Love From Hell

I cannot say how long I was like this before my world turned black. However, I was awakened by ice cold water drenching my flesh. I screamed and my body convulsed against the unforgiving stone floor which grated the partially healed wounds. I forced my muscles to lock, with great force I must admit, to prevent any further convulsions. I bit back a moan of pain when my captor grasped a fistful of my hair and dragged me across the floor.

“…B-Bakur…a…” I murmured weakly. There was a snort of amusement before I found myself thrown onto something more soothing to my wounds. I realized after a split second of content that these silken kisses against abused skin were sheets, stain sheets.

I felt Bakura restrain me, I opened my mouth in an attempt to beg him to release me but I was far too weak to do such a task. Instead I laid there and prepared myself for the worst but instead I felt something soothing my wounds, a slightly fragrant cream Bakura applied to them. I realized of course that he could not hurt me if I was already hurt, there would be no point in it. This realization caused a dark, hoarse laugh to escape my lips. Bakura sat in silence, smirking to himself as he grasped the point of my hysteric laughter.

“What a smart little boy.”

I spent three days recuperating in this strange room that I had encountered in my “dream” and endured a lighter form of the torture I experienced previously. I knew I was there because of the smell of the candles, I could never forget them. This romantic appearing Egyptian yet Victorian or Italian flair, candlelit room made me remember The Vampire Armand and the descriptions of erotica and romance entwined were portrayed with the vampire Marius and the little human Amadeo. I would be lying if I said I adored this room. I could describe every bit of it even with my blindfold on for it was forever burned into my memory.

The only clothes I was given was a silk robe which was more like a nagajuban, and under kimono, than a robe. Though, essentially a kimono could be a robe but I will not get into that discussion. I was bathed and fed regularly by my captor as if I were his loved one that he was nursing back to health to which I was hardly such.

Within the three days following my recovery, Bakura’s were continually edging towards complete insanity. Yesterday happened to be needles, thirteen inch sharp flexible needles which he took great delight in describing to me; it was like a terrible perverse form of acupuncture. He also removed my blindfold finally and it remained off. My eyes hurt, the slightest light gave me a headache and my pupils were so dilated I wasn’t sure that I even had any irises whatsoever.

I wasn’t sure which was more terrifying, being able to see my surroundings, and when he entered, Bakura as well, or the horror at being forced to watch as each implement of my torture was laid out the night before (as Bakura had told me) on the table at the other side of the room where I could see them perfectly. On the table was a set of restraints, a needle and a vial of greenish liquid, a ring-gag with dark, thick bindings, two small jars with something light in them, a black crop, a set of black ropes and last but certainly not least, a video camera and it’s stand which Bakura had said he snatched before he brought me here.

I glanced at the table again, my lips pulling in a taught line as my eyes flicked to each item in the row. I was sitting against the headboard of the bed with my knees to my chest, while I moved the collar and chain around my neck to the side for ease of movement. Tight, but not suffocating so, the collar had become my own constant for the past few weeks I had been trapped here. The chain gave me about ten feet of mobility, but it wasn’t enough to reach the toilet let alone the shower or anything else.

The table was at least three times the distance away.

When the metal door was opened, I jerked around with a flinch, dim light from the outside spilling into the even darker room, yes, darker, despite the candles that were all around. The pleased smirk on Bakura’s face as he made his way inside made my heart fall into my stomach. He was back so soon, I wasn’t ready for what he was going to do to me yet, I wasn’t ready for it!

“Hello Ryou.” He greeted me pleasantly.

Though I wanted to squirm and throw up at his pleasantries I remained still and silent, not daring to arouse the raging beast within him.

“I hope you have not been waiting long. Thievery can take more time than you would imagine.” He said evenly, taking off the long black trench coat he had been wearing and hung it on a hook attached to the wall beside the table. His long fingers brushed over the camera then he turned back to me.

I dared to take a breath in, my hands fisting the snow white sheets beneath me. I could see the back of the white silk shirt Bakura wore pull across his shoulders as he set up the video camera facing the bed, the thin material barely concealing Bakura’s slim form, steel-strong muscles hiding within his slender build. Sometimes, when Bakura lifted me with only one hand and threw me across the room I would wonder to myself if Bakura spent time stealing neurotechnology to make him have super human strength.

If he had, it wouldn’t be a surprise.

The way he worked with a seemingly never ending supply of energy, his strength, his speed, as he showed in gaining the upper hand when he knocked me out of consciousness silently freaked me out. “Well?” Bakura spoke irritated as I simply stared at him with wide frightened eyes. “Are you going to come here or do I have to come fetch you myself?”

Fetch… the way he spoke that word sent chills down my spine. Not waiting another second, I scrambled to the edge of the bed and virtually ran to the farthest length the chain would reach.

Bakura’s lips curved upwards in amusement. “Good boy.”

Crossing the rest of the way to me, Bakura trailed one alabaster hand down my pale face to my chin then down the slender column of my neck, his hand stopping at the sash around my mid-mid section which held the robe I was given to wear closed. He had chosen to give me this robe for a reason. It emphasized my almost girlish figure, the oversized material spilling over too-small shoulders and covering slender hands, down to the slim, milky, smooth thighs that peaked out from the slits of the robe.

It created the illusion that I was even more vulnerable that I really was, in a way that being completely naked could not accomplish. It was the feeling of anticipation each time Bakura undressed his ‘prize’ that kept the constant need high.

Not to mention how easy they were to buy and replace… or steal rather. Leaning forward a fraction, close enough that he could smell the lily scented shampoo he had for my usage on those long silver locks of hair, Bakura tugged at the sash to loosen it, allowing it to fall towards my waist and let his finger travel downwards.

The closer he got to my waist the more I began to tremble. I had to force myself to stand still while he pulled the cool material off me completely. Bakura loved that moment. The look of haunted vulnerability, of abject helplessness went straight to Bakura’s groin, spending sparks of liquid fire coursing through his veins. How he relished that moment.

Bakura removed the sash and dropped it to the floor, tilting my head up when I tried to look away, a deep crimson flush of embarrassment flooding my skin from my cheeks down, and pushed the material until it fell from my delicately-boned shoulders, coming to rest halfway down my arms, framing my body while hiding nothing.

“Open your mouth.” He whispered softly in a husky voice.

My bottom lip trembled, but I didn’t dare disobey, not after the last “punishment” when I refused. He licked my bottom lip, slipping his tongue inside the warm cavern of my mouth, a low moan escaping at the frightened shudder that ran through my body as Bakura pressed himself against me.

One hand drifted down gently until it reached the end of the fabric before he yanked it off my trapped arms in one swift movement, sending me crashing to the floor at his feet, knees bent awkwardly, my body twisted and my breath coming in fast gasps. Bakura turned on his heel, striding towards the table. He paused just long enough to grab the gag and ropes, walking back with a gleam in his eyes that I will surely never forget as I climbed unsteadily back to my feet. He held up the gag.

“Open.” He commanded and I obeyed. He secured the metal and leather gag around my head tightly, pulling the straps taut at the back of my hair making sure there was no leeway. The black rope was next and Bakura spent a few moments running the braided stiff material over my shoulders and down to my stomach deliberately brushing the thick black rope over my exposed genitals, holding me still with the other hand when I recoiled away from him as a reflex.

Excruciatingly slow did the next few minutes pass by to me as Bakura took his dear sweet time binding me up to both keep me in one position as well as to appear aesthetically pleasing to the eye. The rope was halved over my chest, with both lengths being wound around my shoulder blades three times then sweeping down to my waist and then back up to my neck before being crossed over again.

Bakura took his time, layering the bonds around my upper body until the rope ran out, leaving my alabaster white skin covered in diagonal diamond crosses of rope, a thick black section covering my throat, keeping my head immobile beside the collar, and with two identical bands of rope, made from at least five rows one each of my upper arms, pulling them behind my back to my shoulders. There was another one about my waist, with two extra loops standing out at each side.

I didn’t want to think about what the two loops would be used for but seeing two more lengths of rope in my captor’s hands I knew that I would find out very soon.

Bakura took on length of thick black rope and wound it like a manacle around my right ankle three times, then lead it up to my upper thigh and wound it around three times, leading it back down to wind it around my slim ankle another two times, then back up to my thigh, threading it through the loop at my wais on the same side. The other rope was used in exactly the same manner on the other side, with an excess of two hand-spans dangling down at either side of my waist.

He gave a small tug at the extra length of rope suddenly forcing me to kneel as my ankles were pulled without warning to my thighs. I fell down in an ungainly heap sideways, my knees hitting the stone floor hard, jarring my entire body. Pushing myself up using my shoulders, then trying to balance on my sore knees, I missed Bakura’s return to the table or his filling of the needle with the greenish liquid. When I dared to look up he was already standing in front of me, holding the needle up as he checked for air in the tube. When he was satisfied, he turned to me.

“Don’t move.”

I was frozen. After the previous day I had become terrified of needles.

With a small swab of pungent smelling alcohol, Bakura wiped the area he was going to puncture. The tip of the needle went into the flesh of my upper thigh smoothly, next to the top section of rope, the pain completely negligible in the light of previous events. The contents were pushed in slowly as the plunger was depressed, then the need withdrew when the tube was completely empty. Quickly, a small cotton square was taped to the area to stop the bleeding. He wasn't going to allow me to become ill; he had other plans.

The needle was returned to the table and the small jars were brought back. This time, Bakura carried them straight to the bed, placing them on the floor by the headboard. He returned for me, lifting me effortlessly, carrying me to the bed, the fain sliding with a rattle across the floor behind us.

He placed me in the center of the bed on my back; my knees up for the ropes were still pulled taut. Ignoring the frightened expression I had in my eyes, Bakura picked up and opened one of the jars, dipping his fingers into the bitter-sweet fragrant blend of odd herbs, the sticky-slick honey-resembling mess coating his fingers with the excess sliding off smoothly.

Bakura leaned over me and rubbed the mix inside my mouth, over my lips and tongue, the ring-gag preventing me from closing my mouth. I gagged from the sudden feel of invasion, the thick, cloying scent making my stomach turn. Another handful was taken out and dripped over each small nipple; Bakura, using his other hand began to rub it into my skin.

Bakura smirked suddenly, and then smiled widely, pearly white teeth glinting in the dimness of the room. His hand dipped in the jar scooping almost the entire amber colored mess out before he held my thigh in on hand and coated my flaccid cock with the honey-like mix. I whimpered, trying to press away from Bakura’s hands, squirming away futilely from the embarrassment of having my private area stroked and rubbed by someone who had him as vulnerable as I was. The whimper turned into a high-pitched whine of desperation, my head thrashing against the sheets as his careful ministrations made me respond, my arousal standing stiff in his hands.

I screwed my eyes shut I could hear my heart pounding in my head in acute embarrassment and terrible bliss. Then Bakura stopped and I felt a wave of relief which was followed by worry. Surely Bakura couldn’t do anything else to me; after all he’d stopped hadn’t he?

Not even a second later the popping sound of the second jar opening cut through my thoughts and I swallowed convulsively, trying to stop my mouth from forming all this saliva, my tongue had started itching and my lips felt swollen. My nipples burned and itched at the same time the overwhelming urge to scratch made my hands curl and my body squirm.

Bakura put his arm against my lower legs and lifted me, exposing the small rosebud behind my now heavy and burning and itching ball sacs. I shook my head when I felt a slick finger press against my opening, and a single digit forcing its way into my body sending a new wave of completely unfamiliar pain coursing through me. My legs felt weak, my back sparking and my chest felt tight.

The finger moved and another one pushed its way inside. I tried to scream but a coughed choke came out from my gagged mouth, saliva running down the sides of my lips and tears sliding down my face to dampen the sheets. A third finger was inserted and the pain increased. My small body being forced to stretch beyond anything I knew, the black thick mass was being ruthlessly rubbed inside of me, the cold mess sliding inside of me stealing the heat from my body. Then, all too soon the cold dissipated and the heat began to build until I felt as if I were being cremated from the inside out.

My body shook without any conscious control and I found myself riding the waves of heat and pain. My only goal was to survive the moment I was in. I had no idea how long I was thrashing or how long I’d been in that state but by the time it subsided to the odd shake and tremor and a dull throb and itchy burn, I was slick with sweat, the cooling air drying it unmercifully which added to shivers to my reactions.

I was hot. Oh so bloody hot. I felt as if I were being consumed in flames. I could feel myself ache and I needed…something desperately. Anything to stop the heat!

“Ryou…” Bakura whispered huskily, his breath sending goose bumps across my skin. “Are you burning, dear Ryou? Are you feeling as if you need something desperately, something you don’t quite know but still crave?”

I tried to calm my dragging breaths, small sobs and wines sounding like harsh pants from his forced open lips. A warm hand trailed down my neck to my chest, my nipples suddenly were pinched cruelly. I arched off the bed, the sudden contact easing the itch but feeding the burn. I could feel the unfamiliar coolness of my own pre-cum dripping onto my stomach, the move sending waves of painful delight through me.

“Do you know what you want, Ryou? Do you know what I’ve done to you?”

I couldn’t breath. I wanted more, anything, just to ease the itch, just to feel that wonderful sharp bliss that seemed to echo through me. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t see straight my body was just one flame being fed by my captor’s touches.

The bed shifted suddenly as he stood. Bakura stripped off his white silk shirt, letting it fall to the floor. His shoes and socks were next, and then his belt, the metal clanging as it hit the floor. His pants followed releasing his already hard arousal, the tip leaking.

Bakura knelt on the bed, parting my thighs. He reached down and grabbed a handful of sweat dampened hair in one strong fist, yanking me into a half upright position.

“Oh Ryou…” He breathed darkly with a grim bark of laughter. He waited for my eyes to focus and a glimmer of understanding spark in my eyes. “I could make this nice for you,” He continued, “But I don’t want to. I want you to hurt, I want you to beg. I’m going to enjoy watching you watch this tape the next time I fuck you Ryou.”

My eyes grew wide.

“But first you are going to use your lovely mouth and suck my cock.” He grinned leaning down a bit. “Don’t worry about trying not to, you don’t have a choice. I control you, child, and I’m going to make sure you know that.

Horror filled my eyes and I started to struggle weakly in Bakura’s grip. He laughed and pushed my head down until my lips just brushed the tip of his cock; Bakura paused, wiping off the pearly liquid onto my lips. “Remember to breathe.” He said before thrusting his full length into my mouth through the round metal ring-gag, not pausing while I chocked and fought to breathe around his thick length.

“Oh gods!...” He threw his head back pumping himself into my mouth. Oh, how I wanted it to stop!

“You’re so good!” Bakura purred, as I did exactly as he thought I would. My small tongue had flicked once against his cock by accident, then with more vigor as I realized that doing so eased the burn. To the camera it would look as if I was enjoying myself, sucking Bakura of his own accord, a look of pleasure or maybe relief, on my pale face, cheeks flushed a light rosy pink.

He shuddered once, and then pulled back, slowly drawing his length out of my mouth. I gasped and hacked, coughing awkwardly around the open-holed gag. I fell back with a gentle shove from Bakura, landing with a small bounce against the mattress. He lifted my thighs and opened them easily. Bakura maneuvered himself underneath my legs resting his cock at my slick entrance.

“Are you a virgin Ryou?” He asked with a cruel gleam in his eyes. “Or has that father of yours fucked you yet? Did he ever touch you? Did he ever put his cock up your cute little ass?”

I flinched and shut my eyes tight. His father would never to such a thing and he hated himself for even fantasizing about such a despicable thing as incest. He shook his head slightly and whimpered. He knew his father would never be like this with him. Never.

Bakura shifted a bit, his hands holding my hips firmly, pulling my attention to him in fear-filled expectation. Then he pushed in, slowly, just enough to open me up. H paused, panting; enjoy the frantic squirming from my trembling body and the pained high-pitched keen that was torn from my throat.

He thrust fully in one swift move, and I screamed, my eyes rolling back into my head at the horrifying intrusion, the final and complete violation of my body was almost too much for me to bear. Bakura then started moving, pulling out and thrusting back in deeply. I couldn’t even begin to think, the pain that shot down ever nerve of my body, the wracking, darting spikes of electrical agony firing my back into one large mass of abused flesh.

The burn, the itch became inconsequential, nothing compared to this. I had never been beaten in my life; I had never been so abused! The pain reached beyond my body. Bakura had proved his talent at hurting me, first crudely with the whip that had been only used twice, the electricity, the needles, and those occasions there had been lesser beatings, injections which caused my body to wrack with agony and convulse uncontrollably.

I could feel my innocence being shattered, crumbling to be trodden beneath Bakura’s boots. I wouldn’t be rescued, there was nothing left for it to matter any longer. I am all alone and there’s nothing I can do.

Bakura moved again and everything fled into the overwhelming feel and pain of my insides being stretched unmercifully with my captor’s thrusting cock, in the scent of salty sweat and the noise of Bakura’s pleased grunts and moans, lost in the thrashing of my his own body, in the tears that would not stop, in the shriek that bled to be lout of my throat at the agony and injustice of my rape.

“Ryou…” he gasped, movements speeding up as he neared climax, “So bloody tight!”

He came with a roar, falling forward, propped up on one arm barely a millimeter over my shivering body. His chocolate eyes were shut and a bead of sweat rolled down his chest, landing against the skin of my neck.

“You’d make a good whore.” He said trying to catch his breath. “So responsive, so tight, all that squirming and clenching of your muscles, you little tease…” He undid the buckles of the gag and threw the wring of metal and leather straps to the floor, a small clink echoed when it landed.

He rolled over to his back beside me, ignoring the coughs and crack of my jaw as I tried to close my sore mouth, not seeing the wince on my face as he pulled out of me. “You were good,” He started, a sated half-tilted cross between a smile and a smirk resurfacing, “but you’re not finished yet.” I tried to move my head, not daring to look at Bakura.

My silver haired captor loosened the rope at my waist, allowing my ankles to fall from where they had been brought up to my thighs. He sat up and lifted me up and pushed my face down to his now flaccid and essence covered cock. “Clean me with your mouth.” He commanded, lying back again with a pillow under his head so he could watch.

I blanched.

“Don’t make me wait.” He said darkly. “You wouldn’t want to make me angry.”

I moved my head forward, balancing awkwardly with my arms still strapped behind my back and gave a tentative lick, shuddering at the bittersweet saltiness of myself and Bakura.

“Ah, that’s a good boy…” he purred with enjoyment.

****