by Syra Bond
She smiled, leant forward and continued. Again, she brought the blade down slowly against my flesh. She drew it across the cleft at the top of my crack. She prised it slightly apart to allow the blade in. Before, I had felt its smoothness - gliding through the foamy layer of soap at right angles to the line of the blade’s edge - now I felt something different.
I was horrified by the sensation - and by the image it caused in my mind! I wanted to escape, to run, but I didn’t dare move. My heart was beating like a drum in my heaving chest.
I felt the cool pad of rubber as Dr Collins placed the chest piece of his stethoscope just above my left breast. He cocked his head to one side and listened attentively. The veins throbbed in my neck. I felt as if my head was going to explode.
I turned my face to one side- slowly, fearful that moving too quickly would increase the risk of being cut. The man and women were gathered closely around the couch - one woman on each side of me, the other two at my feet. My heart beat even faster. My head pounded with the pressure. I knew I was giving instructions to my limbs to move, but nothing was happening.
Nurse Roslin lifted the razor again. She held it in front of her face. A fresh drip of blood ran down its sharp edge. She held the blade above her mouth then licked out her tongue until its tip touched the shiny edge.
Again, I ordered my arms to move. I was desperate to get away. I couldn’t stand it anymore. ‘Move! Move!’ I commanded them. ‘Move!’
At last, as I watched a fresh drop of blood from Nurse Roslin’s tongue flow onto the edge of the shiny blade, I felt a quiver of movement in my wrists. At last!
I stretched out my fingers - flexing them open and then closed. I felt tightness at my wrists, as though they were bound, but it wasn’t a rope or tape, it was sharper. I flexed my fingers again. The sharpness increased. I tried to lift my arms and the sharpness became a sting then a harsh pain. I tried harder, pulling my forearm up as much as I could but the pain was unbearable - cutting, deep, tearing.
I glanced down my sides. My mouth opened in a silent scream as I saw the two women kneeling by my side with their teeth gripping my wrists - clamping me with their jaws, holding me down, preventing me from moving. I struggled against them but the pain was too much - I couldn’t bear it. They stared at me, their eyes fixed on mine - grinning menacingly behind their gripping teeth.
Dr Collins moved the chest piece of the stethoscope higher on my chest. I felt my heart thumping against it. He pulled back and held the rounded end of a silver metal spatula against my chin. He looked inside my still wide open mouth. He pressed the spatula down against my chin, opening my mouth even more - I couldn’t believe how wide he forced it. He latched his fingers over my bottom teeth to hold my mouth open and slowly inserted the spatula into my mouth.
I felt it going in. It did not touch any part of the inside of my mouth at first but I knew it was there. Its very intrusion into the emptiness made me want to gag. Then it touched the back of my tongue, lightly on the base where it curves to form a link into my gullet.
I heaved immediately, but he kept it there, pressing it harder, still holding my jaw down with his talon-like fingers.
He put his face close to mine. A light surrounded by a silver disk was now strapped to his forehead. I smelled his breath - sweet, like blood. He pushed the spatula further, into the entrance of my throat. I heaved again, this time finding it hard to keep the vomit from erupting; I tasted it - acrid and burning. He peered closer.
I tried again the pull my arms up, thinking that somehow I could protect myself, but it was useless, the women were biting hard into the skin of my wrists, almost gnawing at it, threatening all the time to break the surface and dig deeply into my flesh. I imagined them chewing on the bone and, for a moment, thought I felt the grinding of their teeth against it.
I pulled at my ankles and found the same resistance as I felt at my wrists. I could not see but I knew that the women at my feet were biting into my ankles in the same way that the women were biting into my wrists.
I was transfixed with fear. I heaved again. I wanted to vomit - it was as if it would bring the horror to an end - but I could not.
Dr Collins removed the spatula. I saw its glistening end flash in the harsh light above me. He released his hold on my lower jaw. It was so strained it did not spring back. Instead it stayed open - my mouth gaping wide in an expression of hopelessness, emptiness and loss of control.
He bent forward and opened my eyelids, looking inside them, pulling the bottom one down as far as he could. Then he took each of my nipples, pinched and twisted them in turn, then drew them between his teeth and bit onto them suddenly and viciously.
I screamed! I had never heard a louder scream! It was an outburst of all my pent up terror. All the fear that had built up inside me was released in this sudden screech.
‘Turn her over,’ said Dr Collins in a matter-fact-way as he walked over to the table.
The grip on my wrists and ankles was released. I was rolled over onto my front. Again I tried to flex my fingers, to lift my arms, to show some sign of resistance but straightaway I felt the sharp teeth taking their hold again - this time harder. I pushed my head to the side, gasping for breath, my heart pounding, my ears filled with its thumping, my head spinning in a turmoil of confusion.
The man in the suit was standing beside me. He brushed the left arm of his suit with his right hand. Still, I could not see his face. Even in the harsh brightness of the fluorescent light I could not see his face.
I heard Dr Collins walking back. Just behind the man in the suit, I saw Dr Collins walking back from the table drawing on a pair of latex gloves.
‘Her throat is clear anyway. So let’s see what it’ll take.’
The man in the suit began unzipping his trousers. He put his hand inside and pulled out his cock - heavy, throbbing and hard.
He pushed it towards my face. I felt its strangely familiar heat.
I felt hands pressing open my buttocks - prising them wide. It was Dr Collins - I could feel the smoothness of the latex gloves.
‘A little lubrication should help,’ he said.
The throbbing cock came closer. I watched its end pulsating - engorged, reddish-purple, still swelling.
Suddenly, I felt pressure against my anus. Something was slipping in. It opened easily, there was no resistance. My eyes widened. It felt large and heavy - completely filling.
The cock pressed against my lips. I gaped and it went inside. It did not stop. It pressed against the back of my tongue, over its base then into my throat. I gagged quickly but it turned into a heave and that disappeared as the heavy shaft went further and deeper.
My anus was completely full. It felt like a hand was inside me - probing deep, spreading my anal ring as wide as possible, up to the wrist, delving into my innards. I swallowed on the cock, sucking it down until its base was pressed against my lips. I sucked at it - heavily, ravenously, hungrily. I lifted my bottom as much as I could against the biting on my ankles and wrists and the heavy intrusion in my anus. I wanted more. Whatever it was inside me, I wanted it until no more was available.
I felt my anus close around something - perhaps a wrist? It tightened and I felt the fullness of it, the completeness of it as I swallowed hard on the cock in my throat. I didn’t know if I was breathing - I couldn’t tell. The teeth tightened more around my wrists and ankles. It was as though I was being eaten alive - consumed with pleasure and pain, devoured by fear, overcome by the gulping greed of others.
I felt myself moving against the pressure in my anus. As I swallowed on the cock, and sucked at it hungrily, I was moving against the intrusion that reached to my innards. I rose and fell, moaned and slurped, heaved and wallowed in recurring waves of disgust and remorse. I was disgusted by my actions and filled with a sense of remorse born of my inability to hold back - I could not resist the delig
ht of even the most degrading exploitation and use of my body.
I don’t know what happened first. I don’t know whether the cock finished in my throat and I drank thirstily on the flow of semen. I don’t know whether I rose up on the pressure in my anus and squeezed my thighs together on the flesh of my cunt as spasm after spasm of ecstasy ran through me. I don’t know whether I groaned and grunted with bliss as I pulled against the biting teeth at my ankles and wrists. No, I don’t know which happened first, but they all happened. I know I was flung forward with ecstasy. I know I sucked so hard at the cock in my throat I thought it would never come out. I know I had blood smeared on my lips and face but I did not know in what order these things happened. I know I was spanked with a heavy hand, and then with the strop that had been used to sharpen the open razor. I counted the blows at first, but soon they all became part of a single painful rhythm of punishment. I could not escape the pleasure of the pain, the joy and fulfilment of my complete submission. I was racked with convulsions. My head spun. I was giddy and delirious. The fluorescent light above me seemed to spin in circles. I thought I was floating above the couch. I was not sure if I was awake or dreaming, alive or dead, in pain or in ecstasy. In the end - whenever that was - the fluorescent light stopped spinning and everything went black.
The next thing I knew I was on my back again, lying on the plastic surface of the couch - aching, sore, and dissipated.
Dr Collins probed his pen between the cleft of my cunt.
‘I think that before we can even begin her treatment, nurse, we must send her to the chapel. Yes, there are no shortcuts here. There she will recant her sins, and only then will she be sufficiently cleansed to begin the treatment in earnest. Nurse, take our visitor away. I will see her again nearer the time.’
Nurse Roslin drew on her uniform jacket. She pulled it tight at the front and squeezed her firm breasts inside. I noticed how hard and prominent her nipples were. She rolled her tongue across her lips - red smudged blood clashed with the brighter red of her lipstick. She took hold of the wheelchair handles and pushed me out of the room.
She parked the wheelchair in the dark corner of a corridor, checked the tightness of the bonds at my wrists and ankles then left me alone.
I fell into an uncomfortable sleep but was suddenly woken by a huge clap of thunder; it was immediately above me. The building shook. I struggled to free myself, but it was more a reaction of fear than an expectation - I knew I could not free myself, I knew I was a captive. Suddenly an image of Father Dawson came into my mind. I saw him writhing on the electric chair, boiling blood spurting from his ears, steam foaming from his mouth, his staring bulging eyes fixing me with a threatening stare.
‘Syra! Sweetie! I’m back.’ Caroline’s face bent down in front of me. ‘Wakey-wakey! It’s Caroline come to rescue you!’
‘It’s been terrible,’ I muttered. ‘The nurse and the doctor, they did terrible things - ’
‘Wow, what a storm! I’m glad to get out, I can tell you. You think you’ve had a bad time. I’m locked up all day. I can’t even get out every night either - and that causes me some pain I can tell you. The days are long enough, without missing a night of freedom. Every day, sitting by myself, silent, not moving - it’s like I’m invisible. Perhaps that’s why I talk so much when I get out - the relief of being free again. It’s no wonder I masturbate such a lot. Do you like doing that, Syra? I bet you do. I can’t get enough of it. I’ve always got my fingers stuffed in my cunt. It’s warm in there. I don’t even take them out when I have visitors. Oh yes, I have plenty of visitors. They come in the night. I help them to get rid of their anxieties. I let them watch me sometimes, masturbating. A lot of them like that. I suppose it’s because I get carried away. You know - writhing, spitting, and shouting. And I thrash a lot of them. They like that too! They bring what they want me to use. I like it best when they bring a whip - that’s my favourite. And I don’t hold back. I bend them over and tie them down then I let rip as hard as I can. They plead with me to stop, but I think that’s all part of the fun. I never stop when they ask anyway, only when I’m exhausted, or I have to mop up the blood. Sometimes I just get on my hands and knees and lick it off the floor. Oh, Syra, do you think I’m awful?’
‘Why can’t you come out in the day? Who stops you?’
‘Things are different at night, after dark - much safer. It’s not so safe to come out in the day - too much light. You’re safe with me though, Syra, in the night. I think it’s better for you to be secured in the day. You never know who’s prowling about.’
Caroline pulled thin cords around my ankles and wound them tightly to the frame of the wheelchair.
She looked up between my thighs.
‘Oh, you’re bleeding. What have you been doing?’
She reached up and ran her fingers upwards along the crack of my cunt then onto the base of my stomach.
‘Your skin is beautifully smooth, so closely shaved. But you have been nicked - more than once. Wow, what sharp cuts! Let me lick them for you. It will make you feel better.’
She pushed my legs wider as she dropped to her knees and pressed herself between them. I wanted to take hold of her head and pull it against me, but my wrists were tied tight and I could not move them. The frustration of captivity made my yearning all the greater. It seemed an eternity, but at last her tongue made contact with my flesh and she started to lick the cuts. I rolled my eyes up in ecstasy. There was no build up, no heralding of what was to come - I had used up all my anticipation before she even touched me. My mouth dropped wide, and that took a fraction of a second, but that was all. The moment I felt her lips against my flesh I was overtaken by the heat of bliss as instantly it shook me in a spasm of pleasure. I seemed to rise up to heaven, like a leaf in the wind - fragile, spinning, weightless.
I sensed she kept licking, and sucking, and lapping at me. I sensed she drove her tongue inside - deeply inside- and I sensed she lifted my buttocks as much as she could and probed her tongue into my anus. But all I knew - all I really knew for certain - was the heat in my body, the light in my head, and the overpowering spasms of delight that threw me into one uncontrolled convulsing fit of bliss after another.
PUNISHMENT AND CONFESSION
The next thing I knew I was outside the chapel door - heavy oak with a huge twisted iron handle. I was still tied to the wheelchair, now wearing a blue smock unbuttoned down the front. My breasts were exposed. As I looked down, beyond my achingly hard nipples, I could see at the tops of my open thighs the dark shadow in the cleft of my shaved cunt.
I looked around for Caroline but she was nowhere to be seen. I felt alone and exposed.
The heavy door opened with a creak. I tried to draw my legs together but realised they were tied at the knees to the sides of the wheelchair.
A man’s face peered around the door. His yellow eyes were barely visible between his half closed eyelids; he had several days’ growth of beard and was bald. He looked me up and down and grinned. His teeth were yellow, like his eyes.
‘I’ve been waiting for you. You’re the one that needs to recant aren’t you? You’re the one who can’t start her treatment until she renounces her sins and asks for forgiveness, aren’t you? I have read your report. From what I’ve seen, I cannot recall having to deal with anyone who has sunk so low. Your confession will be hard to take.’
He swung the door fully open. A heady waft of sweet smelling incense filled my nostrils and an accompanying wave of heaving nausea made me swallow hard. I sat bound in the wheelchair, unable to move, staring ahead, not knowing what to do. I heard giggling behind me. Suddenly the wheelchair lurched forward as unseen hands pushed it forward into the darkness beyond.
Shafts of light broke in through jagged breaks in the green, red and blue stained glass windows. As I was pushed forward, a brilliant white shaft broke through a gap and dazzled me. It fractured the face of
a dark cloaked figure depicted bending above a pale young girl dressed in white. I felt penetrated by the shining blast of light - it was as though it burned my skin. I shrank back.
I was quickly pushed down an aisle between dark wooden pews to an ornate altar rail. Beyond this, a table with a cloth and candlesticks was surrounded by shabby pictures of the Virgin Mary and in the centre a huge depiction of the crucified Jesus.
The man who had let me in stood behind the rail - he was the priest. He wore a black cassock buttoned down the front, a black tightly woven fascia tied tightly around his waist, and a black shoulder cape. His yellow squinting eyes stared hard at me - he seemed to be assessing me, working out what to do with me. I already felt ashamed - half naked, bound to the wheelchair, confused and trembling with fear - and his stare made it worse. I felt a shamed victim - powerless, unable to control my life, no longer knowing anything about my destiny except that it was in the hands of another.
‘And what have your sins been, my child? It will be difficult for me to hear, I know, but as a servant of Christ, I must bear it. Tell me.’
I stared at him unable to answer. I didn’t know what to say.
‘Do not hold back. It is useless to resist the power of God. I shall have your repentance whether you resist or not. It is within you, I know, and it will be released. Do not hold back. It is pointless.’
‘I don’t...’
He nodded his head, encouraging me to continue.
‘I don’t know what...’
He continued nodding, but it was no good. I couldn’t find the words. I started shaking. I was filled with unfocussed dread. My mind was in turmoil. I couldn’t understand what I was doing here - what was going on.
‘Ah, my child, I see you are fearful. Your fear is confusing your thoughts. It is common. But you are on the brink of salvation.’ He addressed whoever was behind me. Release her! She will kneel before me! Let her repentance begin!’