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I leave Simon looking like a hurt puppy as soon as recess starts, and I avoid everyone, opting to go to the back of the school to my old hangout. I sit on the steps, my knee jumping up and down like it’s having a seizure, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to will away this rising panic.
“Rhys?”
My eyes snap open at Tillie’s voice and the moment I see her and Bell looking at me with concerned curiosity, I break. I fucking cry. Like what the actual fuck. I don’t, and haven’t cried in front of them. Ever. Yet here I am, silently letting the floodgates open.
“Shit. What’s happened?” Tillie climbs the few steps, coming to sit next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. I want to answer her, but I can’t fucking speak right now.
“Here.” Bell lights up a joint, and after sucking in a drag, she offers it to me. “Some Mary Jane will help.”
There’s a reason Bell, Tillie and I are friends. We aren’t like the other kids at FP Catholic. We never grew up in loving homes. We were never offered the luxury of security until our last few years. And we each carry a dark past that we don’t speak of but know each of us has it hanging over our heads, just waiting to engulf us.
Should we use substances as a coping mechanism? No, yet we do. My biggest indiscretion when it comes to this is some good quality marijuana and a shit load of alcohol. Tillie is much the same as me, but Bell, well, she’s a different kettle of fish. That Wednesday Addams look-a-like dabbles in some hard shit that I’m too chicken to even glance at.
I accept the joint and bring it to my lips, closing my eyes as I suck back, the smoke sweeping deep into my lungs. I hold it there. I don’t want to let it go. I need the THC to do its thing and work quickly so I can pull myself together. Then, when I can’t hold it in any longer, I slowly release the smoke, exhaling it like a savoured dessert. I repeat this a couple more times, knowing full well that I am going to be baked, but it’s better than walking around like a crying headcase.
“Rhys, you wanna tell us what this is all about?” Tillie asks, her head tilting towards me in a way that makes her look even more pixie-like.
“I fucked up at the Feast on Sunday night. Broke the rules, so last night… I was punished.”
Tillie’s auburn brows shoot up. “What does that mean, exactly?”
I go to answer her, but the words won’t come out, so I take another deep drag of the joint before handing the last little bit back to Bell. These girls know a little about Vixen’s Lodge and the Feast nights. It was part of my deal with them when they agreed to be my cover while I go to the Feasts. They lie to my rents for me if they call and have a bed available for me to crash in after the Feasts if I don’t end up falling into someone else’s bed. In exchange, I tell them about my experiences. Of late, they haven’t really cared to know unless something weird or different happens, but I haven’t been around them much to divulge, even though I’ve still used them as my cover.
“I was bound and gagged even though I didn’t give consent for them to do that part exactly. Then, the Master basically tortured me with one of those remote vibrators.” A shiver runs down my spine as my mind's eye goes back to the look on Master Hill’s face as he inserted that thing inside me. “He didn’t let up.”
“Shit,” Tillie mutters as Bell's mouth drops open.
“It was so intense. At first, I thought that maybe I’d be ok. But I hadn’t counted on him turning up the vibrations in the middle of my orgasm. I didn’t count on him not switching it off.” A sob escapes me, but I swallow it, sucking in deep breaths, “It fucking hurt. Bad. I can’t even explain it.”
“That motherfucker!” Bell hisses. “I’m going to tie him to a chair, chop his dick off, make him watch as I put it through a blender, then make him drink it!”
“Fucking hell, Bell. That’s…” Tillie gets cut off by Bell.
“Fitting?”
Tillie shrugs, “Actually, I think it is.”
I don’t laugh like most people might from Bell’s comment. They’d think she’s joking. Idiots! Bell Bishop isn’t a joker. Most of the words that pass her black lips are factual. I’m well aware that one of my best friends is most likely going to be a serial killer one day, and I’m ok with that.
“After that, the Master had one of the creepoids that he knows I avoid, add to the sensations by using his hand to rub over me, which hurt even worse, even though I kept fucking coming. I thought I was going to die. Like, can that happen? Death by orgasm?”
“I read an article once that a submissive had a brain aneurism from orgasm torture, and she died.” Bell comes to sit on the other side of me.
“Bell, I don’t think that article was real. I can’t see that happening.” Tillie counters, but Bell just shrugs like she doesn’t care either way. Then Tillie turns her blue eyes back to me. “What happened after that?”
“I think I might have passed out. I don’t know, but it scared the living shit out of me. When I woke, there were men surrounding me, coming on me. I’ve had a cum shower before, so I kind of thought maybe I could get through it, but then…” I shudder, shaking my head and squeezing my eyes shut briefly. “The shower turned yellow. Someone started pissing on me.”
“Oh my god! That’s disgusting!” Tillie cries, her pixie face morphing into horror.
“Piss doesn’t taste that bad, actually. Especially if the giver is well hydrated. It’s a bit salty. Sometimes bitter, but it won’t kill you.”
Tillie and I gape at Bell as she talks about drinking piss like it's nothing.
“What the fuck, Bell. Whose piss have you tasted?” Tillie asks, and I’m almost too scared to find out. This conversation has taken a turn.
“I don’t drink someone’s piss and tell,” Bell shrugs, “but let me just advise you away from Aaron Miller. His piss is rank!”
After a beat of silence, Tillie and I burst out laughing.
