by Cerys du Lys
"You do it too much," she says. "It is lacking in meaning because of that. You sound poor, Noah. You sound like you have nothing important to say. You say words like that in an attempt at gaining strength. I think they make you look weak."
"The fuck? Who the fuck are you to tell me that, love? Is this some fucking twelve step enrichment plan to a better life? I don't think so."
She sighs. "I wanted to talk with you, Noah."
"Then fucking talk, Angeline. No one's stopping you."
"Soon," she says. "After."
I know what that means and I don't have anything to say to it. She presses her palms on the lever, then slams it down hard.
Fuck! I scream out in pain. Pull! Pull the fucking nail off! It's going to hurt like hell, but anything is better than this. I can barely keep my eyes open. I can't see, anyways. My vision is a blur of pain and red. Strained tears wash down my cheeks. I don't want to cry. I'm not that fucking weak. This isn't about what I want, though. My body demands tears. My own fucking body is betraying me, forcing me into submission better than anything Angeline could ever do.
The thought gives me a brief glimmer of hope. I'm more powerful than her. I'm stronger. Only I am able to control my actions. She'll never be able to.
"This is what I mean," she says.
I don't understand what she's saying until I force my eyes open. Once I realize what she meant, I panic. Fuck, no.
My thumbnail didn't come completely loose on the first go. My other nails swept up easily, letting her pluck them off. My thumbnail is only halfway loose. The other half clings to the bed of my nail, refusing to get added to Angeline's collection. She lifts the lever up, then begins twisting the screw bolt to force the wedge tighter against my nail. The crescent wedge presses against my half dislodged nail, slowly ripping it away from my nailbed. I can feel every minuscule pull and rip, magnified by a hundred.
It's like a bandaid. You either rip that shit off fast and deal with the pain all in one go, or you try to go slow, except then it just hurts for longer. This is that, except a whole fucking lot more pain, and my thumbnail instead of a bandaid.
Eventually she has the nail loose enough so that she can pluck it from my finger like all the rest. I'm bleeding like a stuck pig at this point and I want to pass out, but she's got it. Good fucking job, Angeline. You deserve a goddamned gold star for that one.
I'm lightheaded and woozy now. I don't know if it's from the pain, the blood loss, or whatever the fuck she drugged me with before. Maybe a mixture of all three.
"I will do the last finger on this hand now, Noah," she says.
Fuck. It happens. It's happening. There's not a single fucking thing I can do about it, and soon my entire hand is going to be without fingernails. It's depressing as fuck. I try to tell myself it's just a fucking fingernail, you idiot, but I can't. Yeah, it's just a fucking fingernail, but it hurts like hell and I use those.
Do they grow back? How the fuck should I know? I'm going to be some fingernail lacking freak in the near future, and that's just after two. She's taking three, and that involves my other hand, which...
I don't know if I can fucking do it, but I have a plan.
I'm bound like before, so right now I can't do much. She's got my head strapped to the chair again, wrists locked down onto the table. My index finger is latched into the nail ripper machine now. She doesn't give me a warning this time, just slams the lever down. My fingernail pops up before I realize it. I wince at the sound from the lever slamming down, but I think my hand is all out of pain. Too much, overloaded, impossible to process more.
It hurts, but Angeline was right. My thumb hurt a lot worse. She places my lost nails on the table, then unlatches my finger, removing it from the machine.
That's it. That hand is done.
She wrapped my fingers with bandages the last time. Cleaned them with fucking rubbing alcohol, too. Hurt like a bitch. She's not doing it this time, though. Not yet, at least. What the fuck is she doing? She's staring at me, that's what.
She comes close to me, leaning to whisper into my ear. "Noah?" she asks.
I manage to grunt out something that sounds like a "What?""
"If I release your wrist, do you promise not to hurt me?"
Why the fuck would I promise that? She must realize it'd be a really fucking stupid promise to make. What the fuck do I say?
"I want to taste you," she says. "I will help you, Noah. I will make you feel better."
I don't say anything, because I'm not sure what I can say right now. She's not helping me. She's not going to make me feel better. She's a crazy psychotic bitch who wants to drink the blood left over after she ripped off my fingernails.
I don't say anything, but she takes that as some bullshit sign of agreement. Whether she doesn't know any better, or she thinks my silence is acceptance, I have no fucking clue. She's stupid no matter what.
My wrists are bound to the table with straps. She begins unbuckling the one holding my freshly injured hand. She is slow, watching me. I think she's checking for signs of struggling, or she's fucking crazy and wants to stare at me. Neither would surprise me. I already know she's insane.
My hand is free now. I struggle to contain myself. All I want to do is reach out, grab her head, slam it against the tabletop, and choke her. If I act too fast, she'll have a chance to react, though.
She lifts my hand from the table and cradles it against her cheek, almost lovingly. Blood from my fingertip traces a line from the corner of her eye, dripping down towards her chin. It looks like she's crying red.
Carefully, she moves my hand lower, making me caress her cheek. Before my hand slips away, she brings her lips to my thumb. She opens her mouth just a little bit and sticks out her tongue, licking at the tip of my thumb. Without warning, she brings more of my thumb into her mouth.
She's careful, though. Crazy psychotic Angeline is fucking careful. She's mindful of her teeth, and doesn't scrape or scratch against my wound. She puts my thumb all the way inside her mouth, then sucks on it softly. It's fucking weird. It's weird but it's cute in the worst fucking way. She looks like a child in need of nurturing, just sitting there and sucking on my thumb.
I hate to say it, but it feels good. I stare at her, forgetting myself, and she looks at me, too. We're close. Her eyes aren't empty now. I don't know what they are. There's something in there and it frightens me.
My fingers continue to throb with horrendous pain, but it's not as bad as when it first happened. Adrenaline keeps me going. It'll hurt more once that passes, but for now I can do this.
Yeah, I feel horrendous pain, but there's some fucked up shit going on, too. Angeline is soft and gentle and sucking my thumb. I don't know what the fuck to do now. I touch her with my free fingers, caressing my fingertips across her cheek on my own now, instead of watching her force me to do it.
She stares at me quietly, then looks away. She smiles.
The fuck?
Eventually she lets loose my thumb. By this time, I remember myself. I don't care what the fuck just happened. I don't want to know. It doesn't matter. This crazy psychotic bitch ripped off two of my nails and my hand is free. It's now or never and I don't believe in never.
I reach for her like I'm going to caress her cheek again, like we shared some touching moment between us. We shared something, but I don't know what the fuck it is. I reach for her but I don't touch her cheek, I go for her throat.
She stares at me. She lets me. I'm fast once I go in for the kill, but by the way she's looking at me it almost seems like she knew what I was going to do before I did it. I squeeze, choking her. Her lips part, taking in her last breath of air. I see my blood on her mouth and her throat.
My fingers hurt as I squeeze harder, but I can't let go. I can't stop, because I need to do this. I don't know if I'm going to kill her. All I know is that I need to get out of here because I have something important to do. She'd never understand it. I can't tell her. I can't tell anyone. It doesn't make any
sense and it's stupid as fuck. It's strong but it's weak at the same time.
She reaches for my forearm and wraps her hands around it, holding me tight. It's like some fucked up version of a hug, with my fingers wrapped around her throat and her hands holding me softly. Her eyes widen and there's life in them. It's so fucking strange. I can see her now. I can actually see her, and it's frightening because she looks ecstatic. Her lips curl into a smile, like some wicked grin, but it's not that. She looks happy. She looks...
Angeline strikes. Her hands dig into my forearm, fingers smashing into the pressure points in my wrist. I let go of her. I don't want to, but I can't feel anything in my hand anymore. It's become numb with pain and if I couldn't see my hand right in front of me, I wouldn't know I still had it. Fuck. She's taken my fingernails, but I don't want her to take my hand. Is she that fucking psychotic? I hope not, but how the fuck should I know?
She straps my hand back in, then leans in and kisses me softly on the lips. "Thank you," she whispers. "You are so sweet, Noah. Thank you."
I don't know what to say. I'm lost. I've seen things today that I don't think anyone should see.
Once my hand is bound again, I realize she never needed to unbind it in the first place. She wanted to. Why? How the fuck should I know? I thought I was being smart, but apparently I'm a fucking idiot.
She unscrews the nail ripping machine from its spot in front of my hand. Afterwards, she places it in front of my other hand, and screws it into some holes there. The fucking thing can be screwed into different spots on the table. I thought she'd have to move my hands to make this work, but she didn't.
I am completely fucking clueless when it comes to Angeline. She removes another of my nails, but it's like I'm in a different world now. I don't remember her doing it. I don't remember anything afterwards. I am empty. I am a void.
*** Chastity
I went looking for a gardener to ask about the dallying thing that woman mentioned, but I couldn't get outside. She said as much, and I hadn't tried before now, but when I did, the door was locked. She didn't just have one lock on the door, either. There were at least five different types of locks, plus a keypad to the side, and some kind of finger print identifier or something.
I guessed that made sense. She wasn't a nice person, so she needed to protect herself. That made me feel better, though. I was already inside. I had made it past her defenses because she didn't think she needed to defend herself from me. I was going to prove her wrong.
Later, though. I still hadn't seen her in days. I needed to find Noah first, too. We could escape together. What would he think of that? I knew exactly what he would do. We'd flee, and once we made our way to safety he'd kiss me softly. I daydreamed of Noah pushing me up against a tree in the woods and kissing me, soft, then becoming rough. He'd undo his pants and pull mine off, then lift me up with my back against the tree and slam his hard... his... his hard cock! He'd slam his cock into me deep and rough and fill me.
Oh, I wanted it. I wanted Noah to fuck me. I wanted him to love me. I didn't know why, but it seemed so raw and real and necessary. I'd only known him for a short while, but he showed me something important. I would save him.
I didn't find a gardener, but I found someone else. A man walked past me in the halls. Would he know where the gardeners were? Maybe it was some huge joke that woman wanted to play on me to humiliate me. I'd ask him about it and he'd blink at me and then walk away and tell her, and she'd laugh and laugh and laugh.
I needed to know, though. I needed to find out. I would find someone and seduce that woman's secrets out of them, then save Noah so that we could fall in love.
"Excuse me," I said, stopping the man. He turned around and stared at me blankly. "I was wondering if you knew about..." And I asked him, though it took some stumbling explanations on my part.
*** Chastity
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!
I was on the floor on the carpet in a room near the main entrance. This house was huge, with some grand foyer and lobby to greet guests. I hadn't seen any guests, and that foyer and lobby didn't look well used, but that didn't matter. I wasn't there, I was in a room near there. The room was empty, except for me and the man on top of me.
His thick cock pounded into me, relentless. I'd just asked him about what that woman told me, about dallying and sexual things or whatever, and he stripped right there. We were in the middle of the halls, though. We couldn't just... not right there, could we? I pulled him into the closest room, but he left his clothes right there on the floor outside.
He was hard within seconds, though. I watched his cock go from moderately soft, though still impressive, to so erect that it slapped against his stomach. Once we were in the room, I hurried to strip off my clothes, and he didn't waste any time before beginning.
I was on my back with my legs wrapped around his waist and his cock pounding into me, our bodies rocking back and forth. I felt like some kind of sexual seesaw the way this was going. He was good, too. I'd had sex before, but nothing like this.
His whole body pounded against mine, bringing me immense pleasure. He held onto both my legs near my thighs with one hand, while his other hand rested on my stomach. His thumb teased and tweaked at my clit, adding intense sensation every time he slammed his over-erect cock inside me. That was the only way I could think to describe it. He wasn't just hard, he was too hard, as if his cock was going to burst like an overfilled balloon. I felt his thickness and his pulsing veins stretching me wider than I'd ever been before.
I squeezed and clenched against him. This was... this was wrong. No, no it wasn't. I was supposed to seduce him, and that's what I was doing. Once he came, he'd slip out of me and fall to the ground, and I'd roll atop him and kiss him softly and whisper seductions and simple questions into his ear. I'd ask him about this place, and about that woman, and about Noah. Maybe not right away, but I'd meet with him again and again and gain his trust, and...
I was too lost in sensation and he was far too good at this. His thumb pressed and tweaked at my clit and I clenched onto his cock and he slammed into me over and over again. I came. My climax overtook me. I started to scream and moan, but he let loose my legs and shoved his hand over my mouth. That made it even better, stronger and rougher.
I imagined he was Noah and we were in the woods like I'd imagined before. In my mind, I was moaning while Noah thrust inside of me, but we weren't entirely safe from that woman yet, so he clamped his hand over my mouth to keep me quieter so she didn't find us. That made the entire situation even more rich and delicious to me. Forbidden and raw and rough, risky and intense. That's what great sex was about, I thought. That's what I wanted with Noah. I wanted him to make love to me like he almost had before when we first met.
I finished my orgasm, but I thought I could go again. I needed to, also. I needed him to cum and to roll over onto his back so I could enact my plan.
Except he didn't. Once I came down from my first orgasm, he promptly stopped having sex with me. He stood up, leaving me laying in a disheveled mess on the floor. His throbbing, erect penis stayed hard. I stared at him, confused. I looked at his cock for signs of his cum, but I didn't see anything except for my own glistening arousal coating his shaft.
I reached down and felt inside of myself just in case I'd missed something, but... no? That was it? He was just... done?
He left me like that, his erect cock and all. I lay on the floor in a heap of orgasmic afterglow while he walked out of the room. When I finally managed to think everything through, and realized there was a lot of things wrong with what just happened, I stumbled to my feet and ran to the door of the room.
He was gone. He'd taken his clothes with him, too. Was that all? He'd given me an orgasm, then waltzed out of the room, dressed himself, and went on his way?
Um...
I ran to get my clothes. This was not at all going according to my plans.
*** Angeline
I sit at the table in the breakfast nook, stari
ng at my hands. It is not morning and there will be no breakfast coming. If I wished it, I could have some breakfast foods brought to me regardless of the time, but I do not.
I am thinking. I have an idea. It is a very bad idea, but I have an idea, and it is the only thing I can think about. I trace gentle circles on the back of one hand with my fingertips, delighting in the soft touch and tingling sensation it brings me. It is nice. I am nervous.
I am never nervous. I do not know how to be nervous. My stomach hurts. Maybe I am hungry? Maybe I should have breakfast foods brought to me, regardless of the time. If I...
No, Angeline, I tell myself. I stare at my hands and I wonder what it would be like if Noah touched them softly like I am touching them now. He would not do that, though. Would he? I do not know. I do not think so. Can I ask him? No, no I cannot. That is not a question I can discuss with him. It is out of the question.
And yet...
No. Yes. No. Maybe. No. No.
My stomach still hurts and my breath quickens. I need to take medicine. I do not want to take medicine. My stomach never hurts. My breath is never this fast. It is a strange, unknown feeling and I do not know how to handle it.
I like it.
I want to. No, this is a bad idea. Why is it a bad idea? Because, Angeline. Because why? Because I said so. Because it is. That is why.
But what if it isn't? What if it wasn't? What then?
It is, though. It always will be. It is too soon. It is not the time. It is...
For the first time in as long as I can remember, I ignore myself. I stand up and excuse myself from the table politely. No one is here with me except myself, but it is good to remain conscious of proper etiquette. You never know who is watching you. You never know what they may think of you. This is one thing I know very much about. It is one thing I am good at. I am good at many things, though.
Right now I am going to pretend I am not good at anything. I am going to do something that I know I should not do. I smile. I think maybe I am happy. A little bit, though; only for a second.