The Doll

I was dreaming about water. It was a place where I had never

been and a sea that couldn't exist, with the sky-tall waves

falling down on the shore where I was standing. I felt

quiet. There was no pain. My body kept silence - and it was

so good - not to feel anything. Not to be cold. Not to want

to drink.

Then Yaron woke me up. His hands slapping my face were the

first thing that came to me. I opened my eyes - the curtains

on the huge window were driven apart and I could see the

greyness of the sky on the right and above me. At the next

moment he bent over me.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," his soft voice was almost a melodic

whistle. His big dark eyes were so close that it was

difficult for me to look in them. I wanted to blink - even

better to screw up my eyes shut - but I knew I didn't have

to do it. It would make him mad. "I've been missing you,

don't you know?"

His black ringlet hair - not too long, hardly to his

shoulders, was hanging over his beautiful face and touched

my cheeks, lightly tickling. His scent clouded me - pleasant

scent of his clean body and sweet fresh aroma of Channel

toilette water. I could smell him even through my own

reeking - and it was heavy reeking, you know. I was aware of

it every moment myself; I could only imagine how much it was

perceptible for him. For days in this bed, on the sheets that

once had been wet with my own piss but got dry again by now

because I didn't have anything more to urinate with. The

stinking of sweat and old cum blended together.

He slept in the same bed with me, under one blanket - but he

didn't need it, he was hot - and I couldn't pull it up on

myself to get warm and stop shivering. First two nights,

before I got exhausted enough to fall asleep anyway, I lay

looking at his naked, golden pale body spread freely on his

side of the bed, his chiseled face seeming older under the

dancing shadows. His breath was so steady and inaudible. I

didn't cry then. There was something so overwhelming in his

tranquility. I just lay in silence.

"It is going to be a great day for us, my prince."

He stood on his fours, with his palms pressed to my

shoulders. I felt my mouth quivering in pain - as if I tried

to smile crookedly - but I couldn't help it. He was tugging

on my wrists this way - and despite my certainty that I'd

lost their perceptibility a while ago I still felt something

like burning blades turning inside my bones. He was

crippling me with these cuffs; I wondered if he didn't know

it. Perhaps he didn't care. Perhaps it was what he wanted.

He shifted. In a moment he braced his leg over me - and now

he was already straddling my midriff. The sound that escaped

me was a rasp hiss, so appalling that I tried to choke it as

soon as I heard it. My tummy was a mess of bruises, welts

and burns and I knew that my ribs were cracked. I felt it

every time when I inhaled.

Yaron chuckled mildly, wiggling down, hurting me more. When

the pain shock subsided a little and I could meet his stare

I thought once more if he really wanted to do everything in

the most possible hurtful way. He kept repeating he loved

me.

I felt his hand grasping my hair, pulling it. Sticky with cum

- but he didn't seem to mind. He was not squeamish, was he?

I recalled how he guided them when they were fucking me.

"Yeah, cum on his eyes. Keep your eyes open, sweetheart�

Cover his face with it. Fill his navel. His armpits." There

were six of them who visited me - I used to see their faces

for these days. His employees, I presumed. He watched them

while they used me. He made sex to me in the intervals. He

fucked me with dildo when neither he nor any of them could

get hard. He loosened me. I was raw with fucking - but it

was much worse when he used his toys, trying bigger and

bigger of them. He fisted me and made me lick my blood and

mucus from his hand. It seemed he was satisfied when I was

fouling myself.

"You'll be beautiful, believe me," he whispered stooping to

my face. His tapering fingers roamed over my parched mouth.

It was so dry that his nails hurt me. I vibrated - the

thirst was overwhelming, worse than anything else was.

Yaron's gaze didn't change, whether he noticed it or not. He

was poking his fingers between my lips - and then he put his

mouth to the side of my jaw and kissed.

I was scratchy with brittle; his cheeks were child-like

smooth. I didn't know if he already had to shave.

My burning tongue was jerking slightly under his touches

while he sucked on my skin - and now his breath did become

louder - I could feel his tall slim penis growing up and

stubbing under my ribs. He was getting hard on me - on and

on, inevitably, no matter how I looked and smelled.

"I'll make love to you now," he muttered still licking my

cheek. "A little morning one. I always wanted to wake up in

my bed and make love with somebody� with you, babe."

I felt him lying over me, with his legs straightened. His

hand was wandering on my chest until he found my left nipple

and seized it. He didn't look at me at that moment, kissing

my neck. He didn't see my eyes getting wide and my mouth

gaping. But his fingers slid deeper to my mouth when he

sensed it. He was mauling the burning swollen nub of my

nipple in a parody of erotic tweaking; he knew what I felt.

He had been being meticulous bringing my tit circles to

incredible soreness for all these days. He had to feel his

fingers moistening in my blood when he disturbed the scab.

His organ was slightly wet, too. He was smearing me when he

fidgeted on me. I thought what pose he would choose for

fucking me. Will he try to wring my arms out of sockets

again turning me face down? He didn't hurry. He ran his

hands over me, he licked my face, then he took my left tit

to his mouth. It was one more thing he liked to do to me - he

sucked on me as if he tried to extract some milk out of my

nipples. He sucked as if he was hungry. His rigid cock

pressed into the damaged flesh of my genitals.

My vision was not clear. I let my lids flop down - but

Yaron's motions were making me look up again with every

sharp pang of pain he was bringing to me in so many ways. He

pushed his fingers into my anus - four of them - he rotated

his hand now - it seemed he was digging the passage inside

me, the passage for himself.

At last he yanked me. He flipped me on my side, pushed my leg

from his way and tugged my ankle up. It was not difficult

for him to hit the aim - my slicky hole was yawning for him.

I heard his moan-like exhale when he penetrated me - and

then he started stabbing, curtly and fiercely, never

slipping out of me, just going deeper, with the dull

smacking sound of his front hitting my crack.

I didn't make sounds. My mouth was sandpaper-like dry. It

seemed I was getting used to pain. He presented so much of

it to me for these days. He sawed inside my bleeding opening

and I felt the jerks his frictions were putting on my

wrists. I guessed how long it would take for him this time.

I guessed right - I started getting experience with him. He

toppled on me after cumming. My rectum was wet with the cool

fluid of his sperm - and now, when he nestled over me, I

could sense the light film of perspiration on his body. He

licked his lips and licked my lips and then bit my lips the

same carelessly and then pressed his forehead to mine.

"Thank you, my angel," I felt his sigh when he said it. "You

know how much I've enjoyed it."

The weight of his slender body seemed unendurable. He lay for

a while - I didn't know for how long - maybe, he passed out

or just rested unnerved - and then I saw how he reached for

his remote device. "Now I have to make you look as pretty as

you really can," he sing- sang to my ear. "My dear beloved.

My bride."

He rested his palm against my belly when getting up. And at

the very moment when I noticed the cuff keys in his hands

there were two of his bodyguards coming in.

At least, I thought they could be his bodyguards. They looked

like ones. Both in their late twenties and so very neat in

their movements. I knew their handling in sex, their

favorite positions, their kinks. I didn't know their names.

The locks of the cuffs clanked. They didn't fall from my

hands - they bit too deeply into my flesh - he had to tear

them off with effort. I felt how my eyes were rolling up to

my head - such a weird sensation, I didn't ever think I

would feel something like this, still less would realize I

felt it.

I was going to lose my hands. I didn't have to be a doctor to

know I would need a surgery to save them - and I knew Yaron

wouldn't let me it. In case if he were going to let me stay

alive, first of all. I didn't doubt he would kill me as soon

as he got enough of me that first day. It was so� nightmare-

like, the things like this don't usually happen to people.

They simply don't happen, period. I was going to my car in

the underground garage of the building where I lived - and

there was a dark-haired handsome kid, nearly a child,

walking to the opposite direction, passing me by - and he

smiled, impersonally and absent-mindedly. He was in a couple

of yards from me when he reached out an oblong object and I

recognized a gun.

"Raise your hands up and kneel down," I heard his swift voice

- and then he added. "I've come for you at last, my love."

Then there were his guys behind me, plucking at my arms,

gagging me - I was not going to scream, however. I had to -

but I was mute with astonishment. Just stunned. They locked

the cuffs around my wrists - the cuffs I had been wearing

since then.

I thought there was something he wanted from me. Something

special, I mean. So, when he cut my clothes off and spread

me open on the bed I still wondered what he wanted to get

from me like this, what he tried to achieve. I couldn't

imagine it was just sex he was after. Sex - such a little

thing. Such an easy thing. I was usually giving it without

second thought, you see.

He told me I could cry or call for help - if it could make me

feel better - nobody would hear me. At first when he entered

me I didn't make noise at all. But with my opening was

getting sore - after the third one, I guess - I started

moaning. I vocalized a lot since then.

When the first day passed and the night came Yaron said to

me:

"It's how your life is going to go from now on, sweetie.

Because I own you, don't I?"

He did owned me, even though I didn't admit it then.

Now I saw him taking my palms. I didn't feel it, even when he

curled my fingers in ugly looking balls. He pressed firmly -

but they were just too swollen to be curled tightly. Blue

and covered with taut rubber-like skin. When Yaron pulled me

by my wrists I squealed.

"Come on, get up!" his voice was monotonous - as if he tried

to hypnotize me into complete obedience. Well, it was not

because I didn't want why I didn't obey him. "Yes, dear.

Don't annoy me. Don't, you hear?"

He yanked me by my hair, down from the bed.

"I guess you want to drink, don't you? You'll have your drink

now, I promise."

It was a vast round bath - I felt like fainting seeing it. I

had been close to blacking out many times during these days

- but never so close, I presume. Water� yeah, there was

enough of it.

His big boy lifted me to help me step into it - and at the

next moment I had my contorted palms full of hot,

sickeningly aromatized water - I gulped it greedily. I

vomited at once - he must have put too much bath oil in it -

and drank again - and I felt Yaron's trembling fingers

caressing the back of my neck.

"Silly kitten, lap it, right," he was whispering his usual

endearments to me.

He kneeled at the bath behind me. I could have seen his

beautifully molded face if I looked up - but I didn't. I

watched how the layers of discharges on my body melted in

the water. The water was from my dream. I was swimming away.

Yaron was efficient bringing me to order. He washed me - and

my hair, too, brushed my teeth. Shaved me. He put me on my

fours when cleaning my ass. His fingers were steel-like and

his arms so strong and thin when he took me out of the bath.

I didn't try to figure out what he was going to do. The state

I was in seemed a kind of daze. My body ached dull and

tearing at the same time; I couldn't think. My thoughts

wouldn't change anything in any case. Yaron guided me back

to the room supporting me under my elbow.

"Sit down, child," there was a low velvet-covered stool in

front of a narrow huge mirror. It looked like a French

window - another window plus to the translucent walls of his

penthouse apartment. He called me "child" - he was ten years

or so younger than me. He didn't let me turn to the mirror -

but I didn't want to look at it, too. I closed my eyes. I

felt him doing something to my hair - cold menthol scent of

hair gel, his longish fingers slick and sticky with it. He

rubbed it to my hair. Then he switched on the hair-drier.

He was making my hair. Weirdness of it only slightly touched

me. I just sat with my burning hands lying palms up on my

lap; they felt so enormous for me - and getting even bigger

every minute with blood boiling in them. It was so good when

he didn't hurt me, I thought. I had been wearing my hair in a

fancy spiky manner usually - a lot of gel and even more of

patience. I didn't know how Yaron wanted to see me. He

kneeled in front of me - and I felt his fingers on my face.

So lightly. And even lighter touch of the finest brushes. He

was painting my face, I understood. My eyebrows, my lashes�

"Look at me," he was so close that I could feel his exhale

when he said it. I raised my lids. His dark-amber eyes gazed

at me so very intently; I saw the mascara in his hand. He

put more of it on my lower lashes. Then there was a pencil

in his fingers. He licked its tip before he lined the

contour of my lips in short neat motions. I couldn't see what

color of lipstick he used.

"What a mouth," he tilted his head awry working. "My sweet

bride with the most beautiful mouth in the world. Okay, it's

time to get dressed!"

We were alone in the room - his men were gone. He sat on his

heels between my knees, with my legs spread almost painfully

open. Then he put his palms on the insides of my thighs and

rubbed there - as if he tried to arouse me. He couldn't

arouse me - and I suppose he didn't want it at all. He just

couldn't spend even a while without touching me.

"Poor dick of my sweetheart," he was whispering. His mouth

was seeking over my limp basket, I half-heard half-guessed

his words. "If only it hadn't put you into sin� if only it

hadn't made you the whore you were�"

I flinched terribly when he sucked my flabby organ into his

mouth - and his nails stuck in my skin, keeping me on the

place. His tongue hurt as if it was barbed on the places

where the skin on my cock was abraded to soaking scarlet

flesh. He fellated me. For these days he took my cock in his

mouth almost as often as he put his into mine. I felt sick

with pain, almost fainting.

"You don't like it, huh?" at last he let me go. His fine face

was turned to me again and even through the mist in my eyes

I saw how his eyes were glowing. His nails were digging out

deep stripes of tissue on my thighs. "Nope?" his voice flew

up. Sometimes it happened to him. I never could predict what

would infuriate him. As if I was insulting him with

something. "Then why did you like so much when they sucked

it?"

"Who - they?" I whispered. My own voice seemed frighteningly

weak.

"You even don't know their names, right?" he was mocking me.

I didn't know what he mocked me for. "Horny bitch� Did I

provide enough sex for you? As much as you used to get, you

decadent slut?"

"I�" I didn't know what to say. His accusations seemed absurd

to me - and he repeated them with the same regularity as the

confessions in his love to me. "I am sorry� Please forgive

me�"

"Yes, dear," his expression changed again. "I forgive you.

You'll see - I forgive you!"

He tore the cellophane pack of the stockings. They were white

- whipped-cream-white, a soft lovely shade. I watched him

taking my foot and rolling the stocking up over my leg. It

had embroidery - little seagull silhouettes on its finest

textile. The stockings were held on the lace stripes around

my thighs. No garter belt. His palms were sliding over my

legs - almost tenderly - even though it was just a precaution

to avoid making ladders.

"Your shoes, beloved prince."

He knew my size. They fit absolutely - pale silver snake

leather. They had triangle heels, so tall that my feet

seemed smaller in them. He locked them around my insteps.

"Stand up, dear."

He was of the same height with me - but now I looked down at

him. It made him chuckle. We stood face to face - him naked

and me only in the stockings and shoes. And then he took out

the corselet.

I shrieked when he wrapped it around my fractured ribs and

pulled the clasps together. It was a bright thing, heavy

with the tiniest pearls embroidering it. I almost stopped

breathing when he hooked it - so unbearably tight! I

couldn't inhale. What I could do was just making small half-

breaths. His fingers were firm popping the clasps shut.

I was slightly dizzy with hypoxia when Yaron turned me around

once more. There were lace gloves in his hands. He took my

hand and pulled the glove on it. It didn't go. Did he forget

what he had done with my hands? Or he just disregarded it?

He held my wrist firmly, trying and trying to pull it on. My

own cries were weak, he didn't pay attention to them. He did

what he wanted - he made me wear them. They were bright-red

- the only thing that no bride would put on. Longer than till

my elbows, shameless things.

Now he prepared me completely. No, not completely. He let me

sit again and when my vision became comparatively clear I

saw him having two huge golden circles of earrings.

"You don't have your ears pierced�" he shrugged. "But it's

okay. We'll cope with it."

I just trembled when the thin awl appeared in his hand. It

didn't hurt unbearably. I could endure it. He pushed the

wires of the earrings through my new piercings. There was

very little blood - two tiny trickles crawling down around

the angles of my jaw.

"Oh my," he said making a step back from me. "You are

exquisite. I am going to be the happiest man in the world."

Then he turned me to the mirror.

I knew it was I looking back from its brilliant surface - and

still it was practically impossible to believe in it. I felt

like breaking. It was too much. Really, too much. There was

a painful clot in my throat preventing me from swallowing,

preventing me from breathing. I've never seen anything like

this. This white was incongruous. Abominable. He didn't make

a girl from me. He disgraced me. He lay my hair back from my

forehead smoothly, leaving it open. My eyelashes were thick

and heavy with mascara. And he didn't use scarlet or pink

lipstick for my mouth. It was lilac. Bruise-like. A stain of

discoloration of my ghost-pale face.

Yaron dressed himself while I looked at myself to the mirror.

He was breathtaking in his black clothes - his body so

lithe, his hips so narrow. He walked to me and wrapped his

arm around my waist.

"Oh dear," his voice was soft again - soulful, caressing, "I

am so happy I dared to take you. If you only knew how I

doubted whether it would be right. I thought about it day

and night. I looked at you� It was hell� You were so close

and still I couldn't touch you. They - every one of them -

could - and I couldn't!"

"You looked at me?" I didn't understand. "Where did you see

me?"

He turned my face to himself abruptly. His arms held me

firmly while he looked at me as if he couldn't believe I

really asked it.

"Yes," he whispered then. "You don't know. Let's go!"

He pulled me with himself. I stumbled on the heels but he

kept me upright. It was another room, the same light and

glassy as his bed-room. There was a small telescope at one

of its transparent walls - and to it Yaron dragged me.

"Look, look here!" he pushed me to the lens, turning its

circle to regulate the clearness for me. He guessed

correctly when I could see - I gasped seeing it.

It was focused on the window - so exactly and with such

enormous magnifying that it seemed I could touch the glass

with my hand. It was shadowy in the room - but I still could

discern everything there - the wide sofa, the low glass

table at it, the huge TV center. I knew every thing there -

I bought every thing there myself. It was my flat.

"You don't even have curtains on your windows," Yaron's tone

was strange, as if resentful and admiring at once. "Don't

you know what shame is?! You fucked with them right in front

of the window! Everybody could see you."

"I�" it was not that I tried to argue with him. "I didn't

think. It is the twentieth floor�"

"So many them! Where did you pick them up? At the bars? You

faggot whore! You even didn't meet with any of them more

than twice!" It was true. But I just tried to find the one

who would suit me. I was failing again and again.

"I saw how they made you cat-horny! I saw how they made you

thrash in passion. I couldn't hear nothing - but I saw

everything. I hated you, bitch. I loved you� I love you� I

needed to save you, do you understand? I had to take you out

from there, from this filth, to bring your integrity back.

I'll do it�" Yaron was whispering to my ear. "I promise."

I looked at my flat that was so close - and at the same time

unreachable for me. The red light flashed on my answering

machine. Who was calling me? Some of my one-night stands?

They won't be surprised that I don't call back.

A sob escaped me. I couldn't control myself.

"Don't you cry!" Yaron's mellow voice distorted at once. "You

prostitute! Don't you dare to smear your make-up!"

He dug his fingers in my forearm - and at the next moment his

fist drove into my kidney. I gasped. The pain was blinding.

For several seconds I couldn't breath, I couldn't see - my

mouth was dry and open - while the fire-ball in the place

where he hit me spread through all my body slowly. Now I

really had tears in my eyes.

"Stupid harlot!" Yaron yanked me sharply and I felt him

pushing my buttocks apart. He entered me in one motion. He

bent me. He used my basket to hold me while fucking me. I

felt his hot mouth on the back of my neck - and I was not

surprised when he bit me.

He was diverse this time with his thrusting. Even with all

sex I had for these days he still managed to make me shake

when he chose another angle with his cock or shoved it

deeper than usual. He rotated it. I was sobbing - but he

stopped forbidding me to do it - he seemed to forget. It

leaked out of my ass when he pulled out. I couldn't hold

nothing anymore. I felt it on my legs soaking into the

stockings.

"My guests will be grateful that I slicked you up for them,"

he hissed through his teeth. But when he walked me to the

next room he was careful enough to let me pace on the heels.

There were people in the hall. A couple of dozens of them,

maybe. As soon as I saw them I wanted to scream. I wanted to

cry for help. But at the same time a terrible realization

struck me - they won't help. In no case. If they would Yaron

didn't show me to them. They turned to us when we came in -

a blurring sea of faces - cheering, amazed, gleeful. They

looked at me. They examined me. I knew they saw the blood on

my neck and ear-lobes. They didn't care.

"Let me introduce you my bride," Yaron announced - and at

once they clapped their palms and walked to us - and I felt

them taking my agonizingly hurt hands and sharing them.

"Amazing," somebody said. I felt ill. There was no tease in

the intonation. "Where did you find this cutie?"

"You are lucky, kid! Such a flower."

They kissed my cheeks and my lips, smearing lipstick, licking

it off. I knew it was around my mouth already. They hugged

me and patted me. They played with me as if I were a thing.

From aside I heard Yaron's voice:

"And that's how I met my beloved� and rescued from the life

of sin. I'll make my love chaste again. All the obscenity

will be washed off when we marry�"

Marry. The word was odd. I never thought about it as applied

to me. He was going to marry me. I was so half-coherent that

I didn't know how I could stay on my feet. My breath was

torture. Being upright was torture. What else could he do to

me when he had made so much, when he had already hurt me so

beyond imagination?

I hardly registered the ceremony. The words he was saying -

his vows to me. He didn't ask me to make the vow back. Why

should he doubt I would be loyal to him? I regained full

consciousness when he took my hand and tried to put the ring

on my finger. I bit my lip to keep from crying. I felt tears

in my eyes again.

He was putting the ring over the vermilion lace glove. It was

a diamond ring - with the huge transparent gem sunk deeply

in the wide band of gold. I couldn't keep his ring in my

destroyed fingers. He put it on himself.

"I love you, my rose," he whispered in my mouth while kissing

me. When the ceremony was finished he walked me to the

table. Well, it was not a real table - there was a strange

steel frame on it and Yaron guided me to it carefully.

"And now, my sweet bride, here is your marriage bed� The bed

where you won't lose your virginity 'cause you haven't had

it for a long time - the bed where you'll part with your

sins, it will be more exact." I looked at him. My lips parted

- as if I wanted to ask him what he meant. And at the same

moment there were hands grabbing me, pulling me up to the

table, into the frame, spreading my legs wide, raising my

arms. It had fastenings, the construction. They fixed my

hands above my head and my legs open and up, as if in

gynecological chair. I tried to look back - I knew Yaron was

there - I tried to see him.

"It is my wedding present for you, sweet," I only heard his

voice. "I hope you won't miss sex while being only with me�"

It was what I had been through already - rough hands plucking

at me, opening me, pinching and scratching. I came to know

it very well - but how could I get used to it when the pain

was new every time, when the cock thrusting into my

agonizing rectum was no less hurtful - it moved against the

sore places. I didn't see the face of the one who was fucking

me. There was another cock shielding my sight - the cock

going to my mouth. They humped against me. Their palms slid

under the material of the corselet. My chest was bare to let

them have my nipples. My tits were bursting out with the

pressure of their fingers squeezing relentlessly.

Their mouths were on my body, sucking my penis and my balls;

and when my privates were not in somebody's mouth they

tugged them, mauled them, tried to wring them out. Their

hands were slicky with my fresh blood. A tongue or a finger

was alternately fucking my navel under the brink of the

corselet. They sucked my armpits, cleaned the blood from my

earlobes. And there was always a new prick ramming my ass

open.

I didn't shriek. I couldn't produce a sound around a cock

filling my throat. It seemed to go on forever.

Maybe, for a couple of hours in reality. There were twenty

five or so of them - but they were cumming quickly. There

was so much cum in my rectum that the liquid was squelching

when they fucked me. Their sperm leaked out of the corners

of my mouth - I couldn't swallow it no more. My eyes were

burning with mascara.

I didn't realize it at first when they left me. At first the

cock fucking me out didn't replace with another. Then the

hands on my chest drove away. Then there was nobody covering

the light from me. They were finished. They left me alone.

At least, for now.

And it was only a comparative relief. I was like a crushed

bug - pinned to the frame, with my hands still in the cuffs

and my ankles fixed widely. I tried to get a little more of

the air to my lungs. I looked up - to the ceiling above me.

And then I heard Yaron's voice again.

"You know what brought you into sin now, don't you? I had to

show you. But now you don't have to suffer any more. I'll

help you to stay clean forever - from now on."

Was there some special meaning in his words? I didn't know. I

came to think that there was meaning in everything what he

said - but I couldn't puzzle it out. I didn't have clearance

of mind for it any more. I was going to nowhere, I thought.

I heard some noise, clicking of metallic objects, maybe. I

would like to raise my head and look but I was not able to.

And then there was Yaron leaning to me.

"Poor baby," his lips moved but there was no sound from him.

His face was so pale - as if it was him who was going to

faint. "I would love to never hurt you. But I must do it. I

must. I am sorry for you�"

There was the blade of the knife flashing in his hands. I saw

it in front of my eyes - and then he lowered it slowly to my

chest. He held it in both hands, vertically - and in the

fire of pain I made a short loud gasp when the tip of the

knife stabbed in my right breast.

He poked it. He cut the skin and muscle - as deep as the bone

was - under my nipple - and there he turned the blade flat.

I was breathless. The only noise I made was the exhale - and

after that I was silent. I would like to scream. I just

couldn't. I felt my hair rising in this pain. Yaron shoved

the blade under my nipple, separating it from the base. I

felt hot blood washing my ribs. He didn't touch my nipple

with his fingers yet - he just cut it with the knife -

turning the blade around until, having made the full circle,

it slid into already made cut. That's when he used his

fingers, seizing the bit of my flesh. It was slicky - he had

to grasp it tighter. Even though he cut it off with his

knife it still was attached. He yanked. I choked in a wild

cry. It became so bright in front of my eyes - nothing

except this brightness. It yielded.

"I would like to make you eat it," as if from far away I

heard his voice. "It would teach you even better. But I

don't think you'll be able to do it. So, this will be

enough," he drove the bloody bit of my flesh against my

lips.

Pain and horror were drowning me. And when there was a piece

of charring iron biting my chest where my nipple once had

been I almost blacked out. It seemed my arms and legs were

wrenched out in the cramp that distorted my body. Yaron was

searing the wound on my chest.

When the blood stopped sizzling I went limp. I felt my sweat

- so cold - dribbling over my temples. I was feeble. My

muscles couldn't work well enough to struggle the tight

corselet. I was strangulating. I didn't feel my muscles at

all any more. I knew I would have shitted myself if I had

had something inside me - I shitted with their cum instead.

The soft firm hand of Yaron caressed my forehead. Tears were

running down my cheeks. I was so weak I was drooling.

But when I saw the knife in his hands again I twitched madly.

The fear made me half-witted. I couldn't stand it again. No

more.

"Please!" I tried to implore him hastily; my tongue obeyed me

poorly but I tried. "Please don't! I've understood� I will

be good. I will be clean - as you want me, I will be

everything you want me to be!"

I didn't have any means to reason him. I knew it. He didn't

answer. His face was solemn when he raised the knife

dripping blood over my chest again.

I was barely conscious when he finished. I was all wet. My

head was limp, I couldn't keep it. I was retching. Yaron

look downward at me - his eyes were sad and implacable at

the same time. I didn't hear a sound from anybody else in

the room.

I looked back at him. Even after all this pain I still looked

with hope at him. Maybe, it was enough, maybe, he had done

everything he wanted. He met my gaze and guessed it right.

"No, my sweet thing," I could hardly hear his voice - so

tender and light it was - and so full of compassion. "I

would like to let you keep it, you know. I like it so very,

very much. But as long as you have it I can't be sure, you

see. You are so very convinced� I just don't see another way

out�"

He moved. He walked around me - and then he stopped between

my legs. I was craning my head, trying to look at him. I

hardly saw anything - except the gory knife in his hands

again. And I already knew what he was going to do.

My own screams deafened me. But even though my consciousness

was abating the pain was with me all the way. I felt

everything. I felt how blunted was his knife after the

nipple cuts, how he had to put efforts to cut through my

tissue. I felt how he tugged my parts farther and downward

to make it more convenient for him. I could feel how blood

hit in jets from there. I felt how he stuck the piece of

catheter to my piss-slit to prevent it from skinning over.

It took much bigger piece of heated iron to cauterize it.

"Don't cry, dear, don't cry."

Was I crying? I didn't know. It was much more than reason for

crying - what he had done to me. What else could anyone

possibly do?

And then I found out what. When his hand rose again - not

with the knife this time - but with a rod of iron with the

strange tip. I peered at it. It was casting spirals of hot

air around it, white on the end and changing its color to

red and then to black. When he closed it I convulsed. I

jerked madly in the cuffs - but somebody else's hand hooked

my hair and held my head firmly in the place - while Yaron

pressed the white- hot brand to my skin.

My scream burst in my head. I screamed very long. For

eternity - while he fidgeted the brand against my forehead

imprinting the monogram of his name into my skull bone.

What was next was behind the veil for me. I felt vaguely that

they released my limbs - and raised me, put me on my feet.

The pearled textile of the corselet was soaked in blood and

burnt on my chest. The smell of seared flesh was

flabbergasting. There were hands supporting me - and Yaron's

hand taking my palm.

"The wedding cake," he whispered close to my ear. I was

blacking out when he cut it holding my hand with the knife

in his. And then I felt his fingers at my lips. The same as

he was sliding my own bleeding tissue against my lips he was

putting the bits of biscuit and whipped cream into my mouth.

Then everything was gone.

I came round in our bed again. I was naked. My hands were

cuffed above my head - and for a shortest moment it seemed

to me that I had dreamed everything. Just a nightmare.

Yaron was settling against the pillow on his half of the bed.

It had to be the evening - the curtains on the glass wall

were driven together and the only light in the room was from

the lamp on Yaron's nightstand. He was looking through a

glossy album on his lap - he had small round rimless glasses

on - and from time to time he was tossing back a lock of his

dark hair.

The pain was squeezing my brain as if in a vice - but I

didn't know if it was the pain from my destroyed privates or

it was a mind's pain. When I looked up I could see the

diamond ring on my finger - buried deep in the swollen

purple flesh of it. Yaron looked at me - and dropped his

book at once. He moved swiftly.

"Good night, dear," he sat on me - as he liked to do it - on

my pelvis - his silken cool pajama on the burning wound

between my legs. "Sorry that I had to cuff you. It's not

because I am afraid you'll try to bolt. It's so that you

don't scratch your scars off, you know."

The expressions changed on his fiery face - joy, pity,

delight, sorrow. Then the corner of his beautiful mouth slid

down.

"Ooh, my child!" his voice was full of suffering and still

rejoicing. "I had to do it. You think I am cruel. But soon

you'll understand I did it for your own sake. Parents seem

cruel to a disobedient child - but when he grows up he

realizes how much they did for him. I believe there will be

the day when you will thank me, my butterfly. You will."

For a moment he looked intently in my face. I was trembling

with the mad pain. Then he patted my cheek absent-mindedly.

"Tomorrow I'll give you a mirror, okay? But don't worry -

nobody will see you like this. Just me and you - we'll stay

here together for good. And you are beautiful in my eyes,

you know. You will always be."

He bent down suddenly - and I felt his tongue on the

blackened flesh on my forehead - licking, repeating with the

tip of his tongue the letters of the monogram - "YBA".

"I know," he breathed out, "I already love this," his thumbs

were on the burnt scars of my former nipples, massaging them

firmly. "And this," he pushed his palm between my legs and

cupped my pubis. "You are so special, my darling. Nobody has

such a wife! I have. I have you completely."

He shifted again, taking his place between my legs. I knew

what had to follow. He played with his straight risen cock.

He didn't stick it inside me, however. He used his own hand.

He had his other hand in my rectum, driving in and out, deep

and fast, in the same rhythm. He even didn't take it out

when falling asleep - at my side, with his smooth cheek on

my belly.

I lay with my eyes shut and saw the flashing red light - so

huge that there was nothing else in front of my lowered

lids. It flashed and flashed - and I knew what it was - it

was the indicator of my answering machine in the flat where

I would never return.

The End