Housebound Ch. 08

"Time goes by so fast when you spending it with engaging company," he said, in that tone of gentle mockery that meant things were about to get really fucking bad. "Do you know how long you've been here, Emma? Or has that all become a bit--oh, you can't answer, can you. My apologies."

She did know, but she didn't move. She couldn't move. He began to work his hand and the slippery soap against her, between her thighs, lather mixing with the wetness that he drew from her with even his most degrading and painful touch.

"The point is," James said, "you need a little cleaning up," and then he took the scary sharp curved knife and started shaving her pussy.

That distant part of Emma, beyond the paralyzed terrified broken animal arched and spread on the table, was pretty impressed with his technique. He moved quickly and clinically, like an old-school barber--this was clearly something he'd had plenty of time to practice. pulling the curve toward him with smooth strokes along her mons, then the insides of her thighs, finally pinching her lips shut and stretching her out to flick away the last of the soap.

Emma's jaw muscles held the dagger and ached. She couldn't swallow. She couldn't look down to see how thorough a job he had done, but she could feel his fingers running lightly over her, finding one last little patch of stubble and attending to it. "I'm actually pretty indifferent to pubic hair on a woman, personally," he was saying, in a thoughtful way. "Take it or leave it. But you're not a woman, are you, Emma? You're a pet cunt. A show animal. And when I decide you're ready to be seen--when you finally get to learn why you're here, and why I broke and trained you into what you are now--well." She could hear his smile. "I want your worth to be clear."

James set aside the knife, unscrewed the cap of the vodka, and let it glug out to splash on her pussy. Everything in Emma clenched. Ice cold razor sharp burning sting throb PAIN can't scream CAN'T SCREAM can't move FUCK cold sting pain PLEASE fuck STOP!

She didn't make a sound; she didn't breathe. She was a rigid, frozen, barely trembling sculpture, muscles standing out as she kept her perfect arch off the marble counter. James put his lips to her ear again.

"I know you can," he murmured, as his hand parted her lips and two vodka-wet fingers pushed inside her. Just a few thrusts, the alcohol burning and numbing, changing the texture of her inner skin until his fingers almost squeaked instead of sliding. "I know. I know."

Just as Emma's vision started to narrow to a tunnel, he lightly plucked the knife from between her teeth, and she collapsed, curling up fetal and sobbing for breath. Her throat was all raw, primal noises, ragged sounds she scared herself making. He'd driven words out of her. Tears ran from her eyes and dripped down onto the counter when she shuddered. Every time, every time she thought she'd seen the worst of his cruelty, there was something new, some depth to shove her down into at the slightest sign that she wasn't a perfect, subservient, completely wrecked little--

Click click.

Emma looked up, wild, eyes red-rimmed and blank. James was leaning on one elbow at the end of the counter, pointing at the puddle she'd left between her legs: vodka and soap and her gushing self. His eyebrow rose. "Do I have to do it again?" he said, in a very low voice.

The animal who used to be Emma got up, shakily, and pulled her knees under her. She scooted awkwardly down to where he pointed, arms still achingly bound behind her. She pushed herself up, then down, cheek warm against the still-cool surface.

It was bitter and nauseating and dizzying and gross. It was the worst thing she'd ever put in her mouth. And she lapped, and curled, and flicked it up, and tasted it. Swallowed. Pushed her tongue out. Did it again.

"Good girl," he said, stroking her hair as she worked. "Good mouth." A tiny trembling thing inside her thrilled at the praise.

When he was satisfied with the job she'd done, and when she was flushed and swaying, he lifted her off the bar and clipped that slender lead to her collar again. He led her out of the kitchen and through the living room, to a side corridor she hadn't even known was there--possibly to a whole separate wing of this nightmare house. She was struggling to walk, much less parse a floor plan. It led to a sort of cul-de-sac, with three tall, handleless doors of frosted glass. One of them slid open on springs when James pressed its border.

It was high-ceilinged, lit by windows, with polished wood cabinets around the edges and a couple of plush chairs to one side. In the center was one of the other girls. Jen, that was her name. Emma knew he'd been doing... other things to her and the redhead, though he hadn't permitted--or forced--her to watch as much of that process. She couldn't imagine anything being worse than what he'd been doing to her, but somehow, she didn't envy them their particular torments either.

Jen was lying naked on a narrow, horizontal beam, gagged and blindfolded, wrists secured above her head with winding nylon straps. Her hips hung just off the end of the beam, legs doubled and pulled down to either side to put her cunt on full display. Another strap ran across her chest to keep her from twisting too far, and a pair of electrodes were wired to her lower back. Every five seconds or so, a precisely measured drop of clear liquid fell from a mechanical dispenser above her and landed directly on her clit. Every time, Jen jerked and squealed.

"Are you familiar with the myth of Loki and Sigyn?" said James. "You used to be a smart girl--but never mind. I have a job for you, pet. You like having a job to do, don't you?"

The animal who used to be Emma didn't have words right now, but she could nod.

He led her closer and pressed on her shoulder to have her sink down. There was something else at the base of the beam where Jen was bound--a bulbous, curving double shaft, bolted at the floor. It glistened, having been thoroughly coated with liquid by the same dripping stuff that fell on Jen's sex.

"Go ahead," said James, "straddle it. Sit on your heels." She did. She gasped as the two prongs sank home inside her cunt and her ass, but if there was one thing she had learned by now, it was how to take sudden penetration.

James fished a clamp and a thin silver chain from his pocket, looped it around the base support of the beam as well, and let it close on Emma's clit. It hurt; it throbbed; it was almost comforting, by now, in its familiarity. Like the cage she'd woken up in, these particular instruments at least gave her something to cling to: there weren't going to be any awful surprises as long as she was already clamped and filled.

Before her, Jen was reduced to an object: bent legs, tendons standing out in her thighs, lips bare and dark and swollen. A little stubbly; maybe James hadn't taken his knife to her yet. A couple specks of fading bruise where he must have hurt her. Emma could make out the trembling muscles of her lower belly as Jen breathed, but she couldn't see her face, not from this angle. She was just--just a reduction. Just a living sex object, occupying her whole field of view.

James held up the clicker, touched Emma's chin, and made certain she was looking straight forward. "Do I have to actually hit the button, Emma?" he said. "Or are you going to try to show me how good you are?"

The taste of Jen's swollen, warm, slightly raw and tangy lips was so much better than anything else she'd had to lick today that she was, again, grateful. Jen let out a little squeak of surprise and squirmed a little, seeming torn between fear of this new sensation and a desperate desire to press herself hard against Emma's tongue--not that she could move very far.

James patted Jen's trembling belly fondly. "Jen here is currently up against a hard stop. Those little pads on her back? Those are very specific nerve blocks, calibrated specifically to her, which let her feel everything--but short-circuit the firing sequence that is part of a normal orgasm. I can't say for sure exactly what the experience is like, but... well, I'm sure you have some idea yourself."

He stroked Emma's hair. She did, in fact, have a good idea of what a long period of stimulation and enforced denial was like, but his words barely registered. The regular motion of lapping at this girl's yielding pussy made her feel temporarily safe and secure, insulating her from the anxiety and well-justified fear of the last few days. She had a job to do. She was trained. She was doing her job, and doing it well. What else mattered?

Emma closed her eyes and licked, rocking her hips slowly back and forth, feeling the tug of the clamp if she moved so much as an inch. Steady state. Quieted thoughts. Curl and flick and swallow. She barely noticed when James left the room.

*

The room across the hall was less warm and welcoming, though it had the same frosted door and narrow window shafts. Its walls and floor were white tile with the slightest tinge of blue. The centerpiece was a sort of exam table, but tilted up at forty-five degrees. Instead of chairs and cabinets, it had a rolling stool and a tool chest on casters, and a large steel sink.

James finished scrubbing his hands up to the elbows and walked over to Amber, who was locked flat and spread-eagle to the table, clenching her teeth to keep them from audibly chattering. He opened the lid of the tool chest and unrolled a plastic set of slender steel tools in progressively thicker diameters. He reached up to flick a strand of her red hair off her chest; she barely flinched.

"So," he said, "you know who I am, then?"

"Not by sight," she said, lifting her chin, keeping her eyes steady and calm even as her brain was screaming in panic. Her cheeks were pale under her freckles; her throat and chest were flushed. "But by reputation. And disgust."

"A reputation I can safely say is exaggerated," he said drily. "I suppose I'm not surprised one of you had a clue about this whole messy business. Interesting--is that how you acquired a taste for...?"

"It's not acquired, you bigoted shit," she said, her voice still level.

"Tell that to Emma while she's going to town on your little girlfriend next door," he said. "Regardless, I am curious. You're still quite young, after all." He traced a finger around the curve of her round little breast, over her ribs to the bone of her hip. There was a tingling potential between her skin and his touch: electric, threatening, dangerous. "Did he actually bring you in on the operation? Or did you just indulge in the leftovers?"

"I know everything," Amber said, lifting her chin. Her green eyes were cold. "I know what you did. I know why you're fucked. I know they'll kill you. Worse than kill you."

"They already did," James said, and his voice was so flat and empty that Amber felt a chill run through her. "Your threats don't do much, little girl, except that they tell me one thing: you're more than just a victim to torment." He picked up one of the frightening tools. "If you know so much, then you have information. Possibly even some shred of information I don't have yet." He smiled, a very cold smile. "And we're going to find that out. Together."

The rooms were soundproofed. Across the hall, Jen and Emma didn't hear a thing.