agentorange: (Default)
[personal profile] agentorange
Title: Spanish Tickler
Rating: XXXXX (that's a rating, right?)
Words: 2868
Note: Extremely graphic sex and torture. Dedicated to [livejournal.com profile] magda_lene.



He'd found her easily enough. She was the first responder to the listing he'd posted a half hour earlier on a popular fetish singles site: Male, 33, looking for blonde female sub, 18-30. He'd hoped the vague listing would afford him the greatest success, and sure enough, when 19 year old YellowSubMaureen sent her headshot, Roman Sionis knew she'd be the perfect partner in the night's activities.

Despite the numerous warnings the website provided against going into a stranger's house, the girl was surprisingly enthusiastic, considering the outdated, pre-mask photograph Roman had sent. Still, he relieved his regular driver and sent Number 10, his current female personal assistant while he prepared at the apartment; women were more likely to feel at ease with another woman around, he'd learned. Indeed, when the car pulled up outside the cafe, the girl hesitated until she saw the woman driver. 10 had been instructed to keep up conversation to guarantee the girl would arrive relaxed.

Roman had just mixed himself a drink when he heard female laughter in the entryway.

"If that's all, Sir..." Number 10 began, looking very much as though she'd like to leave immediately.

Roman waved at her.

"Sure, toots, you can go home for the evening. I'll see you at the office tomorrow morning. Don't forget I need a lunch reservation, somewhere Zagat rated," he reminded before turning his attention to the girl. He smiled warmly at her, though really, he still wore his usual leer.

"My name is Roman and yours is Circe," he said, handing her a drink.

"Thank you, Master," she replied, accepting the beverage.

Roman laughed, his teeth very white.

"Just Roman is fine, Circe. Did you bring a mask like I asked?"

She frowned apologetically.

"I'm sorry, I didn't have one like you described. I hope you can forgive me," she answered softly, averting her eyes.

Roman patted her hand.

"Don't worry, kiddo, I got you covered," he assured her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a blindfold. "We can start with this."

She sat still while he tied the fabric over her eyes, briefly caressing her blonde hair before taking her hand and leading her out of the room.

"That's a realistic mask you're wearing, Mister Roman," she murmured as they walked. She noticed the air was growing danker and somehow more echoey. He chuckled, dropping her hand.

"Thank you, Circe," his voice came from close behind her. He was touching her hair again, so she leaned back against him, her heart rate increasing slightly as his hand brushed her cheek.

"Take off your clothes," he gruffly commanded, his voice very near her ear.

Circe trembled. She loved the gravelly tone of his command and obeyed hurriedly, stripping blindly, only resting her hand on him once for balance. Even with the blindfold, she could feel his eyes appraising her naked body.

"There's a good girl," he said appreciatively.

He grabbed her roughly, yanking her hand behind her back as he pulled her close. She couldn't help but rub her pelvis against his, relishing the feel of his erection. Her nipples hardened as they moved across his waistcoat.

"I'm your good little girl, Daddy," she tried, inclining her head on his chest.

His grip on her wrists tightened and he pushed the small of her back, grinding his pelvis against her. She kissed his chest, pleased with the result of her words. Then he pulled away from her. She pouted, blindly groping for his warmth.

"Have I been bad?" she whined, stomping her foot.

He chuckled somewhere.

"No...but you're going to be punished anyway."

To her right she heard the clank of metal and she gasp as her hand was seized and cuffed to a stone wall. As she leaned back against the damp wall, she relaxed a little, turning her head in the direction she thought Roman was.

"Wow, Roman, your dungeon is legit!" she exclaimed shivering, momentarily dropping the baby act. He didn't seem to care.

He chuckled again, cuffing her other wrist. The cuffs were a little too high on the wall, causing her to dangle, balanced on her tip toes.

"You have no idea how legit my torture chamber is," he admitted proudly.

She twisted in the direction of his voice.

"Torture chamber? I thought it was called a dungeon," she asked confused. She heard the rustle of cloth as he loosed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.

"Dungeon, torture chamber, oubliette...they all have the same purpose," he replied, pressing his body upon hers.

"Your dedication to realism is a turn on," she murmured in what she hoped was a seductive tone, arching against him.

He growled in response, taking a nipple into his mouth. He rolled it gently between his teeth, listening to her moan before biting down hard.

"Ow!" she yelped, realizing a safe word hadn't been established. "Wait! We need a safe word!"

Roman dropped her breast, his teeth stained with her blood. His tongue licked his teeth as he thought.

"'Spanish tickler' is the safe word. I'm only telling you once, so don't forget it," he warned, irritation creeping into his voice.

"I hope that's like a French tickler," she giggled.

Roman smirked, running his fingernails lightly down her thigh.

"Something like that," he answered, clawing at her now. "Well, it's more fun, I promise. I could use one later, if you like."

She smiled, licking her lips.

"I'd love that, Roman."

He ran his hand back up, slipping it between her thighs. She sighed happily.

"Wet already, Circe?" he questioned, brushing his thumb against her clit.

"Oooh, yes, Daddy," she replied breathily, hoping he'd continue.

He rested his thumb atop her sex and poked a finger into the slick entrance. She moaned as he inserted a second, gently stroking her inner walls. He pressed himself close to her, pushing a third, and then a fourth finger in. He mashed his face against her and she sloppily kissed his lipless mouth, licking his teeth and sucking at the unfeeling skin. He nipped at her tongue, catching it between his teeth and biting down, while simultaneously cramming his thumb into her pussy, beginning to thrust. She jerked against the chains, a squeal rising in her throat. He moved his other hand to her clit, rubbing in time with the thrusting. Instead of the high pitched squeal he'd anticipated, a low moan resounded in her throat. He let go of her tongue, pushing his hand farther inside her.

"Don't...stop," she groaned weakly, her breasts jiggling with the force of his thrusting hand. She clenched around his wrist as she came. He immediately yanked his hand out, leaving her stretched and empty.

"No! Please!" she cried as she climaxed hard around nothing. Her body shuddered and she soon hung limply from the chains, her wrists beginning to chafe.

Roman snickered to himself, looking at his drenched hand. He drew it back and slapped her across the face.

"That's for coming without my permission, you slut," he told her. He backhanded her other cheek, removing most of the mucousy fluids. "And that's just because I felt like it."

She pouted in silence, her plump lips quivering. Roman had already decided to cut them off her face. He unzipped his trousers and took out his semi-hard dick, which poked her abdomen when he leaned close. He then grabbed her by the hair, slamming her head back against the wall.

"I want you to scream for me, Circe," he growled into her neck. "Scream for Daddy."

He bit at her collar bone, pulling the flesh between his teeth, enjoying the feeling of the skin breaking. She screamed in pain. His cock twitched, fully hard again.

"Good girl," he said, pleased, lapping at her blood.

Without warning, he pushed into her and began thrusting roughly. He stopped briefly to lift her legs up, which she wrapped over his hips, and he began a rapid rhythm punctuated with squeaks from Circe. Leaning his forearms against the wall over Circe's shoulders, he pumped, driving her back into the stone.

"I'm going to break your pelvis," he panted, clamping her earlobe in his teeth.

"Yes," she moaned, misinterpreting his intent. "Break my pelvis."

He lowered his arms and wrapped his hands around her throat, pressing his thumbs into her windpipe.

"I wasn't asking for your permission," he rasped, pumping erratically, nearing climax.

He squeezed her throat tighter, her face turning purple. As a line of spittle dripped from her nearly blue lips, he pushed her down hard against his cock and came. When his spasms had ceased, he released Circe's throat. She gasped for air as he pulled out, semen spilling from her pussy to the stone floor with an audible splat.

Circe slumped in her chains, unaware that Roman had wiped his dick off on her leg before zipping back up. He retrieved smelling salts from a nearby workbench, and broke one under her nose. She jerked awake, struggling in panic. Roman stroked her hair affectionately.

"Shhh, Circe, shhh," he hushed, reassuring her. "You've been so accommodating that I'm going to let you see my torture chamber in all its glory."

Circe relaxed as he untied the blindfold. Her eyes took a few moments to adjust to the light. She shook her head, blinking several times in disbelief at the full scope of the chamber's decor.

"Is this a museum?" she asked slowly, her eyes falling on the Iron Maiden.

Roman patted her head and moved toward the upright iron casket. He knocked on the surface, a dull, stuffy sound instead of a hollow one resounding.

"You might call it a museum, Circe," he mused, speaking to the Maiden. He pulled the door open to reveal a corpse riddled with bloody puncture wounds. He looked over his shoulder to the chained girl. "Welcome to my Museum of Death. Circe, meet personal assistant number 9. Number 9, meet Circe. Well, another one."

Roman kicked the Maiden shut with his foot, walking to the workbench.

"You see, Circe, my Iron Maiden is also called Circe. I know, I know: 'Obsess much?'"

He slipped on a rubber apron and gloves, chatting while he sorted through his tools.

"But that's ancient history, and you don't look like the classics type, so I'll fast forward. If you don't study the past, you're doomed to repeat it, I'm sure you've heard that before, Circe," he said mockingly, picking up a scalpel. "You clearly haven't studied the past, Circe. Otherwise you'd know you're not supposed to meet up with strangers on the Internet."

He gripped her face tightly with his left hand and jabbed the tip of the scalpel into her cheek. She tried to open her mouth to scream, but he slammed her jaw upward, breaking a few of her teeth.

"You can scream once I've taken care of some offending body parts, Circe," he promised, slicing away at her lips. Blood stained her teeth and poured over his hand. "Frankly, I'm sick of seeing you snivel."

He removed her lips in one O-ring-esque piece, dangling it before her eyes.

"Look, babe, I got you a bracelet. Don't let nobody say I don't do nice things for ya," he said, slipping it over one of her cuffed hands.

She began screaming, pieces of broken teeth bubbling out of her mouth in rivulets of blood. Roman tossed the scalpel back onto the workbench and smiled broadly.

"That's music to my ears, girlie. Scream for me, Circe."

The girl jerked violently against the chains, the rusted metal cuffs cutting into her wrists. Her eyes were wide and wild and her screaming became intelligible words.

"Spanish tickler! Spanish tickler!"

Roman chuckled.

"Say no more, toots. Spanish tickler it is," he answered eagerly, removing the tool from a hook on the wall above the workbench. As the curved hooks came closer, the girl shook in fear.

"No, please! No! I'm sorry I was bad!" she pleaded tears running down her face.

Roman caressed her cheek, his eyes brilliant as he placed the clawed tool above her left breast.

"I'm not."

The claws punctured deep enough to scrape her ribcage, but not enough to break through, with carefully applied pressure. With one long, slow stroke, Roman moved the Cat's Paw down, tearing through her mammary tissue. Circe spasmed, screaming into his face as her breast was torn to shreds. He stopped before her ribcage ended.

"You know, Circe, the Spanish Inquisition used the Tickler on heretics. It's also called a Cat's Paw, and it's essentially an extension of the user's hand. Can you believe it can tear through bone? Torture with the instrument usually resulted in death," he lectured, fingering the torn tissue. He easily pulled the nipple away from her chest. "But sometimes the victims lived."

He watched hope flicker in her eyes and he laughed.

"Open wide," he ordered, pinching her nose. Her mouth sprang open and he pushed the nipple down her esophagus, massaging her throat so she'd swallow.

Her throat spasmed.

"Don't vomit, Circe," he warned. "I'll make you eat that too."

She began to sob, hiccupping.

"Please don't kill me, please."

Roman dropped the Tickler onto the workbench with a clang, and pretended to think.

"Well, if you put it like that..."

The sobbing paused.

"Nope, I'm still gonna kill you, you stupid bitch," Roman laughed as the sobbing began anew. "I told you before, you brought this on yourself. If you'd never answered my listing, you'd be out clubbing with your girlfriends, hitting on less than respectable date rapists, and maybe, if you're lucky, you'd go home in a roofie stupor, but in one piece."

Roman picked up a sledge hammer.

"They'll never find all the pieces when I'm done with you. And now I'm gonna break your pelvis just like I promised."

He swung the sledge hammer, instantly shattering her pelvis and hip bones. He thought he could hear them crack over the sound of her screaming, or maybe he just knew the sound so well he imagined he heard it. The girl's legs went limp. Roman kicked her left kneecap, breaking the joint with no discernible reaction.

"Did I paralyze you from the waist down?" he snickered, smashing her right kneecap for good measure. "Oops."

Roman carelessly threw the sledge hammer aside and grabbed another smelling salt. Circe jerked awake with a scream.

"What's..." her voice rose in panic, "My legs! I can't feel my legs!"

Roman hummed to himself as he rummaged for something on the workbench.

"You don't need them anymore, Circe," he patronized, finding what he wanted. "Lord knows you ain't walking out of here tonight, or any other night."

Circe took one look at the saw in his hand and began screaming. Roman glanced down in mock surprise at the saw.

"What, this old thing? You're afraid of this? This is the stuff of fantasy right here, babe," he said dreamily, scraping the saw lightly over her stomach. "This is what gets me through the night. You might even go as far as to say this is what turns me on."

With all his weight, Roman leaned onto the saw and began vigorously moving it back and forth. He chatted over Circe's garbled screams.

"Well, if we're being totally honest, which I can tell you are, it's probably the sight of your blood and entrails laying hot and steamy all over the floor that turns me on more than the saw itself, but that's just details."

He paused, contemplatively stroking her ashen face. She already looked like a corpse.

"Don't let the details catch you up, Circe. Leave them to the boss, to Daddy, to people smarter and more capable than you. For instance, don't worry about how your blood is soaking into my Italian leather shoes. Don't worry about how much it'll cost me to replace them, or if I'll remember to burn off your fingertips and remove your teeth to prevent the authorities from IDing your remains, if they're ever found, which they won't be, but the point is, your worrying days are over."

He took up sawing again. Her screams had ceased by now; they'd stopped somewhere around when he'd severed her small intestine from her stomach.

"These are your last moments, Circe, and I want you to enjoy them as much as I am. I want you to think about how much of a lucky girl you are that before you died, you had the best damn lay of your life."

The saw hit her spinal column and Circe's eyes became lifeless.

"Goodbye, Circe," Roman said cheerfully, slipping the blade between two vertebrae and giving a final push. The saw touched the stone wall and the girl's lower body crumpled to the floor. He threw the saw aside.

"Well, that was quite the fulfilling evening, Roman," he said to himself as he peeled off the apron and gloves. His shoes tracked blood across the floor, so he kicked them off before climbing the stairs into his apartment. He fixed himself a drink and sat down at his computer. A self-satisfied smile appeared on his face when he saw his email.

There were 3 new responses to his listing.
From:
Anonymous( )Anonymous This account has disabled anonymous posting.
OpenID( )OpenID You can comment on this post while signed in with an account from many other sites, once you have confirmed your email address. Sign in using OpenID.
User
Account name:
Password:
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
Subject:
HTML doesn't work in the subject.

Message:

 
Notice: This account is set to log the IP addresses of everyone who comments.
Links will be displayed as unclickable URLs to help prevent spam.

Profile

agentorange: (Default)
LARFLEEZE

May 2010

S M T W T F S
      1
2345678
9101112131415
16171819202122
23242526272829
3031     

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jul. 24th, 2017 10:45 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios