Chapter 28
On the screen in front of me I can see every tiny detail, every flinch, every tear, every spark of agony that rips through her. The image is perfect. So clear, it’s as if I’m in the room, staring down at her naked form.
Grace is on her knees, her hands clasped behind her back, her blonde hair matted with sweat and grime. Issac stands over her, holding the cattle prod loosely in his grip, the tip still crackling with residual electricity.
“What’s your name?” he asks, his voice a little distorted through the speakers.
She lifts her head enough that I can see her face, but she’s careful not to look Issac in the eyes. Her lips tremble as she mutters the word “Grace.”
The prod strikes her shoulder before she can finish the word. Her body convulses, a scream tears from her throat as she collapses onto her side, writhing.
“Wrong answer,” Issac says, nudging her with his boot. “Try again.”
Grace gasps, her chest heaving. “M-my name is Grace.”
Another shock. This time, she doesn’t just scream - she shrieks, her back arches off the ground, her fingers claw at the concrete floor. The sound of it scrapes against my skull, raw and desperate and it takes me right back to that room in Oblivion, when she was clawing at my skin as I fucked her.
“No,” Issac says, crouching beside her. “You don’t have a name. Not anymore. You belong to us now.”
Grace shakes her head violently, her breath coming in ragged sobs. “No. No, my name is Grace. Grace. Grace.”
She really is a stubborn thing. Stubborn and stupid, just like her mother.
The prod strikes her again, and again.
She thrashes, her body jerking wildly under the assault as her screams dissolve into incoherent cries. Issac doesn’t stop, he doesn’t give a moment to catch her breath. He does exactly as he’s instructed, he continues breaking her the way we know will work best.
He kicks her ribs, not hard enough to break bones but hard enough to send her rolling onto her back, then he presses the prod against her stomach.
“Disobedient little bitch,” he snarls. “You’ll learn. Bad dogs get punished.”
Her body seizes, her mouth opening in a silent scream before the sound finally breaks free and she sings so beautifully, she screams with such a sound I wonder if she’ll rip her vocal cords. Tears stream down her face, her skin is slick with sweat, and her muscles tremble uncontrollably.
My hands tighten on the vial, and my cock hardens as I watch this play out. It’s all I can do to stay here, to watch this on the screen in front of me and not march down to the basement and see it all in real life.
But I can’t do that. I don’t want her to associate this torture with me. Oh, she’ll know I orchestrated it, that this is my doing, my command but when she finally lays eyes on me again, I want her broken and reformed. I want her so befuddled that it’s almost relief she feels when I touch her.
Grace’s voice is hoarse now, her words slurring. “My name… is Grace… my name… is Grace…”
She is breaking.
Not just her body, but her mind. The sleep deprivation, the forced feeding, the relentless assault on her identity. We are stripping her down, piece by piece, erasing her so beautifully that it’s practically a work of art.
Issac grabs her by her hair, yanking her head back. “Say it. Say you’re nothing.”
Grace whimpers, her lips moving, but no sound comes out.
He shakes her violently enough that her eyes seem to roll back. “Say it.”
“Fuck you.” She snarls.
And suddenly, her fight is back. Her hand lashes out, she dares to hit Issac and she’s up, back on her feet as if her sudden show of courage has made her forget what pain feels like.
“Fuck you.” She screams. “Fuck you, and fuck Antonio Macrae.” She turns wildly, staring from corner to corner. She clearly knows that there is a camera here, that I can see this, she just doesn’t know where the lens is.
Issac moves with deadly precision. He strikes her hard, right in the spine, bringing her to her knees.
“She hated you.” Grace bellows. “She fucking hated you...”
I wonder for a moment who she’s talking about, if her brain is so addled and confused she’s started referring to herself in third person. But then it hits me; little Grace, she thinks she understands. She thinks she knows what we were, when she doesn’t have a fucking clue.
“….She hated it every time you showed up at our door,” she continues. “Every time you smiled in her direction. She never wanted you, she never trusted you. She wanted nothing to do with you. You disgusted her, you…” Her tirade is cut off by the sound of her screaming.
I’m on my feet, halfway to the door, wanting to march down there and beat her to a pulp. To beat those words from her mouth, to beat some god damn respect into her.
But Issac is there, using the prod, beating her with it, ensuring the bitch truly suffers this time.
God, I thought we were making progress, I thought we were getting somewhere.
“Insolent little shit.” He snarls, striking her over and over. “You do not speak, you do not have any rights here. You are nothing. Nothing, do you hear me?”
She screams and screams, the sounding turning more high-pitched as her terror takes her.
Issac looks up at the camera, making contact with me through it as if asking for permission.
But he knows the rules, what the boundaries are, what punishments are and are not allowed.
I flex my hands, clenching them tight enough that they hurt. I want her to hurt, I want her to feel it; my anger, my hate.
Issac forces her body around, bends her over, manipulates her weight. As her panic takes her, as her fear turns her into a wild, rabid beast he forces the prod up inside her cunt and then he pushes the button, sending a wave of electricity inside her.
She jolts. She screams. Her body moves in a way that is both terrifying and hypnotic.
He starts thrusting, fucking her with the thing, brutalising her insides as he continues to electrify her.
Her cries turn to something otherworldly. Her body flails, and I pinpoint the exact moment her resolve breaks. I see the very minute she breaks.
He yanks the thing out, whacking her one last time for good measure while she curls into herself. Her shoulders now shake with silent cries.
“What are you?” Issac says.
She sobs, her voice cracks like she’s incapable of speaking above a whisper now. “I’m… nothing.”