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Original Fiction

I was dreaming about water. It was a place where I had never been and a sea that couldn't exist, with the sky-tall waves falling down on the shore where I was standing. I felt quiet. There was no pain. My body kept silence - and it was so good - not to feel anything. Not to be cold. Not to want to drink.

Then Yaron woke me up. His hands slapping my face were the first thing that came to me. I opened my eyes - the curtains on the huge window were driven apart and I could see the greyness of the sky on the right and above me. At the next moment he bent over me.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," his soft voice was almost a melodic whistle. His big dark eyes were so close that it was difficult for me to look in them. I wanted to blink - even better to screw up my eyes shut - but I knew I didn't have to do it. It would make him mad. "I've been missing you, don't you know?"

His black ringlet hair - not too long, hardly to his shoulders, was hanging over his face and touched my cheeks, lightly tickling. His scent clouded me - pleasant scent of his clean body and sweet fresh aroma of Channel toilette water. I could smell him even through my own reeking - and it was heavy reeking, you know. I was aware of it every moment myself; I could only imagine how much it was perceptible for him. For days in this bed, on the sheets that once had been wet with my own piss but got dry again by now because I didn't have anything more to urinate with. The stinking of sweat and old cum blended together.

He slept in the same bed with me, under one blanket - but he didn't need it, he was hot - and I couldn't pull it up on myself to get warm and stop shivering. First two nights, before I got exhausted enough to fall asleep anyway, I lay looking at his naked, golden pale body spread freely on his side of the bed, his chiseled face seeming older under the dancing shadows. His breath was so steady and inaudible. I didn't cry then. There was something so overwhelming in his tranquility. I just lay in silence.

"It is going to be a great day for us, my prince."

He stood on his fours, with his palms pressed to my shoulders. I felt my mouth quivering in pain - as if I tried to smile crookedly - but I couldn't help it. He was tugging on my wrists this way - and despite my certainty that I'd lost their perceptibility a while ago I still felt something like burning blades turning inside my bones. He was crippling me with these cuffs; I wondered if he didn't know it. Perhaps he didn't care. Perhaps it was what he wanted.

He shifted. In a moment he braced his leg over me - and now he was already straddling my midriff. The sound that escaped me was a rasp hiss, so appalling that I tried to choke it as soon as I heard it. My tummy was a mess of bruises, welts and burns and I knew that my ribs were cracked. I felt it every time when I inhaled.

Yaron chuckled mildly, wiggling down, hurting me more. When the pain shock subsided a little and I could meet his stare I thought once more if he really wanted to do everything in the most possible hurtful way. He kept repeating he loved me.

I felt his hand grasping my hair, pulling it. Sticky with cum - but he didn't seem to mind. He was not squeamish, was he? I recalled how he guided them when they were fucking me. "Yeah, cum on his eyes. Keep your eyes open, sweetheart... Cover his face with it. Fill his navel. His armpits." There were six of them who visited me - I used to see their faces for these days. His employees, I presumed. He watched them while they used me. He made sex to me in the intervals. He fucked me with dildo when neither he nor any of them could get hard.

He loosened me. I was raw with fucking - but it was much worse when he used his toys, trying bigger and bigger of them. He fisted me and made me lick my blood and mucus from his hand. It seemed he was satisfied when I was fouling myself.

"You'll be beautiful, believe me," he whispered stooping to my face.

His tapering fingers roamed over my parched mouth. It was so dry that his nails hurt me. I vibrated - the thirst was overwhelming, worse than anything else was. Yaron's gaze didn't change, whether he noticed it or not. He was poking his fingers between my lips - and then he put his mouth to the side of my jaw and kissed.

I was scratchy with brittle; his cheeks were child-like smooth. I didn't know if he already had to shave.

My burning tongue was jerking slightly under his touches while he sucked on my skin - and now his breath did become louder - I could feel his tall slim penis growing up and stubbing under my ribs. He was getting hard on me - on and on, inevitably, no matter how I looked and smelled.

"I'll make love to you now," he muttered still licking my cheek. "A little morning one. I always wanted to wake up in my bed and make love with somebody... with you, babe."

I felt him lying over me, with his legs straightened. His hand was wandering on my chest until he found my left nipple and seized it. He didn't look at me at that moment, kissing my neck. He didn't see my eyes getting wide and my mouth gaping. But his fingers slid deeper to my mouth when he sensed it. He was mauling the burning swollen nub of my nipple in a parody of erotic tweaking; he knew what I felt. He had been being meticulous bringing my tit circles to incredible soreness for all these days. He had to feel his fingers moistening in my blood when he disturbed the scab.

His organ was slightly wet, too. He was smearing me when he fidgeted on me. I thought what pose he would choose for fucking me. Will he try to wring my arms out of sockets again turning me face down? He didn't hurry. He ran his hands over me, he licked my face, then he took my left tit to his mouth. It was one more thing he liked to do to me - he sucked on me as if he tried to extract some milk out of my nipples. He sucked as if he was hungry. His rigid cock pressed into the damaged flesh of my genitals.

My vision was not clear. I let my lids flop down - but Yaron's motions were making me look up again with every sharp pang of pain he was bringing to me in so many ways. He pushed his fingers into my anus - four of them - he rotated his hand now - it seemed he was digging the passage inside me, the passage for himself.

At last he yanked me. He flipped me on my side, pushed my leg from his way and tugged my ankle up. It was not difficult for him to hit the aim - my slicky hole was yawning for him. I heard his moan-like exhale when he penetrated me - and then he started stabbing, curtly and fiercely, never slipping out of me, just going deeper, with the dull smacking sound of his front hitting my crack.

I didn't make sounds. My mouth was sandpaper-like dry. It seemed I was getting used to pain. He presented so much of it to me for these days. He sawed inside my bleeding opening and I felt the jerks his frictions were putting on my wrists. I guessed how long it would take for him this time. I guessed right - I started getting experience with him.

He toppled on me after cumming. My rectum was wet with the cool fluid of his sperm - and now, when he nestled over me, I could sense the light film of perspiration on his body. He licked his lips and licked my lips and then bit my lips the same carelessly and then pressed his forehead to mine.

"Thank you, my angel," I felt his sigh when he said it. "You know how much I've enjoyed it."

The weight of his slender body seemed unendurable. He lay for a while - I didn't know for how long - maybe, he passed out or just rested unnerved - and then I saw how he reached for his remote device.

"Now I have to make you look as pretty as you really can," he sing-sang to my ear. "My dear beloved. My bride."

He rested his palm against my belly when getting up. And at the very moment when I noticed the cuff keys in his hands there were two of his bodyguards coming in.

At least, I thought they could be his bodyguards. They looked like ones. Both in their late twenties and so very neat in their movements. I knew their handling in sex, their favorite positions, their kinks. I didn't know their names.

The locks of the cuffs clanked. They didn't fall from my hands - they bit too deeply into my flesh - he had to tear them off with effort. I felt how my eyes were rolling up to my head - such a weird sensation, I didn't ever think I would feel something like this, still less would realize I felt it.

I was going to lose my hands. I didn't have to be a doctor to know I would need a surgery to save them - and I knew Yaron wouldn't let me it. In case if he were going to let me stay alive, first of all.

I didn't doubt he would kill me as soon as he got enough of me that first day. It was so... nightmare-like, the things like this don't usually happen to people. They simply don't happen, period. I was going to my car in the underground garage of the building where I lived - and there was a dark-haired handsome kid walking to the opposite direction, passing me by - and he smiled, impersonally and absent-mindedly. He was in a couple of yards from me when he reached out an oblong object and I recognized a gun.

"Raise your hands up and kneel down," I heard his swift voice - and then he added. "I've come for you at last, my love."

Then there were his guys behind me, plucking at my arms, gagging me - I was not going to scream, however. I had to - but I was mute with astonishment. Just stunned. They locked the cuffs around my wrists - the cuffs I had been wearing since then.

I thought there was something he wanted from me. Something special, I mean. So, when he cut my clothes off and spread me open on the bed I still wondered what he wanted to get from me like this, what he tried to achieve. I couldn't imagine it was just sex he was after. Sex - such a little thing. Such an easy thing. I was usually giving it without second thought, you see.

He told me I could cry or call for help - if it could make me feel better - nobody would hear me. At first when he entered me I didn't make noise at all. But with my opening was getting sore - after the third one, I guess - I started moaning. I vocalized a lot since then.

When the first day passed and the night came Yaron said to me:

"It's how your life is going to go from now on, sweetie. Because I own you, don't I?"

He did owned me, even though I didn't admit it then.

Now I saw him taking my palms. I didn't feel it, even when he curled my fingers in ugly looking balls. He pressed firmly - but they were just too swollen to be curled tightly. Blue and covered with taut rubber-like skin. When Yaron pulled me by my wrists I squealed.

"Come on, get up!" his voice was monotonous - as if he tried to hypnotize me into complete obedience. Well, it was not because I didn't want why I didn't obey him. "Yes, dear. Don't annoy me. Don't, you hear?"

He yanked me by my hair, down from the bed.

"I guess you want to drink, don't you? You'll have your drink now, I promise."

It was a vast round bath - I felt like fainting seeing it. I had been close to blacking out many times during these days - but never so close, I presume. Water... yeah, there was enough of it.

His big boy lifted me to help me step into it - and at the next moment I had my contorted palms full of hot, sickeningly aromatized water - I gulped it greedily. I vomited at once - he must have put too much bath oil in it - and drank again - and I felt Yaron's trembling fingers caressing the back of my neck.

"Silly kitten, lap it, right," he was whispering his usual endearments to me.

He kneeled at the bath behind me. I could have seen his beautifully molded face if I looked up - but I didn't. I watched how the layers of discharges on my body melted in the water. The water was from my dream. I was swimming away.

Yaron was efficient bringing me to order. He washed me - and my hair, too, brushed my teeth. Shaved me. He put me on my fours when cleaning my ass. His fingers were steel-like and his arms so strong and thin when he took me out of the bath.

I didn't try to figure out what he was going to do. The state I was in seemed a kind of daze. My body ached dull and tearing at the same time; I couldn't think. My thoughts wouldn't change anything in any case. Yaron guided me back to the room supporting me under my elbow.

"Sit down, child," there was a low velvet-covered stool in front of a narrow huge mirror. It looked like a French window - another window plus to the translucent walls of his penthouse apartment. He called me "child" - he was ten years or so younger than me. He didn't let me turn to the mirror - but I didn't want to look at it, too. I closed my eyes. I felt him doing something to my hair - cold menthol scent of hair gel, his longish fingers slick and sticky with it. He rubbed it to my hair. Then he switched on the hair-drier.

He was making my hair. Weirdness of it only slightly touched me. I just sat with my burning hands lying palms up on my lap; they felt so enormous for me - and getting even bigger every minute with blood boiling in them. It was so good when he didn't hurt me, I thought.

I had been wearing my hair in a fancy spiky manner usually - a lot of gel and even more of patience. I didn't know how Yaron wanted to see me. He kneeled in front of me - and I felt his fingers on my face. So lightly. And even lighter touch of the finest brushes. He was painting my face, I understood. My eyebrows, my lashes...

"Look at me," he was so close that I could feel his exhale when he said it. I raised my lids. His dark-amber eyes gazed at me so very intently; I saw the mascara in his hand. He put more of it on my lower lashes. Then there was a pencil in his fingers. He licked its tip before he lined the contour of my lips in short neat motions. I couldn't see what color of lipstick he used.

"What a mouth," he tilted his head awry working. "My sweet bride with the most beautiful mouth in the world. Okay, it's time to get dressed!"

We were alone in the room - his men were gone. He sat on his heels between my knees, with my legs spread almost painfully open. Then he put his palms on the insides of my thighs and rubbed there - as if he tried to arouse me. He couldn't arouse me - and I suppose he didn't want it at all. He just couldn't spend even a while without touching me.

"Poor dick of my sweetheart," he was whispering. His mouth was seeking over my limp basket, I half-heard half-guessed his words. "If only it hadn't put you into sin... if only it hadn't made you the whore you were..."

I flinched terribly when he sucked my flabby organ into his mouth - and his nails stuck in my skin, keeping me on the place. His tongue hurt as if it was barbed on the places where the skin on my cock was abraded to soaking scarlet flesh. He fellated me. For these days he took my cock in his mouth almost as often as he put his into mine. I felt sick with pain, almost fainting.

"You don't like it, huh?" at last he let me go. His fine face was turned to me again and even through the mist in my eyes I saw how his eyes were glowing. His nails were digging out deep stripes of tissue on my thighs. "Nope?" his voice flew up. Sometimes it happened to him. I never could predict what would infuriate him. As if I was insulting him with something. "Then why did you like so much when they sucked it?"

"Who - they?" I whispered. My own voice seemed frighteningly weak.

"You even don't know their names, right?" he was mocking me. I didn't know what he mocked me for. "Horny bitch... Did I provide enough sex for you? As much as you used to get, you decadent slut?"

"I..." I didn't know what to say. His accusations seemed absurd to me - and he repeated them with the same regularity as the confessions in his love to me. "I am sorry... Please forgive me..."

"Yes, dear," his expression changed again. "I forgive you. You'll see - I forgive you!"

He tore the cellophane pack of the stockings. They were white - whipped-cream-white, a soft lovely shade. I watched him taking my foot and rolling the stocking up over my leg. It had embroidery - little seagull silhouettes on its finest textile. The stockings were held on the lace stripes around my thighs. No garter belt. His palms were sliding over my legs - almost tenderly - even though it was just a precaution to avoid making ladders.

"Your shoes, beloved prince."

He knew my size. They fit absolutely - pale silver snake leather. They had triangle heels, so tall that my feet seemed smaller in them. He locked them around my insteps.

"Stand up, dear."

He was of the same height with me - but now I looked down at him. It made him chuckle. We stood face to face - him naked and me only in the stockings and shoes. And then he took out the corselet.

I shrieked when he wrapped it around my fractured ribs and pulled the clasps together. It was a bright thing, heavy with the tiniest pearls embroidering it. I almost stopped breathing when he hooked it - so unbearably tight! I couldn't inhale. What I could do was just making small half-breaths. His fingers were firm popping the clasps shut.

I was slightly dizzy with hypoxia when Yaron turned me around once more. There were lace gloves in his hands. He took my hand and pulled the glove on it. It didn't go. Did he forget what he had done with my hands? Or he just disregarded it? He held my wrist firmly, trying and trying to pull it on. My own cries were bird-like, he didn't pay attention to them. He did what he wanted - he made me wear them. They were bright-red - the only thing that no bride would put on. Longer than till my elbows, shameless things.

Now he prepared me completely. No, not completely. He let me sit again and when my vision became comparatively clear I saw him having two huge golden circles of earrings.

"You don't have your ears pierced..." he shrugged. "But it's okay. We'll cope with it."

I just trembled when the thin awl appeared in his hand. It didn't hurt unbearably. I could endure it. He pushed the wires of the earrings through my new piercings. There was very little blood - two tiny trickles crawling down around the angles of my jaw.

"Oh Jehovah," he said making a step back from me. "You are exquisite. I am going to be the happiest man in the world."

Then he turned me to the mirror.

I knew it was I looking back from its brilliant surface - and still it was practically impossible to believe in it. I felt like breaking. It was too much. Really, too much. There was a painful clot in my throat preventing me from swallowing, preventing me from breathing. I've never seen anything like this. This white was incongruous. Abominable. He didn't make a girl from me. He disgraced me.

He lay my hair back from my forehead smoothly, leaving it open. My eyelashes were thick and heavy with mascara. And he didn't use scarlet or pink lipstick for my mouth. It was lilac. Bruise-like. A stain of discoloration of my ghost-pale face.

Yaron dressed himself while I looked at myself to the mirror. He was breathtaking in his black clothes - his body so lithe, his hips so narrow. He walked to me and wrapped his arm around my waist.

"Oh dear," his voice was soft again - soulful, caressing, "I am so happy I dared to take you. If you only knew how I doubted whether it would be right. I thought about it day and night. I looked at you... It was hell... You were so close and still I couldn't touch you. They - every one of them - could - and I couldn't!"

"You looked at me?" I didn't understand. "Where did you see me?"

He turned my face to himself abruptly. His arms held me firmly while he looked at me as if he couldn't believe I really asked it.

"Yes," he whispered then. "You don't know. Let's go!"

He pulled me with himself. I stumbled on the heels but he kept me upright. It was another room, the same light and glassy as his bed-room. There was a small telescope at one of its transparent walls - and to it Yaron dragged me.

"Look, look here!" he pushed me to the lens, turning its circle to regulate the clearness for me. He guessed correctly when I could see - I gasped seeing it.

It was focused on the window - so exactly and with such enormous magnifying that it seemed I could touch the glass with my hand. It was shadowy in the room - but I still could discern everything there - the wide sofa, the low glass table at it, the huge TV center. I knew every thing there - I bought every thing there myself. It was my flat.

"You don't even have curtains on your windows," Yaron's tone was strange, as if resentful and admiring at once. "Don't you know what shame is?! You fucked with them right in front of the window! Everybody could see you."

"I..." it was not that I tried to argue with him. "I didn't think. It is the twentieth floor..."

"So many them! Where did you pick them up? At the bars? You faggot whore! You even didn't meet with any of them more than twice!"

It was true. But I just tried to find the one who would suit me. I was failing again and again.

"I saw how they made you cat-horny! I saw how they made you thrash in passion. I couldn't hear nothing - but I saw everything. I hated you, bitch. I loved you... I love you... I needed to save you, do you understand? I had to take you out from there, from this filth, to bring your integrity back. I'll do it..." Yaron was whispering to my ear. "I promise."

I looked at my flat that was so close - and at the same time unreachable for me. The red light flashed on my answering machine. Who was calling me? Some of my one-night stands? They won't be surprised that I don't call back.

A sob escaped me. I couldn't control myself.

"Don't you cry!" Yaron's mellow voice distorted at once. "You prostitute! Don't you dare to smear your make-up!"

He dug his fingers in my forearm - and at the next moment his fist drove into my kidney. I gasped. The pain was blinding. For several seconds I couldn't breath, I couldn't see - my mouth was dry and open - while the fire-ball in the place where he hit me spread through all my body slowly. Now I really had tears in my eyes.

"Stupid harlot!" Yaron yanked me sharply and I felt him pushing my buttocks apart. He entered me in one motion. He bent me. He used my basket to hold me while fucking me. I felt his hot mouth on the back of my neck - and I was not surprised when he bit me.

He was diverse this time with his thrusting. Even with all sex I had for these days he still managed to make me shake when he chose another angle with his cock or shoved it deeper than usual. He rotated it. I was sobbing - but he stopped forbidding me to do it - he seemed to forget.

It leaked out of my ass when he pulled out. I couldn't hold nothing anymore. I felt it on my legs soaking into the stockings.

"My guests will be grateful that I slicked you up for them," he hissed through his teeth. But when he walked me to the next room he was careful enough to let me pace on the heels.

There were people in the hall. A couple of dozens of them, maybe. As soon as I saw them I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry for help. But at the same time a terrible realization struck me - they won't help. In no case. If they would Yaron didn't show me to them. They turned to us when we came in - a blurring sea of faces - cheering, amazed, gleeful. They looked at me. They examined me. I knew they saw the blood on my neck and ear-lobes. They didn't care.

"Let me introduce you my bride," Yaron announced - and at once they clapped their palms and walked to us - and I felt them taking my agonizingly hurt hands and sharing them.

"Amazing," somebody said. I felt ill. There was no tease in the intonation. "Where did you find this cutie?"

"You are lucky, kid! Such a flower."

They kissed my cheeks and my lips, smearing lipstick, licking it off. I knew it was around my mouth already. They hugged me and patted me. They played with me as if I were a thing. From aside I heard Yaron's voice:

"And that's how I met my beloved... and rescued from the life of sin. I'll make my love chaste again. All the obscenity will be washed off when we marry..."

Marry. The word was odd. I never thought about it as applied to me. He was going to marry me. I was so half-coherent that I didn't know how I could stay on my feet. My breath was torture. Being upright was torture. What else could he do to me when he had made so much, when he had already hurt me so beyond imagination?

I hardly registered the ceremony. The words he was saying - his vows to me. He didn't ask me to make the vow back. Why should he doubt I would be loyal to him? I regained full consciousness when he took my hand and tried to put the ring on my finger. I bit my lip to keep from crying. I felt tears in my eyes again.

He was putting the ring over the vermilion lace glove. It was a diamond ring - with the huge transparent gem sunk deeply in the wide band of gold. I couldn't keep his ring in my destroyed fingers. He put it on himself.

"I love you, my rose," he whispered in my mouth while kissing me.

When the ceremony was finished he walked me to the table. Well, it was not a real table - there was a strange steel frame on it and Yaron guided me to it carefully.

"And now, my sweet bride, here is your marriage bed... The bed where you won't lose your virginity 'cause you haven't had it for a long time - the bed where you'll part with your sins, it will be more exact."

I looked at him. My lips parted - as if I wanted to ask him what he meant. And at the same moment there were hands grabbing me, pulling me up to the table, into the frame, spreading my legs wide, raising my arms. It had fastenings, the construction. They fixed my hands above my head and my legs open and up, as if in gynecological chair. I tried to look back - I knew Yaron was there - I tried to see him.

"It is my wedding present for you, sweet," I only heard his voice. "I hope you won't miss sex while being only with me..."

It was what I had been through already - rough hands plucking at me, opening me, pinching and scratching. I came to know it very well - but how could I get used to it when the pain was new every time, when the cock thrusting into my agonizing rectum was no less hurtful - it moved against the sore places. I didn't see the face of the one who was fucking me. There was another cock shielding my sight - the cock going to my mouth. They humped against me. Their palms slid under the material of the corselet. My chest was bare to let them have my nipples. My tits were bursting out with the pressure of their fingers squeezing relentlessly.

Their mouths were on my body, sucking my penis and my balls; and when my privates were not in somebody's mouth they tugged them, mauled them, tried to wring them out. Their hands were slicky with my fresh blood. A tongue or a finger was alternately fucking my navel under the brink of the corselet. They sucked my armpits, cleaned the blood from my earlobes. And there was always a new prick ramming my ass open.

I didn't shriek. I couldn't produce a sound around a cock filling my throat. It seemed to go on forever.

Maybe, for a couple of hours in reality. There were twenty five or so of them - but they were cumming quickly. There was so much cum in my rectum that the liquid was squelching when they fucked me. Their sperm leaked out of the corners of my mouth - I couldn't swallow it no more. My eyes were burning with mascara.

I didn't realize it at first when they left me. At first the cock fucking me out didn't replace with another. Then the hands on my chest drove away. Then there was nobody covering the light from me. They were finished. They left me alone.

At least, for now.

And it was only a comparative relief. I was like a crushed bug - pinned to the frame, with my hands still in the cuffs and my ankles fixed widely. I tried to get a little more of the air to my lungs. I looked up - to the ceiling above me. And then I heard Yaron's voice again.

"You know what brought you into sin now, don't you? I had to show you. But now you don't have to suffer any more. I'll help you to stay clean forever - from now on."

Was there some special meaning in his words? I didn't know. I came to think that there was meaning in everything what he said - but I couldn't puzzle it out. I didn't have clearance of mind for it any more. I was going to nowhere, I thought. I heard some noise, clicking of metallic objects, maybe. I would like to raise my head and look but I was not able to. And then there was Yaron leaning to me.

"Poor baby," his lips moved but there was no sound from him. His face was so pale - as if it was him who was going to faint. "I would love to never hurt you. But I must do it. I must. I am sorry for you..."

There was the blade of the knife flashing in his hands. I saw it in front of my eyes - and then he lowered it slowly to my chest. He held it in both hands, vertically - and in the fire of pain I made a short loud gasp when the tip of the knife stabbed in my right breast.

He poked it. He cut the skin and muscle - as deep as the bone was - under my nipple - and there he turned the blade flat. I was breathless. The only noise I made was the exhale - and after that I was silent. I would like to scream. I just couldn't. I felt my hair rising in this pain. Yaron shoved the blade under my nipple, separating it from the base. I felt hot blood washing my ribs. He didn't touch my nipple with his fingers yet - he just cut it with the knife - turning the blade around until, having made the full circle, it slid into already made cut. That's when he used his fingers, seizing the bit of my flesh. It was slicky - he had to grasp it tighter. Even though he cut it off with his knife it still was attached. He yanked. I choked in a wild cry. It became so bright in front of my eyes - nothing except this brightness. It yielded.

"I would like to make you eat it," as if from far away I heard his voice. "It would teach you even better. But I don't think you'll be able to do it. So, this will be enough," he drove the bloody bit of my flesh against my lips.

Pain and horror were drowning me. And when there was a piece of charring iron biting my chest where my nipple once had been I almost blacked out. It seemed my arms and legs were wrenched out in the cramp that distorted my body. Yaron was searing the wound on my chest.

When the blood stopped sizzling I went limp. I felt my sweat - so cold - dribbling over my temples. I was feeble. My muscles couldn't work well enough to struggle the tight corselet. I was strangulating. I didn't feel my muscles at all any more. I knew I would have shitted myself if I had had something inside me - I shitted with their cum instead.

The soft firm hand of Yaron caressed my forehead. Tears were running down my cheeks. I was so weak I was drooling.

But when I saw the knife in his hands again I twitched madly. The fear made me half-witted. I couldn't stand it again. No more.

"Please!" I tried to implore him hastily; my tongue obeyed me poorly but I tried. "Please don't! I've understood... I will be good. I will be clean - as you want me, I will be everything you want me to be!"

I didn't have any means to reason him. I knew it. He didn't answer. His face was solemn when he raised the knife dripping blood over my chest again.

I was barely conscious when he finished. I was all wet. My head was limp, I couldn't keep it. I was retching. Yaron look downward at me - his eyes were sad and implacable at the same time. I didn't hear a sound from anybody else in the room.

I looked back at him. Even after all this pain I still looked with hope at him. Maybe, it was enough, maybe, he had done everything he wanted. He met my gaze and guessed it right.

"No, my sweet thing," I could hardly hear his voice - so tender and light it was - and so full of compassion. "I would like to let you keep it, you know. I like it so very, very much. But as long as you have it I can't be sure, you see. You are so very convinced... I just don't see another way out..."

He moved. He walked around me - and then he stopped between my legs. I was craning my head, trying to look at him. I hardly saw anything - except the gory knife in his hands again. And I already knew what he was going to do.

My own screams deafened me. But even though my consciousness was abating the pain was with me all the way. I felt everything. I felt how blunted was his knife after the nipple cuts, how he had to put efforts to cut through my tissue. I felt how he tugged my parts farther and downward to make it more convenient for him. I could feel how blood hit in jets from there. I felt how he stuck the piece of catheter to my piss-slit to prevent it from skinning over. It took much bigger piece of heated iron to cauterize it.

"Don't cry, dear, don't cry."

Was I crying? I didn't know. It was much more than reason for crying - what he had done to me. What else could anyone possibly do?

And then I found out what. When his hand rose again - not with the knife this time - but with a rod of iron with the strange tip. I peered at it. It was casting spirals of hot air around it, white on the end and changing its color to red and then to black. When he closed it I convulsed. I jerked madly in the cuffs - but somebody else's hand hooked my hair and held my head firmly in the place - while Yaron pressed the white-hot brand to my skin.

My scream burst in my head. I screamed very long. For eternity - while he fidgeted the brand against my forehead imprinting the monogram of his name into my skull bone.

What was next was behind the veil for me. I felt vaguely that they released my limbs - and raised me, put me on my feet. The pearled textile of the corselet was soaked in blood and burnt on my chest. The smell of seared flesh was flabbergasting. There were hands supporting me - and Yaron's hand taking my palm.

"The wedding cake," he whispered close to my ear. I was blacking out when he cut it holding my hand with the knife in his. And then I felt his fingers at my lips. The same as he was sliding my own bleeding tissue against my lips he was putting the bits of biscuit and whipped cream into my mouth.

Then everything was gone.

I came round in our bed again. I was naked. My hands were cuffed above my head - and for a shortest moment it seemed to me that I had dreamed everything. Just a nightmare.

Yaron was settling against the pillow on his half of the bed. It had to be the evening - the curtains on the glass wall were driven together and the only light in the room was from the lamp on Yaron's nightstand. He was looking through a glossy album on his lap - he had small round rimless glasses on - and from time to time he was tossing back a lock of his dark hair.

The pain was squeezing my brain as if in a vice - but I didn't know if it was the pain from my destroyed privates or it was a mind's pain. When I looked up I could see the diamond ring on my finger - buried deep in the swollen purple flesh of it. Yaron looked at me - and dropped his book at once. He moved swiftly.

"Good night, dear," he sat on me - as he liked to do it - on my pelvis - his silken cool pajama on the burning wound between my legs. "Sorry that I had to cuff you. It's not because I am afraid you'll try to bolt. It's so that you don't scratch your scars off, you know."

The expressions changed on his fiery face - joy, pity, delight, sorrow. Then the corner of his beautiful mouth slid down.

"Ooh, my child!" his voice was full of suffering and still rejoicing. "I had to do it. You think I am cruel. But soon you'll understand I did it for your own sake. Parents seem cruel to a disobedient child - but when he grows up he realizes how much they did for him. I believe there will be the day when you will thank me, my butterfly. You will."

For a moment he looked intently in my face. I was trembling with the mad pain. Then he patted my cheek absent-mindedly.

"Tomorrow I'll give you a mirror, okay? But don't worry - nobody will see you like this. Just me and you - we'll stay here together for good. And you are beautiful in my eyes, you know. You will always be."

He bent down suddenly - and I felt his tongue on the blackened flesh on my forehead - licking, repeating with the tip of his tongue the letters of the monogram - "YBA".

"I know," he breathed out, "I already love this," his thumbs were on the burnt scars of my former nipples, massaging them firmly. "And this," he pushed his palm between my legs and cupped my pubis. "You are so special, my darling. Nobody has such a wife! I have. I have you completely."

He shifted again, taking his place between my legs. I knew what had to follow. He played with his straight risen cock. He didn't stick it inside me, however. He used his own hand. He had his other hand in my rectum, driving in and out, deep and fast, in the same rhythm. He even didn't take it out when falling asleep - at my side, with his smooth cheek on my belly.

I lay with my eyes shut and saw the flashing red light - so huge that there was nothing else in front of my lowered lids. It flashed and flashed - and I knew what it was - it was the indicator of my answering machine in the flat where I would never return.

The End

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