Chapter Eleven
Livia
They know my name.
They know who I am.
I clutch my heart. My breathing grows shallow, and my thinking gets distorted. I whirl around the room, but that makes me want to throw up now that I’m convinced, I willingly ate poison disguised as candy.
They tricked me. They know my name. I’m going to die after all. My thoughts are muddled and hurt my brain.
Fuck.
My skin starts to sizzle from the inside out. Perspiration slithers down the center of my spine. I’m both anxious and exhausted. But the heat—oh my god. It’s so hot, I want to tear off my skin.
I’m tossed about in a nightmare I can’t wake up from where invisible flames whip every inch of my body.
I resist the urge to scream until my lungs burst. I want to know what I did wrong to end up here like this. Why? My motivation was so innocent. I wanted to prove to my mom, in death, that she was right; fairy tales existed. But now this.
And as I’m falling apart, the blinding, thunderous fact that they know who I am sends consistent and brutal shock waves through me.
“Just breathe, pretty girl. You’ll be all right.”
My pride won’t let me ask what they’ve done to me or why they’ve lied to me when they said I wouldn’t die. I won’t give them the satisfaction of verbalizing my frantic apprehension. But what do I expect? Honesty from a group of psychos? Yeah right.
The fever inside me soars to scary heights. If I’m going to die, please let it be quick, not because I can’t handle pain—physical pain is nothing compared to the emotional pain I’ve carried around with me nearly all my life—but because this is what is going to make my captor hard. This is what they’re getting off on, and I won’t be used for their entertainment. I won’t be giving them a hard-on.
Except whatever attempts I make to curb the crumbling down of my entire body are squashed when something even weirder starts to happen.
My breasts start to ache at the same time that I realize the slickness between my thighs came from my pussy. I’m disgustedly aware that wetness clings to the folds of my sex. My clit throbs, and no matter how hard I press my thighs together to stop the colliding sensations there, the more I feel them.
I’m weighed down by the extra heaviness in my already full breasts. My nipples are like pebbles and excruciatingly hard. So hard, I think they’ll shatter like glass under the heat of my whole breast.
I look down, and my skin is stretched over the engorged mountains of my breasts. What is happening to me?
More wetness leaks from my pussy onto my thighs. I’m gasping for air now, and instinctively, I cover my breasts, thinking they’re going to burst at any time.
“What…” My voice doesn’t sound like my own. It’s hoarse, strained, and layered with terror.
But the touch of my breast ignites a new hunger inside me. I have to touch them. I have to squeeze them right now, or I’m going to implode. But I don’t because I won’t give them the satisfaction.
I’m like a caged animal as I stumble around the place, looking for relief but not finding any because I don’t know what I’m looking for.
My breasts continue to swell. Dear god, help me.
I bend over, but from my eyelashes, my gaze darts around the perimeter of the room. I don’t know what I’m looking for because I don”t know what”s happening to me.
I want to touch my pussy. I want to squeeze my breasts so hard because it feels as if something is inside them that needs to come out. I’ve bitten my lip so hard that specks of blood drip from it.
I can’t take this feeling anymore. I want to come, and the realization shocks me to the seat of my soul.
I want to come. I want to feel something between my legs, yet everything seems to be centered around my breasts.
They’re seeing me like this. I am barely in control of my own body. I don’t know how much longer I can keep my hand from touching the wet inferno between my legs. I’m as unfamiliar with feeling this intensely sexual way as I am unfamiliar with rocket science.
“What did you do to me?” I shout, but my throat aches, and I’m hoarse, as if I’ve been screaming nonstop. I sound weak and defeated. And obscenely aroused.
“You chose that bowl, pretty girl.”
“I…”
“Is your pussy wet?”
“Fuck you.” I lean all my weight over the table now, my arms threatening to give way any minute, but I use every bit of strength I have in me to utter those words.
“In due course.”
“Are you ready to confess it all to us? Who sent you here? Who are you working with?”
“No one sent me, please. Believe me. My mom—”
“As you wish.”
“Please stop this. I can’t take it anymore.”
“Is your pussy wet?”
I would rather die than admit something so intimate to my captives.
“The longer you don’t cooperate, the longer you’re going to suffer, pretty girl. Is your pussy wet?”
“Yes,” I whisper, humiliated, and my head drops low.
Everything inside me makes a full circle and crashes. I’m astonished and confused when droplets of liquid fall from my nipples. I’m leaking from my breasts. There is no other way of putting it.
“You’re lactating.”
What? There isn’t enough shock in the world to explain how I’m feeling.
I’m leaking from my breasts.
“Now all you have to do is lean over the bowl, squeeze your tits, and fill the bowl with your milk.”
Are they insane? What a stupid, banal thing to ask. They’re beyond insane.
“Please don’t make me do it.” I’m sobbing now. The heat inside me is relentless.
“Perhaps you should”ve told us who sent you here and what you were looking for when we asked.”
“I’m not working with anyone. The only thing I was looking for was this cottage because... I have a fascination with... fairytales. It’s the truth.”
Who do they think I am? I”m nobody. I’m broken. My mother threw herself off a balcony because I wasn’t enough to make her stay. I stupidly still want to please my father, because I know he hates me, but I want him to love me.
But no amount of emotional pain can take away the barbaric need inside me. I’m possessed, and I can’t release myself from the madness they created.
“You’ll start to feel better if you follow the instructions, Livia.”
Whatever I ate made me obscenely aroused and made my breasts leak with milk. I don’t know how it’s possible, but the evidence inside me is irrefutable.
Oh god. I can’t believe my body is doing this.
Defeated, angry, and confused, with tears running down my face, I lean over the table, use both my hands on one of my breasts, and squeeze. I have to squeeze harder, and I have to pinch my nipples.
I can only hope that they can’t see me. If the cameras are all around me, then maybe being bent over the table will block their view of me being reduced to this.
Milk starts to squirt out of me and splashes against the sides of the wooden bowl. A sliver of relief washes over, and I’m obsessed now with emptying my other breast as well.
But the more I squeeze and relieve my full, heavy breasts, the more my pussy aches, throbs, and pounds with the need to be touched.
I have to get out of here.
The reprieve I’ve given from emptying my breasts has made me stronger.
“What else do I have to do?” I hiss as I stand up straight, uncaring that drops of milk are still oozing from my nipples now.
“In the story of The Three Bears, after she samples what”s in the three bowls, she sits on a chair. Pick a chair, Livia.”
I’m done playing their game. I walk over to where the three chairs are lined up, but before I can take a seat on one in the middle, the voice comes on again.
“Not that one, pretty girl. We’d like you to stay alive a little longer.”
We. It’s the first time they referred to themselves as we, which means my instinct was right. There are at least three of them.
“If you put on the mask from the first chair, you’ll inhale a poisonous gas and die.
“The second chair will electrocute you as soon as the cuffs link into place. To death if I wasn’t clear.”
“What about the third chair?”
“It won’t kill you.”
Trying to control my shaking body and put on a front of bravery is so hard that I want to break down and cry.
But keeping my head up, I drop my naked body onto the hard wooden chair.
“Hands on the armrests, please.”
I clench my fist and place my arms on the wooden rests.
“Part your legs.”
I stiffen my back and close my eyes as I part my legs.
Within my next breath, leather cuffs restrain my wrists and ankles. It’s clear they’re remote-operated. And now I’m bound to a chair. With my legs open. And naked.
“Good girl.”
I don’t ask what’s going to happen to me now. I just want to accept it and move on. I just want to be released. If I survive their sick, twisted games, maybe they will release me. I have to keep that hope alive.
I stop breathing immediately when the chair starts to vibrate, so subtly I think I imagined it. Then it shakes again. A little faster. A little harder.
My breasts bounce, and fresh milk starts to leak from them as they fill up again. The vibration of the seat against my pussy is pure torture. I squirm violently, using all my might to pull my legs close together.
The vibrations increase. And every single oscillation is centered around my clit. My need to climax is compounded. My thighs are wet with milk. My nipples are aching to be squeezed and drank from. Wetness from my pussy drips onto the wood of the seat.
What kind of crazy sexual darkness have I walked into? Why are they doing this to me?
My body shudders with a greedier force every time the vibrations are turned up. I bite my lip so hard I cry out in pain, but I’ll do anything to stop myself from the earth-shattering need to press my clit against the wood and make myself come.
How is this happening?
The aggressive urge to come takes over my mind. I have no common sense left and no power to bring it back.
An unfamiliar howl escapes my lips as I give in, lean forward, and press my clit against the wood of the chair.
And then the vibrations stop and my body becomes a feral, greedy entity. I need to come and I can’t make myself stop.
“Please,” I beg, not for my life, but for the chair to vibrate so I end the deviant agony between my legs.
“Who are you working with and what did you come here to steal?”
“No one. Please, believe me, I’m not working with anyone or for anyone. I’m a student with a love for fairytales… Please, dear god.” My body threatens to rip me apart. My mind is not my own.
Oh god.
The vibrations pick up. My clit sizzles with heat immediately and is soaked in my wetness. My hips move as much as they can given my restraints, my body soars then drops, and I come with such brutal agony that my body is divided between shame and pleasure. But it’s shame that wins the race when the vibrations stop completely.
“I hate you,” I scream all around me. “I hate you.”
Giant mountains of ignominy shroud me in. The men behind the camera saw me do this. They reduced me to this—someone with no pride and strength. Someone with no control over her body. I can’t even put into words what they made me do because I can’t believe I just made myself come on a chair while they watched. I begged them to help me come.
“You’re fucking beautiful.”
I almost don’t hear those words, and I’m sure I imagined them.
“Let me go at once,” I say so clearly and harshly.
“Still one more thing, pretty girl.”
My gaze shifts to the bed as I’m released from the cuffs.
“You know the drill. Just the three beds left now.”
“If you choose the first bed, you’ll be restrained and left to die. There’s no way out of those restraints. It will be a slow death.
“If you choose the second bed, you will need to get under the covers and just lie there. Your death should be swifter than the first bed. You see, once you’re snug, we’ll press a button, and you’ll be sealed inside the… plastic and suffocate.”
Who are these murderers? How sick in the head do they have to be to come up with all this?
“The third bed won’t kill you, Livia.”
After everything they’ve put me through, I wonder if I made the wrong choice from the start. I should have chosen a swift death instead.
Still, I move toward the third bed.
“Good choice. Lie in the middle of the bed, on your back, and place your palm on the x marked on the bedding.”
I do as I’m told. What could be worse than me milking my breasts into a bowl and making myself come on a chair? My nudity still makes me sick to my stomach, but I don’t do anything to cover my pussy or my breasts. I just want to go home.
The instant I’m in the position, I’m startled when I feel a set of cold metal cuffs, like the ones the police use, clip over my wrist.
I jangle my arm and find myself yet again bound.
What is this? What is going to happen to me now?