Posted by H. n. on May 04, 2000 at 18:13:02:
In Reply to: The truth about Sonya! Part III posted by H.n. on May 04, 2000 at 18:07:49:
Dead.
He is dead now. Cold and white as snow, and his limbs are like rubber.
Yet he is typing. Or his carcass is typing. There is no "I" left in him.
He looks down at his hands, positioned at the keyboard. The fingers are moving, like nimble little machines, and the words are appearing on the paper. Where do the words come from? He doesn't know. He does not even exist any longer. But he functions. He carries out her order.
She is sitting on the edge of the bed, smoking a cigarette. Watching him type. She had told him to finish his story. To write the last chapter, to describe his own demise. Thus giving her a unique trophy in the form of a story--written by a man and finished by the man's corpse.
This is how he died:
It was late Saturday afternoon when she entered the room. He was laying on the bed, dozing, becoming wide-awake in an instant.
"It's time," she said matter of factly.
"Time to go?" he joked, trying to keep his composure.
She wasn't impressed.
"Put these on your ankles," she said, throwing a pair of leg irons onto the bed, while she remained standing outside of his reach.
"What if I don't?"
She frowned.
"You wanted this, you will get it. At least show some dignity in the end." Her voice did not sound harsh, or heartless, or cruel; just determined. She would do it, and he would not keep her from doing it. Period. Grasping this, he did as he was told, he put the cuffs on his ankles. A metallic jingling sound came from his left ankle where the cuff grated against the steel chain.
"Now put these on your wrists. Your hands behind your back," Said her cool voice, followed by a second pair of handcuffs flying towards him.
He looked into her rigid, opaque eyes for a moment, searching for any little sign of uncertainty or sympathy. He found none.
With a low, unintentional groan he fastened the metal on his left wrist. After some wrenching, a latching sound behind his back indicated that the cuff was completely attached.
"Turn around. Let me see it, " she demanded.
After she had made sure that both cuffs were neatly fastened, she drew nearer. She had a black scarf in her hand.
"You don't need to watch the preparations," she said, binding the silky scarf around his head. It didn't let allow any light through. All he could see was the phantom image of her silhouette behind his lids; till it faded. He noted her musky perfume, the warmth of her body beside him.
"Listen," she said, "I don't want you to talk anymore. Just lie on this bed and keep silent, or I will gag you."
"Can I..." he said.
"No you can't. One more word and you're gagged."
"Okay," he said, trying her patience.
She sighed. "Okay, if you want it this way... "
He heard her walking away and then returning after a few moments.
"Open your mouth," she commanded.
"No, c'mon, this isn't necessary! I'll be quiet."
"Open you mouth!" she repeated, now harsh and severe.
"Listen, I'll uuurp..." he groaned, when unexpectedly both her fists smashed against his chest, making him fall on his back. Before he could even think of getting up the weight of her body pressed him down as she placed her bottom on his chest. He tried, but with his hands behind his back he couldn't shake her off.
"Will you open your mouth now?!"
"Hey, listen, we nnnngrlll... " A metal instrument was rammed between his teeth, making him choke when it poked against his palate. He felt one of her hands at his forehead, pressing it down, while the instrument in his mouth pried his teeth apart. His mouth was filled with a bitter taste as the rubber ball gag filled it. The metal instrument was withdrawn, producing a sickening, grinding noise when it slid along his teeth. The next thing he felt was a broad strip of adhesive tape being stuck across his mouth.
She lifted her ass from his chest and he inhaled deeply through his nose. Trying to suppress uprising panic.
"Now listen," he heard her intense voice close to his left ear, feeling the hot stream of her breath, "No more shit from now on. You will lay here and you won't struggle, or make any noise, or disturb me in any other way."
Despite her words, he risked turning onto his side. Lying on his back was too painful with the cuffs around his wrists. She did not seem to notice it.
Losing all sense of time he lay on the bed in the pitch black and listened to the sounds of her working. Her foot steps on the floor. The whining of a drill. Hammering. The sound of things being dragged around. The close of the door when she occasionally left the room. Her voice, when she was humming at work.
Then he heard her leave the room and close the door again. This time she didn't return for a long time.
He estimated it was late in the night when he heard her return. Her quiet footsteps indicated she was walking barefoot. He felt her sharp fingernails on his face, then the tape across his mouth was ripped off. He spit out the rubber ball.
"Drink this," she said.
He felt the brim of a glass at his lower lip. Cautiously he took a sip of the liquid. It tasted like cold herb tea. He drank it all. Soothing waves emanated from his stomach, and spread all over his body.
"What was that?"
"Something to help you... and me."
She removed the steel chain from his ankle and it hit the tiles with a clang.
"Stand up."
He did, with his knees slightly shaking and his mind somewhat dizzy. Her hand tugged at his elbow.
"Come on."
"What's going to happen now?"
"You know what's gonna happen now. You will die now. And I won't talk to you anymore. Conversation time is over. I can't gag you at this stage, so if you wanna blather go ahead. But don't expect me to answer. Now move."
Her hand tugged harder.
He let her lead him a few steps through the room, walking clumsily with his tightly shackled feet. Then she stopped him and said, "Sit on the floor."
The tiles felt icy cold on his naked bottom. He perceived her walking behind him, then a thin chain was suddenly placed around his neck. A violent jerk squeezed his throat and forced him down on his back. There was a clanking noise, and in a moment the chain around his neck was attached to a hook in the ground. He jerked his head, but all that did was cause him to choke himself. Resting his head on the ground, he noted that the head of the metal hook was located directly underneath his neck, and it was pressing painfully against his spine as soon as he relaxed. He had to lift his head an inch or so, which was all the chain allowed, to ease the pressure. Then, when the choking started to asphyxiate him, he had to give in and drop his head back down just to be tortured by the hook again. He groaned, when he realized that this dilemma wouldn't end until he died. He also realized that she had not even meant this to be torture. She probably hadn't even bothered to realize the pain it would cause.
Now he felt her hands at his ankles. She removed the cuffs and wound leather straps around both ankles, pushing his legs to the sides. Then she fastened the straps to something; apparently another pair of hooks she had drilled into the tiles. He made no attempt to resist her. There was pain, and fear, but in a strange way it didn't seem to matter, it was as if he was separated from his own feelings. He felt oddly defenseless. Unwilling to defend himself.
"Fine," he heard her mumbling.
Her voice somehow encouraged him to speak himself.
"Can you remove the scarf? Let me see what happens."
No answer. Maybe she looked at him for a moment in anger or in amusement, or she didn't bother at all; no way for him to find out.
He heard a match being lit, then the low crackling of fire on the left side of him, not far from his head. The same thing was repeated on the right side.
Her hand slightly shifted the scarf, yet he still couldn't see. His forehead was uncovered. A sting at the right edge of his forehead, then, with a kind of a low, ripping noise, a line of pain emerged from there and spread across his forehead to the left edge.
It had begun.
He clenched his teeth and stayed silent. A little blood was leaking under the scarf, reaching his eyes. She was humming contentedly, then she laid something light and dry on the wound, and, after letting it soak with blood for a while, removed it. Maybe dry leaves, he thought. The sound of the fire raised a bit and it changed to a fizzing noise. Aromatic smoke invaded his nose; the scent reminded him of nothing special, it just smelled rich and herbal, with a somewhat unpleasant edge of sweetness.
He heard her breathe in and out deeply a few times. As if she was concentrating and preparing for something difficult. Then she began chanting. The same strange language she had used when he was eavesdropping at the door while she killed José. Sanskrit? Hebrew? He didn't know. The chanting went on for a long time, and he felt increasingly numb from the thick smoke. He listened to her voice, which now, unlike the night with José, sounded calm. It sounded deep and firm and confident. To him it also sounded erotic and he enjoyed it. Relaxing almost completely, he had fallen into trance, hadn't there the problem with the hook under his neck.
After a while, small, red sparks and lines were emerging out of the darkness around him. They were dancing with the rhythm of her voice, building patterns which quickly fell apart again, to be replaced by others. Idly watching he relaxed more and more. Despite his painful shackling, his body felt light, as if he was floating in warm water. Warm. It had become remarkably warm. He gave up trying to avoid the hook. The pain increased ... and increased... then it decreased, or maybe he just ceased noticing it.
He realized that his cock had become erect, to full size, although there weren't any sexy thoughts in his mind.
The tone of her incantation changed. It became more urgent and dramatic. He felt as if he was slowly rotating in the warm, black medium that surrounded him. His skin tingled all over and he no longer felt the hard tiles under him. Empty of any thoughts, it was as if his mind had dissolved. Only his body was left; and it felt like a formless mass.
Her voice became silent.
Then a brief, harsh, and aggressive phrase. A sharp hiss in the air. And a line of red glowing pain was ripped into him. Was it over his belly and chest? He couldn't really tell. Somehow he had forgotten about the form of his body. Even his own cry sounded alien, as if it hadn't originated from him at all.
She repeated the phrase.
Another violent stroke hit him. It was so terrible he almost felt ripped apart. The moment the pain exploded inside him he almost could see it; like a flash of lightning.
The third stoke finally broke his trance. The voice, yelling with pain, became his own again, and he realized that she was whipping him. Again and again, repeating the same short phrase in that strange, foreign language, then lashing at him mercilessly. He couldn't imagine what kind of whip she was using, he couldn't imagine that any whip could cause such agonizing pain. He struggled violently, but all he could do was build a jerking bridge with his body between his tied ankles and shackled neck. Then he cried for her to stop. She just continued on--her voice sounded as if she was whipping herself into a savage trance.
When it finally stopped he collapsed in his chains. Burning agony consumed his body, his throat sore from crying. From far away he heard her voice starting to recite again. The words seemed to force him back into the trance; yet this time it was different: He was no longer floating in warm liquid, but in hot magma. The sparks and lines around him reappeared. But now they didn't play out a pleasant dance. Now it was as if they were pecking at him. Consuming little bits and pieces of his pain, growing larger on the diet.
After a while the lights seemed to melt into each other. Forming a blurred red fog which surrounded him, slowly pulsating. His sense of size and dimension proved to be confused, he couldn't say whether the form that surrounded him was thin or whether it was a thousand miles across.
His hair stood on end when he realized that this red cloud had become alive. A being had emerged. He wasn't the only one that saw it, he heard her gasping in awe, even interrupting her chant for a moment. Then she continued. And he heard a deep, intimidating growl, so deep and intense that it made his stomach vibrate. Bundy! He hadn't noticed the dog in the room before.
The form didn't become clear; it remained undulating around him, or around the room, or around the world. Then it invaded his mind. As if invisible tentacles were exploring and absorbing his thoughts and emotions. As if a probing tongue was licking at his dread...and finding it delicious.
He wiggled in his chains and squealed with fear.
The mental connection between him and the strange being gave him a vague impression of it. It was unimaginably old, it had no specific form or body, it had no human mind, but still it was filled with wild emotions. Although it wasn't human, he perceived it as feminine. It....she was savage and cruel. And she was hungry.
After an endless time, the tentacles were withdrawn. The red cloud seemed to draw back from him, and then something surprising happened; he could see again, although the scarf was still covering his eyes. The whole scene was doused by purple light, and the forms looked slightly distorted. His view widened with every inch the cloud gave free. Finally, he could see her. Standing in front of him between his feet, naked, her arms raised, her eyes closed, still chanting. The red fog moved towards her, wrapped itself around her; and then completely disappeared inside of her body in a moment. She froze. And then she threw her head back and yelled the most horrible cry he'd ever heard. It filled the room and echoed from the walls, and he felt as if his brain would explode from the pressure.
His ears were ringing when it quieted down. He stared at her. And now she turned her head to him and stared back. Her eyes! They were much too large. They were the black, opaque, unfeeling eyes of a bird. The female being glared down at him the way a falcon might stare at a mouse...it wasn't human.
He groaned in horror. She made a laughing noise, and her voice sounded subterraneously deep. And it was creaking. It sounded evil in a perfectly non-human way.
Without loosening the grip of those intimidating eyes, she slowly bent down over him. He realized that his dick was still fully erected; like a foreign object attached in the middle of his hurting and fearful body. A very endangered object. She sat down onto his belly. Her weight was enormous and the heat of her crotch felt like fire on his skin .
Her hands touched his chest. Softly. Yet he squirmed, and he saw the whipping had ripped deep, open wounds in his skin. She genmtly stroked his chest, smearing the blood all over. Then she playfully drove her fingernails into the cracks in his flesh, cutting them deeper, drawing more blood, watching the painful contortions of his face with interest. With a deep laugh, she turned around and slowly moved the nail of her forefinger along the shaft of his dick till it reached the bulbous glans. She moved it in slow, tiny circles, causing not only unbearable pain, but more importantly fear.
When she had enough of this game, she brought her face close to his. As if she wanted to kiss him. Her lips parted and he felt her moist tongue licking his cheeks and mouth. Withdrawing her face, she looked down on him again, the teeth in her open mouth shining, then she gently took his head in both of her hands. Her face came down in a fast, violent move, while the grip of her hands became iron. Her teeth touched his cheek beside his mouth. She bit him. Hard. Harder. He cried out loud, she growled. Violently her teeth tugged at his flesh and tore it free. When she raised her head he saw a large, bloody piece of flesh between her lips. With a slurping noise she sucked it into her mouth; and swallowed it. Grinning.
She rose, walked behind him, and returned with a knife in her hand. Very slowly, she knelt down above his still throbbing cock. He felt the tip of his organ touching her pussy-lips, spreading them, and invading the hot, moist tightness. Despite all the pain that was torturing him he wanted to get his dick in deeper. But she didn't lower her pelvis any further. Groaning, he lifted his bottom and managed to drive himself a few inches further into her. He heard her low laughter again. Then she spoke. It wasn't her normal voice, it wasn't even a human voice, and he couldn't tell whether he really heard her voice from outside or from within his head. In any case it hurt, as if her words were scratching along the nerve tracks of his brain.
"I will rip your heart out," she said, and her black eyes bore into his as if the scarf wasn't covering them at all.
He was way past thinking of ways to save himself. There was no future for him, only this very moment and all the pain and lust that filled him now. He moved his pelvis and fucked her as she sunk down on him inch by inch, in slow motion. Finally she sat on him, his dick completely trapped inside her pussy, and then he realized he couldn't fuck. He wasn't able to lift her body a single inch. She seemed to weigh several times more than normal. He was completely immobilized.
Now he felt the tip of the knife at the left side of his belly, just beneath the ribs. He gasped, anticipating the inevitable pain. A sharp, biting pang and the blade slid in. She cut towards the sternum, ripping him open. It hurt badly, but less than he had expected. Yet he passed out for a few seconds, possibly due to shock.
She put the knife away. Very slowly, almost imperceptibly, her pelvis gyrated around his cock. She bent forward, her left hand darting towards his chest. Her full breasts were hanging over him. Then he felt the fingers of her right hand invading the opening she had made in his body. Pushing the tissue aside, intruding deeper under his ribs. He squirmed and quivered with the utterly strange experience of fingers moving inside his chest. The hand moved in deeper, and finally even her wrist disappeared inside of him.
He knew her hand was circling his heart. He felt her soft grip with each beat. She sensually licked her lips, moving a little faster on his dick.
Her hand squeezed his heart when it contracted; and she didn't release it when it wanted to expand again. Instant pain and utter terror was the result. His breath rattled in panic. When she finally let go, his heart began to flutter like a little bird in the loose grip of her hand. She squeezed again; and this time his heart remained still when she released it. She didn't do anything but enjoy his dick inside her as she watched him lie in agony, the drumming in his head increasing, his thoughts shattering into shards of panic. Oddly, the clarity of his vision didn't blur at all. He saw her above him the whole time. Then she began massaging his heart. Giving him the blood his brain so desperately needed. And then stopping it again. His heart began working on its own again; big relief. Playfully she compressed one of the big vessels leading to the desperately pumping organ, observing the effects on him with interest. And then she scratched one of the vessels open with her fingernails. He felt the rhythmical spurting of blood inside his chest. He began to bleed to death.
She rode him faster now; wet, smacking noises eminating from them as her ass pounded down hard on his thighs.
Her grip around his heart became very tight. She began to pull at it, slowly ripping it out of his chest. Pain and fear were driving him insane. His mind dissolved. All that was left was the crystal clear picture of her above him, the purple shimmer all over her body, her face writhed in frantic ecstasy, and his dick in her cunt, getting harder and larger than ever before. Her hand was almost out of his chest, clutching her still wincing prey. With a horrible, ripping noise one of the vessels still connecting the organ with his body ruptured - and the same moment he spurted off, expelling all that was left of his life into her pussy.
And he was dead.
Everything changed. No pain anymore, no thoughts anymore. No "he" anymore. Yet the room, and her, and his corpse were still there for some time. She was still riding his dead cock, convulsing in her own orgasm, triumphantly raising a large chunk of bloody mass into the air. His heart.
Then, piece by piece, the world disappeared, until only she was left.
She dissolved into red fog.
The fog faded.
Nothingness.
***
Author´s note: I lied. I´m not Sonya´s niece. Actually I´m no one´s niece. I´m a guy named rathead.
This story was written for and dedicated to (well, guess!) Sonya, and it was recently published at Femmes Obscure.
The friendly editor of femmes obscure (just forgot her name ;) has made this story readable by editing all the little awkwardnesses of a non-English author.
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If you liked this story, there is more like this at:
http://www.blackplague.org/femmes/members/rathead.html
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