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Ficta, part 4 of 5
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
(Ficta, part 4 of 5)
And she knew then, that he *understood*. He understood her
need for pain. He understood that every blow and every cut would
convey love as a kiss does, and she understood that every blow
and every cut was a gift of infinite loving. Every agony he
inflicted would be his gift and his testament of love to her. She
knew she would be made to suffer beyond her ability to endure,
because he cared. She knew that he would understand every scream
and every whimper to be not a wish for the pain to end, but a
sound her body demanded she make; she knew she need not be silent
for fear of making his ministrations cease. It was a promise
written on her soul, ``No matter what you do, I will not stop,
you cannot make me stop. I will make you *hurt*.''
He watched on the screen as the machine wrote in her mind
what she shall be for the rest of her life. There was a gauge
that showed her resistance to the imprinting: in truth, there was
no resistance. Her mind welcomed these thoughts, beliefs and
tenets with complete acceptance. He watched as the machine
remade her mind, with a delight and awe he rarely felt. She
wanted to be his as much as he desired to own her. It seemed to
him to be a miracle, and he felt a desire to thank some nameless
deity that such a creature could exist, that a creature existing
could be so perfect for him, could be his true mate.
He did not have to reprogram her. She had fallen in love
as he took her in the chains. She would have obeyed as best any
natural creature could physically obey. But then again, he did
need to reprogram her. They both needed it. He needed to know
her faith and love were absolute; that is what his heart needed.
And it was also his gift to her. The programming went well
beyond her consciousness, circumventing her own thoughts. Things
she would have been physically incapable of doing at his order,
such as ``Go to sleep'', her new programming would obey; he was
programming the controls to her body, not just her mind. If he
did not do this, she would fail, and it would wrack at her, and
grieve her; now she would not have to endure failure at what she
wished to be able to do.
He scratched her scalp idly as the machine whirred away.
Then it was done. He shut down the master program, and unplugged
the headset. She lifted her head from his leg, and looked up in
his eyes. He released her head from the mechanism, and set it on
the desk. Her eyes were choked with emotion, but were dry. With
a soft rustle of a voice she said,
``Thank you, Master. Thank you for making me this.''
He lifted her up and kissed her then, and she responded
with all the ardor in her overwhelmed heart. He took the chain
from the desk, and lead her forth again.
This time, the came to a room that looked of japanese
style; two walls were of rice-paper panes in wood. Racks lined
the other austere, white, walls, bearing all manner of
instruments. A pallet lay on the hardwood floor by one wall. A
low table held a lantern, a sprig of flowers, a white cloth, and
a pitcher with a glass. He unlocked her hand from behind her
back, and helped her strip off her clothing. Folded these were
put on the table, with his robe.
He locked her hands to a sturdy chain from the ceiling. He
took the white cloth; with one hand gripped her hair and pulled
back her head, and with the other he forced the cloth into her
mouth. There was much of it, and it would not all fit in her
mouth. He pulled it out, and twisted one corner, and forced it
back into her mouth. ``Swallow,'' he commanded, and she let the
cloth into her throat. This time he was able to press all of the
fabric into her. She gagged fiercely against the mass filling
her throat, but so tightly was the cloth packed she could not
even vomit, neither could she move her jaw at all.
He took a roll of tape and a squeeze tube from the wall; he
smeared the substance in the tube on her lips, then sealed over
her mouth with the tape. The distress of gagging against the
cloth surged adrenaline through her, and her breath came ragged
and panicked through her nostrils. She managed to control this
quickly and her body stopped spasming as violently.
He took a heavy stick from the wall; it was black and had a
grip at one end: a billyclub. He met her gaze once. His face
was filled with a zen-like calm. She matched this within
herself. Then he broke gaze with her, and raised the club.
With a snap of his wrist and flex of his shoulder, the club
hit her with a meaty ///thunk///. He was older, but he was not
weak. That blow summoned more force than she had ever seen used
against a living person; nothing was held back. Wasting no time,
he recoiled, and clubbed her again. Her breath was forced from
her lungs.
He proceeded to beat her. Each blow was a study in
technique, a perfect culmination of study and skill in force and
aim. Tears tracked down her cheeks, and she grunted and moaned
and shrilled and gurgled in pain around the gag but all of these
sounds were muffled almost beyond his hearing. He walked about
her as he beat her, being careful not to do any severe trauma to
delicate areas, such as her kidneys. Blows fell across her
belly, across her shoulders, her thighs, her breasts, her ribs,
her calves. After a while, he ceased, and poured a drink of
water for himself from the pitcher; he sipped at the water for a
time. Then he began again.
She passed beyond tears, grunting faintly only because some
blows pushed the air past her vocal cords. All of her awareness
compacted to the immediate room. Her mind filled with the
perfection of the connection between swinging hardwood rod and
her flesh. Each swing was a need, and that need was fulfilled by
her soft body accepting and intercepting the motion, stilling it
and absorbing it. Each volume of her body was a need, and the
force of each impact dispersing deep throughout her muscle was a
fulfillment.
She did not realize when he stopped, for her body hurt so.
But it was the jingling of the keys and he reached up and
unlocked her that alerted her to the end of the ordeal. The
manacles fell from the chain and she collapsed into his arms. He
bore her down to the pallet, and cradled her in his arms. He
smiled at her.
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