Master Over You

by Cerys du Lys

  Does he really want to use five hundred condoms with me? That is a lot. What will we do with that many? Is that possible? I squeeze his hand again and I almost ask him about it, but I do not. I am excited because I hope we can do that. How many seconds would it take to use five hundred condoms together? How many breaths would Noah and I take? How many times would our hearts beat while we used one, then another, a third, until we reached the end?

  I want to have sex with Noah. A lot.

  We walk hand in hand down the halls. I lead him to the room with the nail ripping machine. He is a gentleman and opens the door for me. I nod to him.

  "Thank you, Noah," I say, then I step inside.

  He enters after me. "Yeah, sure thing, love."

  "You may sit in the chair," I say. "If you promise not to move too much, I do not have to keep you completely bound."

  "Sounds like a real bad fucking idea to me," he says. "If you don't strap me in, I'm going to move like I'm on fire." Then he mumbles to himself, "Fuck, this is going to hurt. I don't know why I agreed to this shit."

  I do not know if what he said is a joke or the truth, because of his previous propensity towards flames. It was just the one instance with the church building, but I do not remember anyone who was on fire moving in any particularly erratic motion. I do not recall ever noticing dead people move at all, if I am being truthful.

  "I will strap your hand in, and your fingers," I say. "Will that be enough?"

  "Fuck," he says. "Yeah, I guess so."

  I stare at him. "Noah, I do not like when you say words like that. You did not ever used to say words like that."

  "It was ten years ago, love. I started saying fuck and shit and everything else since then. I don't know why the fuck you want me to stop now."

  "I do not know how I am supposed to kiss someone with such a dirty mouth," I say. "I will need to wash myself constantly in order to remain clean."

  He stares at me while he sits in the chair and I begin strapping in his one arm. "Was that a joke?" he asks.

  "No," I say. I finish strapping in his arm, then I go to retrieve my nail ripping machine.

  "Oh," he says, and he stares at me some more.

  "Yes," I say. "It was a joke. Did I trick you?"

  I am good at jokes, am I not? I am sneaky. Does Noah think I am funny and sneaky? He does not look it. He looks at me as if I am strange. I know I am strange, so he does not need to look at me like that. I will know it whether he looks at me that way or not.

  I begin bolting the machine into the table in front of Noah's hand.

  "Why don't you just say fuck?" he asks. "Or shit? Fucking shit? Bullshit. Damnit? Any of that shit fucking works."

  "I do not like those words," I say. I line up the crescent wedge so that it is even with one of his fingernails, then I tighten it so that it presses hard beneath it.

  "Why the fuck not?" he asks.

  Without warning, I slam both hands onto the lever of the device and Noah's fingernail pops up and free. He is bleeding now. Also, he screams.

  "Holy fucking shit, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

  I pluck his fingernail loose and lay it on the table in front of me.

  "That was a joke," I say. "I am not truly angry with you. You did not know it, though, did you? I seemed angry."

  Once he is no longer screaming and squirming, he stares at me with a blank expression. "Seriously, don't fucking do that again."

  I thought it was funny. I do not understand why he does not think it was funny.

  "Are you mad at me?" I ask.

  I try to pout. I hope I am pouting. I have heard that it helps mitigate a man's annoyance towards a woman, because it makes her look attractive and sweet to him. Does Noah find me attractive? He is my sweet Noah, but am I his sweet Angeline?

  "I am actually really fucking mad," he says. "I'll get over it, though. Just don't do that shit. Fucking warn me or something."

  I do not understand that. "It will hurt the same whether I warn you or not," I say.

  "Yeah, but..." He looks at me as if he is attempting to discover words appropriate for this situation. "Fuck you, Ange."

  "Will you call me Angel?" I ask him.

  I begin unstrapping his finger and setting another one into place. That is one, but we have three more. One of the ones left is regular and should be simple, although we must also remove his thumbnail. That will hurt the most, I think. I am not sure, though. His broken finger remains, as well. It is the smallest one and should usually be the simplest and least painful, but I am unsure if the fact that it is broken and currently mending will cause any unforeseen issues.

  "Why the fuck would you want me to call you Angel?" he asks.

  I finish strapping his finger in and then turn the bolt until the crescent-wedge is pressed tight under his fingernail.

  "I do not know," I say. "You used to call me Angel. It reminds me of then."

  "Look, Angeline," he says. "That was a shitty fucking terrible time. I literally don't understand why the fuck you would want to remember it."

  "It is not that I wish to remember everything," I say. "I like to remember you, though. You were very special to me, Noah. Will you still be very special to me now?"

  "It sounds nice, you know?" he says. "Yeah, it sounds real fucking nice, like we can go back in time and pretend nothing ever happened and everything's the same, but it's not, love. I don't know what to tell you."

  "Are you saying we may not be good together?" I ask.

  "I am abso-fucking-lutely sure we're not good together, Angeline. How the fuck is this going to work? We're twisted, love. We're seriously fucking twisted. I know what I said before, and, yeah, fuck, it sounds good. Lots of shit sounds good. You can write it down on a goddamn piece of paper and then read it out loud and it'll sound real fucking good. What the fuck do you want me to say?" He changes his tone of voice to one reminiscent of an adult telling a child a fairytale. "And then Angeline and Noah lived happily ever after?"

  "Do you wish to live happily ever after with me?" I ask him, tilting my head to one side.

  "Fuck if I know."

  "You are scared," I say. "I can tell. I understand. I will remove another of your fingernails now, Noah."

  I wait this time. He scrunches up his brow and clenches his eyes shut. I give him a moment before sneaking up alongside him and kissing him on the cheek.

  "I love you," I say. "I want to live happily ever after with you, Noah."

  He opens his eyes and I kiss him again, but this time I press my lips softly to his. "Shh," I say. "Close your eyes, my sweet Noah. It will only hurt for a moment."

  That is a lie and we both know this, but he closes his eyes again anyway. I let my hands hover over the lever before slamming them down and ripping his fingernail from his flesh. Before he has a chance to scream, I pull it free from his cuticle and place it with the previous one.

  Noah screams, but I comfort him. I go to him and I kiss away his tears. I understand. It hurts. It hurts very much. Oh, my brave, sweet Noah. I am so thankful to him. I am thankful for what he did a long time ago, but I am also thankful for this. I know that he is vulgar and sometimes he is rude and insensitive, but he is not those things. Would a cruel, ignorant man freely offer his fingernails to me? I took them before, yes, but these ones he is giving to me of his own free will.

  It excites me. I am a strange, bad girl, and I think I am in need of punishment, too. I do not know if that will happen. I want to be bad with Noah.

  Quickly, I fumble with the straps holding his finger in place. I release him and lift his hand up, cradling it in my palms. I go to him. I hurry. Swiftly, I kick his seat back, pushing him away from the table. He kicks his feet, too, but I think it is because of the pain and frustration he feels. Oh, my sweet Noah, I understand. I appreciate you. I love you.

  I sit in his lap while holding his hand. Carefully, I bring both of his injured fingers to my lips. I kiss away his blood, then lick my lips afterwards. He tastes so wonderful a
nd delicious and sweet. I open my mouth and place the tips of his fingers on my tongue. After, I close my mouth and hold him there.

  He looks at me and I look at him. I have an idea. It is good.

  My tongue swirls around his fingers, careful near his fresh wound. His blood slows, but I can taste it still. Holding his wrist in one hand, I hold near his knuckles with my other hand, and then slowly I begin. I move my head back, releasing nearly all of his fingers until they almost move past my lips, then I slowly take him inside of me again. I swirl and twist my tongue around. I treat his fingers as if they were his masculine erection.

  "Fucking hell," he says. "You make the weirdest fucking shit sexy, Angeline."

  While I suck on his fingers lightly, I move back and forth, grinding my lower body against him. He stares at me in a trance. I feel his body stirring beneath me. I am excited and elated. He is becoming aroused, but I did not think he would. I understand that pain is a difficult feeling to overcome. It makes everything easier, though. There have been studies on it, that we are more willing and able to deal with bad situations and disturbing things if we are aroused and excited.

  "I want to take a break," I say, pulling his fingers from my mouth and holding them near my lips. I stick out my tongue and lap at his fingertips.

  "I think we should just get this fucking shit over with," he says. "We're halfway there."

  I place his hand on the table. "I want," I say, placing forced emphasis on the words, "to take a break."

  I move off of his lap and kneel in front of him. My hands grab for his pants and I unbutton and unzip them with haste. He is not fully aroused and erect, but his cock is nowhere near soft, either. I pull it out from his pants and stroke it in my hands. Before he can protest, I lower my head towards his crotch and place the crown of his erection between my lips.

  Noah stutters and gasps. "Fuck... what the fuck are you...?"

  I bob up and down, bringing him to full arousal very quickly. He tastes good. The smooth, soft skin of his cock and a sudden gush of precum shuddering near the tip makes it easy to lick and tease him. My tongue swirls around the head of his cock much like it swirled around his fingers before. I lower myself until my nose nearly touches the shirt covering his stomach and I hold myself there for a moment.

  When I try to pull back, Noah stops me. His uninjured hand is pressing hard against my head. I try to pull back more, but he pushes me down. I begin to gag and choke, covering his erection with my saliva. My eyes start to water, adding choked tears to the mix.

  "Fuck you, bitch," he says. "That's fucking delicious. Suck my fucking cock, you whore."

  I like it. Oh, I love it. I know that is strange, but that is how I feel. I love Noah. I enjoy him very much. I like the feel of his cock pressed hard against the back of my throat. I try to take more of him in my mouth. I swallow and push past my unintentional gagging until I feel him sliding in deeper. I swallow more, breathing through my nose. The convulsing in my throat as I swallow seems to have a large effect on his arousal. His cock twitches and trembles in my throat, hard and deep.

  My throat clenches and swallows around his cock of its own accord now. It feels as if I have something stuck in the back of my throat that I cannot get rid of, which I suppose is somewhat of the truth. Noah digs his fingers into my hair and pulls me off of his cock.

  I do not want to do that now, though. I try to keep him in my mouth, but his grip on my hair is absolute. I stare at his erection with intense adoration while he holds me away from him. My tongue slips out of my mouth, trying to touch the head of his arousal, but I am not close enough. A small slip of saliva connects us together, though, running from my lip to the delightful ring between the head of his cock and his throbbing shaft.

  "Fuck," he says. "You're so fucking sexy, love."

  I smile and I look up at him and I want to kiss him now, so I do. I stand and cover his mouth with my lips. He staggers for a moment, confused, but then he kisses me back.

  Oh, this is difficult. Noah is wearing his regular clothes now, and I am in my underwear and a shirt. It is a very easy thing to straddle his lap, pull aside my panties, and then sink onto his erection. That would be a very very easy thing to do, and I want to do it. I cannot, though. Are you aroused enough now, my sweet Noah? I kiss him and stare into his eyes. When I smile, he opens his eyes, and stares back at me.

  "That's fucking creepy," he says. "Close your eyes."

  I shake my head, no. "Come back to the table, Noah. I will do your thumb now. I shall remove the nail."

  "Are you fucking serious?" he asks.

  "Did you know that during feelings of intense arousal, we are less likely to feel or understand pain?" I ask.

  "Are you saying you don't actually want to suck my cock?" he asks. "You wanted to make this hurt less?"

  "No," I say. "I wanted to suck your cock and I want to make this hurt less, too."

  "Say that again?" he asks.

  I urge him to pull his chair closer to the table, which he does. While I strap his hand in again and place his thumb in the correct spot, I say, "Noah, I want to suck your cock."

  "Can you make that dirtier?" he asks.

  His thumb is in place. I twist the crescent-wedge bolt until it is pressing hard against him. "I want to suck your dirty cock, Noah."

  I do not know if that is what he intended when he asked me that, because I think it sounds peculiar, but the fire in his eyes says otherwise. I move towards him and place my hand under the table so I may feel his throbbing arousal. He is hard... very hard...

  I lean in and whisper into his ear. "I am going to suck your dirty, naughty cock, Noah. I am going to make you release your seed into my throat and I will swallow every single drop."

  He tries to kiss me or bite me; I am not sure which. I like the idea of both. I dodge him, though. I leave him in the chair with his hand strapped in.

  "I guess we're about to find out how this shit works," he says. "I don't even fucking know if my finger's going to be able to bleed. I think all my blood's being redirected to my cock right about now."

  That is a fun thought. Noah's blood is wonderful and useful for many thing, is it not?

  I hold my hands over the lever and give him a small nod.

  "Yeah, fuck, go," he says. "Go, go, go."

  I slam my hands down. His thumbnail goes upwards, yet not all the way. Thumbnails are the most painful. Noah clenches his teeth together, grinding them back and forth. I move fast to tighten the crescent wedge in order to peel back his nail enough that I can pull it free. My sweet Noah clenches his teeth tight, but he does not scream. Once his thumbnail is loose, I reset the machine.

  There is a lot of blood on the table. There has been a lot of blood since we began. I stare at it, rapt, intoxicated by the look and smell of it. I remember the first time I saw it. I was hungry, yes, but it was more than that. I was free, too. I was saved.

  I do not know why, but I think of that often. I think of it now. I did not see Noah's blood back then, but seeing it right now reminds me of the same things. I am hungry for him. We are free. We are saved.

  I want him. I want his blood, I want his cock, I want his body, I want his kisses and his love and his affection. I want his hugs, I want his kindness, I want his hate and his anger and his lust. I want everything that Noah ever is and ever will be. I want his flesh and his bones and his soul and his mind and I want him in my bed and at my dining hall table and in a chair while we watch a movie. I want to hurt him and to please him.

  I will never let anyone else have him. He is mine. He did not let anyone have me, either. I am his. We are perfect together.

  "I think that worked," he said. "I don't know how the fuck it worked, but I think it fucking worked. That didn't hurt as bad."

  I unstrap his thumb, but I am reticent to do his final finger. He has a small splint on it to keep it straight, with tape wrapped around it, but it is not enough to stop my task. I can fit his smallest finger into the machine still. I do not know if I
want to, though.

  I do it, but I do not tighten the wedge. I stop.

  "We do not have to," I say. "We do not have to do this finger if you do not wish to do it, Noah."

  "How did it happen?" he asks. "Why didn't your fingernail grow back?"

  I know, but I do not want to tell him. I shake my head at him. No.

  "Tell me, love," he says. "Please?"

  I keep shaking my head, but he will not stop looking at me. I still shake it. He does not stop. No, Noah, stop this. No.

  He refuses to stop.

  "He removed all of my fingernails at one time," I tell him. "One after another, he removed them, and he threw them into a glass jar. The last finger was this one." I hold up my smallest finger that has never regrown a fingernail. It looks sick and broken and wrong. I do not want to show Noah how bad and broken I am, but he will not stop looking at me.

  "I cried and begged for him to stop," I continue. "I thought that I could not feel anymore, but he showed me I was wrong. He did not think it was enough. He did not use a machine for my final fingernail. He used tools. He retrieved a pair of needle nose pliers and pulled my fingernail off like that, except that it did not come easily. He ripped piece after piece, slowly, until finally I no longer had a nail left."

  "And then he...?" Noah asks. He does not finish his sentence, but we both know.

  After he finished removing my final nail, he threw me on his bed and laughed while he forced himself on me, and he laughed more when I scratched and clawed at his back ineffectively because I no longer had any way to scratch or claw at anyone. He laughed and he laughed and he laughed...

  He hurt me so much. I have urges to hurt people, too. I yearn for pain and anguish, although I do not want to because I know it is not a good thing. Despite all of that, I do not know how to hurt someone as much as he hurt me. I do not think I will ever know. I do not want to know. It is so bad. It is wrong. He deserves punishment for what he did, and yet the only thing that happened to him was death?

  Sometimes I do not think this world is a fair place. Sometimes I do not understand why he was allowed to die, but I was forced to live.