Remarkable People Ch. 03

Deborah's loving smile never wavered.

If Martin had felt distressed before, the gradual approach of the knife to his unprotected erection evoked a true panic. He began to babble incoherently, to struggle against his bonds ... uselessly.

Deborah brought the upraised knife to a halt in midair, maintained her gentle smile, and continued to stroke his penis, keeping it stiff and tall, and waited, with no sign of impatience, until Martin eventually fell into a tense, immobile silence.

"Keep very still, Martin," she said then. "I don't want to maim you... at least, not by accident."

She resumed bringing the knife slowly down until it came to rest high on Martin's left thigh. The keen edge of its blade kissed the base of his penis.

Now, Martin's erection did show signs of flagging. Seeing this, Deborah leaned over smoothly and engulfed him with her mouth, worked assiduously with tongue and lips to revive the wilting hero. Despite his fear, Martin could feel her efforts taking effect. Eventually, satisfied once more with the rigidity of his penis, she sat up.

"There now," Deborah purred. "That's better. After all, we want every member of our little congregation paying full attention."

In the moments that followed, as the cold blade slowly warmed, Deborah's left hand continued its rise and fall. Occasionally, she kissed or licked the head of his cock judiciously, ensuring that he didn't lose his erection, despite the pounding of his terrified heart.

"Would you like me to deepthroat you now, Martin?" she said. "I will, if you want me to."

"No," he moaned.

"But, it would feel sooo good," she crooned.

Martin shook his head weakly.

"Well then, would you like to come in my mouth again? I would totally swallow everything, and smile, and say thank you.

"Would you like to fuck my cunt?

"Would you like to to fuck my asshole? I hear the sensations are unbelievable."

Weeping abjectly, Martin refused each of these generous offers.

A tiny frown crinkled Deborah's forehead. Her lips formed a disappointed pout.

"But Martin," she said, as if puzzled, "If you don't want to do any of those things, then... why do you need a cock?"

Martin's terrified heart threatened to fail him again as he made a certain inference.

Deborah allowed the import of her statement time to sink in.

Martin's eyes flicked desperately between the knife, Deborah's face, and his penis.

"I see that you understand what I'm getting at, Martin."

Martin shook his head, trying to deny the horrific reality of his situation.

"Do you harbour any faint suspicion that I might not be serious, Martin? Do you want to put me to the test?"

"Don't cut my cock off," he cried wildly. "Please don't cut my cock off. I'll do anything! Anything!"

Deborah appeared to consider this offer.

"Are you sure? Are sure you don't want me to cut your useless cock off now, Martin? You can always sit down to pee... you know, like a girl does."

"Nooo...!"

Deborah pouted judiciously.

"Well..." she drawled at last, "... maybe I won't."

She smiled brightly.

"But, if I do cut off your cock, Martin, I promise I'll drink whatever comes out of the stump. Wouldn't want to make a mess of your bed."

"Nooo...!" moaned Martin, now truly horrified.

At that point, Deborah apparently decided that she had evoked in him the mental and emotional state she had intended to create. Her expression turned serious.

"Look at me, Martin."

Martin keened miserably, but didn't immediately raise his eyes to hers.

"Look at me, little brother," she murmured.

At last he did so.

"I want you to remember this moment, Martin," Deborah said. "I want you to remember it in every detail. Every time a girl wants to touch your body in any way, shape, or form. If one ever does. Every time you want to touch a girl in any way, shape, or form. I want you to see this moment as vividly as you see it right now. Will you do that for me, Martin?"

She examined Martin's tear-streaked face closely.

"Yes, I believe you will. But most of all, I want you to remember how you feel right now, so clearly that it will be exactly like... exactly like being here. How do you feel, Martin?"

"Scared," Martin sobbed.

"That's good, Martin," Deborah crooned. "That's very good. That's the right way for you to feel. It's the right way for you to feel because, if I can decide that you would be better off without your cock, then any other woman can reach precisely the same decision. Remember that, my darling: you can never guarantee that you will be safe with any woman. Never... never... never."

These final three words struck Martin with the weight and import of the deep tolling of a funeral bell.

Deborah tilted her head slightly.

"Are you with me, Martin? Are you with me? Are we on the same page?"

"Yes," Martin sobbed.

"That's good, Martin. That's very good."

Deborah took a slow breath, released it.

"Just a few more questions, Martin," she said.

"Do you ever want to have sex with a woman again, Martin?"

"No!"

"Do you ever want to touch a woman again, Martin?"

"No!"

"Do you ever want to even think about having sex with a woman, or touching a woman again, Martin?"

"No!"

"There's my good boy," she purred.

She looked down toward his groin, where her hand was still making gentle love to his stiffened penis.

"Perhaps," she mused, "I should make absolutely certain."

Martin saw her right elbow lift slightly, saw the silvery blade slide slowly along his penis, so that its keen edge threatened to slice through the skin.

He cried out in abject terror.

"I promise! I promise! I promise!" he howled.

Deborah smiled broadly, as if she were proud of him... then lifted the knife away.

Martin began uttering a long, long series of sobs that racked his whole torso and tore at his throat. He was blinded by tears.

So steeped was he in his own misery, he didn't notice Deborah calmly climb up off the mattress, loosen the bindings on his left wrist, and pick up her housecoat. He didn't see her pause and look thoughtfully at the flashlight on the bed.

He didn't hear the click of the latch as she closed the door behind her, some moments afterward. He didn't know how long he lay there, sobbing brokenheartedly. He was too distraught to consider the passage of time.

Nonetheless, the moment eventually came when his body had done all the sobbing it could do, and gradually relaxed, until it lay limp. At last, without realising it, Martin retreated into sleep.

***

Consciousness trickled back slowly, and with it, memories he would rather not encounter. Heart thudding, Martin opened his eyes and glanced around the room. Apart from the bindings that still hobbled him, there was no sign that Deborah had ever been there.

For a long time he lay still, then half-heartedly began to untie himself. It took several fumbling minutes to release the remaining restraints. He then lay huddled on his bed, thinking a variety of misery-laden thoughts. Eventually, his phone attracted his attention, flashing on the bedside table. He simply stared at it incuriously for a while, but eventually picked it up. There was an unread message... from Deborah.

I'm going out now, Martin. I'll be back in time for dinner with you, Mum and Dad. We're going to sit together and converse normally, as a family should. And that's how it's going to be from now on, Martin. We will be a family whose members actively support each other and display gentle consideration for each other at all times, regardless of their true feelings. Mum and Dad must never suspect the slightest detail of what happened between you and me. Never. I know you will indulge me in this. Please delete this message as soon as you've read it.

Martin read the message through again, carefully, then obeyed his sister's instruction.

He then remembered the jewel, taped to the flashlight.

He cast his eyes about from the bed, but couldn't discover it. Rising to his feet, he searched the room. His intention was to take the jewel back out into the wilderness and pound it into dust.

But neither the torch nor the jewel were anywhere to be found.