Posted by Tala on March 08, 2006 at 11:33:47:
A tiny metal cage suspended from the ceiling on a rust covered log chain. It was just big enough for him to sit in it with his knees drawn up to his chest. His legs had stopped hurting days ago, now they felt anesthetized. His hips and knees were stiff as if rigor mortis had set in. The low top of the cage forced his head to rest on his knees. His arms wrapped around his shins and cuffed together, tethered to leg shackles by a six inch long chain. Completely naked, bald and exposed, besides for the burns and scars all over his flesh. A chastity device was clamped tight around his shaft and balls. The leather and steel cage-like enclosure dug into his cock and held it eternally erect. The head was swollen and red, and constantly throbbed from the pressure. It burned like fire when it finally did release.
He raised his head as far as he could, eyes dilating, reacting to the occasional dimming of the amber colored bulbs. He tried to adjust his back, only to cause more discomfort and pain. In his mind, only one word kept repeating itself.
John. John. John…
The last thing he remembered was a statuesque blonde giving him an injection. The needle sinking gradually into his arm. The slow burning in his muscle. He remembered the room starting to spin, causing him to be nauseous. Even making whatever bile and stomach acid he had, lurch from his belly. He could smell the solution deep in his sinuses when he inhaled. Tasting it on his tongue. Then the haze came and took him.
Dreams entered his mind, but all he could recollect was a whirlwind of black and blood. John… Apparitions of bodies in motion, the sounds of sizzling skin, the acrid smell of burnt flesh, and the name, John…
He closed his eyes against them. Mouthless screams filling his inner mind. He started to recognize the voice behind the screaming. It was his own. Blood-curdling and deafening. He was beginning to remember the feel of the smoldering, red hot touch melting into his skin. He couldn’t escape. No way out. Trapped and immobilized within the bars of the cage. John…
John…John Giles is my name. I live on sixty two-oh-two Ridgeway Road. I have a house, a Trans-Am, a wife. No…I used to have a wife. She fucked Mike’s brother. I kicked the fucking bitch out. God what the hell is happening to me? God doesn’t exist. Not in Hell. My name is John…
Over and over he repeated his name in his mind.
“My name is John,” the sound of his voice startled him. He hadn’t actually spoken a word in what had felt like years. It was forbidden to speak. Lucidique was the bitch’s name. At least that’s what he had heard her slave call her.
John’s eyes opened and he looked before him. He saw what he had thought was the source of the scream. Her body was stretched floor to ceiling. Her hands grasping desperately to the slackened chains that were bound to her wrists by iron manacles. The chains on her ankles were just long enough that she could stand on the balls of her feet. Her breath was labored from the stark white truss that was cinched so tightly that the skin around it bubbled over and made her seem somehow deformed. Between her legs was a steel pole that was held upright and bolted to the floor. It was tall enough that even though she was standing on her toes, that the tip of it disappeared between her lips.
Her legs were giving out. He could tell by the way her legs were shaking. John knew that it was inevitable. He felt helpless to save her, hell he couldn’t even save himself.
She raised her head. Beads of sweat were all over hear forehead, dripping down her neck. Her short raven hair was drenched with it. Then he noticed her eyes, or at least the absence of them. Dried streaks of black blood ran like tears from the empty sockets. He looked at the giant spike again; there was blood on it too.
The combination of her hands slipping and her body betraying her, she started to drop. Catching herself just as the tip entered her, scrambling to regain her grasp on the chains. Blind as a baby rat and twice as helpless, she tried to wrap the chains around her arms to help support herself. She pulled herself up on already strained muscles. Her legs wouldn’t cooperate, couldn’t get them to straighten out. Unable to see anything other than darkness, she could only go by sound and feel.
She grabbed as far up the chain as possible, lowered her left arm and couldn’t quite get the chain around it. She reached up what felt higher and grabbed again. This time she got it. The chain had looped just enough around her arm. It wasn’t any more comfortable, the links twisted and pinched her skin, but at least she could relax her hand some without dropping.
He saw the frustration on her face. Every new attempt was getting harder and harder on her. Finally, John noticed that she had her arm wrapped up in it. A look of relief crossed her face, the muscles in her upper body started to relax. Her feet were still on point, but at least, maybe…
He watched her for a little while, wondering what kind of life she had left behind. She had to have had family somewhere. She was somebody’s daughter, someone’s sister, possibly somebody’s mother. He closed his hazel eyes again, settling back into himself, thinking about the life he’d had before this nightmare. His house, his cat, and the car he loved to drive at break-neck speed.
He heard the sound of the chains giving way. The clanking of metal links slamming. His eyes snapped open and watched as her body fell. The chains that she had snaked around her arms, now tearing into her flesh, stripping them. She tried in vain to grab hold, but she couldn’t find her grip.
It was almost as if it was happening in slow motion. Her legs caving under her. Her hands sliding. Her delicate skin being torn away. Her shoulders dislocating. The pole slamming into her as her weight fell upon it. Her mouth opening into an “O” shape. Her screams cutting through the air like razor blades. The petrified look.
He looked at her again. Her legs folded and flopped helter skelter. Her arms pulled out of the sockets, raised over her head. The steel shaft buried within her. So much blood. It was coming out of her nose, mouth, trickling down the sides of her neck. A pool was forming beneath her.
He couldn’t help but stare at the blood that was pooling around her feet, spreading like a black oil slick across the floor. His eyes followed up the crimson drips that dribbled down the insides of her perfectly milky-white thighs. He started to think about his hands massaging them, caressing them. Picturing her opening up to him, spreading them wide. The tip of his tongue licking up them, finding its way to her pussy that had an immaculately trimmed thatch of fur crowning the top of it. He thought of her bald lips enveloping his hard dick like a lover’s gentle mouth, instead of the cold steel that resided there.
His heart started to beat faster, his breath came quicker. The blood rushed to his cheeks and flushed them hot like fire. Picturing her firm tits jiggling as he pumped in and out of her. The head of his cock turned almost vermilion due to the constraints of the steel rings and leather straps that held it captive and dug into it deeper pinching skin.
My god, what am I doing? She’s fucking dead and I’m thinking about screwing her. He felt disgusted with himself. His skin started to crawl and gave him the shivers.
Footsteps plodded down what sounded like concrete stairs. Bare feet gently slapping on stone. John, embarrassed by his repulsive fantasies, looked up and saw a younger male, maybe in his twenties coming through the doorway. A yellowish glint of light bounced off the top of the silver dome that covered the massive tray he was carrying and he could smell the familiar putrid scent that followed it.