Chapter 12 Cal
Cal
I've researched for this occasion, sure to be deliberate and methodical. I don't want to fuck this up.
When I ease back on the dosage, I watch the signs of life come to her delicate skin. It starts with the fluttering of her eyelashes, the quivering of her lips.
When her fingers twitch, I curl mine around them and give them a squeeze.
“You're safe, little doll.” I promise her.
And whether she is foolish enough to believe me or her brain pulls her under again, she surrenders to the tide of her exhaustion, the drug that's trying to drag her into unconsciousness.
It's a twilight sleep.
She can feel everything, but she can't react of her own free will. I'm not sure there's even anything going on in her pretty little head, if she's aware of her surroundings, if she knows that I am her everything.
Maybe she's lost in a dream.
I don't particularly care where her mind is, because she belongs to me, body and soul.
I don't enjoy fucking her with all the wires everywhere, so I've learned to disconnect them, leaving the tubes inserted and a port open so that I can regain access easily. I got the tough work out of the way once, and maintenance has been incredibly easy.
Everything with her has been easy.
I've had her for seven weeks, and it's been the most satisfying seven weeks of my life.
If marriage could be like this, I'd have done it long ago.
Every woman I've dated has been insufferable in some way, either too loud or too vulgar, too brash or too meek.
I've tried to shape them all in some way, which went about as well as you might expect with some of the more confident ones.
And I can say with certainty, the meek shall not inherit the Earth, based on what I've seen. They'd leave it defenseless.
It takes predators to keep the world going round.
No one wants to admit as much, but when your only hobby is one you can't put on your resume, you start to look at things in a different light.
People say that money makes the world go round, while others say that it's sex.
It's neither of those things. If it were something so simple, there would be no need for men like me. But I have a purpose, in my own way.
Predators make prey, and prey is what makes the world go round. The heavens would have crashed long ago if men like me didn't need to sate our wicked desires in whatever ways we could.
My pretty prey doesn't even realize what a vital contribution she is to society.
I never would have imagined that keeping her like this would feed the monster inside of me, that my dark half would be sated with a woman who shows no signs of life.
But it's been addicting, taking what I need from her, giving her what I want when I want, watching her entire life come down to whatever I decide to do with it.
I thought murder was the only way to quiet the monster, but through an amazing stroke of luck, it seems that I've discovered something more effective. This control I have over her lasts longer, hits deeper, and stretches wider.
When I kill someone, it's over far too soon. Just like when I get a quick orgasm off of them before I kill them.
It's pleasure, it's nirvana, it's everything.
But then it's over, and I'm left needing more.
My little doll is a drug that I can use and abuse over and over again, and the thrill of her hasn't cheapened.
Each time I visit her, it's as thrilling as the first time.
Holding her small body in my arms, fucking her without worrying about her feelings, hurting her without worrying about her screaming. It's been transformative.
My little doll has tamed me. In the moments after I fuck her, I have the most incredible clarity I've ever known in my life. It's like a fog I didn't even know was there fades, and finally I can think.
Life had never been better by the time my wild thoughts after sex turned to the idea of lightening her dosage.
She's been my obsession for months, and no one has been any the wiser.
I spend every moment of my spare time with her.
..inside her, beside her, delighting in her.
I've become a pseudo med student, learning to care for my little drug in whatever way I need to.
It adds another layer of control to my dominion over her, strokes the ego of my monster, and sates him for long enough that he doesn't fill my head with fantasies of watching her heart stop pumping.
And now, as I pull back on her dosages, bringing her to a state of semi-consciousness, he's ravenous.
“There's my precious girl.” I say, stroking her cheek as the color rises, brought on by the first stirrings of distress.
She can tell something isn't quite right—that she's trapped.
Even if she could control her limbs, she wouldn't be able to move with the wires still in her.
But I intend to remove those soon. I've grown tired of the chore of disconnecting them every time I want to fuck her.
.. which is often. I've taken great care to preserve her body, changing her position and taking her from different angles.
I've tested just about every desire I can think of on her, and I've made sure she recovers from all of it.
Her lips part easily as I run my thumb over them, pushing them apart and admiring the way they move, drifting closed again when I drag my thumb down the column of her neck, right down her chest, and over to one nipple.
When I pinch it, she moans, her back arching a little, granting me permission to continue.
This is the most lucid she's been since I brought her here, and as much as I've thoroughly enjoyed having her unconscious, this is fucking magic.
My little doll likes the pain?
I dip my head and tease her tight nipple with the tip of my tongue, tracing a circle around her smooth flesh that brings chills to the surface of her skin and makes me smile before I close my mouth around her, taking more of her breast into my mouth and exploring it with my tongue, listening for the sounds she makes.
Whimpers.
Moans…
They tangle together in her heavy breath and turn to a gasp when I nip at her, introducing my teeth to the mix before sucking harder.
When I move off of her, she falls still, all sounds ceasing as if she's no longer possessed by what brought out her body's reaction.
But when I place a clamp over the untouched nipple, she gasps in pain.
I look up to see her lip wobbling, her eyebrows creased, but her face otherwise smooth.
I don't look away as I clamp the other one, this time watching as the sound escapes her lips.
A silver chain connects the two clamps like sexy jewelry, a ring in the center, before connecting to a third.
It's meant for her clit, but I don't know that clamping it with a catheter inside her is the best idea.
I don't want to risk infection, and as much as the idea of sounding has appealed to me, I've held off because I don't want her getting an infection while she's unconscious, and the signs would take too long to notice.
My little doll won't be escaping me until I decide to kill her. She sure as fuck won't die because of some silly medical complication. I'd sooner slit her throat and bathe in her blood before I'd lose her to chance.
Instead of using the third clamp between her legs, I use it as a leash, winding it around my fist and tugging just gently enough that her back arches again as her nipples are pulled tight, stretching as far as they can without me yanking the clips free.
She groans, a breathy, high-pitched sound, and I imagine it hurts, but there's something else there, too. I know exactly what it is when I dip my fingers between her legs and feel how silky wet she is for me.
She's practically dripping.
“This is good?” I ask, appreciating the way her breath gets faster and more ragged as I coast my touch over her clit slowly, gently, not applying any real pressure.
I know she's still well and truly under the spell of the drugs because there's no way anyone could resist begging me for more friction, more pressure.
“You like a little pain with your pleasure, little doll?
I know you can't answer me, but your body is telling me the answer is yes.”
I dip a finger into her channel, enjoying the way it tries to suck me in deeper, her body desperate for me. I've made her mine in every possible way these last few months. I have stolen her body's loyalty, and it invites me in now, craving me all of its own accord.
“Did you like that before me? Or am I just special?”
She moans when I give her a second finger, pumping inside her with my fingers hooked, exploring her depths.
I've learned her body now. I know the quickest way to make her come is to give her pain and pleasure in alternating doses, to stimulate her clit, to reach deep inside her, and to prod that sweet spot that sends her flying into space briefly before her body settles again for me.
I've tested how many times I can force her body to come for me, and it was just as fucking addictive as her.
I had to force myself to stop for fear that her heart might give out on me.
But now, suddenly, I'm desperate to try it again.
“I know, sweetheart. It's not enough, is it?” I look up to see her red lips twisting, needing more but unable to give me the words to say so.
I turn to my selection of toys, looking for just the right one for the occasion.
Of all the things I got to torture her with, it's this innocuous one that will do it the best. I imagine most women have a vibrator of their own in a nightstand, but they probably haven't ever used it for anything more than a one-off to get themselves to come fast. But wielded correctly, it can be a most vicious tool.
I think of how exhausted I am after one orgasm, how draining it is on the nights I've fucked her over and over again, taking small moments to rest and recover in between.
It's not a luxury I give her.