I opened it while she stood back and watched, lifting the lid. And I stared down and blinked.
One night we had played a drinking game together and I had confessed that my favorite silly game to play for hours was Spyro. Don’t judge me. There’s something damn well addictive about hearing the sound of gems collecting in that game. And Tuesday hadn’t forgotten that I said it. She had learned how to cross stitch and completed a massive poster work with the first three Spyro game covers all connected. And she had done this, somehow, without me seeing it when we fucking lived together. Jesus, it was huge and it must have taken her so much time to create it.
“What do you think, Flatline?” She was bouncing on her toes anxiously, but already smiling because she knew I would love it more than anything. “I had to choose something that had the colors predesignated for me, but it turned out really well and-“
I shut her up with a kiss, one of my deep ones, forceful but with all the feelings I had for her in it. I had rarely ever kissed before her and now wondered why the hell that was. They were delicious things, intense and heated. “My name is Ivory,” I said when I finally pulled away from her. “And I think that’s been enough time for you to come clean about how you feel for me. Since you won’t say the words, I will, and you’ll find my language is rather interesting, baby.”
She stared at me, still grinning, but then my words seemed to start to sink in. First my name and then the rest of it. And she knew me so well that the implicit threat was well received and well feared. She swallowed and backed away from me while I watched her and bared my teeth in predatory amusement. “Wait, but I… what do you…”
“Where are you going, little Tuesday? Haven’t you been waiting for me to show you one specific room for a while now? Hasn’t there been only one room that has stayed locked to you, the most important room? Isn’t it the same room that goes with the feeling in your heart, the one that you’re too much of a coward to vocalize?”
My voice was the key indication that I was going to do something excessively terrible, at least for her. She turned and ran for the door but I barked out laughing and caught her before she could make it. Just like old times she struggled frantically, terrified in my arms, while I was calm and amused. “No, no, little Tuesday. It’s time to see your pretty new home. Did you know that I’ve been touching it up here and there to make sure it’s ready for you? Hush, my love. I can give you enough pain to erase that fear so you can tell me the words you wish to. Time to take a nap, Tuesday.” I held her in a stranglehold while she tried and failed to speak, my arms cutting off the oxygen and blood supply while she scrabbled at my hands and I made gentle shushing sounds.
When she went still I worked quickly. She wouldn’t be out for so very long and it was going to be a fun night now. A very fucking dark night, too.
————
Tuesday
I tried to shout awake only to find that I couldn’t and that made me panic all the harder. He had both placed a mask over my eyes and placed me in the cock gag that made me the most afraid. I had learned the cruel purpose of that gag and that was to block as much sound as possible and turn me into nothing but his vessel.
I heard his humming behind me and made to move my arms, only to discover he was tethering them behind me in an uncomfortable, yet loose, reverse prayer position. They felt encased in something like a single glove, or wrapped in leather, and my slim day collar was replaced by something much taller and restrictive.
He chuckled at my movements, but didn’t say anything. Nothing at all. He just kept working and the more he added, the more afraid I got. When he was done with the gloves and my arms were encased, the spreader bar was next and he adjusted it to its widest setting while I whimpered through my nose a little. The spreader was torture after enough time. But I couldn’t think of that for very long because I felt his anal hook pressed into my asshole and then felt it threaded up my collar and that toy was recognizable because he loved the hook, loved to control me with it and watch my pain when I didn’t move quickly enough. But this time whatever he used to tie the hook was also tied up the gloves behind my back. He made me stand and then it got even worse with the pull and I was forced up, presumably connected to a ceiling attachment.
There was the tickle of a permanent marker writing on my tits and then nothing for a little bit while I danced on my toes and tried to alleviate some of the pull from the hook. But I forgot about all of that too when he came back and I felt the board lifted to the bottom of my breasts.
I screamed, actually screamed behind the gag, panic rising in me. I hadn’t felt this yet but he had already mentioned it before and it scared the hell out of me. The sounds were laughable behind the gag and I don’t know how he kept the board held up beneath my breasts and didn’t care. I felt the tip of something sharp in a thin strip of flesh of the right breast and tried to shake my head, only to scream again when the motion tugged on my anal hook.
But he didn’t have any mercy. He started nailing, using a hammer that was viciously loud, and I screamed again, the pain exactly how I would have imagined. It seemed to last an eternity, especially when every struggling movement twisted the already tight anal hook. And that was just one nail to the board. He did the second one while I tried to focus and stay still, sweating from the effort. There were four nails barbarically placed through each breast, which wasn’t a lot, but it might as well have been fifty. I shook all over by the time he was done, my throat raw from the most dissatisfying screams. The soreness wasn’t even worth it with how muffled my shrieks were. And he didn’t stop there. The board I was nailed to was pulled up until I shrieked again, and stood on tiptoes desperately with the spreader bar.
And after all of that he finally spoke, his hand stroking through my hair around the gear straps. His voice was low and ominous and menacing, more terrifying than ever. “Welcome home, little Tuesday.”
I heard a door open and close and sobbed more tears behind my already soaked mask, completely helpless. His leaving was probably the worst part of it. I wasn’t even wearing any toys and he hadn’t even sexually touched me except to fill me with the hook. I struggled to keep my position on tiptoes and when I failed, torture shot through my breasts, which felt like they’d never be the same. He had done it. He had actually nailed them. Had I been silly enough to think he would ever joke about anything like that? Or that he might change his mind when I knew he got worse and worse with the more feelings he developed?
He left me there with that gag because I wasn’t even his sex slave at that moment. I was what he called a pain slut and my only job was to suffer for his amusement. The fact that he hadn’t said a word beyond those last four made me cry even harder. He hadn’t given a command, hadn’t asked me to do anything, had only forced me into this torturous position. Because there was nothing he wanted me to do.