Animus
Chapter Three
Complete quiet all around. Nothing but quiet. She'd taken to rocking her weight
back and forth on the bed just to hear the small squeak that the mattress made.
She sometimes hummed to herself a small nonsensical tune as another way of
producing some sort of noise, just to have something -- anything to listen to
besides the thoughts going round and round in her head.
She knew she wasn't quite making sense anymore. How long she'd been here in this
room, she had no idea. There was no way for her to tell night from day in her
perpetually blindfolded state. She'd been drugged so frequently she had no way
of keeping track of anything. She didn't know anymore how many times she had
been visited by her faceless tormentor, or how many times she had been driven to
a near mindless insanity by the pain inflicted on her.
But now it seemed weeks had passed since even that had happened. Once in awhile,
she heard someone come in. They checked the catch bag on her catheter, which
she'd grown used to. They readjusted her blindfold sometimes. But the beatings
had ceased completely. She was now so desperate for something to happen, for
something that she could cling to as a means of keeping her mind intact that she
almost missed the torture. She knew that was crazy. She knew she wasn't herself
anymore, that the isolation was distorting her sense of reality. But she didn't
know how long she could stand this. This silence. It was just so goddamned
quiet.
She'd been dreaming of home a lot.
In her scattered sleep world she'd confused her tormentor for her father and
began dreaming over and over that she was home, tied up in her own bedroom and
being punished by her father for something that she'd done wrong. She could hear
him in his fury telling her what a slut she was. How she deserved what she got.
After all, look at the way she was dressed that night at the club.
He'd seen her. Oh, yes, he'd seen the way she shamelessly danced, moving her
body for all to see. She deserved this.
"Start praying, girl," he'd say, "what you need is to pray for God's
forgiveness, and to understand that I'm here to issue God's punishment." Was she
really going to go to hell? That's what father always said. Maybe this was hell.
Maybe she died in that club and this was hell.
But, no. No. She didn't believe that.
"Who are you to question God's judgment," Indeed, who was she. Was this God's
judgment? Was her father so holy that he knew god? "Get down on your knees,
girl. Start praying that what I do will make you clean."
She thought she'd escaped this particular version of hell. She'd moved so far
away from home, hadn't even told them where she was going.
She thought she would never have to tolerate her father's crude advances again.
His touching and stroking, all in the name of "God's punishment" or making her
"clean". It made her stomach hurt just thinking about it. Maybe she had failed.
Maybe that's why her tormentor had begun ignoring her. Maybe she was a hopeless
case. Incapable of becoming clean. Maybe he was too disgusted with her to even
try anymore.
I can be clean! She wanted to scream aloud and beg for another chance. Please
just talk to me! I'll be better, I promise, just please come back. Don't ignore
me anymore.
"Shhhh, hush now," it was her mother's voice now. "Just be good. Try to be good
so he'll leave you alone. I know you can be a good girl." Momma, help me. Tell
him I'll be better. Tell him to come back.
But Momma wasn't there. Neither was Father. Khaley knew this. But sometimes it
was hard to keep her mind straight. She was alone, here on a bed in some unknown
place, and this man that came into this room sometimes, he was a stranger. He
had to be.
She was famished and her throat was dry. How long had it been since he'd fed
her? She didn't know.
Footsteps. Someone was in the room with her. How long had he been here? Had he
been silently watching her?
She heard the familiar sounds of her catheter bag being changed out. She
listened to the soft breathing of her tormentor and tried to imagine the face of
this man. She wondered if he was handsome. She wondered what his hands looked
like. The hands that she had felt so intimately so many times.
"I'm thirsty," she managed to croak in a raspy whisper. "May I please have a
drink of water?" She didn't really hope for him to acknowledge her request. But
her throat was so very dry.
His footsteps paused, then began to move across the room again. He stopped to
her right, and she heard the sound of fluid being poured into a glass. Khaley's
heart soared. This was the first time he had ever responded to anything she'd
said. She felt her mouth stretch in a grateful smile.
A large hand wrapped gently around the back of her head. It felt so soft and
warm. It lifted her head off the bed, and then she felt a glass touch her lips.
She opened her mouth and darted her tongue out in anticipation of the water. Ah,
it was even cold. It was the best water she had ever tasted. She drank hungrily
and quickly emptied the glass.
As he removed the glass from her lips, he gently lowered her head to the bed and
then stroked and smoothed her hair. Khaley held her breath, afraid the slightest
movement might make him leave. His fingers traced down the side of her face,
making her tingle all over. Then she felt lips on hers. It was so quick and
soft, she almost wondered if it really happened.
Then he was walking away. Her heart fell as she realized he was leaving her
again.
"Thank you," she said, trying desperately to convey in her voice just how
grateful she was. Not just for the water, but for the gentleness he'd treated
her with. He paused, then began walking again. She heard a door close, and he
was gone. Khaley was alone again.
********************************************************************************
"How is she?"
Brandon was busy in the kitchen making dinner when Stephen emerged from
downstairs. He had a thoughtful, but slightly distressed look on his face.
"She's fine," Stephen said. He opened his mouth to say more, but then stopped,
his eyes dropping and his brows knitting together in thought. "She's fine, but
there's something on your mind?" Brandon encouraged. He could tell by the look
on Stephen's face that he wanted to talk, but was having a hard time putting his
thoughts to words.
"Yes, yes she's just fine," Stephen began again, "I just, I don't know, there's
something about her. Many things actually." Stephen laughed then, feeling
ridiculous at the way he was stumbling over these thoughts. He ran a hand
through his hair, and then tried again.
"I believe we may have been luckier than we thought in choosing her. It seems
she has a bit of a past with her family that I may be able to use to my
advantage."
"Did she tell you this? You were talking with her?" Brandon asked, confused.
Stephen had told him just this morning that they were not yet to the point where
they should begin talking to her.
"No, I didn't talk to her. She was talking in her sleep. I think she was
dreaming that I was her father."
Brandon raised his eyebrows at Stephen. "Dinner's almost ready. Would you like
to tell me all about it while we eat?"
"Yes. And while I wait, please make me a drink."
Brandon quickly set to pouring Stephen his favorite drink, bourbon on the rocks,
and handed it to him.
Stephen took the drink and wandered into the large dining room. He had a
mahogany table that would easily seat twenty, though he couldn't remember the
last time he'd invited that many people into his home. Now, the table was set
for two. As usual, he seated himself at the head of the table. Brandon would sit
to his right. And soon enough, Khaley would be taking the seat to his left.
Stephen smiled to himself, thinking of having these two to himself, both well
trained, both glancing at him with that adoring look in their eyes.
He felt himself grow hard as he began to imagine the two of them, naked in his
bedroom. All his to do with as he pleased. He hoped she would grow to enjoy pain
in the same way Brandon had. He shrugged to himself, thinking she would have to
learn, because that's what he wanted from her, and she would get the pain
regardless of how she felt about it.
Brandon came in then and began putting dishes of food on the table. A spinach
salad with feta cheese, a deliciously flaky looking dish of spanikopita, and a
bottle of red wine. Brandon was a fantastic cook, one of the surprise bonuses of
Stephen's choice in taking him.
Stephen gestured for Brandon to take his seat and begin dishing the food. He
filled Stephen's plate first and poured him a glass of wine, the glass of
bourbon long finished, sitting off to the side. Then he began serving himself,
and Stephen began to talk.
"I was sitting down there watching her sleep, just sort of thinking over how
things were going and what should be done next. I'm feeling impatient, you know,
I don't want to wait this thing out, but I must." Brandon nodded his
understanding.
"So, I'm sitting there, and she begins quietly moaning, which I've heard her do
a hundred times, but this time I could make out words. It began with just a word
here and there. Words like father, god, clean. Things like that. She must have
been dreaming quite deeply, because soon she began talking clearly, in a loud
voice. First talking to her father, begging him not to punish her. It was
confusing. She kept talking about God and crying and saying she would do better.
I can't repeat to you everything she said, it was pretty jumbled. But so
fascinating. After a bit, she began saying 'momma, momma help me' she begged her
mother to convince "him" - I'm assuming her father - that she was clean, that
she didn't need to be punished, that she would be good. Her voice was so like a
child while she spoke. "But the most fascinating part is this. Brandon, she is
dreaming about her situation here as though her father were the one doing this
thing to her. She dreams that we are her father, I'm sure of it. I'm no
psychologist, but I like to think I understand the human mind a little better
than the average person. When she's awake she knows we are strangers. Actually,
she probably believes there is only one of us, which suites my purposes, but she
knows the dreams are just dreams. But the emotional affect is still with her
when she wakes. And like most little girls with abusive fathers, she will look
to please us and to gain our approval, because we will represent that father
that never approved. This might just make our task much easier than I originally
anticipated.
"And when she woke.... Ah, Brandon, when she woke, she was whispering to herself
that she wanted us to return. I don't believe she realized she was vocalizing
it, the isolation has really taken a wonderful affect on her perception. She was
begging for our return, begging to be allowed to prove herself. It was
delicious.
"Once she quieted down, I rose and began changing the catheter bag as usual,
letting my presence be known, and she asked me for a glass of water. She asked
me in the sweetest, most hopeful voice I have ever heard, and Brandon I wanted
to rain kisses all over her. I wanted to untie her and carry her to my room and
release into her all of the passion I've built for her over these weeks. It took
everything I had to hold myself back and simply pour the water. And after she
drank, I indulged in the smallest of kisses on her lips. I expected her to try
and jerk away, but her lips were soft and yielding.
"I think she will be ready to have the blindfold removed much sooner than we
thought. I think she is almost ready now."
Brandon smiled, pleased to hear that he might soon get to look her in the eye
and speak with her. He had grown quite fond of her. Unlike Stephen, he knew what
it was to be in the position that she was now in. And though Brandon was now
grateful for it, he knew how difficult it was to accept in the beginning. He
believed he would have a bond with this girl that was like nothing either of
them ever knew. He hoped like hell that Stephen would allow him to take his
pleasures with her. His use for her wouldn't be the same as Stephen's. He would
never beat her. Dominate her, yes. But not beat her. Not that she wouldn't enjoy
it, he just wasn't a sadist like Stephen was. He imagined being playful with
her, making her laugh, and fucking her passionately. God he wanted to fuck her.
As of yet, Stephen had forbidden sex with her. He didn't want that to be
associated with her first painful transitions here. The pain and torture was a
tool that she would grow to enjoy, sex would also be a tool, but he wanted it
introduced at just the right point. And both of them were going crazy with
desire for her. Sex between the two of them had grown increasingly more
frequent and explosive. Every night they checked on her, and then they retired
to the bedroom and spent several hours in a pain filled erotic frenzy before
finally falling off to sleep.
Stephen caught the look on Brandon's face when he was thinking about their
nightly activities, and he grinned a devilish grin, knowing he had no intention
of letting Brandon off easy tonight. God, every time he pictured that beautiful,
fragile young thing tied up downstairs it made him so hard he just wanted to
bend Brandon over the table and fuck him raw. Jesus, and that sweet kiss he'd
stolen before he left the room. It was driving him mad thinking about it.
He rose then. Reaching for Brandon, he grabbed a handful of his soft hair and
lifted him from his chair, shoving him backwards off of balance until he hit the
wall behind him. Stephen quickly threw himself against Brandon, pressing his
body against him, his rock hard cock against Brandon's pelvis. He kissed him
fiercely, forcing his tongue into the youth's mouth and then biting his lower
lip hard as he pulled away.
He stepped back then, looking at Brandon with an animal hunger in his eye. He
began to unzip his pants and pull his cock out, licking his lips and using his
eyes to direct Brandon in what to do next. Brandon quickly dropped to his knees
in front of Stephen and wrapping his hands around the shaft, he wrapped his lips
around the head of Stephen's swollen member and began expertly playing his
tongue around the sensitive ridge, pumping his hand up and down. His other hand
reached to pull Stephen's pants down far enough to give access to his testicles.
He began gently fondling them.
Stephen moaned quietly, letting his head fall back. He sunk his hands into
Brandon's hair and just relaxed with the sensation, letting it build slowly. He
wanted more. He wanted so much more. But he would save that for later. For now
he just wanted to fuck Brandon's mouth and enjoy getting off. Brandon was a very
talented little cock-sucker. He wasn't always so good at it, but with some
instruction from Stephen and plenty of practice, he'd become a pro.
Stephen then tightened his grip on Brandon's hair and pulled him close, forcing
his cock slowly down Brandon's throat. This was the hardest part. He had to go
slow, let Brandon's throat get used to him, so as not to hurt him. But what he
really wanted to do was fuck it as hard as possible. He wanted to rip it if he
could. But ripping Brandon's throat was probably not a good idea. So he forced
himself to be gentle. Slowly, so slowly he pushed until Brandon's nose was
pressed against his belly. Then he began to gently stroke in and out. Slowly, he
could feel Brandon's throat relaxing, and he began to quicken his pace,
thrusting in and out of that tight warm throat. He could tell Brandon was
struggling to get a breath in between the strokes, and that just made him fuck
harder, turning it into a game to see if he could pull all the way out and slam
himself back in before Brandon had the chance to take a breath.
He came quickly, groaning loudly, and holding Brandon to him, his cock all the
way down Brandon's throat until the last spasm was finished and he began to go
limp. Brandon was obviously straining for air, trying desperately to keep his
hands from pushing on Stephen's hips, to try and dislodge the member that kept
him from taking a precious breath.
Finally, Stephen laughed, and slowly withdrew. Brandon slumped to the floor,
gasping for breath, but looking up at Stephen with a boyish grin. He loved it
when Stephen fucked his throat like that. It made him feel wonderfully
submissive.
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Brandon sat in a chair against the wall in the room where Khaley was being kept.
Stephen had gone to the club for the night to see how things were going. Stephen
trusted his employees, they did a fantastic job and the place pretty much ran
itself, but he felt it important to show up regularly. It wouldn't do to have
people noticing a change in his habits right now. No one had come around asking
about the girl, and he didn't expect that anyone would, but there was no reason
to take chances. Brandon was told to stay and keep an eye on the girl.
Not that she was going anywhere. She hadn't been given any food in a week. All
part of Stephen's plan for making her vulnerable and suggestible. She was of
course given water, which made it necessary to continue using the catheter.
They'd had to untie her and give her an enema several times, letting her release
her bowels into a small portable toilet that Brandon would later empty and clean
out. But it had been several days since that had been necessary. Which was good.
She'd been much more pliant when she was constantly sedated. Now that they were
allowing her to be sober, he didn't expect her to be so cooperative once
released from her binds.
He watched her lay there now. She seemed to be sleeping, but he couldn't be
sure. He remembered how he would pretend to sleep when he heard Stephen
approaching, back in the days when it was him tied to this bed instead of this
beautiful woman. She might be laying there motionless, listening to him breath,
wondering if he was going to do anything to her, afraid of the punishments that
had so often been administered.
She was breathing deeply, her chest rising and falling with each breath. His
eyes were drinking in her body, soaking up each detail. Her nipples were small
and pink and erect. They sat upon firm round breasts that were smallish but just
right for her slender frame. Her ribs stuck out a bit now, but he was sure that
would change as soon as she started eating regularly again. Her stomach was flat
and soft. He really liked female bellies, and he thought hers was particularly
cute, especially offset with the small navel ring that she had. Her hips were
slender but still round enough to accent the slenderness of her waist, and her
legs were long and shapely. She had such a tight, lithe little body, she seemed
feline, sort of like a dancer. He sensed that her body hid a surprising amount
of strength, that the small frame was quite deceptive. He couldn't wait to have
her untied and willing. He imagined play struggling with her on Stephen's bed,
forcing her to submit to him, and having a fairly difficult time of it, her
powerful little body escaping him over and over, until finally he overcomes
her... Ah, he just knew she was going to be so much fun.
Tomorrow they would take off her blindfold. Stephen had made his decision about
it before leaving for the club. Brandon could hardly wait. Unfortunately, he
wouldn't be present when it happened. Stephen was certain that his plan for her
would work beautifully, but it has to be him that she focuses on at first.
Stephen must establish his control over her, and having Brandon present might
just confuse the girl. But soon. Stephen had promised that soon he would be
allowed to have her. Soon she might even be begging for it.
End Chapter Three
