"I've waited a long time for you, Emily. You're mine now."
CHAPTER EIGHT
She awoke—battered, bruised and broken—to the sound of soft music being played in her ears. Sometime during the time she had slept, she had been bathed, powdered and comfortably dressed in a soft nightgown. She was on her stomach and facing the wall, unrestrained, and covered with a cozy quilt. In a bed... A real bed… HIS bed.
Her body refused to turn over, forcing her to explore her new surroundings with just her eyes and ears. The dreaded sound of a ticking clock bounced off the wall next to her head, drawing her attention to the framed artwork. She strained her neck to look looked more closely. He was good, she had to admit, as she purveyed the paintings within her limited field of vision. Oddly, his art was beautiful; flowing, graceful and filled with a strange sense of peace. The particular painting before her captured her attention. It was an image of a destroyed universe, with swirling black flames, falling autumn leaves, bare bones, and ornate, flying beetles. Woven throughout the image were brightly colored flowers and flowing, blue water. All of this was centered on the depiction of a large Chinese dragon engulfing a world set aflame. The picture was vastly disturbing, yet she could not drag her eyes from studying the details.
She grimaced, flexing her shoulders and discovering a new, different type of pain along her back. It burned, as though a thousand knives had stripped her flesh, piece by piece. It was unlike the throbbing she endured on her bloodied backside, which ached in pulsating waves. He had done something more to torment her, but what?
"Ahh, you're awake! Did you have fun yesterday? I certainly did. Several times, in fact," Jack said, from behind her. "You wore me out, baby girl. Even after you fell asleep, you were so generous with your little body in every way! My prick is going to need a few days to recover from all the attention it had."
Emma closed her eyes, trying not to allow the image of his continued use of her while she slept to burn into her mind. She groaned as he pulled the blankets away and slipped her gown up past her bottom and over her shoulders. Hoarse protests escaped her mouth as he peeled back the layer of dressings he had placed over the entirety of her back and bottom.
"Beautiful," he exclaimed, standing back to admire his handiwork. "I'm not happy about the stripes on your bottom, though. Let's clean this all off and then put some 'anti-ow' lotion on you, okay?"
What was he looking at? What more had he done to her as she slept? The smell of the astringent nauseated her; its chill causing the flesh between her shoulders to tighten painfully. He sprayed it thoroughly over the entirety of her back, patting the burning areas tenderly to catch any dripping. He moved to her injured bottom, spraying and dabbing, all the while apologizing for his need to be so strict with her. The ointment he applied to the cuts caused excruciating pain, and Emma cried out with her face buried in the pillow. His hands were exceedingly gentle as he ventured along her back with the same liniment, prompting an overpowering sense of scalding.
"There. All done! We will keep you on your tummy, and everything should be nice and healed up in a week or two. Please be a good girl for me. I won't spank your bottom while it looks like that, but there are other areas that I can take a switch—or my belt—to."
He placed a fresh layer of dressings over her back and behind, lowered her nightie, and then covered her with the blanket. Leaning forward to kiss her, he whispered, "I'm going to go get your breakfast. Don't move."
Her concern regarding her inability to sit became second place to that of how he was going to 'feed her.' She groaned as she heard the familiar sound of liquid swishing, and the clanking of the metal hook being hung over her head.
"I brought an old IV stand in here because I haven't yet had time to install a ring to hang your enema," he explained cheerfully. "This one is different than the others. There are nutrients in this mixture that absorb through the lining of your intestines. All we have to do is slide it in, turn it on, and there you go! Breakfast!"
The blanket and nightgown were again lifted away, and her buttocks parted with gentle ease. He probed her sore anus, remarking on how 'nice, pink and puffy' it was after 'enjoying' all that time with him. There was no preface to sliding the hose deep inside of her, its tapered tip making her instantly cramp as it pushed past the rectal vault and into the depth of her colon. He explained, quite extensively, how that part of her body was designed to absorb liquids, making it the perfect recipient of an enteral diet. The pressure increased as he inflated the balloon that held the hose in place, pumping it beyond the necessary size to retain it, all the while expressing how pleased he was with her behavior.
She barely felt the liquid trickling into her body, distracted as she was by the sizzling agony from the back of her neck to the middle of her thighs. He stroked her legs soothingly, forcing them apart so he could reach her core. The gentleness of his touch terrified her more than his heavy handedness, leaving her confused and waiting for the next level of psychopathic depravity he would inflict upon her.
Her stomach started to rumble from the fluids, catching his attention.
"We are going to hold that for an hour so that all the good things inside are nicely absorbed. Did you want to say something?"
Emma quickly shook her head, not wanting to risk having the backs of her legs torn like her bottom.
"You're wondering why your back is a little tender, aren't you? Oh, I just can't keep a surprise! I took a picture with your tablet. Here…"
Emma gasped at the image he held before her. How could he do this to her? The painting on the wall—the one she had studied with awe—had been transferred to her back. Not one inch of flesh-colored skin remained across the span of her shoulders and down to the top of her hips. The tattoo was as stunning as the painting, the colors vivid and the scene dynamic, but he had marked her body in a way that would forever be part of her, even if she managed to escape this hell hole.
"It's beautiful, isn't it? Took me over twelve hours. We will need some touch ups after it heals, though. I know society frowns upon body modifications, but this is special between us."
Emma buried her face in her hands again, still lying flat on the bed with the enema tube protruding from her rear end. He had even invaded the peace of sleep, now, taking from her the only time she had thought to be free of the torment. He patted her bottom.
"I cried when it was done, too. This was my dream, you know. To conquer the world and then find a special girl to share in my success. One day, my love, when I die, all of this will be yours! Isn't that exciting?"
Very exciting; if she outlived him. Emma mourned her future. He had made certain that there was no going back. Tattoos, like unlicensed sexual activities, were outlawed in the present world. Anyone sporting body modification, even so much as a piercing, was labeled as a potential criminal. The magistrate would not care about the circumstances, nor would anyone else. Jack had, in essence, signed her death sentence.
As she lay sobbing, he read her a story. The low timbre of his voice resonated against the walls and around her ears, soothing her quaking as he spoke in slow, soft tones. She felt her eyes grow heavy and fought against the drugged veil of sleep that threatened to take her consciousness. What horror would she awaken to this time?
***
Time stopped. Literally. He removed the clock from his room, blacked out the windows so she did not know the time of day, and kept her completely naked and bedridden during her convalescence. Diapers, retention enemas and meticulous cleansing of her bottom and tattoo were the sole focus of her existence at the moment. The pain from the tattoo resolved fairly quickly, and had turned into a never-ending itch that could not be scratched. Her bottom took much longer to recover, and she was forced to suffer through his fingers kneading oil into her flesh to prevent any scarring or calluses from forming.
He had not struck her once since the caning, but Emma was not fooling herself into thinking that his guilt for drawing blood would last once her backside had healed
. This pseudo-freedom he was giving her had a purpose other than to assuage his guilt—if he was actually capable of feeling such. It forced her dependence upon him in another diabolical manner. He slept by her side every night, rising the second she stirred, making certain she lacked for nothing. His attentive care softened her towards him, and he frequently mentioned how badly he felt for having to discipline her. Emma conceded it had been her fault, and that her laziness had made it occur. Slowly, she turned into one of those women who justified abuse, and began to believe that she deserved more. Not only did she deserve it, but she started to crave it.
After all the time she had spent with Jack, she had been subject to his physical presence. He always touched, spanked, probed, and even fucked her—until now. Except for the changing of soiled diapers and the physical care he gave for her healing, he had not so much as touched even her nipples. Her bottom was only fingered during the massage and changing now, and she found herself longing for, not only his touch, but his penetration as well.
"How is my special girl feeling today?" he asked, rolling over in the bed and running his thumb along her itching spine. Emma arched her back towards his hand, hoping that he would catch the hint and relieve her of some of the discomfort of the healing tattoo. He chuckled, sitting up, and leaned across her to study his artwork.
"It is beautiful. There is so much peace in the middle of the chaos, isn't there? Let's see your sweet bottom. Oh! It looks like you have healed up quite well. Would you like to try your hand at school again? You won't be lazy this time, will you? I didn't think so. I'll be lenient with you, though, and only use a belt instead of the cane for a while. I do want to examine you before we engage again. Let's go back to your room."
Groggily, Emma plopped her head against his shoulder, unable to shake off the remnants of the sedatives he continually pumped into her, either through the retention enema or the suppositories. With a tremendous amount of care, he laid her on her back in her crib, watching her reaction with concern as her bottom made contact with the mattress. A look of relief covered his face when she did not cry out.
"Oh, good! I was worried that you were still in pain. You took a long time to heal, baby girl, nearly ten days! I missed being able to play with you. Now," he sat down at the end of the crib and dropped the gate to make it into a changing table, "Let's see how everything looks. Scootch your bottom down to the edge and put your feet in the stirrups. Did you notice that I removed the nipple bands? I bet you miss having your breasts at attention, don't you?"
He pulled a towel off of a tray of tools that he had placed on his right side, and produced a long pair of forceps with orange rubber tips. "These are called tongue forceps. See the little teeth on the inside of the pad? This was designed to grasp the tongue and hold it. I found a much better use, though." He held her left breast in his left hand and pinched the forceps around the nipple, locking it in place. Emma squealed, suddenly very much awake. He repeated the process on the other side, then sat back to admire his handiwork. Satisfied, he restrained both her ankles in the stirrups, grabbed her hips, and pulled her towards him until her bottom hung over the edge of the table.
He slapped on a pair of gloves, pushed the stirrups wide apart and adjusted the light over her naked groin. He parted her womanly lips, commenting about it being time for a waxing, and then studied her clit by pulling back the hood and exposing the bright pink nub underneath. He hummed, lifting up another forceps and slipping it onto the flap of skin.
"Why are you making such a noise? That doesn't hurt. There are no nerve endings in the hood. Didn't you know that?"
Emma clenched her teeth, wondering where he got his information from. She grabbed the rails of the crib with her hands, trying to stay in position and avoid having her arms restrained as well. He held up a tube with a pointed end. "See this? I'll prove it to you. It will only take a second…"
Emma's eyes shot open as she felt the piercing needle sliding through the delicate tissue. He grinned, screwing the clit ring in place. "There we go! First one down. That didn't hurt a bit, did it?"
Shooting pain carried down her legs as he repeated the piercing to either side of her vulva, happily describing how he would use the rings once they had healed.
"We are going to have so much fun with these. I can clip chains to both sides and attach them to your ankles. This way you can hold your lips wide open for me without using your hands! I do love it when you are as pleased as I am. Those tears make me so happy."
He hooked his finger around the clit ring and lifted the hood again. He pinched her clit hard several times, explaining that he couldn't pleasure her with his mouth because there was too much bacteria to expose to the pretty new piercings. His left hand traveled to her slit and opened it wide for the insertion of his right fingers. Finding her wet, he continued to hold her open, and slipped an icy speculum through the entrance. He tightened the screw, opening the mouth of her pussy as wide as the instrument would allow, and commented on the beautiful, dark pink color of her insides. He lifted a long, metal probe that was slightly curved and had two rounded ends.
"This is a Hegar dilator. We just call it a sound," he explained, pressing it to the dimple in the center of the round walnut of her cervix. She stiffened and whimpered as he slipped it up into her vagina, through her cervix, and held it in place.
"This may sting a bit," he continued. "But we both know that you enjoy the feeling of a good sting." He twisted the device slightly, withdrew it a little way, and then inserted it deeper into her womb.
She tensed and held her breath, praying that the newest form of his toying with her would be over quickly. He removed the speculum and tossed it back on the tray.
"Nearly done. Just one more thing. I want to make sure your muscles are still working well," he said, slipping his gloved finger, then two, into her anus without warning. He lifted a second device, an anal speculum, from his tray, and slipped it abruptly into her bottom hole, then slowly turned the screw until she was opened wide enough for him to insert his hand. Emma's muffled sobs increased as he worked his gloved hand in up to the wrist and then unhinged the device, slipping it out and leaving his hand lodged with her muscles clutching painfully around it. He began to pump it vigorously inside her, working his way even further in.
"Oh dear! You really like this, don't you, darling? Look at how wet you are. Would you like me to fuck you, baby? It's been ten days. I think we both deserve a treat, don't you?"
Emma shook her head. She did not want him! She didn't! But her body yearned to be filled… was this her punishment for all the foolish things she had done? Maybe she could force him to end it, here and now; perhaps give him cause to beat her until she ceased to exist. Would he stop with beating, or would he mutilate her more? Her thoughts swam about, drawing her away from the pounding of his hand embedded in her bowels. The pain of the fisting drifted away, leaving her feeling nothing but emptiness. She was ready to die.
"Professor Jack? Please punish me for my sins," she croaked.
CHAPTER NINE
Jack withdrew his hand from her ass, peeling the glove away as he stood, slowly and deliberately.
"You are asking me to punish you, Emma?" His voice changed. It was no longer playful or familiar. It was, if anything, filled with surprise.
"Yes, sir. Punish me. Make me pay for everything wrong I've ever done in my life," Emma begged, hoarsely. "And then fuck me until I know that I'm yours."
Jack took a step back, shook his head, and left the room. She heard the sound of the door locking behind him and slowly eased her way out of the crib. What had chased him off? It dawned on her that, by asking him to hurt her, she'd taken away his edge. She no longer cared and, with that, he'd lost the ability to frighten her. She could not escape his physical hold but she had, for the moment, been freed of the psychological one.
She was weakly crawling across the floor when he reentered the room, his belt in hand. She looked at him with bloodshot eyes, and, without asking, placed he
r head on the floor and lifted her bottom into the air. The belt fell in hard, slashing strokes against her bottom and thighs—yet no sound left her mouth. She closed her eyes and disappeared into the pain, no longer caring about anything except the hope that he would become so angry that he lost control. Her lack of response infuriated him, and he pulled his arm back to strap her at full force. She tumbled to her side, and instinctively raised her hand to protect her face.
"I have never touched your face, and I never will!" he shouted, clearly insulted by her gesture. "What do you think I am? An animal?" With a growl, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her to the chair to place her over his knee. The belt continued to fall without mercy, harder and harder, yet Emma did not release so much as a whisper.
"You are an ungrateful little bitch. After all the things I've done for you! You should be thanking me for caring enough to take you under my wing. Where are your tears, girl? Why won't you cry?" he shouted, the belt following his every word. "You disgust me! Go sit in your corner, Emma! Go!" he ordered, shoving her off his lap.
She crawled to the corner and pulled herself onto the torture device. She forced a smile as she lowered herself upon the anchor, housing it deep in her bottom until her scalded sit-spots and thighs made contact with the hard seat. She spread her legs and, with a defiant glance, began to finger her clit.
Jack's mouth hung open in disbelief, watching as she brought herself to a loud, gratifying climax.
"Teach me more, Professor," she said in a cold, unemotional voice. "Teach me everything you can. I'm ready to learn."
***
It had been days since she had seen him. In his fury, he'd locked her in the little bedroom with nothing to eat or drink. The faucets to both the sink and the bath were beyond her grasp, even if she had been capable of supporting her weight long enough to climb onto a chair and try to reach for them. Her thirst was as painful as the faint remnants from her strapping, even tempting her towards the toilet. But, like in the old airliners, the bowl held no water and simply flushed with a blue wash. There are worse ways to die, she thought, curling herself into a blanket as she lay weakly on the floor. As she had done for countless hours, she closed her eyes and began to doze, this time to be woken abruptly by the sound of a door being opened.
Emma's Corner Page 8