by Bree Dahlia
“Are you choosing this pain?”
My face was wet. Once the first tear had dropped, the others followed suit rapidly, running into my mouth.
“Are you choosing this pain?”
Oh, God. “Yes.” I’d consented to it. But why? Please don’t make me talk.
“When I hit you, are you in control of how you feel?” Smack! The fire shot up to my neck when he whacked my upper thigh. “When I hit you, are you saying yes to the pain?”
I couldn’t understand what he was talking about. Just leave me alone. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. I wouldn’t answer him. I wouldn’t scream. He couldn’t make me. This was my pain, and I could bend it to my will.
“Do you say yes to all your pain?”
Don’t scream don’t scream don’t scream. I glanced towards the adjoining door. I could end this fuckedupness right the fuck now. I only had to yell for him, and he’d be there in a split second. Just like he always was. Ian. It was at the tip of my tongue, mingling with my salty tears. Having a fucking party without me.
“Did you ask for it because you want it?”
No. I wouldn’t end it. I would take it all silently. The silent pain. A memory violated me. I’m very sorry. There’s nothing more we can do. I would suffer in silence because I deserved to.
Smack! “Do you embrace it like a lover and keep it around because you need it? Do you fall to your knees and beg it never to leave you?”
Shut the fuck up! The next collision forced me forward, my hands skittering over the polished wood.
“Are you even worthy enough to suffer?”
My ears hammered, my head about to pop. I could feel the hot blood rushing everywhere, straining in my veins, needing out. I wanted to see it. No, I wanted to see his blood. I wanted to lance him. Badly.
I was scooped up, and my body deflated. Reduced to a being without muscle and bone. An empty bag of skin. The violent impulses had been but a dream. One I vaguely recalled from eons ago.
I was placed on the bed, belly side down. Hands roughly kneaded my hot, sensitive flesh. It hurt, but it didn’t. I was enjoying it, but I wasn’t. I couldn’t because it wasn’t possible.
I only had one certainty. I was not numb.
A pressure between my legs brought a new sensation. He was opening me, sliding something inside. His fingers. I might have moaned; I wasn’t sure. His palm was hard against my sore ass as he penetrated deeply.
“Your cunt is soaked.” No, it wasn’t. Was it? “Why is that?”
I had no idea. My brain tissue had dissolved with the rest of me. It was much less demanding to feel than to think. It was easier to…
I could feel.
“I think… I think it’s because I can feel something again,” I muttered into the pillow, saying it more for myself than him.
He pulled out and pressed against my ass. “I’m not interested in your thoughts. I don’t care what you think you feel.”
His fingertip tried to enter, but my body fought him. Any attempts to shift closer to the headboard were thwarted by his heavy hand on my lower back.
“I want reactions, Jacqueline. I want to pry you apart.”
My heart was jackhammering my ribs. Water. I needed water. My mouth had dried out from panting so hard. He pierced me, and my stomach tightened into a rock. That had to be more than one finger. It was too much; it consumed me. Stop! I’d never done ass play before, and I was never doing it again. I dug into the pillow and gulped down breaths.
“I want raw and bloody emotions spilling from you. Don’t you dare bury the pain.” He broke into me, and I sucked in so hard I thought I’d choke. “Give it to me!”
My senses went haywire the instant he took me fully. I gasped, clamping around him, feeling… Oh my God… feeling something I couldn’t wrap my head around. Illogical pleasure. It was a release of sorts, but the spasm left me incomplete, lacking, wanting to sob.
He withdrew from me, his absence making me even emptier inside. His arm snaked under my waist and hoisted me to my knees, and when I flopped back, he slapped my hands to the headboard. Nothing about it was merciful.
“Stay.”
I felt like this was a punishment. I’d given him a reaction, but maybe it was the wrong reaction. Maybe my pleasure made him angry.
He left the bed, and when he returned, something cool pressed against my lips. “Drink.” I opened my mouth and let him pour water in, my tongue lapping it up greedily.
When I’d had my fill, the glass went down on the dresser with a solid clunk, making me start. His open hand came to my face, and I flinched, expecting a slap, but his fingers were soft against my cheek.
“You’re so pretty when you cry.”
I could only imagine the train wreck I looked, thankful I wasn’t in front of a mirror. Swollen lids and bloodshot eyes, dripping with black. I had a silly urge to giggle. When I’d gotten ready that morning, I should’ve gone with the waterproof mascara.
And my body… Oh my God. What new blueprint had my skin taken on?
“But it’s not enough.” Thick fabric, smooth and white, slithered around my neck. “Since you won’t give it to me, I’m going to have to take it from you.” My eyes widened when he slid the knot closer to my throat, stopping before it touched. His moved my head gently from side to side until he appeared satisfied. “Since we’re in your room, I have to get creative.” His lips curved as his fingers brushed my jaw.
Bumps scattered over my arms even though I was sweltering. Something about his demeanor put me on edge, and it was akin to a stranglehold on my chest.
“Are you scared?”
“No,” I lied, my pulse jacking up.
He twined scarves into my makeshift collar and attached them to my wrists, looping them through the open-frame headboard.
“You should be.”
My heart showed no mercy; its beats were ruthless, but I couldn’t tear away from his large, skillful hands, knotting the scarves as if he were creating art. It was symmetry amongst my inner chaos. He grasped hold around my ribcage and leaned me back, once again appearing satisfied with his handiwork.
“Why… what are you doing to me?” I whispered.
I thought he’d bark at me for speaking out of turn, but he just smiled as if my cracked voice pleased him. He moved behind me and tied something rough around my ankles. My mind raced to the closet, the bathroom, anywhere else he could have found make-do restraints. I was drawing a blank. The scarves were mine, but I didn’t fucking remember packing them.
“I’m binding you. I only promised not to blindfold or gag you.” He tugged my legs wider apart. “I keep my promises, so rest assured, we’ll be seeing this through till the end.”
I tested my upper body, and the game spun me in a different direction, one that had me rereading the rules to check if I was an equal player. I could only shift my head sideways easily, the rest of my movement very limited. It wasn’t a realistic scenario, considering the scant amount of ties holding me. But looks were deceiving. The entire night was a deceptive bitch. Excluding my mini-orgasm, nothing he’d done had accomplished anything except giving himself a monstrous erection he’d never use on me.
He returned to my sight, and I kicked up my feet. Or tried to. He’d posed me in a spread kneeling position, and I couldn’t sit or close my legs. I was interested to know how he’d managed to do that on a hotel bed with limited resources, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of asking. I was a woman turned defiant child.
“It’s safer this way.” I glared at him. “It’s going to hurt, and you’ll thrash. I don’t want you harming yourself.”
“It’s not very comfortable,” I said, pushing the boundaries a second time.
“You’re not here to be comfortable.”
My eyes darted around. Did I still want this or not? He fondled my hair, coiling it around his finger, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. What I was doing was unnatural. People as a whole were pain avoiders, not seekers.
But what
good was living a deadened life… what chance did I have if I didn’t try any means possible to heal? I reached deep inside and held tight to the part that needed to believe in this man before me. To go against all rational thought and let him break me to fix me.
He stood and unbuckled his belt, sliding the tooled leather slowly through the loops, keeping me eye level for the entire display. Once it was free, he wrapped it around his hand and stroked my face with it.
“I’m going to whip you, and you’re going to suffer, but I promise it will all be worth it. All you need to do is acknowledge whatever comes and let it go.”
My nerves were scraped raw. The end of the belt brushed my collarbone, and I winced. It was an ice pick to my sensitive skin. Logically, I knew I could end the agony with one word, but paranoia reigned. What if he bound me only to crush me and leave me as dust?
I was a warm-blooded contradiction, slamming from one extreme to the other. I had to pick a side and stay there. I lowered my lids and went within, searching for my answer.
I chose to suffer.
Three.
I choose to suffer.
And I was content with that choice. But when he cradled my face lovingly in his hands and gave me a sweet kiss, my blood froze solid.
The sharp crack snapped my eyes open, springing forth a well of tears. The seal had been tampered with, and I could no longer keep them contained. They streamed down my cheeks, down my neck, dampening my collar.
My skin was smoldering, already sore and fragile, the rest of me chilled to the marrow. Another lash drenched my forehead in sweat.
The stings were vicious. They claimed my back, my ass, my thighs. They reached in with their evil tongues and licked my soul.
I didn’t scream, but I sobbed when I heard the hiss sail through the air because I knew it was coming for me. Where I cried the loudest, he struck the hardest.
He’d been brutally honest. I did thrash. I recoiled when the belt neared, and I contorted when it hit. The worst was the moment it left my skin, for I knew there’d soon be another.
The callous bites had taken on a life-form, devouring me from the outside in, and the belt was its Master, pulling its strings while it delighted in my torment. Stopping was no longer an option. I was going to see this through no matter how long it took. I could handle it. I’d handled uglier.
I switched off my pain and took the control back. It didn’t exist. I didn’t exist. I was just a bodiless observer, and nothing could touch me. The silent pain.
I watched my eyes swell and my cheeks stain. Watched the hair plaster to the side of my face and stick between my trembling lips.
A sense of achievement filled my consciousness. I had the strength to deny it all and be just fine.
The corners of my mouth began to curve up right before the sensations ceased, yanking me back to a body I didn’t want to be in. I’d been the ash, desensitized and free from sparks until forced into the wildfire. Then I torched.
It was no consolation that my body had been drugged by the ache. My brain dulled, but as a cruel joke, it’d kept my nerves on high alert. Parts of me were throwing daggers at the others. They should’ve been sent to the corner for not playing nice.
I was aware of Deacon beside me, but I didn’t react to him. I briefly wondered if I was a masochist. No. My mind wasn’t too anesthetized to remember the requirement. Receiving pain did not give me pleasure. Receiving pain gave me fucking pain.
Time held little meaning by that point. I didn’t know if it was thirty seconds or thirty minutes or thirty hours before he’d lifted the belt again.
I shook my head. He brought the leather to my face, and the earthy smell sickened me. He ran it over my lips, and I smashed them closed, shaking my head once more.
He pressed it into my mouth, and I tasted bitterness. I tried to spit it out. My body was leaden, sinking into the bed, but my senses were holding me accountable. I hated them.
With a couple of fingers, he slapped my face, and my eyes blinked wide. It might as well have been an open palm for as stunned as I was. It was a mere tickle after what he’d just done to me, but that was irrelevant. It was the context, and it was meant to be demeaning.
He wrenched the strap from my tongue and belted my ass. No! I rattled my head until I was dizzier. Fresh tears waited in line to fall. No! I’d reached my limit. Used up all my control.
“No more,” I’d managed to blubber out.
He fisted my hair. “‘No more’ is not one of the options. You either see this through, or you call your friend to escort you back to your personal hell.”
The next stroke landed flush across my breasts, and I drank in a strong breath. My head felt masses lighter. My nipples were searing, the virgin skin blooming into a stripe of fire. It was the first time that evening he’d even acknowledged I had breasts. Now, I was getting pissed.
I felt desexualized. For how he reacted, I wasn’t even a woman. I could’ve been a man bound to this bed, and it wouldn’t have made a difference. All he needed was a warm body to hurt.
“What’s it going to be, cupcake?”
I tensed, ready to bare my teeth. He was taunting me; I recognized that, trying to patronize me with his saccharine pet name. And it was working. I hated it. Hated him. I parted my mouth, and he took that opportunity to make me taste his vile leather.
“Are you ready to go back and be a pampered little princess?”
How dare he! He had no fucking clue what I’d gone through. No. Fucking. Clue.
He slid the belt from my mouth, a line of saliva spilling down my chin. “Maybe he’ll hold your hand and rub your shoulders.” He released my hair and traveled a finger lightly down my back, drawing what felt like little hearts. “And you can smile all pretty and pretend that you feel it.”
“Fuck you,” I spat out. The tension was building underneath my skin, making me hurt all the more. I was miles past the point of reeling it in.
“Not one of the options, sweetheart.”
“Fuck you,” I repeated, just as the lash licked my thighs. My pulse clicked to manic mood, and I panted like the untamed animal he regarded me as.
“Try again.”
Fuck these tears, acting as if they’d never been out of their cage before. Fuck him, punishing my poor flesh as if he hadn’t already received the satisfaction of reducing me to a sniveling mess.
“Fuck you.”
“Call him, Jacqueline. You can end this right now. You don’t deserve pleasure, what makes you think you deserve pain?”
God, it hurt, and I was too jacked up to leave myself again. The more the hot steam pushed to the surface, the more I felt the sting of the belt against it. My heartbeat was deafening, drowning out the hiss, at least.
“Call him.” Crack!
I ground my teeth. I wasn’t giving in. “Fuck you, you twisted motherfucker. I’m good enough to mark but not good enough to fuck?” I couldn’t curb the words bursting from my throat. “Fuck you and your promises to help me.” I sputtered as I spit more out. “And fuck you and all your ‘very sorrys.’”
Where the hell did that one come from?
The sudden brutality between my open legs sent me into a tailspin. The bitter kiss on my pussy stole my first scream, and ohGodohGodohGod… I couldn’t believe he’d whipped me there.
“No more,” I cried. “Please.”
I fragmented, pieces of me scattering everywhere. I couldn’t handle it. I was too weak. A sweet, fluffy cupcake, devoid of sustenance.
He snapped my inner thighs, coming close enough to make me tremble harder. I’d lost the fight, but I wasn’t above begging. I wasn’t strong enough to end it myself; I needed him to do it for me.
“Look at you. And you wonder why your cunt’s unworthy to fuck.”
Unworthy.
My pulse slowed, and I felt so hollow. Everything of value had left me because I was polluted.
“I’m unworthy,” I said, weeping harder than I ever thought possible. Harder than I deserved.
“Tell me why.”
The voice seemed to come from within, yet from the other side of the world. Memories and emotions and judgments triggered, and I couldn’t swallow the metallic shards down. They coated the roof of my mouth, my lips, my tongue, while the anguish went straight to my lungs. It was far more caustic than any infliction upon my outer shell.
“I was careless. He said he loved me. I believed him. I was stupid.” I poured it out in rapid succession. “I listened to no one.” My eyes were gummed shut, but it wasn’t enough to dam the tears. “Unworthy.”
“Tell me why.” A strike on my backside kept me focused on the pain. I wasn’t escaping it.
“He said he’d be there for me. He said he wanted the baby.”
I could barely speak the last word. So much pain.
“More. Recreate it.” The sharp bite feasted on my thighs.
“He left right before my baby left me. I wasn’t worthy of anyone.”
God, this was agonizing. My outsides were a heap of disjointed intersections and my insides a giant landfill. A refuge for waste.
“One day my baby was no longer called one. They renamed it clinical waste.”
Tears and snot suffocated me. I was drowning in the sorrow. Why would I ever want to recreate this? Feel this?
“Keep going. You can handle it. Bind your emotional pain to your physical pain.”
I couldn’t accomplish anything other than spilling out fluid, but his belt centered me. He took me hard, pushing me higher than I had a right to go.
“I’m a refuge for waste. I am waste. I was devastated when Manny left me, and that made me toxic.”
Each new lash from this beautiful stranger was a shove forward. The twitches in my muscles kept me oddly amused; I never could predict where the next one would occur. And when he strapped my breasts, it didn’t affect me the same way again. How could it when I was infinite?
“You’re doing so well. Don’t stop.”
“Contaminated,” I repeated. “And no one wants to sully themselves in waste.”