Gifting Night Ch. 05

Pain increased to unimaginable levels. His muscles tugged fruitlessly at the thick restraints. There was a reason for those, their thickness, but like everything else it eluded him. His hips twitched back and forth, desperate to save his body, but they too where strapped. The leather strap across his hips was also designed to hold his nudity aloft. Just below that was the pain.

It burned, it pierced, it cut, it ate, it froze, it throbbed. He knew so many different kinds of pain. Each was unique. The Dark One knew them all and so many more. There were combinations he had been promised introductions to. Was this one? No. This was just heat; burning. That was why roast meat held no appeal.

He may have blacked out, he wasn't sure. Time was meaningless. It didn't exist for him. All that existed was pain.

The dark form held up the metal poker. The tip was now barely red. At first it had been a bright white. So bright he had tried to turn away, but even his neck and head were secured. He couldn't move in the slightest. He was trapped, forced to watch his Master's torment.

The leather mask and dead, dark, eyes inspected the tool. There was a sigh of resignation before the gloved hand tossed the poker in the general direction of the roaring fire. Both gloved hands raised before him. They seemed to sparkle in the dancing firelight. "Do you see what I have next for you?" He didn't. "Focus!"

He tried. His Master instructed him to focus so that was what he needed to do. The haze of confusion cleared slightly. The fingers were moving, causing his blurred vision to fail to properly track them. His master was probably doing that on purpose in order to teach him to be stronger. He was weak. That was what the master always told him. He thought it had angered him once, but now he knew it was true. Master was becoming more and more frustrated and angry with him. Master told him he was too weak more and more these days.

He struggled to control his eyes. He could tell that his Master was becoming impatient. "Well? I asked you a question! Do you see what I have for you?" Slowly the fingers came into focus. The sparkle was a distraction at first, until he began to focus on it instead of ignore it. It was the glittering forms that danced around the hands, they must be for him.

"Razor blades Master." The blades shifted from finger to finger, danced back and forth across the gloved knuckles. He could not focus enough to tell how sharp they were but his Master always took great care in cleaning and maintaining the tools, so they should be incredibly sharp. He was proud of himself for recognizing the tools and understanding the care and maintenance.

A hand flashed out so fast he could barely see. His face stung. "You have nothing to feel proud of! You are so weak it took you too long to see the blades!" The faintest trickle of blood dripped from the cut. When Master slapped him the blade had been carefully held to add its bite.

"I'm sorry Master. I will try to be stronger."

He felt his Master's hand reach down to hold him. A flicker of memory escaped him at the touch. Had someone else once held him there? He was pretty sure Master never had before. Master's other hand came down to stroke him. For a moment it felt good and another memory escaped his grasp.

Then he felt the blades. With each stroke Master cut into him lightly, with the precision of a surgeon. He could feel himself growing with the pleasant caress, but the expansion only helped the Dark One to widen the cuts. More blood flowed. He couldn't help but scream.

Laughter erupted from beneath the leather mask. His eyes closed with the pain, he was allowed only that unless told otherwise. Hands continued to stroke him. Sometimes the blades bit but mostly the hands just engaged him. His flesh stretched to its limit as he continued to scream. He felt the air grow thick and vile.

The massage stopped briefly. There was noise but his blood still surged, tormenting him. He felt his tip completely enclosed. The moist warmth felt almost soothing, if only his straining form didn't cause pain as he throbbed. As more of his length became engulfed everything changed. Something hard pressed and scraped against the top and bottom. The more it enveloped the harder it pressed.

The teeth, for he realized he was being bitten, pressed harder. As the mouth swallowed him teeth forced open the small cuts and dragged against the harshly exposed nerves. He never heard the whimpers that underscored his bellowed screams.

All at once his hands and neck were free. He lunged forward, bent at the waist, to grab the head that already retreated back up his flesh. Incredible strength pulled the head free. Locked in the vice of his hands, he stared at the salt and pepper hair in confusion. He didn't know this face. Why would they wish him so much pain.

The middle-aged woman's hand came up. One hand grabbed his length while the other grabbed the charred lump between his legs. Both hands squeezed hard. He screamed and focused on the woman. He felt his breath grow harder as he tried to inhale the thick, vile air. Slowly the air began to clear. The woman's eyes were wide.

Soon the air was clear of the horrid stench. It was the stench of fear, or more specifically terror. Christoph! He had remembered something. It had been his name once. Christoph looked down and saw the woman still clutched tight in his hands.

Instinctively he tossed the corpse away. He had killed her. She had been the cause of his pain and, once freed, he had reached out in his hunger and drank all of her hatred and terror. He had stolen her life force to feed his own. Bridget had set this up to force him to feed, and feed to the death.

Chris slumped in the harness and began to cry. Worse than any of the physical torment she threw upon him was this. She always found ways to force him to feed. Worse even than his mind returning to discover yet another hapless corpse was what came next. Slowly his memory returned. Now the pain ate into his heart as he remembered the joy he had known.

Christoph didn't know how long Bridget had held him but he knew, eventually, she would torture him to death. When that happened she would hunt down Daphne and destroy her. The only thing worse than that knowledge was knowing that she would then take Katherine. The innocent woman would learn the terror of experience and sensation. The powerful girl would feed Bridget for years after in constant torment and humiliation.

Chris wished for death's embrace. Not only would it free him, but if it had not been too long, it might buy Daphne and Katherine's freedom once and for all.

Copywrite, November 2006 by Deathlynx