Catharsis

Drew yanks the last pin off that string, and simultaneously presses the Hitachi against Kenzie's pussy. She lets out a long moan and Drew sees tears in her eyes again. He holds the machine to her, moving it up and down against her clit until her eyes are rolling back in her head, and she's shuddering in ecstasy.

As soon as she comes down, Drew yanks off the zipper along her other arm, and she screams. A real, horrified, astonished, scream that makes Drew's sadistic side salivate. He immediately presses the Hitachi to her, and banishes her pain with another orgasm or two.

Kenzie's on a perverted rollercoaster of emotion and physical sensation. The fire of the pain is barely quenched by the flood of the orgasm. But the flood of all the emotions she's trying to hold back is threatening to drown her. She's all confused sensation, wanton lust, fear, and not a little anger. The vibrator beats against her most sensitive nerve endings, relentlessly. She feels almost helpless as another orgasm courses through her.

All of her muscles are twitching, all of them had tensed, and now all releasing at the same time. She hangs her head, panting, grunting to catch her breath. And gradually realizes that Drew is standing in front of her, watching her with a cold detachment that would be frightening if it wasn't the familiar prelude she knows it to be. She forces her head up, almost spent. He taps the remaining short string on her other side, and she shudders.

He gathers the end of the string in his hand, pulls it tight.

"Alright," Drew begins, plainly. "Just three this time. Three people you took care of."

"What?"

"It's ok, you're almost there. You're doing fine." Drew reassures her. "A sentence or two. About three people you saw, or took care of, or whatever you call it." He waves the Hitachi. "Then relief."

"I need a minute. I need to think."

"We've got all the time you need."

She feels herself climbing up the hill again, waiting for the rollercoaster to get moving again. She lays her head back, looking for guidance in the dust and spider webs on the ceiling. Searching for some method to simplify it, to make it palatable, understandable.

The image smacks her as hard as Drew's hand on her ass. She jerks her head to look at him. "A man. Your dad's age. His brother was one of the first casualties. The first news reports said his brother might have been involved. He wasn't. But the man said hearing that, hearing that said about his brother was worse than his brother dying."

Drew's hand moves, and a pin pops off. Kenzie barely feels it.

The rollercoaster is gaining momentum. "A woman. My sister's age. Her husband was in one of the main buildings. I walked with her along a wall of missing posters and she pointed out twenty people she knew who were dead."

The next pin comes off, and Kenzie's talking before the string stops moving. "A lawyer. Helping people get death certificates without any bodies. Told me about listening to people explain how they knew their loved one was dead." Kenzie almost sobs as the next pin is popped off. She almost screams as Drew gently touches the Hitachi to her, and the sensations drive the primal response that they're designed to. She cums, and cums again, wracked with the competing reactions. Her head starting to spin.

Drew lets off the Hitachi, and Kenzie belatedly realizes there are three more pins on that string. Looks down in horror to see the crossing strings along her body. She blinks hard, stunned that she could have forgotten, even for a moment, what is in store for her.

Drew leans in close to her again. Kisses her neck, runs his hand along her side and up her arm. Reaches up and twines his fingers in hers.

"Never forget how much I love you, Kenzie. You're my whole world. I need you in it, fully, with me."

She softens against him. He's whispering to her again. "This may be the hardest one. Tell me three reasons why you do this work. Three things that make you glad you can do this work."

His forehead is pressed against hers, and she sighs. "When did you start listening to me and my positive psychology, solution focused counseling stuff?"

He laughs, strokes her cheek. "I've always listened, love."

He tugs at the string, encouraging her. She leans into him. "Seeing people relax, after they've told me something hard. That look, when they get it off their chests."

He nods, jerks the string. She gasps. "Two more," Drew says.

"Somebody has to."

Drew leans away from her, shakes his head. "Nope. That one doesn't count."

She stamps her foot. "No, I mean..." Shakes her head, trying to figure out how to say it. He reaches out and pushes the clothespin into her until she tries to jerk away. "It's like this. I can do this. Not everyone can. You can build things; I can't do that. You can look at a set of plans, and figure out if the thing will work the way it's supposed to. I can talk to a person and figure out how to help them feel better." She tried to shrug. "That's all I can say to explain it."

"Hmm. Ok." He yanks on the string.

"FUCK!" Kenzie yells.

"Later. You've got one more thing to tell me."

She stomps both feet, and then inhales sharply as all the remaining clothespins jiggle and jostle her skin. "Shhhiiitt..." She blows all the air out of her lungs, lays her head back again, arches her back and instantly regrets it.

She takes in another breath. "It's hard. And it's frustrating. And it's tiring." Drew's eyebrows are headed to his hairline. "Hold on. It's all of those things. Then you have these moments. I get these moments, when I've really connected with someone. When they're really feeling better. That's why. That's what I'm grateful for. Those moments."

One more tug, and the last pin of that string flies off. This time Drew waits for a few heartbeats, watches her face as the pain spreads. Watches her eyes and her mouth working. Then he presses the Hitachi in its place and watches the transformation. Her head is back again, her eyes are closed again. She's murmuring "fuck" over and over.

Drew inches toward her. He turns slightly sideways, switches hands so that the Hitachi is in his left hand, and he shakes out his right. Kenzie is lost, her whole body twitching, breath shuddering out of her as yet another orgasm rolls through her. He grips the two lengths of twine where they cross over each other, twisting his fingers slightly to tighten them.

He pulls the Hitachi away, turns it off, and lets the cord slide through his hand so that it's laying on the platform, but away from Kenzie's feet. As her most recent orgasm fades, he uses his free hand to pet her breasts, to stroke her cheek, to glide up her flank, over her hip, and up her side. She smiles serenely at him, pokes her head towards him, and he rewards her with a long and soulful kiss.

She sighs again, opens her eyes and moves to touch him. It amazes him, always, how blissful she can look, and how often she forgets that she's restrained. His right hand now holds the middle section of both remaining clothespin zippers. He waits until she's settled. As she looks at him, he tugs on the strings, runs his hand along the clothespins. He's waking her skin up again, waking her up to her remaining predicament.

Her eyes widen. Her mouth opens; she swallows hard.

"No more questions," Drew says. "Just this."

She nods.

"Ready?"

She nods again, a little hesitantly.

"Really? Ready?"

She nods, firmly.

Drew steps back and slightly to the side. He wants full range of motion to pull off both zippers in one clean movement.

"Ok." She nods.

"On three." She nods again.

"One. Two."

In one fluid motion, Drew steps back and yanks the strings. In something like slow motion, he sees the clothespins begin to move and pop off. There's a faint clatter as the wooden pegs fall together.

The pain hits Kenzie like a wave. A tsunami. A wall of fire doused by a bucket of ice cubes. Too much to register, and exactly enough. Her emotional armor shattered into dust and blown away by the noise that erupts from her lungs. She remembers everything. She feels everything. Everything that had been suffocating her comes roiling up to the surface and out.

Kenzie's eyes go wide, she throws her head back and her mouth opens. She roars, the sound a truly primal scream from somewhere deep in her gut. The shockwave of it blasts against Drew's ears and blocks out everything else he might have heard, rattling his face.

In an instant, Drew has ripped everything out of Kenzie. With that bellow she expels the sounds that had been haunting her, the screaming teenager, the whimpering man trying not to cry, the ever present rumble of the inferno. Kenzie breathes in and lets loose another body wrenching scream and with it go the stench of the makeshift morgue, the oppressive heat, the wearying ache in her muscles.

Kenzie has drawn her legs up to her chest, curled in on herself, and Drew jumps forward to catch her. Her legs draped over one arm and his other tight around her waist. Kenzie cries out again, a half scream turned sob, and Drew leans into her shifting her weight so that the suspension cuffs disengage from the bar over her head.

Kenzie sobs again. The pain has receded as quickly as it arrived, and now there is an ocean of relief. Release. Some distant part of her mind registers that she is being moved, that her head is now lolling against Drew's shoulder. She takes a hitching breath in as he lays her gently on the bed. She begins sobbing truly as Drew climbs into the bed with her, pulling her tightly against him. When she tries to curl up, curl away from him, he straightens her legs, wraps his arms around her. He presses his forehead against hers whispering, reminding her that she is safe, that she is secure, that she is his.

He runs his hands along her sensitive skin, tracing the marks of the pins and she shudders. She sobs again and her tears are hot and soaking into the suit vest he still wears. He cradles her against him, and she gives in and wails. Her body trembling, wracked with sobs that shake the bed they lay on together. But she presses against him, turns toward him, and he responds by molding himself to her. She cries, unashamedly, beautifully. She is lost in the labyrinth of her emotions, and yet she knows there is Drew, there is Drew, there is Drew, drawing her home.

Kenzie lays on the bed next to him, aware of his solid presence, tethered to the here and now by the sound of his voice. Her head is spinning, her eyes fluttering and her ears full of her own piteous crying. Dimly, she realizes that he has freed her hands from the cuffs, and she reaches out, grasps his face in her hands. Pulls him to her and joins her mouth to his. Where she had been full of pain, now there is a vacuum, rapidly being filled by lust. She needs not just the solidity of his presence, or the reassurance in his voice. She needs to taste him, to touch him, to feel him inside her.

She shifts, sliding under him as he, surprised, raises up slightly. She has pried his mouth open and her tongue reaches to lick his palate, to tap the back of his teeth. Her ardor is greeted by his dormant erection, which springs back to life. Kenzie shifts again, and Drew braces himself above. She splays her legs and he lowers his hips to meet her.

Finally, Kenzie opens her bloodshot and still wet eyes. "Fuck me, Drew. I need you inside me."

"Beg for it." The words are out of his mouth before he thinks to form them.

As his eyes widen and the thought occurs to apologize, Kenzie sniffles, grins, and whispers "Please, sir."

She is hoarse, the voice from her throat that of whiskey drinking, chain smoking, lounge singer. She finds words straight from her own renewed desire, her newly ebullient soul, and from years of playing this part for him. "Please, please, sir. Please fuck me. Please let me cum on your dick. Please fuck me with your hard cock. Use my slutty holes."

Her hand slides down and unbuttons his fly, and she presses her palm against his length. She arches her back, spreads her legs further, presses her hips up against him. "Please, Drew, please. I beg you. I need you. God. Fuck me. Please."

She raises her feet and wraps her ankles around him, and without another word he slides his steel rod into her. She is soaking wet, still shaking, trembling, even as her world is shifting back. Drew pushes into her slowly, gingerly, and she waits until his balls press against her. She clenches her pussy around him, pulls her ankles into his back, holds his head in her hands and pulls him down.

"Fuck. Me." She commands, and Drew, no fool, obeys.

He pulls out of her and slams himself back in. She pulls her knees up and open, splaying herself for him, and he fucks. He ruts into her, like a bull moose, his hips crashing into hers like two headbutting rams. She starts crying out again, the happy, wordless, incoherent moans he takes pride in causing. His cock reaches her depths and retreats, slams home again and retreats, and she begs for more. That's the only word he can make out. "More," she pants, "more."

He leans up, grabs one ankle and presses her leg up and open, he looks down to see his shaft disappearing inside her, sees the gushing fluids leaking from her, and pushes harder, faster. He finds himself grunting at her, the words as hard and honest as his prick inside her.

"Take it, painslut. Fucking take my cock. Fucking take all of it."

He abandons all pretense of control. It flows out of him, all his fear, worry, frustration. His selfish disappointment; his anger at the world. He lets his sadist play. He digs his fingers into her ankle, grips her arm in his other hand. He leans on her, pressing, hoping to leave bruises. He's groaning, dripping profanity on her, exorcising his own demons.

She smiles, she nods, she tries to say, "Yes, sir." She tries to say, "Thank you, sir." But the motion and the pressure and her giddiness make the sentences unintelligible. She rides his unleashed emotion, his twenty four days of worry being poured into the vessel she has become for him. She absorbs his distress and discards it as easily as breathing.

He gives her everything he has, repeatedly, and soon her breathing changes. She gasps, exhales with a sharp "ah", gasps again and shudders around him. Her pussy twitching and contracting around his cock, her back arching and pressing her body against him. He stops moving, watching with a triumphantly predatory look as she shudders and shakes beneath him, as her cunt pulses.

Now she's whispering something else, entreating him. "Please, please cum for me. Please, Drew, cum for me."

He pushes into her again, and again, no longer thinking, only feeling. The sensations wash over him and he smashes into her. She winces, gasps, inhales sharply and before she exhales his cock jerks and his cum shoots out of him in spasms. He roars. Kenzie's whole body is still twitching, and soon so is Drew's. He lowers himself next to her, and she immediately rolls on her side, conforming to him. She throws a leg over his hip, puts her head on his chest.

Kenzie lays there, half covering him, feeling her juice and his soaking into the pants he never bothered to take off. Her sweat and tears coating the suit vest, and the rolled up sleeve of his shirt. His arm is under her, wrapping around her torso. She presses her ear to his chest and listens to his heart thumping away, feels his ribs moving as his breathing slows.

She is free. She feels the contentment washing over her. She feels the pain subsiding, and cleansing her. Twenty two days of misery, desperation, grief, and fear, flowing away and out of her with every tear, every drop of sweat. Every bruise or mark proof of the love in her life, of the security that love brings, of the certainty that it will never fade.

Drew shifts, turning on his side to look at her. He runs his hand along her face, shifting them both so they are eye to eye. He runs his thumb over her lips, and she opens her mouth, sucks his thumb in. She smiles, holding his thumb lightly in her teeth, and he sees his Kenzie again. The mischief in her eyes, the unabashed desire, the love for him.

Drew's heart settles. He kisses her slowly and deeply, pushing her into the bed, pressing his weight into her. He feels her relaxing, opening up for him, and his cock twitches again. His eyes gleam as he bites her tongue.

"Welcome home, Kenzie," he fairly growls. "Welcome back."

She wraps her arms around him but pushes to roll him over. She sits up, straddling his hips and he reaches out for the bottle of water and the wash cloth. He slides to sitting up against the headboard, and she scoots along, maintaining her position on his lap. Drew dips the washcloth in the cool water and wipes off her face and shoulders. He hands her the bottle of water and she drinks, coating her parched throat, then offers it to him. He continues to clean off her skin, but opens his mouth so she can pour some water in. She follows the water with another long kiss.

She starts unbuttoning his vest, the delight and contentment clear on her face. As she's pulling the vest off of him, she cocks her head slightly to the side.

"Ready for round two?" she teases, wiggling her butt on his legs.

He answers by wrapping his arms around her and claiming her mouth with his tongue again.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*

End note: This story was inspired by Amory Parks's "The Burdens of Others". This wound up being a more personal story for me than I'd expected when I got the idea. For part of my life, I did mental health crisis intervention and disaster mental health volunteering. Some of Kenzie's memories are mine. Some of her memories are embellishments of mine, and some are made up from whole cloth.

Thanks for reading, Belle