Page 10 of You Only Die Twice

Cool hands slide under my arms, hoisting me up as if I weigh nothing. Closing my eyes, I let Master Jackson lead me to the cross as I force my breathing to even. I’m asleep. They can’t really hurt me. I’m going to orgasm then wake up, floating with the nurse’s happy juice like last time. Everything will be okay.

“Are you going to obey me like you do, Luka,” Master Jackson murmurs in my ear. His cold breath tickles the small, wispy hairs framing my face, and I shiver. “Be my good girl. Please.” There’s a hint of raw desperation in his voice.

Turning, I stare up at him, watching the myriad of emotions wash over his face. There’s something different about him, almost feral. His eyes are no longer kind. They’re hard, full of malice, but not at me. Never at me. That’s the one thing I can depend on with him. No matter what, he’ll protect me. It’s in his nature. How can he do anything else?

His strong, sure hands encircle my wrist as he brings it up to the top of the cross. A thick silence hangs in the air as he latches it down then moves to secure the other one. After that, he works on my ankles, shaking me, moving me, making sure I can’t get out.

“I’m sorry, Katrina. I’m so very sorry.”

Before I can ask him what he means, white-hot pain explodes over my back. I’m unable to scream. The agony alone is too much. It’s all too much. The only thing I can do is stare into Master Jackson’s eyes as he holds my gaze. There’s a strength there, a strength I’m unable to possess but wish so desperately for.

Again, the pain sears into me, rocking me forward. Master Jackson slides his hand towards me, brushing the tears away from my eyes. When did I start crying? Instead of comforting me like I assume, he brings his fingers up to his lips and snakes out his tongue, lapping my tears from his tips. Despite the agony flowing through my body, my core clenches at that act.

Once more, he brings his gaze up to mine, but instead of the sympathetic glances I’m expecting, it’s raw need. Red tinges his eyes as he stares at me, nostrils flaring. What the hell is going on? Butterflies swarm my insides as he continues to stare, rooting me to the spot by his silent will.

I’m unable to tear my gaze away. Before the lick of pain, I actually hear it. The cracking of a whip. Though it wasn’t on my list of hard limits, it’s not something that I really thought I’d enjoy, and I don’t. If not for the cross holding me up, I would probably crumple to the ground under the onslaught of pain zinging through my body.

Master Luka flays me open. The only warning before the pain is the zip of the whip as it flies through the air. Master Jackson stands in front of me, his breathing ragged as he watches the pain on my face. He’s getting off on it. He leans forward, no longer satisfied with licking my tears from his fingers.

Instead, he slides his tongue up my cheek, stopping as he gets to my eye. His groans are filthy, lurid as he licks me with the same earnestness as licked other areas. This time, it’s my turn to moan. Somewhere between the both of them, the pain morphs, transforms. There’s still a bite of pain, but it’s hidden under the flow of endorphins.

Each lash is now a sensual burn, flowing through me, filling me up. I burn as I stand there, strapped to the cross, living in my own personal hell. Something deep inside demands I cry out, that I say the safeword. It doesn’t matter if it’s sanctuary or glorious; I need to say something, do something.

But I can’t.

Nothing works anymore. I’m broken in the most fundamental of ways. After spending the day in a mass of nothing, feeling this pain is almost better than the alternative. I don’t want to go back to nothing. If I have to suffer at the hands of my tormentors, I will.

I never really thought about what would happen if I was kidnapped. You hear about it all the time, but you never really think about it. The few times I let my mind drift towards those thoughts, I always imagined I’d hold out. But here, in my dreams where my mind is free to do what it will, I give in. At the first sign of sensation, I give my masters everything, and that thought right there scares me to the core of my being.

If this wasn’t the safety of a dream, what would I allow them to do? Would I let them truly harm me if it meant not going back to that mediocre existence? I made it one day. One fucking day. I can never allow myself to think I’m anything better than those women you see on TV.

They held out for months, years even. One fucking day and I’m willing to sell my soul for a gravelly voice. I’m willing to trade all my comforts for the pain Master Luka is unleashing on me. What if this isn’t a dream? The small voice claws at my brain, demanding I acknowledge it, but I can’t. To do so would be to acknowledge that I still crave their pain, their violence. Anything but the hell of solitude.

One. Fucking. Day.

* * *

Jackson

I see the shift in her, feel it in the caress of her breath against my cheek. Her scent went from that sweet, honeyed mixture of fear tinged with need only to become an acrid stench. I want to comfort her, to tell her everything will be okay, but as each whiplash opens more skin, the scent of her blood is too overwhelming to promise her anything.

The moment Luka allows it, I will feast on her. Her shrill screams as her body attunes itself back to the pain rattles about in my head. I know he’s fucking with her, making her think she’s asleep, but somewhere deep down, she knows. She knows nothing about this is right, and heaven help me, but I can’t comfort her. Not right now.

That’s not my job. My job is to make sure she can maintain until Luka is done with her, then I can piece her back together, hold her until the dawn. I still don’t fully understand why he insists on her being locked away, but watching her now, I slowly see his end game.

If we drive her mad with a lack of sensation, a lack of conversation, eventually, she’ll be so broken, she won’t ever want to leave. She’ll crave this waking nightmare until she forces herself to sleep just to be with us. Then, and only then, will she be broken enough to be ours forever.

As long as he’ll let me tend to her, then he can fuck with her mind all he wants. I’ll benefit from her madness as well. The sooner we break her, the sooner she will be ours completely. Unsatisfied with the salt of her tears, I sink down to the floor, angling my head in between her thighs.

Until Luka has had his fill, I’m not allowed to fuck her, and since she lives at his good graces, I am compelled to obey. I hate it. I hate everything about this. He found my one weakness and continues to exploit it.

Just the one? Come now. You’ve had other weaknesses, I’m sure.

My brain recoils from his voice as it tears into me, leaving me a breathless mass of hunger and need. It’s not just my hunger. I’m merged with the monster himself, feeling what he feels, tasting what he tastes. Her fear is different for him than it is for me.

She’s more like fine chocolate to him, though he wouldn’t be able to word it like that. He’s old enough that most food tastes like ash in his mouth. For me, though, I still have the memory of food. I can translate the sensations he’s feeding me into something I can digest.

Groaning, I plunge my fingers into Katrina’s pussy, marveling at the fluttering grip. Her head falls forward as she stares down at me, her fear morphing into lust. As long as I can provide her pleasure, she can withstand Luka; I’m sure of it.