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Twenty years ago, this son of a bitch had taken part in ruining my life. There’d been other men, dozens, but Branson was the one who always came back. He’d been my bogeyman. To this day, I occasionally woke in cold sweats after nightmares reliving the depravities he’d put me through.
Right now, right here, in this awful place, I was in charge.
The blade snapped closed and cut through the cotton. I left the flesh intact for now. I yanked the underwear hard. It pulled tautly and then ripped around his other leg. A thin gash opened on his opposing thigh where the elastic band tore the skin as it broke free.
Branson shivered, exposed and alone. His dick was shriveled and small, like a turtle head atop the crinkled sacks he called testicles.
He was bawling under the hood as he sat there naked save for his socks and boots. It wasn’t enough. My thirst for vengeance wasn’t sated. I didn’t give a fuck what Sam said. I wouldn’t kill him. I wouldn’t even maim him, but I’d be damned if he got out of this without something he’d remember forever.
I leaned in and moved the scissors to his chest. When I spoke, it was in a whisper, as quietly as I could manage, near his ear. “Do you remember what you told me? You said it every time you raped me. You always called me a good girl. Like it was some sort of fucked up praise. An honor.” I moved to the other ear. “I’ll tell you this. You’ve been a really good boy.”
I closed the blades on his nipple a second later with only a slight pause as the scissors met the resistance of his flesh. The wrinkled pink patch of skin snipped off and fell to his lap.
There was a moment’s pause before the pain registered in his mind. Once the electric signals had the chance to flash from his nipple to his brain, the floodgates of agony opened, and he howled while blood oozed from the severed flesh.
I wasn’t done. I probably only had another second or two before Sam forced me to stop. Before he could, I reached over and snipped off the other nipple too, shocking myself with the ability to hurt another person like this, even someone like Branson.
Branson’s screams grew even louder. I dropped the scissors and stepped back. Behind me, the door to the playroom clicked and swung open. With one last look at what I’d done, satisfaction ran through me. Blood coated his chest. His head hung and he alternated between whimpers and curses of pain.
Once I was back in the viewing room, the door shut, muffling the sounds of Branson’s sobs. The lights in the playroom shut off, erasing the man from my sight. The stink of my vomit rose around me.
Standing there with what I’d done replaying through my head, I only suffered a small amount of shame at what I’d been capable of. It was tiny compared to everything else. Mainly, there was a strange exhilaration that I couldn’t quite describe. If someone had called me bloodthirsty a week ago, I’d have told them they were crazy. Now? Shit, it might be true. Of course, after what I’d been through in life, why wouldn’t I be, honestly?
Time stretched until I had no idea how long I’d been in here. I stood, frozen, contemplating my actions and their repercussions. Finally, the door to the viewing room clicked open. Taking it as an invitation to leave, I stepped out into the hallway.
The cuff on my wrist vibrated painlessly to get my attention. I glanced at it and read the message. Well done, Dahlia. I’m very pleased with your acceptance of what I’m trying to teach you. You have two hours of free time as a reward. Special items have been placed in your room for you to use to relieve your stress.
My feet carried me back toward my room. I had no idea what the message meant by special items. Thoughts of what I’d done to Branson still swirled through my mind. The more I thought about it, the less bad I felt about the whole shebang. The rational part of my mind told me I should’ve been horrified, but no matter how I spun it or argued against it, I couldn’t make myself feel that way.
My sneakers scuffing the floor echoed in the quiet hall as I passed several shut doors. The rest of my housemates must’ve been engaged in some other task. Something Sam had assigned them, maybe. Were any of them torturing someone? Killing?
The image of Liam’s bloody hands flashed through my mind, and I wondered who he’d been working on. Did he have his own tormentor locked up in here, or was I special for some reason? Maybe Sam had specifically tracked down and kidnapped Branson for me. If so, I’d have a hard time not thanking him. Sam was still a bastard, and completely psycho for doing this to me, but at least I’d managed to get some catharsis out of this situation.
Returning to my room, I glanced up again at the infinity symbol above my door then touched the back of my neck where the same symbol was tattooed. The door slid open, and I stepped in without having to be told. Humans, it appeared, were as easily trained as dogs.
I skidded to a halt at my bed. Someone had been here and left… things. A basket on the bed held an unlit scented candle, a container of what looked like bath salts, body oil, a small bottle of lube, and two different sizes of vibrating dildoes.
“What the fuck?” I whispered.
If these were the rewards, he could keep them. My brain was too fired up to even consider using these things. What I needed to do was figure out what was going on with my head. Why didn’t I feel bad about what I’d done? I paced the room, arms wrapped around my body, hugging myself as I went.
There was an emotion or feeling bubbling up inside me. One that had begun when I’d picked up the scissors back in the playroom. A sensation I’d never had before. It was new and confusing. Something that made m-e not only not guilty to have hurt that man but actually happy about it. A dozen hours with Dr. Pope flashed through my head. The hundreds of things we’d talked about, and all of her theories about my issues.
It clicked, and I stopped walking. The last session I’d had, my therapist had said I always tried to keep my life on a set clock. The same things happening at the same time in the same way, and that was a form of control. One of the few things I had control over. As weak and insignificant as it was, it gave me power over something. Power. That was what I’d felt in the playroom.
Power and control.
Again, I pictured Branson naked and sweating, tied up and at my mercy. The heaviness of the scissors, and the understanding that I could do anything to him in that moment, and he could do nothing to stop me. Just like when I was a child and he had power over me, but now the tables had been turned.
The sound the blades had made when they snapped through his flesh, like cutting through a stack of wet construction paper. The memory sent a shiver of pleasure through me. My eyes closed as I pictured it again. The pulpy lump of skin slicing off and falling to his lap, the blood that trickled down his chest and his screams. His screams were the best part. They echoed in my mind over and over again.
When I opened my eyes, there was a different feeling gnawing at me. I gave the bed a sideways glance. Warm heat pulsed between my legs. I gently chewed at the inside of my cheek as I walked over to the bed, my gaze on the vibrators. One was shaped exactly like a thick cock, the other bulbous and round.
With a tentative hand, I reached forward and lifted the one that looked real and ran a finger over it. It was firm yet soft to the touch. When I clicked the button on the bottom, it flared to life, vibrating and reverberating in my hand. Before I could talk myself out of it, I yanked my sweat pants and panties down around my ankles and climbed on the bed.
I sucked in a breath as I touched the head of the vibrator to my clit. Warm vibrations shivered through my pelvis. The lips of my pussy throbbed, and I was dripping wet in seconds. Closing my eyes again, I saw the blood and heard the screams. My hand slid down, pushing the vibrator across my pussy until it slid inside. A groan escaped my lips. I held it there for a few seconds, enjoying the feel of the pulsations. My hips ground against the machine in my hands.
Rolling over onto my knees, I placed the base of the vibrator on the mattress. Holding it in place with one hand, I reached under my sweatshirt and gently pinched my nipple with the other hand. Rocking against the fake cock, it slid deep into me with each thrust of my hips. The vibrations sent me into a frenzy. All thought vanished. The only thing I could think of was chasing the sensations.
