The following is a short story I wrote a while ago. If you think this is hot, you might like playing with me.
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Helena watched as her captive knelt in silence in the opposite corner of her basement. It had been over twenty-four hours since she had strapped his hands to the floor facing the corner and slipped the blindfold off of his eyes. Since then, he had seen only her shadow as she slipped in and out of the room from time to time, checking to make sure that he hadn’t stopped breathing. The only action that stopped was the crying, and the begging that he attempted the first few times she walked into the room. He had grown quiet at last, realizing that the soft footfalls meant nothing to his situation, and would continue to stop at the door, then leave again. He even stopped trying to crane his neck and see her, contenting himself with her shadow on the floor. He had grown calm. The time to upset that calm was growing nearer.
The captive was a handsome young man, just barely twenty, and had been left in the same tee-shirt and boxer shorts that he had been wearing when she had taken him from his bed the night before. His body was lean and lovely, fair skinned and brunette. His eyes, she suspected, were brown as well. She had never seen them, having fallen in love with the back of his neck in their literature class. Helena walked away from the doorway and toward her captive. His body tensed and his ears perked up. His body language illustrated the debate on whether to turn his head and look at her. The debate raged for several seconds before Helena made his decision for him by retying the blindfold.
“Oh!” he gasped in surprise. His chance to look at her had been missed. “Please, I just…” He turned his head toward her, shapely chin extended upward, craning his neck to try and see around his blindfold. Helena said nothing, listening to his labored breathing. “Are you there?” he asked softly. Helena said nothing, but moved her hand toward his ear. “Hello?” Slowly, she unfolded her knife. The boy flinched from the sound. “Please don’t hurt me,” he whimpered. He was beginning to cry again. “Please don’t. Please.”
Helena’s lips parted into a half smile. Her fingers touched the back of his neck delicately. The boy’s entire body stiffened. Helena slipped her knife down the collar of his tee-shirt and slit it open from the back. The smooth skin of his back was rising in visible goosebumps and this sight gave her an incredible thrill. He was afraid of her mentally, sure, but this small action showed that even his very body was frightened of what she might do. She slit down each of his sleeves and pulled his shirt away from his body. Now his naked torso was bared before her, waiting for any pain or pleasure that she might choose to inflict upon it.
“Please,” he spoke again, his shuddering voice accompanying the rest of his body in it’s symphony of fright. “Can we talk about this? I’m sorry if I did anything to you. I’m really sorry. You don’t need to do anything hasty.” Helena laughed and the boy froze. Her delicate alto had obviously not been what he was expecting to hear.
“I’m not going to do anything hasty, George,” she said. “I assure you, this is entirely premeditated.”
“Oh my God,” George whimpered. Helena slipped the knife upward and touched the back of his neck. He squealed. “No!” Helena snickered.
“That wouldn’t do much, you know,” she said. George made no attempt to reply. His breathing was now more like a pant. “I’m not even on a vein. There are a number of major veins and arteries on the body, do you know them?” George whimpered again, this time unintelligibly. “Here, let me show you.” Helena removed the knife from the back of his neck and grasped him by the hair.
“Oh!” he gasped again. His head was pulled back. Helena placed the tip of the knife to his throat. The tautness of his jaw spoke delicious volumes about his terror.
“This is the location of both the carotid artery and the jugular vein,” she said. “There’s another set just like it on the other side of your neck.”
“Please…” he murmured, trying not to move for fear of being inadvertently cut.
“If I were to press down here, you’d be unconscious in ten seconds. Dead in twenty.” George was clearly hyperventilating now.
“No, please,” he said. Helena moved her hands again, quickly. One was under his arm, around his right shoulder, the other had her knife pressed firmly against the inner part of his upper arm.
“Pulmonary artery,” she chirped. “Unconscious in six, dead in twelve.” Her right arm twisted so that it stretched across his chest and his left sank and pressed the blade to his inner thigh. “Femoral,” she concluded. “Dead in six.” The boy was squirming against her blade, meaning that he was squirming into her arms. She could feel his heart pounding rapidly against her body. His sobs, breaths, and whimpers had become inarticulate. “Can you remember that?”
“Wh…what?” he asked. Helena placed her knife to his throat again.
“Remember what I called this?” she asked.
“Carotid artery!” George yelped.
“And?”
“A…and jugular vein!” The blade moved to his arm. “Pulmonary artery?” Then his leg. “Fee…femoral artery!” Helena pressed the blade into his thigh just the slightest bit harder and the boy released a guttural moan of the purest form of fear that a human can manufacture. Then, Helena removed the blade. Her captive’s shoulders sagged forward against her arm and his sobbing grew deeper. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you.” Helena got up on her knees and pocketed the knife. Then, she ran her hands over his face. He made no protest, just tightened his facial muscles in discomfort and fright. Her fingers traced the line of his perfect jaw. Then, her thumb stopped at his lower lip.
“Open,” she said. She felt his tongue slip between his lips to loosen them, then they parted to accommodate her finger. She ran her thumb over his lip and got a sense of his dehydration. High. She reached beside her and picked up a plastic water bottle she had left there. She touched the mouth of the bottle to her finger, then to his lip. He flinched from the strange touch briefly, before realizing what it was. “Shh…” she said, as he began to take his first few sips. She took her finger away from his mouth and touched his cheek softly. “Slowly, slowly,” she sighed. She brushed a tear off of his cheek and held him as he drank.
