Dinner Service by SHORTFRY

Chapter 2

Dinner Service – Chapter 2

As promised, she had been delivered, no longer in the foul-smelling prison of that cold, dark, room.

Instead, she was someplace else – someplace just as dark, just as cold. A different secluded room, and her fate had been just the same.

In the back of her mind, she felt out of breath, unable to take in air, and between the mists that clouded behind her eyes, she knew this was just as inescapable, if not even worse.

Somewhere along the way, her mind had stopped working, blinking in and out of existence in shadowing waves that pulled her under. She didn’t care really how she got here, just that she was.

Still stripped bare, she found herself laid on her back upon a wooden table, arms bound individually above her head, tight at the wrists with straps of winding leather. Her ankles itched, also bound at each corner of the wide table, spreading her open at her most vulnerable state.

Exposed and proffered.   

It was a helpless, hopeless situation, and she wasn’t stupid enough to not see what was to become of her.

And yet, even so, her naïve little heart still held out a sparkle of hope for eventual escape. It has happened to others before her, so there was always a chance, no matter how dire a situation.

She just hoped.

And hoped.

And hoped.

She had eventually fallen asleep in her dream of faith in that solitary room, before being woken with a start hours later to cold firm hands against her flinching skin.

“Ah, I see you are finally awake.” Those words, spoken smooth as water, batted her senses from every direction, as though the whole room was speaking and not just the man with the ruby red eyes that now stood at her side.

Her lashes fluttered, chains jingling from her collar as she turned her head to face a pale face behind crimpled bangs. “What…” her voice croaked, dry and rough from weeks of disuse as she forced out her query, “What are you going to do to me?”

He didn’t immediately answer, nor did it seem like he was going to as she watched the corner of his mouth draw up in a chilling smirk.

No, he wasn’t going to answer as one of his hands roamed the softness of her breasts, while the other snaked lower and lower until she felt it land between her legs, her breath hitching, caught in her chest. She felt detached, almost out of body, as those smooth yet rough hands roamed and pinched, stroked and touched.

And she squeezed her eyes shut when he stilled. Because she knew what he was about to do.

“This,” he finally answered in a husky tone, sounding closer to her ear, right before she felt a long, cold finger force an entry into her dry, tight cunt.

Tears stung her eyes at the burning friction, at the unventured sensation, but she didn’t cry out. For some sick, twisted reason, she had a feeling he would take pleasure in hearing her scream. Her legs tried to clamp him out, hips trying to buckle away, but efforts fell short – he had secured her so tightly, she could barely move.

“And this,” she heard him add, her teeth grinding, wanting to bite her tongue as he shoved another two fingers into her gripping passage, feeling herself stretching in a way she had never been stretched before.

Her pulse raced, her heart raced, her mind raced. Everything raced.

Yet there was no place to go.

Nowhere to run.

“You are so…virginal…perfect.”

And before she had a chance to let out the breath being held as the pain began to dull, she felt him move inside her, three long digits, in and out, increasing speed, reigniting the pain. He burned her with each rough stroke, invading places that had never been touched.

“But you are so dry…” he chuckled, “do not fret, you won’t be for much longer.”

She could hear the laugh behind the words, mocking and dripping with malice so poisonous it sizzled the skin where he touched.

And she hated him, hated, hated, hated him with an angry passion she did not think herself capable of.

But no matter what her mind chanted, there was some truth beneath those caustic syllables, behind that taunting smile as she felt the beginnings of damp collecting between her legs, where his hand continued to slide – in and out, twirling and rubbing, now coated in a lubricating wetness.

And she tried, oh so hard, to resist, to refute what was happening to her, what he was doing to her – because she was feeling unknown muscles clench, feeling them wind and tighten like a string on a bow, she was being wound around like a spinning top –

“That’s right, little one, come for me.”

She felt herself walking on a blade, toes curling against the sting of her shame, holding on – tightly, viciously –

It was useless though – she was forced, bounded, spread.

She didn’t want to unwind for this vile man, refused to give in to such despicable commands, such despicable, uncontrollable –

And she knew she was going to fall as his long fingers worked her harder, faster – fervent he was in wanting to see her fail, and fervent she was in resisting him with all her might.

But damn her body for disconnecting with her brain, and damn him for knowing where to reach, where to prod, where to stretch her whole to dig her grave.

She tried holding on tighter, twisting and writhing beneath his assault, refusing to yield, refusing to let go. She will not give in!

Strands fell over her face then, and she realized he was leaning over her, black wavy hair cascading over her vision, over eyes blurred by helpless tears.

“Come,” she heard him whisper, oily and vicious, that one word drowning her ears as his breath caressed her cheek.

“No!” she hissed through clenched teeth, though it came out sounding almost breathless, like a partial moan, betraying her will. And she knew she would lose.

Her body shivered as his fingers then dug further inside her slick passage – and curled, pumping with renewed vigour as her eyes shot fully open in a silent plea. The motion was too intense, too drawn out, soaking wet in the liquids of her biological reactions, and finally –

She was falling over the precipice, losing the fight, muscles clenching hard, rippling around his offending appendages. Her back was arched rigidly, harshly against restraints, panting a storm within her chest, heart wild in the cage of her ribs.

She knew it was wrong, it was so, so wrong.

But control was not hers, control was stolen, and she felt so, so disgusted, so cheated. With herself for her body’s response, with him for what he did to her, what he was doing to her.

Off to the side, past the thrumming of her veins, she heard the echo of a low chuckle and jerked her head sharply, glaring at him with all the anger, all the disgust that balled behind wet eyes. And when she saw the look upon his face – that evil, caustic smile – It chilled her to the core, as though her bones were made of ice.

“You –” she spat, opening her mouth to voice her rage.

But the words were soon caught, stuck in her throat when all of a sudden, a loud sound – like a clap of wood – jostled her still, followed by something sharp at her tightly bound wrist.

And then there was pain – razor sharp, stabbing, excruciating pain, crawling up her right arm lightning fast, burning her skin, stinging her eyes.

Through fresh tears, she could make out the wicked grin stretching unnaturally across his lower jaw. Through the squiggling lines of her deformed vision, she saw him hold something towards his face – pale and red.

And then he licked at the red, at the pale, and laughed a horrible, blood-curdling laugh.

Her eyes grew wide, filled with dawning horror, before a shrilling scream tore out from her dry, parched throat.

“Shhh…do not cry,” he cooed, gaze never straying away from her terrified blue eyes, one hand reaching to cup her face in an almost gentle touch. “You taste absolutely delicious.”

But her scream didn’t stop, didn’t relent, and her eyes stayed opened, terror-shocked as she watched him continue to lick the blood from her pale, severed hand.

The pleasure was explicit upon his face as a red tongue darted out, lapping at every trail, every drop that overflowed from skin and bones, tendons and veins.

“Now, now,” he drawled when her voice grew hoarse, losing traction, losing sound, becoming a silent sob, “you can’t pass out yet.”

And against all odds, this vile, vile creature appeared even more sinister, more corrupt as crimson eyes flashed in the dimly lit room.

But she didn’t even notice.

As the petrifying moments slinked by, crushing like stone, she had felt herself fading – losing will, losing fight, losing hope.

Her pulse felt slowed, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if she was going to die from blood loss.

She almost mentally laughed, because somewhere in that same corner of her mind, she just knew it would be too easy, knew that he had tightened the straps at her wrist for the precise purpose of staunching a river of red.

Because he wanted her alive. And he was not done.

“Just relax, and I promise you may rest after,” she heard him say, sounding further away than where he had been, feeling the hand at her cheek trail over her bare chest, to her stomach, going lower.

Her eyes were opened but unseeing. She didn’t know if she was suddenly blind, or her pupils had given up, just like the rest of her body that would no doubt be laid to waste.

“Relax…” his voice repeated almost silkily.

Then suddenly, she felt painfully stretched, filled with something warm and damp, twisting and pumping – but bigger, more forceful.

Her mouth flew open once more in a silent scream.

And she knew – she just knew.

Without having to see, she already knew.

She cried tearless tears, completely hopeless, as the monstrous demon continued to fuck her cunt raw with her severed hand, coated in blood, coated in the slick of her shame.

In the soundless void, she heard his deep, deep voice, sounding almost praised.

“You will taste much, much sweeter like this.”

-X-