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“Oh, she’s an eager little beaver.”
More laughter ensues but I can’t focus on anything but the chilling pressure of flesh against my flesh. I welcome it. Embrace it. Need it like I need air to live.
“Please.”
“We got what you need, little flower, patience.”
“…so long,” I groan to a chorus of more chuckles.
Sounds echo and rebound off the stone walls but I can’t pinpoint how many are in the room with me. All I can focus on is my saviour, removing my clothes to give me better access to his soothing skin.
Icy manacles secure themselves around my wrists and ankles and I cry in relief. I need this. I’ll always need this. He knows. He’s the only one who’s ever known.
“More please…need…more…”
The briefest whisper of a kiss brushes my lips and I open wide like the greedy, needy, desperate little flower I am for the savage kiss that ensues. They break away and I whimper for more. Lips return. Different this time. They force my mouth open and more cooling liquid nectar is deposited into my mouth. It’s sweet this time. Too sweet. I try to spit, but a hard hand slams down on my face, clamping my jaw shut and pinching my nose until I have no choice but to swallow or pass out.
A blinding moment of clarity.
Three of three.
Then I’m under. Deeper than ever before. Aware of everything and nothing. So painfully present and helplessly lost.
The walls drip, the floor turns to lava, ice drops from the ceiling but never lands on my eager, outstretched tongue. Masks. Black and gold. Faceless masks staring down at me. Too many to count. Pain, heat, suffering unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before, making me see stars. The kiss of ice-cold metal on my back. Hands. Voices. Whispers. Taunts. So many hands. Pleas. Desperate pleas tumbling into the air.
The sting. The explosion. The tears of relief. The sob of gratitude, caught in a throat. The groan of release. The hit. The high. The trip. The pounding heart. Filling the air, the space, the mind. Taste. Touch. Feel. Pain. Pleasure. Pleasure and pain rolled into one and a sick, dirty, needy flower begging for more.
Racing towards the edge. Going too fast. Needing to stop but the brakes are broken. Crying. Begging. Pleading. Slow down. Enough. Stop.
A beat that slows. Steady. Weak. Faint. Sporadic. Gone.
Darkness.
“You must try the wine.”
“I don’t really drink...Sir,” I try to politely insist. He sighs like this is a major affront. I won’t back down on this though. I am not drinking alcohol around this man. I’m in enough danger as it is.
I flinch a little as The General sighs. He takes a moment to dab at his mouth with his napkin before tossing it onto his empty plate. Mine’s still half full. He gets to his feet and rounds the table to where I’m sitting. My muscles ache from tension. I’ve been knotted up since I found out I had to come here and it’s just gotten progressively worse.
“Come with me,” The General orders.
Before I can question him, he reaches out and grabs my arm – the one he burnt all those years ago – and I know I have to comply to minimise the pain he’s going to inflict upon me.
He waits until we’re at the top of the stairs to strike. A solid blow to the temple and everything is black before my head even hits the floor.
