigh to belly to nipple.  With difficulty, I restrained myself from closing my eyes again- as I feared it would invite an introduction to the wicked reamer still resting on my chest. 

 

Shaley put down her cheese grater to pick up one of the utensils Coal had earlier thrust into me.  She brought it in front of my face.

 

"Nasty," she said with her nose crinkled in disgust at the residue of my bodily secretions.  She shoved it into my mouth.  I would have vomited if I didn't have the vision of the lemon reamer imprinted into my brain at the moment.  I held back the bile that rose at the awful taste.  In and out she pushed it until she was satisfied it must be clean.  By the time the sixth utensil was cleaned by own mouth, my taste buds had finally been desensitized, thankfully.

 

"Well, look at this, Mara- your legs are barely red anymore!" she said, in a tone to suggest I, too, would be disappointed by this news. 

 

"Would you like me to remedy that, honey?  I'm sure you must.  I'd be happy to do you that favor, ma- you just go on and ask me, and don't forget the magic word, Mara!"  Her words, transparently guised as a suggestion, were a command- disobedience of which I was sure would bring to life the cruel tool lying on my chest.

 

“Please, Shaley,” I begged her tearfully, “Please...make my legs red again.  Please beat me with the chopping board and the whisks and spatulas until I am covered in redness.”  I ended in sobs over the catch-22 she had given me.  I knew if I did not please her, if I did not plead enough for more abuse, the lemon reamer would awaken and be plunged into my softest places. 

 

When I had satisfied Shaley’s demand, she brought out new weapons from the kitchen- all things, just like the lemon reamer, I had never even seen before I met Nick.  Spice graters, lemon zesters, dual peelers, roller dockers, ball whisks, flour dusters, flour wands, rolling herb mincers- none of them were neglected in the parade of torment led across my body.

 

Shaley began with locking tongs; lucky for her- Nick had two pairs!  Each helpless nipple was squeezed between the tongs’ sharp teeth.  Shaley moved the tongs by the ends, my nipples suffering freshly with each twist and flip of the utensil that was certainly not made with this intention.  I still remember Shaley’s jubilant giggles each time I moaned in pain.

 

Other household items were not left out; after pinching the tongs closed more tightly, Shaley pulled them off while squeezing them closed on my nipples.  Tightening small c-clamps on my nipples next, Shaley used every item she had found in the kitchen to discover what red patterns could be made upon my breasts, belly, and legs.  Only later did I discover that Shaley had a method to her strikes- the mean names she had called me throughout the process were advertised on my body in raised welts and scratches. 

 

As I was almost passing out from the pain, wondering in the back of my mind about the fix I still had not gotten, Coal exchanged a look with Shaley and they both put down all their tools.  I finally saw Coal’s cock, hard and ready, waiting in front of my body.  Shaley stood behind me, using my head to rub her crotch.

 

“I think it’s time for a taste test,” Shaley said, looking down at me now, “Have you ever licked a pussy, little bitch?” she asked me sweetly.

 

Unable to tell if the question was meant to be answered, I answered negatively with a headshake.  Turning around to position her open lips directly above my mouth, her ass on my chin, she crushed my ears with her thighs, partially deafening me.  She looked directly into my eyes, one hand pulling my hair, pushing my face closer to her body.  Like Nick, her most crass speech emerged as her sexual excitement became fervent.  She instructed me on exactly how, where, and when to use my tongue- when to thrust it deep inside her, how to lick the inside of her lips, and just where to flick my tongue-tip.  I tasted her saltiness, leaking into my mouth as she gyrated over my face.  Soon, it was not only her front hole that got use of my tongue, but every part of her from clit to crack was rubbed all over my face, practically suffocating me.

 

All the while, I had not realized Nick was in the room, watching.  Not until Shaley’s asshole was filled with my tongue and my asshole was filled with Coal’s thankfully small penis did I notice Nick’s eyes on us.  His gaze on me substantiated what he had just done to me- it seared into me just like his keychain had.  Somehow he had telepathic powers over me- his eyes speaking inside my head:  You’re mine, Mara.  Your body, your mind, everything.  You’re mine.  The last two words kept beating in my head, in time with the pounding of Shaley’s ass on my face and Coal’s cock in my ass.  Just as Coal spurted inside me and Shaley actually let a fart rip down my throat, Nick walked over to us. 

 

Shaley and Coal retreated outside of my vision, into my periphery, while Nick came close to me.  In his hands, he held my face, wet from Shaley’s juices, to look in my eyes.  My upside-down view of him disoriented my mind, which was already in a confused state, from the chemical dependency wracking my body and the ordeal I had just suffered. 

 

“Don’t ever leave me again, foro,” Nick whispered to me, leaning in to kiss me on the forehead.  The sweetness in his voice made his words sound like a plea, a request of me.  In that moment of confusion, my thoughts swirled inside my head like finger-painted clouds.  Nick’s tenderness seemed so true as he stared into my eyes, looking desperate that I grant his wish- as if it were in my control at all.  As if I were not tied to his bed by rope that dug into my ankles, as if I had not just been tortured in every way possible at his command.  Yet, his eyes were so soft that part of me could believe he actually cared about me.

 

 

 

Later, alone in the room, I pondered my situation as I watched the room darken, listening to the music Nick had left playing for me.  I was hearing Poe sing about me, singing for me, it seemed, proclaiming:

 

I know how to wear the costume, I know how to wear the mask.

I even like the feel of having to ask.

I like the sound of your whistle, I like the way you wear your grin.

I even like the taste of my will caving in, and yet somehow:

I’m not a junkie for your love, I am not a junkie, but later she again confessed the truth:

This is such a sweet collaboration, you got the power and I got the shame...

 

Nick had programmed just the right songs to speak to me while I waited for him.  He had chosen the music with lyrics that would impress upon me my powerlessness under him, that would reaffirm that I was under his thumb, hanging on his words, living on his breath, in his room.  He would allow me no escape- physical or mental- from his rule.  None of my senses was neglected- each cascaded with stimuli to remind me that I continued life only by his grace.  Still fresh in my mouth and nose was the nauseating taste and smell of what had been forced over my face; in my view was the world upside-down, symbolic of the twisted world in which I lived with Nick.   The music and lyrics continued to assault my ears and as my body continued to throb in heat and pain, sore inside and out from Shaley and Coal’s abuse, I cried silently to myself, alone in the dusky room.

 

 

 

...Stay tuned for more... :)

 

Copyright (c) 2007 M.R.