Fighting Dreams Ch. 07

I don't have long to worry about them though because the pads suddenly turn back on, stronger this time. I can feel the buzzing tense my lower muscles for nearly twenty seconds before it releases. And as it is releasing, the first little drip of hot wax lands on my ass.

I yelp at the sensation, shifting my body slightly and causing myself to swing; it's hot but cools and tightens against the skin faster than I expected. The burn only lasts for a few seconds of discomfort. The motion causes a few more splatters to fall and dot my skin.

King's hand catches my chin, raising it so that I'm staring at him. "When the candles go out, you will be released," he says. "But until they do the electricity will grow with each pass. Endure, if you can."

It doesn't take long before I understand what he means. Every few seconds either the wax falls or the electrostimulation turns on and then creates a dripping as my body twitches. And as the current is building in the pads, the buzz is starting to become more of a jolt that flexes the muscles in their bonds and leaves behind a feeling like pins dotting across my skin.

It's a cycle that gets viciously more intense.

The more the shock, the more the pressure of the ropes as my body is forced to fight them. That leads to more burn as wax spills over me. The more pronounced fatigue which follows then vibrates me in my bonds so that even more of the dripping burn is distributed to my skin. That means I feel the friction of the ropes on my skin too with each little movement.

Time gets hazy; I'm stuck between the three circles of hell that King has suspended me in. Whimpering, twitching, vibrating in the spider's web as I'm consumed by my wax shell and the pins and needles feeling enveloping my body.

I don't even realize when the wax no longer drips onto me. Nor do I realize that the contractions have stopped. I'm just in that floating space, coated in wax, and braced for the next sensation on my hypersensitive skin.

Floating lulls me into a doze as the bindings rock my body back and forth. There I stay, happily forgotten, until late into the evening.

He takes me down with scissors in the reverse order he hung me. My shell cracks as the ropes are pulled away, but their lines linger on my skin like electrical paths. The scraping of the wax off my form leaves me hating the spines of the brush as they flick the pieces away. Those bristles remind me too much of the pins and needles that have been tormenting me.

Everything is automatic. Standing. Kneeling. I feel like a robot as I move through the evening under his command. And after enduring that treatment for that long... I just can't care anymore. I'm too exhausted. He will do whatever he wants with me. So I'm the perfect, emotionless, and efficient little doll for him even when he lays a stripe on my foot for no other reason than he feels like it.

But underneath? I'm dreading being taken to Black tomorrow afternoon. No part of me isn't sore from the ropes or forced contractions or turned pinked from the wax. But even with that, anything is better than going back to Seth. Anything that keeps me out of King's ire is better than having to go back to that black tower, to be confined to his cages or bound to his desk...

I earn my rest through chores once more, but this time I'm caged. With the misery that's laying down, I can't sleep in the darkness.

A shot of sedative removes the choice entirely.

When I wake to nothing but darkness, with my limbs shackled to the cold tile floor, I brace myself to endure Black in his Dungeon as my final rotation.

To be continued...