Day 6: Please

Prompt:

writeworld: Writer’s Block A picture says a thousand words. Write them. Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture. Be sure to tag writeworld in your block! Sam liked the way the soles of his feet rested on the sharp edge of the table. It was a little painful, but pressure sent these strings of pleasure up to his ankles and his calves. His tongue licked the inside of his cheek, looking for the flap of skin he we trying to rip off, but truly he was focused on his palms. The bandages had made the wounds itch and while the man who’d dressed the wounds instructed him not to scratch, that guy was dead now, and the wounds felt like they were closed. He was shot clean through both his hands, in the middle of the night, slobber straining out of his mouth as he begged them.  "Please-please-no! I’ll do anything—" Sam had a sister who used to tell him about how the world could be a peaceful place if everyone could learn to not compare each other. The look in that man’s eyes as he cocked the hot gun up against his forehead, pressing the nozzle unto Sam’s skull, was look of a creature completely happy. And to be honest, when sam had been saved by the nurse man, he climbed on top of that bastard and squeezed his neck, the blood gushing out of his own wounds. Sam might have looked the same way. His finger slipped under the bandage and he began scratching, toes curling and soles rubbing against the table. He pulled his hand back and brown and red blood mixed under his nail. He disgusted himself and pressed the bandage back again. "Please!" The voice filtered in from the back door and Sam grabbed the rifle, laying against the table. Five paces forward was a pool of blood, and the dead doctor. Five paces back was a door, rickety with a slapping screen door. Sam itched up against the cupboards facing the pool of blood, waiting for the sound of something. "Please God!" And then the sound of crashing and water spilling. The person had knocked over the water supply, near the bloody entrance. Sam was quick, stepping over the pool of blood and aiming carefully. Sam stood there in the crook of the door, looking at an incredibly pregnant woman, skin dark brown and eyes the same. Once Sam was in view the woman pointed her shotgun up and towards him, elbow propping her up against the kitchen counter, and at her leg a lighter brown girl, gripping the tattered material of the pregnant woman’s pants. "Please." She asked again, cocking it, "Please, she’s bleeding. I just need some bandages." The blood had begun to wrap around Sam’s bare feet. He’d stood too close.

Please:

Sam liked the way the soles of his feet rested on the sharp edge of the table. It was a little painful, but pressure sent these strings of pleasure up to his ankles and his calves. His tongue licked the inside of his cheek, looking for the flap of skin he we trying to rip off, but truly he was focused on his palms. The bandages had made the wounds itch and while the man who’d dressed the wounds instructed him not to scratch, that guy was dead now, and the wounds felt like they were closed.

He was shot clean through both his hands, in the middle of the night, slobber straining out of his mouth as he begged them.

“Please-please-no! I’ll do anything—”

Sam had a sister who used to tell him about how the world could be a peaceful place if everyone could learn to not compare each other. The look in that man’s eyes as he cocked the hot gun up against his forehead, pressing the nozzle unto Sam’s skull, was look of a creature completely happy. And to be honest, when sam had been saved by the nurse man, he climbed on top of that bastard and squeezed his neck, the blood gushing out of his own wounds. Sam might have looked the same way.

His finger slipped under the bandage and he began scratching, toes curling and soles rubbing against the table. He pulled his hand back and brown and red blood mixed under his nail. He disgusted himself and pressed the bandage back again.

“Please!” The voice filtered in from the back door and Sam grabbed the rifle, laying against the table. Five paces forward was a pool of blood, and the dead doctor. Five paces back was a door, rickety with a slapping screen door. Sam itched up against the cupboards facing the pool of blood, waiting for the sound of something.

“Please God!” And then the sound of crashing and water spilling.

The person had knocked over the water supply, near the bloody entrance. Sam was quick, stepping over the pool of blood and aiming carefully. Sam stood there in the crook of the door, looking at an incredibly pregnant woman, skin dark brown and eyes the same.

Once Sam was in view the woman pointed her shotgun up and towards him, elbow propping her up against the kitchen counter, and at her leg a lighter brown girl, gripping the tattered material of the pregnant woman’s pants.

“Please.” She asked again, cocking it, “Please, she’s bleeding. I just need some bandages.”

The blood had begun to wrap around Sam’s bare feet. He’d stood too close.

The Victim Part 7 – End

“We need to talk about what he did to you.” I asked, directly. The boy never responded to anything but directness. He thought very little of me, and feigned desire for pity.

“You know this already. He raped me.” He said it simply, as if nothing had happened to him.

That wasn’t the point of the treatment. We’d made sex and violence nauseating. We gave him confusion and pain. But if I didn’t force the issue he would never feel what we want him to feel.

“I know. We all know, but I think it would be easier for you if you walked through it.”

When he looked over at the glass table I found myself watching it as well, sudden nausea washing over me.

“Jared, i’m going to need you to look at me.” I spoke calmly, keeping my eyes from the table, “Let’s start with something easy. What were you doing that day?”

and he sat there, lost in his thoughts. I saw the distress building inside him and I wanted it. I wanted that distress for myself. I wanted to hear it

“Out loud.” I snapped. He looked me in the eyes and he thought I didn’t see how that tickled him.

“What’s so funny?” I asked, he had been smiling but didn’t stop. He uncrossed his legs.

“It was the knife that hit my neck first. Big blade right against here and before saying a word he just ran his tongue nice and sloooooooow against my face like I was some big ice cream cone.” I could seem him smiling at me in the midst of the shock of the incident, and I felt aroused. To my peak of arousal, “I probably tasted like cream or strawberries because he pushed me back into the room and onto the nearest couch and started licking me all over.”

He looked like he was going to be sick, and I smiled all over. This is what I wanted. We wanted.

“Some times I imagine that he has my face. That I enjoyed doing that to myself.” He didn’t even know that he was the rapist…oh the feeling of knowing so much more than him. Of being in control of him felt so good.

“It’s actually quite common to have sexual arousal from your rape.”

There was a knock at the door and in came my secretary, “Are you ready for your first appointment of the day?” He asked, his pale skin reddened now, by my gaze. He looked so vulnerable.

The Victim Part 6

These two men were just grinning at me like something was funny. One of them was a thin man that was almost thin enough to stop existing any time now. His features were stretched, stringy, like a person who’d been squished into a long stick. The other was of a more muscular build, taller than the thin man. The muscular one had buzzed hair, and old man lines above his brow.

Maybe it was somehow cynically funny that i got caught. Maybe funny that The Doctor had called the police before i could even try to get away…and now that i think about it i don’t know if i would have tried…guess i didnd’t have enough time to think about itb efore it was already over.

“This is my favorite part.” The thin man started, standing up instead of sitting like his partner

“The part where I go to jail?” I laughed at them, “I don’t care.”

“Oh no, little pretty boy.” the thin man smiled wider, but it looked like the ends of his lips would sooner curl around his head then curl up further, “We’re not sending you to jail.” And his smile did in fact curl around his head.

I was puzzled, wringing my hand around in the cuffs.

“A psychiatric home? You think i’m crazy?” Then I chuckled even louder, “OH man, then, yeah. Do whatever you gotta do.”

Then the big one grinned very widely, his muscles suddenly rippling at the thought of something. I found myself disgusted by the two of them, but it wasn’t because of their horrible stature, and horrible complexions, it was the simple way they looked down at me, grinning like they knew something that I didn’t.

“We intend to do what we have to, little Jared. Or…What should we call him now, Evan?” The thin one spoke over his shoulder to the muscular one but didn’t once take his eyes off of me.

“William, Sam.” The voice that came out of the bigger man sounded like a bass being plucked and a giant belching

“Ah yes, he’ll be Billy boy now, I guess.”

“Alright, do you two need a room to suck each other off or something? I feel like i’m interrupting some kind of pre sex role play.” I said, growing a bit impatient with their game.

They both laughed hard at that, but then they stopped.

“You used to be a man named Eric Huxley.” Sam, I believe, began, “You raped and killed a man named Jared Young. And strangled a woman named Danielle Figueroa.” Then he looked at me, suddenly stern like. I laughed at that, loudly, slamming my hand on the table. He was a very good liar. I couldn’t even tell exactly that he was lying. Well apart from the sheer stupidity of the lie, it was a pretty flawless delivery

“Oh man, wow. You really think i’m going to believe that?!” I clapped my hands lightly, “You caught me after I killed Danielle in that room. Did you two even really think this out?”

Evan looked at Sam, and away from me for the first time, but Sam kept his thin stretched beady eyes on me.

“You are being tried for the murder of William Burke, alone.”

I glanced between the two men, trying to find the joke in this, but before I could start again I heard someone knock at the door. I watched it and waited. They kept knocking and knocking and the two “officers” didn’t even look over.

“Can you two answer that fucking door?” I paused, “If this is torture you two are out of your league.”

The door opened and in walked a pale and pasty looking Danielle. Her clothes hadn’t been changed and she looked very tired, bags under her eyes. She did have a blanket around her body, probably for the shock. My heart dropped for a moment, then it started the beat violently. I was excited to see her. Unfinished business.

“Oh…I guess i wasn’t as thorough as I thought.” I muttered, watching her, “So are you going to have her testify against me?”

“Danielle?” Sam asks, Evan glancing between the door and back to me.

“Yes, who else?”

“Well unless she’s rising from the dead, no we aren’t.”

I looked at Danielle again and laughed. They weren’t giving up their little story. They were very persistent. I’d give them that.

“Is this the game you’re playing? Trying to make me look insane? Okay. Fine, so why is it that if I “killed” Danielle, she is standing behind you two?” They both turned around as I said it. When they turned back to look at me though, Sam’s smile was wrapped around his head, and Evan’s was gaping like a shark eating something whole. The bugs scurried around the back of my skull.

“When you used to be Eric we wiped you memory, son. We erased everything and replaced everything you knew with that of –”

“Jared Young!” The gargling giant interrupted, beaming with excitement. Sam looked at his partner hard for a moment, smile still wrapped around his head. This was a good show. They were funny and were trying so hard to make this seem real. I was impressed.

“This was to be your punishment.” The hulk said his first full sentence

“You were supposed to live out your life feeling their pain become your own. You have the body and muscle memory of a murderer but with the weakness, pain, and memories of the victim.” Sam frowned.

I could play they’re game

“Well I killed again.” I smirked, “You let a murderer free and now he’s killed again. Beautiful story you got here, boys.” I leaned forward in the chair, “The story of two incompetent cops trying to punish a true killer. Sounds very funny, when all is said and done.”

“We thought a psychiatrist would help–” Evan grumbled.

“Well you were wrong. Anything else gentlemen? Do you want to wipe my mind and put someone else in here? I wonder how many it’s been; was “Eric” even the first?” Then I laughed and watched their faces lighten up.

“Yes. Yes. And No.” Sam said.

His face became grave. The joke was sucked right out of it. Evan still smirked at me. But suddenly my heart was thumping and I was perplexed that I couldn’t tell that either of them …were lying. The dumb one is gullible enough to believe anything, but…Sam. What was Sam? A monster like me…who lied as easily as he told the truth?

I looked up at them and Danielle stood at the back of them, smiling.

The Victim Part 5

I swung the lamp across her face before I even got a look at her properly. I bashed her into the room and then closed the door behind her. She lay there on the ground, face red, but very much conscious. She struggled, and gasped, and moaned. I walked over and loomed over her back, as she tried to get up. She’d know. She’d know.

I grabbed a hand full of her hair and dragged her over to the glass table. She screamed and kicked, and that just made it even more exciting.

“Danielle. I want you to look at him.” I started, holding her head in front of my doctor, “I want you to look at him and think twice before you lie to me.” She sobbed loudly, “Tell me you understand, Danielle.” I shook her head violently

“You’re a monster…” She spat, her crying voice making her words sound muffled. I smiled and swung her back. Her head made a loud crack as it hit the ground. She lay there arms already up to defend herself. She wore these shorts and a tank top. And flip flops. Maybe she was going to beach after this. I straddled her and she began fighting again.

“It’s going to hurt more if you struggle, so be my guest and struggle.” I said to her, taking hold the back of her pants and pulling them off. She scratched at me and pushed and screamed. When her pants and underwear were off she was crying. I pressed myself against her crotch and rubbed my dick against her. She kicked, slapped, scraped, and screamed, and I found my hands around her neck, choking and thinking, ‘Finally! Finally!’

“Now tell me.” I looked her in her brown eyes as I thrust into her hard. I heard her gargling and sniveling as I tightened my grip. She was raking through my face, her nails drawing in deep, “What is it that the late doctor and you were keeping from me?”

She gargled for a bit before I remembered to let go of her throat.

“We had to keep your punishment from you, for it to work.” She said, coughing and gasping

“What punishment, for what?” I stopped thrusting for a moment

She smiled, darkly

“This. The not knowing. The confusion. The sickness. The being one person outside and another inside. They did this to you to punish you for what you did to us.”

and as she said it the vomit came up and I spat it onto her t-shirt, mouth and throat burning from the bile.

“What did I do to you people?! Who am I supposed to–” and I waited but she just looked at me smugly. Mouth closed. I put my hands around her neck, tight, again. And I began thrusting into her again and again, but she didn’t fight, didn’t reply. Didn’t do anything. I kept on thrusting, faster and faster, until I was a blur of movements and blood and sweat. Then I thrust in one violent time and I was coming undone inside her.

I was tired.

And she smiled lazily and laid still on the ground.

Should I have felt scared and horrified? I just felt better. I felt nauseous and gross, but it was worth it. Then the bugs started tattering around the back of my head.

I realized then that I had the two people who could have helped me dead in this room.

The Victim Part 4

He was still breathing heavily when I caught up with myself. Then I was already on top of him, knees on his arms. I felt sick, bile rolling around my throat, and my skin goosebumpy. The bugs were crawling so loudly in the back of my head and I could hear their feet individually rat-a-tat-tat. I had to know…i wanted to make him explain these lies…all the lies. I had to find out what he knew.

“Tell me!” I panted, “Tell me what I did!” He laid there, still, out cold, “Tell me why you’ve been lying to me. Why everyone’s been lying to me.”

Putting my hands around his neck were like putting on a glove. Tight grip, cutting of the windpipe with the thumbs, tons of pressure, blood rushing down my arms to my fingertips, his heartbeat in my palms. And this wave of cold washed over my skin making me convulse. But the warmth of my body and his together made me feel good. I felt at home. I convulsed again.

“Tell me!” I squeezed until his eyes shot open, bloody veins burst inside.

He tried to get up, but I had him pinned down. He glared at me coughing and straining under me. I should take my hands off his throat, but I just wanted to squeeze a little bit more. The feeling of vomit and the bug fighting for my attention. His face was turning all red and the wound from his head was still leaking out.

“Every time you lie to me you’re going to lose 10 seconds of air. If I get tired of your games I won’t let you breathe again. I know you know I will.” And I loosened up on his neck. He nodded, “Why is everyone lying to me?”

He coughed and shook his head, “No one is–” Lie.

I strangled his neck, watching his eyes roll back, his face going from red red red to kinda of paler and paler

“10!” And I counted down to one, before asking again, “Why is everyone lying to me!” It took 3 tries before he actually answered me, tears rolling out of his eyes. I didn’t know if it was because he was afraid to die or the pressure got too much and his eyes watered on their own. It didn’t matter, really.

“We’re lying because we were forced by law to!” He yelled, coughing and slobbering all over.

What the–

“Why!” I threatened with a little squeezed

“Because you couldn’t live proper–” he wheezed

“Cut the shit and get to the point. What is it that is being kept from me?!”

Then he looked genuinely frozen, like he couldn’t say anything anymore. He looked really pale and tired, but I wasn’t going to let him keep me from knowing. I squeezed his neck and it didn’t seem to bother him anymore. He didn’t struggle, he just laid there.

Thoughts rushed through my head all at once, all the words muddling together…Rape. Tv. Boy. Danielle. Man. Doctor. Dead. Me. Murder. Curtains. An image of my face as the rapist’s surfaced…then the image of the victim was my doctor’s face. Then like the throw up would be coming any second now and…and I felt giddy.

I climbed off of him and he just laid there. When I pulled off his pants he struggled, but weakly. Then I pulled off his briefs. And he was all skin and body and holes. I dropped my own briefs. He tried to kick his legs but I grabbed them under my arms. I rubbed my crotch against his ass cheeks and suddenly I was vomiting bile, my throat burning and the acid landing on my clothes and chest. I should have stopped but I just couldn’t. I thrust against him even harder until I was fully erect.

I spread his legs and he groaned, sadly. His sadness made me feel right. I pressed hard into his ass and he cried out. I loved the sound and the bile burned it’s yellow glob up my throat. I went at it again and again until I was tired and sweaty and bloody and curled over his silent body, looking to his eyes, still. I’d even forgotten to even threaten him. I’d forgotten i’d done this to him for a reason.

The door rattled, but I didn’t feel afraid. I grabbed hold of the lamp off of the table and paced over to the door, stark naked, as it opened. My heart started beating fast now. I was really starting to feel right.

The Victim Part 3

The beginning of our next session was interesting because he smiled and greeted me normally as if none of the things from yesterday had happened. I didn’t say anything to his friendly greetings and sat across from him, legs crossed. It was especially interesting, this session, because i’d taking some anti nausea medicine and had nothing to eat before I got here. All in preparation of what I was going to do to him. It thrilled me that I knew what was about to happen to him and he didn’t.

“We’re going to talk about what happened yesterday.” He spoke very calmly and I was very impressed. Surprised that that was to be our first topic of discussion.

“What’s there to talk about?” I wanted to know.

“Your actions yesterday–” he started, eyes on his notepad

“Oh. See that makes more sense. It’s my actions we’re going to talk about.” I nodded and uncrossed my legs.

“I want to understand why you–”

“And since we’re trying to “understand” here maybe we should explore the whole you being aroused part.” I looked at him and I could feel the shame radiating. He scribbled on his notepad awkwardly, keeping all his attention on it, before speaking up again

“I didn’t–” he tried

“Don’t lie.”

“Stop! I’m not–”

“Okay let’s test that.” Then I unzipped the front of my jeans. He stood up, all noise and embarassment

“Don’t you dare or I will–”

“What?” I retort, lazily looking up at him, “You’re going to tell whoever you call that a rape victim was pushing themselves on you…well after I start crying and claim it’s you who did this to me. You who took advantage of me, are going to say what exactly?” He gawked at me, opening and shutting his mouth like a yappy dog, “And now that we’re on the same page. Sit down.”

My Doctor stood there for a moment, defiantly trying to see a way out for himself. It was funny to watch his eyes move around, searching for something. But in the end he sat down. I made sure he saw me grinning and stood up. It felt so good to win.

I walked over to him, his eyes all over the place except on me since I stood. I hovered over him for a moment looking at the sharp lines of his body under his clothes and I was excited. I straddled him. He was startled at first, but he kept his hands at his side, trying to go somewhere in his mind I think, trying to stop himself. I couldn’t have that. I grabbed his hands, opened them out, and placed them on my hips

“Squeeze.” I demanded him

“Why are you doing this?” He mumbled, “What do you want?”

“Squeeze.” I whispered against his earlobe, and he did as he was told. I started to feel a bit sick, but I was holding it back. I started to gyrate against him, biting his neck and soon I could hear him huffing and feel him growing under me. He started to grab my ass and squeezed it.

I took hold of the nape of his hair and pulled it back sharply. He bit his lip and groaned lightly. I looked down at him and I knew that I was going to fuck him silly.

When I was grinding fast and I could hear his breaths synced to my movements, I climbed off of him, pulling him out of the chair by the collar of his shirt. He followed, a dazed look in his eyes. I sat him down on the glass table. I pulled the belt on his pants. Then the button and the zipper. I took hold of him in the briefs and he gasped locking his teeth suddenly to make a light click.

“You get excited easily.” I was rubbing him slowly and tightly.

He grabbed my wrist. His eyes lit up and he slammed me against the glass table. It rocked but didn’t break. I laid there with a bit of whiplash, back hurting a bit. Before I had time to recover, his hands were on my thighs pulling me forcefully against his groin. He curled over me, his thumbs digging into my thighs. He thrust against the clothes, twisting and grinding against me, and I felt like I was going to be sick again. Flashes of the rape came into my mind but I ignored them.

My Doctor was climbing on top of the glass table now, pulling my pants off of me. He was breathing heavy and sweat had started to bead up on his forehead and slide down. I don’t know what it was about him looming up there that sucked the color out of the room, the sound just his heavy ragged breaths.

I felt very very sick.

The gleam of the sweat on his face glowed red like blood and his face was just shadows around his sharp features. His touch became hard and sweaty and I felt panic and sickness rising in my throat.

I needed to get from under him. I pushed on his chest, but he pressed back down hard. When I looked up into his eyes I saw fierceness and my face of panic inside them. He was grinning and his hand was around my crotch, and he was rubbing and breathing on me and his dick was pressed against my ass and I wanted to throw up. I couldn’t. I only twitched and pressed against him, but he was suddenly so strong. The images were coming back and

He was laying there on the table, still now. His forehead was red and bashed in.

The Victim Part 2

“Danielle who?” My doctor asked, his pen in his mouth. He seemed alarmed by the mention of her.

“Danielle Jackson. A friend and coworker.” I repeated, my eyes fixed on his, “Did I do something to her that i’m forgetting? I know she was there during the rape and the guy tried to strangle her, but why is she mad at me?”

I had my feet on top of the glass table. He was hiding something about Danielle and he wasn’t going to just tell me. I could tell.

“Well most victims sometimes push their own responsibilities on others. Maybe she thought you should have saved her.” His tongue worked around the cap of the pen and I could feel myself getting turned on. I felt a bit sick as well. It was subtle and I could probably control myself until the session was over.

“Well she didn’t die, so she should be glad that he didn’t rape her.” Then I paused, “He didn’t rape her did he?” I was sure he didn’t, but I felt like I should act more emotional around him because he’d give me less trouble that way.

“He didn’t rape her.” He pulled the pen out of his mouth and scribbled a few things down. The bugs crawled around the back of my head again. I wanted to know what he wrote on that damn notepad.

“Oh thank God.” And when I said that with false enthusiasm –that I thought only I noticed was fake– he frowned. He didn’t say anything however, but I could tell by the way he looked at me it was because he didn’t believe a single thing I said.

Why?

He’s right to not to trust what I say, but what gave him that right. I never did anything to warrant suspicion.

“Do you despise Danielle?” He asked me, leaning back in his chair, his pale neck shown just a bit more than before. I felt my blood rush and my hands felt cold suddenly.

“No. Why would you ask me that?” I even tried to sound upset, but I was just really turned on and a bit weak. He put the pen back in his mouth and uncrossed his legs, leaving them wide and facing me. I knew what that meant.

“I want you to describe what happened to you again. I want you to walk me through your rape. This time all of it.” Right to the point.

He was such a sick bastard. He not only got off on rape victims but he got off on their actually rape memories.

But none the less I thought back.

“I was watching Tv with Danielle. It was a Movie night. I remember that now. She was in the shower when he came in through the window the knife already right here, before I can make a sound. His tongue came over my face like he was tasting me, slooooow. The roughness of his tongue was all over me soon.” I grimaced at the thoughts of fear and sadness that whelmed up from the memory,

“He pushed me into the couch, and then he spread my legs and rubbed his sweatpants cock against mine. He rubbed and thrust and gyrated against me, looking me right in the eyes seeing my fear and the arousal he was causing. And he…He enjoyed that look.” The lights danced in my doctor’s eyes as he enjoyed every detail I gave him. He tried to hide it but I could see the smile and the arousal rising on his skin.

“Then he pulled himself out of his sweats, huge and throbbing, and he pulled my pajamas off. He rubbed his raw skin against my ass, slow at first, his foreskin make a slick sound as it slid up and down.” I hated thinking about him putting his disgusting body on mine without my permission, “His blade easing closer and closer to breaking the skin as he got more and more excited. His hot breaths were all over my stomach and my neck and the blade went from cold to warm and I was so afraid.”

I felt afraid then, but thinking back on it now I just felt weak. I should have grabbed him and pushed my dick into him. I should have laughed and made him scream out as loud as he could before I–

I paused letting that show I was done, but the Doctor stared at me expectantly.

“What do you want? He plowed into me for a long time!”

“I want you to remember what he smelled like, Jared. Smells trigger the most vivid memories. If you can understand what it was like one more time you’ll be able to put it in your past.” He was very aroused and I could see that. He stared at me, holding back his grin.

I thought back to the pain as he pressed himself inside of me. The first thing he said was

“If you clench it’s going to break the skin, so please go ahead and fight.” He whispered that into the skin behind my ear, gritty and rough.

He thrust fast and the pain was horrible. I couldn’t understand how he was pushing in against my will, but he did. He wheezed and laughed darkly as my tears rolled down my face, and his face was my face.

“Out Loud.” The Doctor snapped.

He needed to tell me what i’m forgetting about Danielle. I need to know what he was keeping from me. I looked up at the time, and back at him. It was time for our session to be over. So I began to collect my things.

“Hey!” He roared, walking quickly to me, “Hey!” He seized my arm, tightly, and pulled me to face him. I felt a mix of pleasure and anger. I enjoyed him grabbing me like this but really what I wanted was to grab him, “You leave when I say you leave.” He was seething.

I reached over and took hold of his crotch, and squeezed it lightly. He was just as aroused as i’d thought. He grabbed my hand, but I just leaned in and whispered against his neck,

“I’ll always know what you want, Doc.” and I heard him gasp so softly I almost didn’t hear it

“Let go.” He tried to keep his voice even, but I could hear the wanton desire budding up on his skin. Then the sickness was back again and I thought i’d probably vomit right then. I felt sweat beading on my forehead. I let go of him but he still held my arm, and twisted it up.

“You will never touch me like that again.” His eyes were serious, and angry. But the smell of arousal was still lingering on him like stink.

“Only if you promise not to get so excited about me again.” and I kissed him on the cheek. He let me go, and left the room himself.

I always win with guys like him

~

I got in my car and drove to the nearest place with a bathroom. I got on my knees and stroked myself as I threw up into the bowl. I couldn’t understand why it felt so right but I felt so sick. I couldn’t talk to my Doctor about it now. I bit my lip and fell into the mingling of nausea and ecstasy.

I lay with my head on the cool bowl and I thought that I need to fuck my doctor. I needed to fuck him into crazy bliss so that he’d tell me all that he was keeping from me. And somehow I needed to do that without throwing up. The more I thought about it the more exciting it became. All I had to do was utilize his weakness for me.

One mistake, though, and I could wind up knowing even less.

The Victim Part 1

Amnesia. There was a fancy term for the kind of amnesia, but I can’t really remember it. Some kind of temporary forgetting of recent things. My doctor says i’ll recover, but I know he’s lying to me. Its weird though. I wasn’t so good at telling when people were keeping things from me, but now I can clearly see that he’s grinning at me from behind his eyes. Like he thinks somehow i’m funny. He thinks he’s being real deceptive too, which almost makes me want to giggle.

“We need to talk about what he did to you.” My doctor had a way of always getting right to the point. I thought that doctors were supposed to know how to make people feel invited or comfortable. He was pretty shit at his job if that were true.

“You know this already. He raped me.” I hardly had any trouble thinking about the idea and hardly any trouble talking about it. I felt a little sick, knowing that some person over powered me, at home, but I thought rape would be more dramatic than it actually was.

“I know. We all know, but I think it would be easier for you if you walked through it.”

I immediately felt uncomfortable. My stomach twisted involuntarily and I crossed my legs in the soft red chair. I kept my eyes on the glass table in between us, polished, and perfect. I wondered how something so easily dirtied could just be something everyone kept on display like that, begging for someone to break it or dirty it…and then it’s like some sort of indignation that responds to someone taking the invitation. Everyone want to touch a glass table. Everyone wants to–

“Jared, i’m going to need you to look at me.” His voice was soft and cooing, and it cut off my thoughts. I looked up at him.

“Let’s start with something easy. What were you doing that day?”

I think back. I had been watching a crime drama. I can’t remember exactly what. But I was sitting there when he came in through the window. Good idea too. I always left the damn thing open. I liked fresh air. I don’t think about it too much now. I think about why it feels so strange holding my kitchen knife with my right hand rather than my left. I wonder why it’s so hard to write my name on paper anymore…or strange to see my face in the mirror.

Well the window was open the breeze was good, because I lived near I lake. The tv was blaring, but my neighbors weren’t annoying about it. And I was sitting in my pajama bottoms and a wife beater, watching the television.

“Out loud.” My doctor snapped. He seemed impatient with me. I looked at his eyes now and he seemed angry, unhappy, a little sad actually. I don’t know why that tickled me more than him laughing at me, secretly in his own thoughts.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, and I realized I had been smiling but I didn’t stop. I uncrossed my legs.

“It was the knife that hit my neck first. Big blade right against here” I slapped my neck hard, and it would probably get red soon, “and before saying a word he just ran his tongue nice and sloooooooow against my face like I was some big ice cream cone.” I looked at him, enjoying the still clinical look in his eyes, mingled now with shock and a bit of fear, “I probably tasted like cream or strawberries because he pushed me back into the room and onto the nearest couch and started licking me all over.”

Suddenly I felt funny. I felt warm all over and then a little sick,

“Some times I imagine that he has my face. That I enjoyed doing that to myself.” I felt like I was going to be sick all over the floor.

“It’s actually quite common to have sexual arousal from your rape.” He begins, “would you like to stop?”

The amnesia hits me in the strangest ways. Like I can’t remember what happened immediately after the rape. I don’t remember this doctor’s name off the top of my head, like i’ve never been seeing him. I don’t remember the rapist’s face, like he’d ripped it out of my mind when he slid that blade down low to slice–

“I’m not aroused by what he did to me. I’m aroused by doing it. I want to do what he did to me to…” I looked up at my doctor who’d glanced down to write something in his book. I felt an antsy feeling in the back of my head…like bugs crawling all over and i just wanted to take that notebook from him

“him?” He offered

I nodded, but I didn’t really think it mattered who, really. I just don’t want to feel so weak. I want to make someone else suffer. This wasn’t supposed to happen to me.

“He really seemed to like to rub up against me through the clothes. He did that for such a long time, looking me right into my eyes while he did it, grinding fast and rough in his sweats against my pajamas.” and then I found myself getting properly aroused and the doctor was frowning at me now, openly.

“Jared, how would you describe him, the man who raped you?” He asked suddenly, pen in his mouth, book down, and his eyes fixed on mine.

“Strong, well built, rough.” I could only remember what he felt like against me, not what he looked like. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t remember what he smelt like either. I read about other victims and they all said he smelled like beer or sweat or anything. They always knew what he smelled like. I can only remember what I smelled like. I smelled like a fresh bath, like exfoliating soap. He just felt big, warm, heavy, and desperate.

“Still having trouble with his face?”

I glanced up at the clock and my session was over so I got up and collected my jacket. My doctor liked to keep these thing going as long as he could but I preferred to be done with the amount of psychiatry I “needed.” That and I didn’t like spending too much time with him. He made me think about things I didn’t like to think about here

“Doc, it seems it’s that time again.” I said, excusing myself.

“I decide when the sessions are over.” I heard him grunt behind me. I would have turned around to look at him, but that’d just get me all riled up. He liked to assert his dominance. I liked that.

“Yeah, well I pay you to decide that sort of stuff so in fact I decide everything you do with me, Doc.”

I paused to see if he’d say anything more, but he didn’t. He just shuffled his papers.

At home I find myself laying in my bed, thinking about my doctor. He was so young for someone in his profession. 32 maybe. He seemed like such a sexual kind of guy, even though he tries to hide it from me. Sometimes he’ll cross his legs when he talks to me or touch his neck, and swallow and I just know what it is he wants. What a sick bastard. Preying of the raped. I grinned. Rubbing my palm on the lower part of my stomach softly.

I thought i’d be less sexual since that man raped me, but I felt even more sexual than ever. And Doc just did it for me. That pale skin, squared shoulder, pink cheeks. I could just—My hand slid down and unbuttoned the front of my jeans—I could just bite right into his creaming neck. My hand ran over the thin cotton of my briefs but when I grabbed a hold of myself I felt sick suddenly. I was sweating and rushing to the bathroom and throwing up.

I was still very aroused, but I stared at the chunks of vomit in the toilet bowl. I just pressed my briefs into the cold porcelain of the toilet hoping it would go away.

This kept happening. This was the only dramatic part of the rape I felt, but it always felt so strange. Like I never thought about him and got sick. I never felt anything when I thought of him, except contempt. All I had to do was just get aroused and want to touch myself—I was throwing up in the toilet again. It was almost like I was being punished.

That stupid Doctor should talk about that. Maybe he should suck my dick….and I was getting even more aroused and I found myself grabbing hold of dick, and stroking it as I threw up int the toilet. I went at it until I was dry retching and I’d come all over my hands and the toilets. Then I laid on the cold floor of a bit, still wet and sticky…

After my shower I sat down in the living room.

I felt bored.

I had been given time off from work at the University, in light of my rape, but to be honest I felt like it was more of a punishment. I had all this time floating around and nothing to do. I flicked on the television by sitting down in front of it and muttering, “on” and cartoons were playing. I couldn’t remember watching them yesterday, but the doctor says that’s normal. Forgetting little things while you’re trying to remember the big ones, is how he put i think. I flipped through the channels by waving my arm until the images were blurred and I was lost somewhere in my mind.

I felt so empty. The only time I felt right was when I was with the Doctor. I felt right thinking about him or about the rape. I think something might be wrong… I might be wrong. Or everything else is wrong

i didn’t know what I should be doing. The curtains were ugly. The carpet was cheap. The place smelled like orange air fresheners. The chair was too close to the TV. I didn’t like the food I bought.

Everything was so irritating.

I needed to go out. Outside wasn’t much better though. This place felt like a bad part of a fantasy I wanted until this very moment. Everything looked fake and I just wanted to start a fire right in the middle of– I spotted Danielle. She’s this girl I used to have work with. I didn’t know she lived around here. I saw her from afar but instead of walking up to her…i just found myself watching her. Just…watching. She was walking her dog, a nasty thing that always barked at me.

Danielle had a flat nose, and thin liney lips. She was a very tiny sort of girl. The kind that you could curl up in your hand if you wanted to. Not particularly beautiful, but not ugly either. She reminded me of my mother. It’s strange. I remember my mother vividly…but I don’t remember seeing her for such a long time.

Danielle stood around on her phone, out of the light of a streetlamp, the glow lighting up her gaunt features. I walked closer to her in the dark, choosing my steps carefully, listening, and watching her bumble around in the dark. I was upon her now and she didn’t even know. That made me giggle. She jolted when I reach out to touch her.

“Oh Jesus!” She said at first, staring at me blankly. It was like for a second she didn’t recognize me.

“Danielle?” I asked, smiling, searching for an answer to her confusion. And she kept on staring, her eyes a million miles into my face

“Oh, hey Jared.” She trailed off, and looked down at her feet. She looked a bit drunk, and smelled like it too. I don’t remember her being a particularly avid drinker.

“What’s the matter?” I looked over my shoulder and around. We seemed fairly alone. I think she noticed this too because she started looking around as well. Before she said anything her Dog noticed me and began barking. Loud, it’s mouth was wet with slobber.

I hate animals.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately.” She was lying. She was also afraid. Why was she afraid…of me? “She’s been barking at everyone. Maybe it’s time she got old I guess.” Lie. Lie. Fear. Lie. She glanced from me to her Dog. A lie was coming, “I gotta–”

“It’s fine. I just wanted to say hello and get on my way. I didn’t know that you lived around here. Just making sure it was you. I’m still kinda fuzzy up here.” I smiled, but I was watching her. She didn’t seemed even remotely pleased to see me. She just turned to walk away, her feet looking unsteady on the ground. I wasn’t done yet. I wasn’t going to let her just get away, “Wait! It’s late. Let me walk you home. And you look little a bit tipsy.” I had to find out what i’d done to freak her out so much.

“No…That’s fine. I live right over there.” She pointed vaguely.

Why didn’t she want me to know where she–

“Most car accidents happen close to home because that’s when people let their guard down. I’m sure it’s the same with walking. It’s only a little ways. I promise I won’t talk too much.” I put a hand on her elbow and she pulled away.

“Alright.”

Then we were walking together. I found myself taking note of the marks around her neck. I felt a tiny bit excited from the marks. I don’t know exactly what kind of excitement, but I quickly felt a bit sick. I suddenly noticed the bags under her eyes. She’d been getting over something. The dog growled perpetually at me. I’d kick him good when no one was around…

Something about the violence of that made me happy.

“Here I am.” She said, mumbling her words a bit. It was a nice apartment. 409. I’d have to remember that. She stood there staring at me as if to wait for me to walk off, but I wanted to go inside. Something was crawling around the back of my mind about Danielle…and I was close to finding out what. I just stood there until she put her key in the door, and let her dog inside, “Thanks for the walk.” She then trailed off and stared at me, the light suddenly gone out of her eyes like she’d suddenly become remorselessly irate with me

“Do you mind if I come in for—“

“No. That’s alright. I have things to do. See you.” Then she walked into her room and slammed the door shut. I was shocked. She was very very afraid of me. I stood there for only a moment before I pressed my ear on the door. I could hear her trembling inside.

“I can hear you breathing.” I whispered against the door. Then I heard her shuffle backwards in her heels and her dog began barking at the door.

The crawling of bugs around my mind got louder and faster and I leaned against the door listening until I found the image in my mind. The hands around her neck. She was there. She was…she was there when he raped me. He’d choked her. And it’s my face that is the one above hers, breathing on her skin, crushing her neck, her legs wild and kicking. Our gloves making that rubber noise as it tightened and twisted on her skin. I could hear her heels clacking on the wood, as we took the life out of her.

“I know that he choked you.” I whispered against the door again.

“Go away! Never come back! Go! Don’t you dare come back!” Her voice came suddenly from right against the door, and I stumbled back. Her dog barked and yapped and snarled from behind the door as well.

Is she dead?

The blade was cold on my neck. He’d ordered me not to look.

“It’s easier this way.” He said, lips chapped. I twisted my neck involuntarily, the blade nicking me. Bile rose in my chest. I wasn’t ready to die. I don’t think anyone really is.

“Easier for me or you?” I retort, and the blade slid across my neck. It hurts for a moment like a needle, but then it’s across and all the blood is pressing out so fast that i just feel wet. I’m gurgling, trying to breathe. How naive. I was already dead.

“Easier for me.” Is the last thing i heard him say.

I’m draped over the table, like a table cloth, blood spilling out and pooling on the fine wood. I  can’t feel anything in my body now…it should be getting dark now, but my eyes just stay open and i can see them all looking at me, wondering what i am. Is she dead?

Bone Saw

It was such a loud grating sound. It echoed and traveled long. Most automatic machines make noises that do. They knew exactly what kind of noise that was. But there was a rational explanation. Maybe, they were doing some work on the building. That’s it. Some construction work on the building. That’s the kind of thought that crosses the minds of those, out of sight, casually listening to the gurgle of the machine. But those on the ground…They knew that it was everything except that. They knew that sound was for something else entirely. And when the sound chuckled, rumbling more pointedly, the people were struck by silent horror. The silence always comes first. They are just standing there, trying to move their body, rip their morbidly curious eyes away from it. Then the engine roars, again. Then there was the screaming, bodies cracking out shriek after shriek.

The best part is the running. The monstrous trampling of bothers and sisters, tearing through the lobby to get away. To keep themselves from being victims of the engine and the rumbling and the gurgling and the spitting. It roared loud and louder as if it got pleasure in its job, revving up with excitement.

The sound traveled to the second level, beckoning the observers to peering down from the upper floors to see the carnage. Dragging hollers and screams  from their lungs, savoring the savagery. The blood, the bodies, and the fear is everywhere. The vision of the machine confirms it is exactly what they had thought. It was a lovely black handled power saw. It is ripping through the flesh, effortlessly. The blood is splattering and dribbling around them. And you know this saw is meant for bone, because it hummed, a perfect pitch as it ground its way through. Its victims are grinding down and springing into the air, dust now.

The man holding the lovely black handled bone saw isn’t laughing. He isn’t giddy. He isn’t happy. The saw is doing it’s work, artistically even, and yet he can’t appreciate it. He is too busy. He’s trying to silence all the noise, all the talking, all the voices. He’s cutting through them. ripping them out from where they can bother him. Layers of blood coat his face, hands; his whole damn body. But he doesn’t stop. Not to appreciate the saw’s work, not to appreciate the art they’d created together. He keeps on cutting, keeps spilling the blood, as the room gets quieter and quieter.

Then the building is empty. Empty of all the noise and all the people. The saw is humming softly in his hands, waiting for his next move. He stands there, the blood pooled up around him, jagged flesh piled up on the ground. He seems serene. There is silence. He has silence. He smiles, and the saw purs.  He was finally done.

a cough, a gurgle, rasping, spitting. Shuffling, sliding. Oh…no. The noise. The noise is still here.

The man turns, his rubber boots squeaking in the blood, smearing on the tiled floor. He walks carefully, his steps echoing up the building. Staring up at him, when he stops, are these two brown eyes. Blood is splattered on her face and in perfect drops, like makeup. Her stomach is partially sawed into, intestines and liver slipping into her hands as she attempts to hold it all in… She is trembling and shaking when she sees them: a picture of black and silver and red. She tries to press her limp body away, but her hand slips in her own blood and the blood of those dead around, pooled up under her.

The saw begins to gurgle and growl, anxious in his hands. She spits and cries and shakes. It rips and digs into her jaw, piece of cheek quickly flying off, her scream erupting the loudest. It slides down and spills out her neck, to stop that sound. Then she’s gone, her brown eyes wide in what is left of her head.

The lovely black handled bone saw was happy with it’s work.

Again, he has silence.