Then, he presses his lips against mine. “Don't. Ever,” he growls, his frustration palpable, “Think you're the one in control, pretty girl.” I pant through my nose as his fingertips scrape down my slices causing my brows to knit. “The only person in control here is me. If I weren’t, I would have violently fucked every single tight hole you have from the moment I laid my fucking eyes on you.”
I swallow hard, my body shaking for release as he continues. “You have no say in the matter. You're my little toy, my fucking game, and I'll keep playing with you, keep teasing you until I decide when it's time to take what the fuck I want.”
He tilts his head to the side in an unnerving manner, breathing heavily, “I don't give a damn,” he bites out fiercely, “how many times you say no. You’re going to be mine and you fucking know it.”
He suddenly releases me roughly, and as I lift my head, he takes steps backward, adjusting his hard cock in his tight jeans, and I watch the movement before our eyes lock in a silent battle. His gaze is wide, almost crazed, a threatening promise of the things to come between us.
When he finally turns his back to me, heading for the door, a surge of defensiveness and sexual refusal floods through me.
“You said you would leave me alone, Hell!” I shout after him, my angry voice echoing in the empty changing room.
He ignores me completely, his stride unbroken as he exits and the door swings shut behind him, leaving me on the edge of an orgasm on purpose. I let out a frustrated growl, hopping off the desk and my hands tremble as I pull my fishnets up my shaky legs before stepping into my knee-high, platformed black boots.
My mind floods to Hell, the way my body betrays me, desperate for him, despite my mind and soul screaming fordistance. He knows I'm weak for him, just as he is for me, and he’s now taking full advantage of the situation. The pull I have towards him is irresistible, making my body ache with desire and fear, a deadly concoction.
“Just one more time, Noir,” it whispers every fucking time, but my mind warns me that Hell will drag me to a place of no return, a literal hell from which I may never escape, yet the strangest part is, I worry that I might not want to escape. I might get cozy from the warmth of his hellfire, finding my place in his insane world and willingly obey his every command.
Deep down, there's a nagging feeling I can't ignore: despite Hell’s deranged behavior, I'm beginning to trust him against all odds. Trust him with my pain, with my pleasure, and with my safety, and it's a scary place to be.
He has a way of blurring all my internal suffering away, giving me respite just for a while as he taunts, pleasures, or hurts me. His twisted games and darkness somehow provide a distraction from the havoc of my thoughts just like my meds did. It's like he knows exactly how to pull me out of my spiraling mind and ground me in the present, even if the present is filled with his insanity. Maybe it's because he's never pretended to be anything other than what he is, unlike the other men I’ve unfortunately faced. From the first moment we met, he has shown his true self, and even during the mayhem of his actions, there's a strange consistency, even if it feels like he switches a lot, it makes me feel, against everything, that I can rely on him.
The way I feel safe when he watches me sleep from the window, the way my body responds to his touch, his obsession with me—all of it stirs something deep inside and for the first time in my life, I feeldesired.
I know he is making it clear that this might be purely sexual; the way he talks and manhandles me tells me he wants to fuckthe life out of me, but there's more to his obsession. It's not just about having me and using me like everyone else has; he wants all of me. I just can't afford to get attached to him or anyone else; it’s far too dangerous for everyone.
Fuck this is toxic.Yet here I am, stuck in this place with him every day, feeling my will weaken with each passing second and I know it's only a matter of time before I break and give in to Hell's wicked ways. I just dread how much I’ll enjoy every second of his sweet depravity. I worry that once I get a taste of Hell, there's no going back to any kind of innocence. I will be officially corrupt.
When I have tied the laces, I finally head for the main tent to preform and watch tonight’s show.
The night is thick with anticipation as I perch high above the crowd on the trapeze platform. The big top of the Circus loom’s around me, the smell of smoke mingles with the faint tang of sweat and fear. Madame’s voice booms through the tent from the speakers, introducing my act. “Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for a brand-new chilling performance that will haunt your dreams! Presenting Noir, our broken dolly!”
The music starts and I take a deep breath before I leap from the platform, my body arching gracefully through the air. The audience gasps as I catch the trapeze bar. Swinging back and forth, I gain momentum, each one higher and faster than the last, eyes glued to my every move.
Releasing the bar, I soar and reach out to grasp a pair of red aerial silks hanging from the rafters. The silks twist around my wrists, and I began to climb, feeling my muscles straining. The silks seem to come alive as they wrap around my limbs andthe spotlight follows my every move as I reach the pinnacle of the tent. I hang upside down for a moment, my hair cascading like a light waterfall. With a sudden burst of energy, I begin my descent, spinning and twirling down the silks in a blur of motion.
They create a visual of black and red, but as I near the ground, I stop abruptly, hanging mere inches from the floor. The tent is plunged into darkness, and for a heartbeat, all is still. Then, a circle of fire ignites around me, the flames dancing wildly.
With a flick of my fingers, the flames grow higher, the fire following my every command, then I begin to spin once more. The flames lick at my skin, but I remain unaffected, acting like a master of the inferno as I perform daring flips and spins in the centre.
As my performance reaches its climax, I release the silks and land in the center of the burning ring. The flames roar higher when I raise my arms. My chest heaves until the fire dies down, leaving only a faint glow on the ground. I take a deep bow, my eyes meeting those in the front row and as I stand upright, Madame’s voice booms through the speaker once more.
“Ladies and gentlemen, a round of applause for Noir, our broken dolly!”
The crowd roars, their applause echoing through the tent and just as it reaches its peak, suddenly red paint is released from above me, splashing down over me and almost catching me off guard. The crimson liquid flows over my body, mixing with my sweat and smudging my makeup, creating the illusion of blood. I stand there, drenched in it, the paint dripping from my hair and tutu, pooling at my feet like a crimson river.
My eyes met the audience’s once more, a chilling smile playing on my lips, and I give one last, slow bow before finally, heading back to the changing rooms again to fix myself.
After washing myself down as much as I could and getting changed, I find a seat in the crowd beside Madame at the front row.
She nods at me approvingly, “You did well, Noir. The crowd loved you, as predicted.”
“Thank you,” I reply, my voice hoarse as I settle into my seat, ready to watch the rest of the show unfold.
Blush and a few other girls take the stage next, their costumes glittering under the spotlight. They move with grace, performing fire-breathing and eating acts that stun me. The flames dance around them, and the audience watch in awe until Blush exhales a plume of fire so close to the crowd that they are forced to bow backward, almost burning them alive.
Next up is a man I have never seen before, dressed as a creepy looking clown, who confidently walks to the center of the arena, a long, gleaming sword held in his hand. He opens his mouth and slowly slides the blade down his throat. The tent is silent, all eyes fixated on him and the whole thing makes my stomach turn into knots, but with ease, he withdraws the sword and takes a bow.
Next, a pair of clumsy clowns stumble into the ring, meeting the other one, their makeup smeared and their eyes hollow. They juggle sharp knives, their movements crazy, keeping me on the edge of my seat until one slips, the knife slicing through the air and embedding itself into the other’s arm. Blood spurts pullinghorrified screams from the crowd, yet the injured clown just lets out a high-pitched giggle, yanking the blade free and continuing the act as if nothing had happened.What the fuck.
