Adding Insult To Injury

You don’t struggle. You wait patiently, exactly where he left you. The device he’s left you in looks like something out of a Saw film. The Angel Trap, you think they called it. It turns you on thinking that at any minute it could rip your sides out, creating a perfect sadistic angel for your lover to walk in and ravish. You of course though, wouldn’t be alive to experience it. 1

So you wait. Patiently. You have to be patient. He’ll be back in his own time. There’s a mirror against the wall opposite. You can see the clothes you’re wearing in it. He dressed you in a black leather jerkin, and some very small, tight, scanty black underwear. You don’t have a name for them. They don’t look like anything you’ve seen before. He likes you to look like his boy toy. He wanted you to wear some kind of special chastity belt, so he could fuck you while you couldn’t even get an erection, but you’d refused that. Your legs were pale and slender. Your feet were bare, except for the vivid scarlet nail polish you were wearing. You wore them on your fingernails too, but those are out of sight above you. You’d fought about the collar. He wanted you to wear one, but you’d been reluctant. In the end, he tempted you into wearing a dog’s pinch collar, with sharpened spikes. He wanted it for control. You wanted it for pain. You were different to him in some ways; he preferred B&D; you preferred S&M; he preferred being dominant; you preferred being submissive; he preferred you straddled over his lap like a small child, or with your back on the floor; you preferred being on your hands and knees, or shoved into a wall, arm twisted behind your back. You’d done a lot of negotiating about this moment. All the stuff you’d done in the month before with him was plain vanilla. 2

The door opens to your left. You try to move your head to look at him, but you can’t; it’s chained very tightly into place. You can hear his footsteps. The sharp crack of his spiked heels on the concrete floor. He doesn’t come to you though, so you let a low moan slip from your mouth. You want him to come to you. 3

The footsteps stop. He still doesn’t come to you. You can’t see him in the mirror either. You know he’s waiting just out of sight. You try to hold your breath to hear him, but it comes out heavy and ragged despite your best efforts.4

His heels click on the floor again, as he circles round behind you. His hand brushes your back through the leather, firm and idle. Like you’d stroke a wall to hold yourself up as you walk past. You jolt but the chains hold you in place. He looks over your shoulder at that, eyes the deepest, darkest blue, peering through his shaggy black hair. His face is strikingly pale, but that’s natural, unlike the white lead powder he’d brushed onto your cheeks. Your lips are painted violent blue, as if you’d been asphyxiated. Your eyes had been surrounded by black and red powder to hollow them out and make them look bruised. He’d told you right from the night you met him that he liked corpses. You were happy to look like one for him. You were his zombie slave for the night.5

His nails dig into your ribs as he comes under the arch of your arm. It stings. He drags them round onto your chest, trying to draw blood for your pleasure. You’d told him, the more blood the more you’d like it. You’d asked if he’d slice you up with a knife. He’d said no. As already stated, he preferred B&D. This was a first for him with a total S&M partner. 6

His face is close to yours now. In reality he is two inches above you. Nearly six foot. With the spiked heels on he is five inches above you. A threatening height. With the Angel Trap look-alike, you are lifted high, so you have to look down at him. The chains hold your head in place still. You curse, only able to look down with your eyes. He’s beautiful, scanning your body with idle disregard. He has short leather gloves on, cut off on the finger so he can still touch finger and sharp nail to your white skin. He wears them so he can punch and slap you as hard as he can without bruising himself. He doesn’t take pain as well as you do. 7

His full, crimson lips tilt up to you, barely reaching the top of your jaw. His eyelashes are long and covered in thick, black mascara. He wears eyeliner and lipstick most days, even in public, but he only wears mascara when he’s alone with you. You don’t know why. He just does. Whenever you ask he simply smiles. 8

Those beautiful lips rub against your neck, against your slender Adam’s apple. You’ve been mistaken for a girl a few times, because of how slender it was. Added to your feminine features, people have asked if you impersonate women in your spare time. You don’t, though the thought raises a bemused smile to your thin lips. You don’t want to do that. 9

Teeth graze the side of your neck, bringing you back to the room. His breath is hot and smells like cotton candy. He tastes like that too. It makes you feel safer with him. More trusting. He digs in, and you moan and struggle to get free of your bonds. He draws back as soon as you do that, giving you a disgusted look. He reaches up and slaps you round the side of the face, displeased that you tried in vain to get free. 10

‘Pathetic,’ he says in a mocking, almost gentle whisper. His eyes glitter and shine with humour and lust. He knows how to do this. You’ve told him enough times. 11

From round his waist he unlaces a metal chain he’s been using as a belt. You can’t look that far down without hurting your eyes, so you watch him in the mirror. He’s clothed all in tight black, and the silver glitters as if in relief of making the outfit somewhat brighter.12

He fastens one end of the chain to your collar with a tight snap. You stare back down at his long fingers as he does it. The chain is long and highly polished. Both you and he got it at the same store the collar was bought. His eyes continue to stare up at you, degradingly, but he’s still looking at you. That’s something. 13

He wraps the other end around his fist, and then starts unstraping you from the device. Bloody time too. You fall to the floor, protecting your body with your palms. They graze. You’d been in the device longer than you thought; your legs had gone dead. 14

He doesn’t wait for you to recover. He yanks the chain, so that you fall further, almost strangling yourself. You have to force yourself back up, legs dead, palms burning, spikes biting into your neck. 15

‘Get up,’ he growls, looking away with an impatient sigh. You fight to stand for him but your legs are numb and sore. You whine and look up at him apologetically. He rolls his eyes. ‘Get up, or I’ll make you.’16

The threat makes your nerves spark. You don’t move. You just stare up at him with a small smirk tinting your lips. He drags the chain up towards his chest. You grab the collar, trying to pull it back, feeling blood smear off onto your fingers. He’d done well by sharpening the ends of the spikes. Realising you’re not getting anywhere, you grab his clingy shirt, using that to pull yourself up against him. You hang there, panting, letting your legs come back to life. He looks down at you, fingers tracing your red cheek, the line of your sweaty jaw, turning your face up towards him. You look up with innocent eyes. His smile is pleased for himself. It doesn’t last long. 17

He jerks your face away from him, sending you off on a hurl again. You manage to regain yourself before you hit the ground, standing easily even though your legs still feel on fire. You feel the blood pool at the curve of your chest bone. 18

He gives you time, staring at you. He doesn’t know how much you can take. He’s watching the blood, and your pallid face, wondering if you’re going to bleat out the safety word. Cherry. You’d both decided on it together. You’d chosen it because it was the sign of a cowardly virgin, unworthy to be in such a place as this. 19

Instead, you pull the collar a little looser, feeling the knife-like edges slide out of your flesh. Still panting, you grin up at him with sharp little teeth. He seems somewhat amused at your reaction to the blood, and then turns, dragging you along behind him. 20

You follow, keeping close enough that the collar doesn’t dig too deep again. If something horrible happened, he wouldn’t be able to see you. It’s bemusing, you think, how a master will snap into the saviour mode when something goes wrong. Some masters don’t though, as you’ve found out before. The old, third-degree burns riding your left hip and thigh tell you that. 21

He stops. You have to throw yourself partially backwards so not to bump into him. You look down. Thin mattress. This was the cellar of your lover’s house. You’d both made sure everything you both wanted would be down here.22

‘Down,’ he says softly, loosing his grip on the chain momentarily so that you can obey him. You do, carefully sliding onto your stomach. He doesn’t approve. ‘Other way,’ he hisses, dragging at the chain. You roll, blinking warily up at him. You like the look of total disregard on his face. 23

He kicks off his heels, bring him down those inches. He still looks impossibly tall from where you’re lying though. He kneels beside you, one leg on your chest, bony knee stabbing into you. His foot brushes the top of the scanty underwear he picked out for you. 24

His fist wraps the chain around it again. You stare up at him, hands by your sides, totally calm. With his other hand he pulls out a lighter. Not a cigarette lighter. A fire lighter. You blink at him blandly, hoping your hair is pretty much out of the way. Even you wouldn’t be happy if your whole head was on flames. Obviously. 25

He lights the flame, holding it close to your face. The heat is overpowering. You love it. Your hands involuntary ball into fists though, teeth clenching behind your sullen face. Your eyelashes start to burn. You close your eyes very quickly at that, with a flinch. He laughs and pulls the flame back. You open your eyes and blink rapidly. He’s holding it to the collar, heating the metal. It won’t melt that quickly, but it will heat it up so it burns your neck. The metal turns black. You begin to feel the heat racing along your skin, trapped between metal and flesh. It hurts. A lot. You moan and your body bucks, partially from pleasure, mostly from pain. You grab the leg on your chest, clinging to it. He hesitates. The light flickers. You shut up. You won’t say the safety word. The flame flares back. The heat hits the spikes, burning the wounds in your neck.26

You shriek wretchedly after only a few seconds of the full effect. Your body writhes. He switches the flame off and throws the lighter to one side. He uses his gloves to pull the spikes out of your skin. You can’t stop writhing. He holds you down, one hand stroking at your hair. A good submissive never says the safety word. A good master doesn’t ask, but knows when to stop. You’re both experts at the game. 27

The pain in your neck burns, aches, and then goes numb. You open your eyes and look up into his face. You know it’s a bad sign that you’ve gone numb. Bad burns. Again. Burnt away the nerves. You knew you’d have them under the collar. They’d keep the earlier wounds open. You can smell your own burnt, rancid flesh. 28

The numbness should have been enough to make you say the word, but you don’t. You won’t let him have the pleasure of breaking you. 29

‘Stopping this soon?’ you ask in a sneering, mocking voice. 30

He frowns, hand clenching in your hair. He takes your hint that you want to continue. His fist yanks you up by the head. He slips his knee to the other side of you, pinning your forearm. His face slams against you. You feel a little dizzy, but it’s nothing you can’t get over, you think. Your mouth opens to the force, letting him eat at you, open your lower lip in a spill of blood. The lips always bleed a lot. You’ve used razors on your own with your lip. 31

He pulls you up further by the hair, into a deeper kiss. Your arm is still trapped. You whine, but the sound is lost in his mouth. You wouldn’t be surprised if the bone in your arm popped out of its socket, the way this was going. 32

He lets go of you suddenly, so your head cracks back on the mattress. It’s thin enough that you feel the concrete underneath it. It gives a nice, sickening thud. Your hair feels instantly thicker. 33

When you can focus again, you have a knife pointed at your face. It glints like the chain does. You look up at him, somewhat surprised; he said he wouldn’t do this. The tip of the blade touches the top of your cheek, but he doesn’t pull down. He looks at you. You both hadn’t discussed leaving publically-visible scarring. He’d already done that to your neck, though you would bet he hadn’t realised to what extent. 34

You moan for him. He looks back to the knife. He pulls it down your face, very slowly and firmly. He curves it across the edge of your lip, and then pulls the blade away. Nothing happens for a moment, and you can already feel the blood from the kiss on your lips. Metallic and salty. Then your cheek splits open, blood dribbling down the side of your face. He leans in licks the blood like a cat. When he draws back he has more than just both your smeared lipstick across his face. He has your scarlet blood on his cheeks and chin now. He looks terrifyingly beautiful with it. You can feel him hard against your stomach. He isn’t sitting against you quite right to feel how much more you appreciated the show than him, and that was saying something. 35

You try to free your arm now because it’s going numb and cold very quickly. He sighs, pressing more weight down onto it, reaching into your jerkin to twist a nipple, stopping you in your tracks. You leave your arm where it is, groaning his name loudly. 36

Your jerkin comes off over your head, and then he presses you back down to the mattress. Your hair feels sticky. He adjusts his position, sliding lower down your body, so that you’re pressed up between his legs. His breath catches, and he pushes his body down through the material. You don’t think you’ll last. 37

He taps the knife across the pale expanse of your torso, as if deciding where to slice next. He brushes your soft underbelly with the tip of the knife, digging in a little in places so spots of blood appear. He doesn’t want to cut you there, though. He’s exposed some of the burns riding the top of your hip, and he runs the balls of his palm against it. Rough. His hand feels soothing against it. The knife slides snakelike back up your chest, and then slices across very fast. You’re unsure where he cut. The pain feels everywhere. Burning. You have to look down yourself to see where. 38

Blood spills up from a diagonal cut on your torso, hiding the previous scars there. It starts just under your left nipple, racing down to beside your navel. Your navel is drowned at once with blood. He pushes a finger into that pool of blood in there, and you squirm. He presses harder and harder, until you fight to get away. Fight to sit up under him. He pushes you back down. He lowers his lips to your nipple, finding it still standing out amidst the blood, and bites. His teeth graze at first, and then start worrying at it like a dog. You find your other arm is free from where he moved himself, raising both hands to clutch his hair desperately. Your arm aches. You know what he’s trying to do. You told him that you wanted him to do it. It’d taken you plenty of pleading. You were pretty hardcore with your requests.39

He bites around the bud of flesh very very tightly, trying to tear it off. His teeth weren’t as inhumanly sharp as yours, but he was defiantly trying. He began grinding his lower body up and down you. Your cries of pain and pleasure mixed, almost tearing at his hair. He needed to bite harder. You begged him in a pool of your sticky blood. Begged him to just do it. 40

He did. The pain stopped sharply, replaced by burning nerves, all angry and shooting sparks through you. You gasp and close your eyes for a second before opening them. He’s propped up on his hands now, mouth shut, covered in your blood. His eyes blaze with something you haven’t seen before. Your nipple is torn off. Oh fuck. Your body looses it, but you are still swamped in pleasure. Your body didn’t know what it was missing. 41

He leans over you slowly, eyes still bright and threatening. His face twists, spitting the bit of flesh out of his mouth onto the concrete. He kisses you softer now, his body pressed against all that blood and throbbing nerves. 42

He moves his lips to your ear carefully, ‘more?’ 43

You nod fast, and he slides his lips back down to the place where he’d torn. He lays his cheek against it for a moment, feeling the heat, and then he runs his tongue against it. Nerves spiked. Your body started to react again. He smiles against you, and then continues licking that place, again and again, until you are as hard as before. 44

‘Good,’ he smirks, and then he pulls you up under him by the chain. ‘Take off my shirt.’45

Hands shaky with shock you weren’t able to control, you try to undo the buttons and nooses. You can’t. You groan in frustration. His spare hand comes to rest on yours, clenching down, simply ripping your hand down. The buttons tear out. You pull the rest of it over his body and onto the mattress. He grabs it and flings it further away. Your body is trembling below him. He touches your cheek, and then your shoulder. He frowns.46

‘You’re cold,’ he whispers, only noticing how much shock you are in from loss of blood, and well, nipple. 47

‘Please,’ you whimper, husky and begging. You don’t want him to stop. You tell him. ‘Please don’t stop.’ 48

He grips your icy shoulder for a moment, staring at you with that frown on his face. His face slowly falls back into careful distain, and you thank him silently. He grip grows promisingly painful, nails digging in. 49

‘You think you’ve not lost enough blood to move around?’ he hisses softly. 50

You nod, though you’re unsure. 51

‘Come with me then,’ he says, standing, pulling the chain up with him. You follow, though you’re unsteady and growing numb in places. He pulls you across the room, and then slams you down into a chair. You yelp, and fight to stay focused as he drags the blood-slick underwear off you to the floor. His head moves over your lap, and you make a small noise as he takes you in his mouth. He bites very lightly, just enough to make you writhe, but not enough to draw blood. He won’t do that while you’re in this state. Hopefully you’ll bruise, though. You’ll just have to wait and see. 52

He draws his head back and you whimper for him to come back. He slaps your face and you grow quiet, watching him with glossy eyes. He pulls his own trousers off him, leaving them on the floor. He pulls you off the seat by the chain, and your eyes cross. You know what position this is. 53

He sits and pulls you in to straddle him. You don’t mind the position really, but he’d chosen it to test the lie about you being able to move around. His cock pressed jabbing hard up against you, sending a shiver down your thighs. You aren’t concentrating enough to take the next step. He does it for you. One hand on the burns on your hip, he pushes you down on him, the other hand pulling the rest of you down with the chain. Oh fuck. You come back into reality, with his eyes fixed on your face. You do as he wants, pushing your tight body down him. 54

His hand slides from your thigh to your blood-caked stomach, resting idly there. You know if you move faster he’ll hurt you the way you like it. Forcing the shock away, you pull yourself up again, part way, and then fast down. He lets out a shaky breath and his hand slides lower, grabbing you tightly. Most people would hate the pain, but it is one of your favourite things during actual sex. 55

You brace yourself against him with your hands, and then slide yourself up and down him until you find a pace that isn’t constricted. You don’t want to go too fast with him. You don’t want to hurt him when he won’t like it. 56

It’s his turn to moan your name, rubbing you between achingly painful squeezes. They keep you awake and alive to what’s going on. His breath changes, and you move yourself faster, watching his bloody body under yours. He looks wonderful. He’s laxed his grip on the chain for you to have better movement on him. 57

You cum into his hand and against his stomach, a bare moment from when he spills inside you. You grind your hips down one last time for your own benefit, and then stop there, breathing rapidly. Your blood has spilled faster now with the movement and pleasure. You curse under your breath and begin to feel dizzy again. 58

He looks up at your voice, cradling your face, back to the sweet person he always was. He says your name softly, and you shake your head. 59

Carefully, he prizes you off of him, and you collapse against him. Blood has soaked you both by now. You whimper in his grasp. 60

He picks you up in his arms like a child, moving you to sit in the chair, with him crouched in front. He stroked your stomach and examines your bleeding wounds. 61

Your head aches. Your hair is soaked in blood from the blow to the concrete. Concussion, you think to yourself. 62

He sees a vividly raw patch on your neck from where the collar has slipped. He jolts up sharply, undoing it and laying it to the side. He swears very loudly, not even touching the wound. It has to be very bad if he’s doing that. You mumble his name and he cups your cheek, strokes your sticky hair. 63

He wants to take you to hospital, but you won’t let him. You’re in a state that bans most of you’ve both been doing tonight. Instead, he takes you upstairs to the bathroom, carefully tending to your wounds as you drift in and out of consciousness. You wake up bandaged and clean in his bed later, early morning, cradled against his body, with him holding a wet cloth to your neck. 64

You feel sick, but more in touch than earlier. Still shaking, you turn slowly so you can look up into his face. He smiles. You smile back.65

‘So,’ you whisper, ‘what’re we going to do tomorrow night?’