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Introduction:

A jaded but powerful young woman applies her cruel fantasies upon two unsuspecting teenage students.
1.

I’m one seriously fucked up young lady. Without the least bit of pride I can say I’ve probably seen more blood, pain and misery in my twenty years than most people do in a lifetime. Undoubtedly, I’m relatively sane when writing this down, but considering the things I’ve seen and been exposed to, it’s no wonder I’ve become jaded, cynical and unnaturally sadistic. Oh, I’m sure modern psychology can explain my condition, and the majority of people would probably label me as extremely immoral. Well: I. Just. Don’t. Care.

I’m the result of a life in the Eastern European underground. The fact that I haven’t perished—why I’ve not ended up an illiterate crack whore that no one remembers—I can only attribute to my smarts. I’m the last generation of a pretty long line of intelligent and successful people (or so my research tells me). That I, despite that promising outset, spent most of my years in the underground has—to some degree—to do with the law of every dynasty’s steady decline. In my parents’ case, however, economic troubles with the mob resulted in my line’s not going out with a whimper, but with a bang-bang-bang.

By the “administration” of the mob, I was indeed thrown into prostitution at a pretty early age. But I didn’t do crack (much) and I certainly wasn’t illiterate. I’ve been used and abused and forced to do unspeakable things, but I always had enough discipline and intelligence to use and abuse my superiors in more or less subtle manners. While most of the other girls I met were empty-eyed victims forever stuck in the mud, I climbed an invisible ladder. I made sure I made more money and was promised more favors than any one of my peers. I also made very important contacts in a complex network of pimps, mobsters and corrupt policemen. My knack for languages didn’t hurt either. You could call me an escort entrepreneur.

Now, with all that power came more freedom and more spare time—enough time for me to complete the homeschooling of my childhood with whatever education the books of local libraries offered. It didn’t take me very long to be respected in my “family” of mob pimps as someone to rely on and as someone to give responsibilities. I was no longer just a subhuman slave you piss in the mouth.

The underground hierarchical “ladder” can be remarkably short, as I found out: in what in hindsight feels like no time at all, I went from sex slave to a woman of means and independence, with resources far surpassing those of the above-ground world. Sure, I had to go through a lot, but the highest suffer the most. And deceit and violence, I learned, can get you anywhere.

Some months ago, I re-entered civilization by moving to Finland, where east and west meet. I still live here. I entered college in Helsinki, a city full of sympathetic people by day, but even this city shows its underbelly at night if you know where to look. Although I am now a free woman, I still have underground contacts and quite a few of them in Helsinki, ready at my disposal. My humanity was taken from me long ago and with hope gone, I’ve completely lost all sense of fear: I willingly revel in the same depravities that my abusers exposed me to in the borderlands of Eastern Europe. The only difference now is that I’m the abuser and my victims are not the hairy middle-aged men (and some not-so-hairy women) that mistreated me, but young girls just below my own age.

I’m not entirely sure myself why I do what I do or from where my desire comes. Psychologists would most likely say that I want to reverse the roles of past abuse, where I become the one in control, so much that my abused body is projected onto the bodies of other young girls. Sociologists might say that I, over the years, have internalized perverse behavior as something normal and desirable. Both explanations are probably somewhat valid, but to be honest, the decadent blood of my parents seems to have lived on and mutated into something slightly new and monstrous in me.

When I was a child I was always fascinated with death and torture devices. I sat on my bum in the sun and burned ants with a magnifying glass. Sadism was always there in some form, quite independently of the way I was nurtured. But in those days I never made any sexual connection to that behavior. My life as a prostitute, however, certainly helped with that. Not only did it make pain and pleasure two sides of the same coin in my world, but a heap of other abnormal behaviors were soon conditioned as something more or less pleasurable to me. If they offered to stick a whole hand up my colon I’d come running. If they told me to swallow a pint of urine I’d start drooling. Ding-ding. Very Pavlovian. What can I say? This was the only world I knew. Or perhaps I’m just making up excuses again. Maybe I would’ve become what I became no matter the circumstances.

Anyway, back to Helsinki and its people. Finns in general drink almost as much as Eastern Europeans—Finland is historically part of the “vodka belt”—but, being a Nordic country, the national character differs greatly from where I grew up. Scandinavian introversion reaches its peak with the Finns, and although capital cities like Helsinki are mixed up with metropolitan temperaments, you will find some of the most wonderfully withdrawn girls in the world here. And that fits my needs like a glove.

You see, I like to humiliate people. I want to see their shame and discomfort. I bet I look like a complete maniac when I stare hungrily at their beet red blushing faces when they realize what I’m about to force them to do, with no vodka at hand to save them from their terrifying sobriety. This, of course, works best with shy people. And even more so when they are compelled to do things to other innocent people, provoking their sense of etiquette (because that is really all there is to it) far beyond their social comfort zones. My favorite thing in this whole worthless world—the thing that still really gets me high—is having people engage in enforced perverted games with each other when their relationship to each other in the social world in which they live is already very much strained.

This is a story relating my interactions with two such girls in my new country.

2.

I had taken note of her for a few days before I made up my mind to focus on her entirely among a group of other possible contenders: A rather cute, impossibly pale, slim and tall girl with fair, almost white hair and practically invisible eyebrows. She was a loner student, just like me, with the obvious difference that I was lonely by choice, spending my time between classes secretly spying on girls rather than moping around for having no “best friend forever” among the crowd of other students. On the outside, she didn’t seem too angry about her lot though; from what I could see, she never vented her disappointment with busts of aggression. Rather, she was always friendly and polite whenever she was spoken to, and seemed the kind of person who would be annoyingly meek when teased and would try to avoid all contact whenever someone verbally attacked her. I never saw these things happen, though; other than me, hardly anyone paid her any attention at all and whatever pent-up frustration and anger she might have felt, she never had the courage to let the world know.

So, I made sure my underground contacts in Helsinki looked her up and handed me all the details on her. Her name was Siiri, had just turned eighteen and had enrolled in an art college in the city this autumn. According to observations at her home and from what we read in her diary (yes, my “team” hacked her computer and gave me full access), she often sat in her room in her parents’ villa just outside of the capital, often daydreaming of Prince Charming to come save her from her dull little world. Meanwhile, she read romantic literature, watched romantic films and masturbated. Her diary was full of frustrated monologues on how this or that handsome guy just might be interested in her because he actually looked at her for a second and just might be the one to understand her whole being, elope with her and provide a life of love and safety for her. But life seldom turns out the way we want it to, especially not with people like me out there to crush the dreams of a young girl.

Siiri usually spent lunch breaks at one of the college cafeterias, sitting alone at a table, sipping coffee and pretending to study textbooks while groups of people in the room were chatting idly about their exciting lives. Accordingly, I also spent my lunches in that room, at a table not too far from hers, watching her every move. I remember the first day I saw her: she picked up a tray, placed a glass of milk and a sandwich on it and went to pay the cashier at the counter.

“This, please,” she said, looking down at her tray.

“Sure thing,” answered the cashier. “That’ll be €4.”

The cashier was a tall girl, the same height as Siiri, with long, flat, dark brown hair hanging like curtains on either side of her face. She looked kind, but was obviously bored with her occupation. She smiled sarcastically while Siiri fumbled for change in her wallet.

“Here,” Siiri said as she held out the coins in her hand.

“There’s only €3 here.”

“Oh, sorry!” she yelped and dug her fingers in her wallet in search of more change.

A few coins dropped out of it, scattering across the floor with Siiri’s shaky hands flinging here and there trying to catch them. The cashier girl gave an inaudible sigh and waited patiently. Siiri finally got up from the floor, slightly flushed, and handed over the remaining payment. As she did so, she hit the glass of milk on her tray, spilling milk all over the pay desk.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” she said, panicked.

“It’s okay!” the cashier said, visibly annoyed. “I’ll take care of this, just take your tray and go sit somewhere.”

Siiri took her tray and turned around—her face a deep red—as people in the cafeteria watched her with raised eyebrows. She made her way to an empty table, pretending as though nothing had happened, though probably cursing the day she was born. I myself beamed with Schadenfreude in my own corner of the room, like a tiger lurking behind the tangled vegetation of chairs and tables.

In the following week or so, the poor girl didn’t do much better. Though she didn’t drop any more money (she told her diary at this time that “I swear to God I will never drop anything ever again!”), every lunch was awkward for her. Whenever she paid for her lunch and obviously tried to make amends for her previous clumsiness by giving a go at some friendly idle chat with the cashier, the words often came out wrong. Her attempts to adjust these errors with more talk made things even worse until the slightly irritated but polite cashier told Siiri—in careful euphemisms—to fuck off and go eat her food.

The climax of these uncomfortable daily rituals was reached on a Thursday when Siiri accidentally made the cashier cut herself on a kitchen knife. I’m not sure how it happened, but judging by the cashier’s furious look it was all Siiri’s fault. Characteristically, Siiri offered her most sincere apologies and the cashier told her it was okay, while clutching her bleeding finger.

“Why was I put into this world at all?” read Siiri’s diary that night. “Am I only here to suffer? I’ve been put into a vice of constant torture and I can’t get out of it because I’m too much of a coward to end it all. I have no meaningful role in this life and I’ll never find a single friend. I am apparently unable to be loved by anyone. Thanks a lot, life.” This was followed by a badly written poem.

The situation was perfect. My next move was obvious to me: I made sure that I got to know everything about that cashier.

3.

Marja studied sociology at the university, lived alone in an apartment in the outskirts of Helsinki and spent her lunches as a cashier at the college cafeteria to make some extra money. She was nineteen years old and for someone so skinny she was endowed with a bosom that looked almost unnaturally large. She kept no diary, but her computer was full of other clues. Among her friends she was known as the girl who knew everything about classic literature, cinema and art, something of which she was obviously very proud. In reality, however, Marja’s knowledge and even interest in these things were very superficial. When she told her friends that she had spent last night reading a treatise on “an interesting theory” on the art of this or that painter, she had in fact spent all night playing video games, watching TV shows and chatting online.

Her e-mail account contained a myriad of conversations between Marja and her friends. It was mostly gossip about other people in their daily lives, recent news, homework and fashion. Speaking of which: fashion was probably her only real talent. She was not very interested in it as a topic of discussion, but she seemed to have a keen eye for what worked and what didn’t. She always dressed well and she managed to make her attire compliment her body and face in a sensual yet classy manner.

As I secretly listened to her conversations with friends in school and about town, it became obvious that she deemed herself quite a better person than her friends (and everyone else for that matter). She often spoke aloud about what this or that person lacked, was suspicious of possible vices in others and made sarcastic remarks whenever anyone around her spoke their mind on a subject. Marja had evidently been raised to be polite whenever she had to, but also thought herself way to cool to have people like Siiri get anywhere near her (unless she was paid for it).

“These two just have to meet in a more intimate setting,” I thought. I could become each girl’s best friend—by paying compliments to Marja’s huge ego and saying practically anything to Siiri—lure them in and then drug them. But I was nowhere patient enough for all that. I wanted these girls now and I had the right people to bring them to me.

4.

There they were, finally. In a well-lit windowless cellar with brick walls and a rubbery floor, Marja and Siiri lay stark naked, hogtied next to each other, their breasts resting on the ground and their mouths taped over. It was about five in the evening and most college classes had ended.

They had just been brought there by two ruthless women (I prefer collaborating with members of my own sex) who’d do anything as long as you paid them. These middle-aged brutes, Alisa and Galina, stood stoically silent by one of the walls, ready for any of my other commands during this “session.” They wore rough clothes with dirty jackets and boots, while I unceremoniously scampered about barefoot in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

The cellar was the basement of the ruins of a wooden cabin that I’d bought cheap only to acquire the surprisingly well-preserved underground facility. The room was huge, had a high ceiling and—along the walls—was full of various paraphernalia that I had prepared before arrival. Between my “henchwomen” was the only way out: a thick iron door, closed and locked. The estate was situated just outside Helsinki, in the middle of nowhere, in a forest next to a windy plain; scarcely anyone knew of its existence and no one would want to go here. Hence, no one would see us and no one would hear us. The basement was warm and completely isolated; like a dimension closed off from the one upstairs, outside.

As the ex-student girls lay there, wide-eyed and shivering with apprehension, I couldn’t help myself. I ran up to Marja and turned her over. I pinched her right nipple severely between my thumb and forefinger and then—with my jaw muscles protruding—sunk my strong teeth into her breast for a number of seconds. A muffled cry, and then—having left deep bite marks in her skin—fast, sharp gusts of air going in and out of her nostrils.

“Did that hurt?” I said calmingly, stroking her hair and sucking my lips. My Finnish is somewhat broken, but she undeniably understood what I said: her eyes were aflame with fear and anger.

I smiled, turned her on her stomach again and moved over to Siiri. I lay down next to her, parallel to her body, resting my head on my right hand, with my face an inch from hers. “Hello,” I said. As I gazed at her, my left hand trailed down her spine and rested on her right buttock. With sudden force my five fingernails fastened deep into her pearly-white skin. She winced and squeezed her eyes shut. As my grip tightened my arousal increased and I breathed heavily into Siiri’s agonized face. With my nails still in her butt muscle I pressed my right hand against her left cheek and started licking her right side’s outer ear canal and sucking her earlobe, following her head’s every move as she tried to get away from my tongue.

My left hand loosened its grip, Siiri’s skin almost sticking to my fingernails as they pulled out of their crescent-shaped little indentations. I let my hand stroke her buttock to feel the bumps of the reddening engravings I’d made in her skin. I got to my feet and told Alisa and Galina to lay the teenagers on a couple of low frameless baggage carts I had prepared, placing them so that the girls faced each other a few inches apart. Once done, I sat down between them, grabbing the hair of each so that their eyes met.

“Recognize each other? I bet you do. Marja, this is Siiri. She’s the klutz who made you cut your finger in the cafeteria, right? And do you remember that awkward time when she mumbled on about how nice it was that you served her and she then realized how inappropriate that sounded and said you were ‘not my slave or anything’?”

I looked at Siiri whose face had turned red. Her eyes darted to the floor, then up to Marja’s stare in an attempt at mute apology and then instantly back to the floor again.

“It is also Siiri’s fault that you’re here, Marja. You could have lived a wonderful life. With your talent I bet you’d become a famous author or artist or something—your potential is just astounding. But because of Siiri, you’re stuck in here.”

Siiri violently shook her head and shot pleading glances over at Marja’s disdainful gaze until I fiercely lugged her head back with a grip pulling at her hair roots, my knuckles white.

“Yes, you did, Siiri. Yes, you did.”

A tear ran down Siiri’s cheekbone. I put my tongue flat against the side of her face, traced the tear back to her eye, covered its orbit with my mouth and sucked her eyelid, releasing it with a smack.

“In any case, you two will get to know each other pretty intimately soon enough. Alisa! Galina! Put them up for the tube.”

The girls were released from their hogties. Alisa laid Marja down onto a cross-shaped metal frame on the floor, her body in an X, each wrist and ankle tied and her whole body encased by thick rubber straps every other inch. Metal bolts connected to the frame were fastened into her ears in order to keep her head in place. Galina removed the tape over her mouth with a quick jerk and put something black and rubbery in it before Marja could make a sound. It was a wide inflatable butterfly gag, placed onto her lines of teeth, pressing against the insides of her cheeks. Between Marja’s lips two thin tubes now stuck out. One ended in a rubber bulb used to inflate the gag. The other, much longer, transparent tube started deep inside Marja’s mouth and went out through the gag. She would soon find out where it ended. Under protesting whines from the girl, Galina squeezed the rubber bulb a few times until Marja looked as though she had attempted to swallow a balloon, her lips stretched comically along the rubber, the skin around her cheeks swollen.

With Marja’s eyes to the ceiling (she had no other choice), Siiri’s face soon came into view. We had tied her to the same kind of frame that now made Marja immovable (with exception for her shaking hands and feet). Siiri’s body was also wrapped in rubber straps, but we made sure to have her body free of straps from her breasts to her thighs, leaving her belly to hang down in a slight arch. We had then flipped the frame around and—with a few metal bars connecting them—placed it just a few inches above Marja’s body. The two damsels had to face each other anew—Marja with her bizarre protruding mouth, Siiri still silenced by duct tape. I crouched on my toes, playfully letting mine and Siiri’s heads rest against each other.

“Now, girls, I bet you wonder where this long tube is going. I’ll tell you: it’s connected to a metal funnel that we’ve positioned between Siiri’s legs. This means that if Siiri all of a sudden feels like relieving herself, it will all end up in the funnel, going down through the tube and—yep, you guessed it—into Marja’s mouth.”

Marja’s eyebrows contracted and she pronounced a moan of falling melody somewhere between the pitiful, disappointed and annoyed: “Mmmm-hm-hmm!” Without the gag I imagine it would have sounded something like, “Nooo-ho-hoo!” Her breast was now heaving and stuttering as, I suppose, uneasiness shot tingly freezing stress hormones through her body.

“Don’t worry, Marja. I don’t think Siiri would let that happen to you. I’m pretty sure she’s considerate enough to be determined to keep any liquid of hers to herself this evening.”

What Marja didn’t know was that Alisa had forced Siiri to drink copious amounts of warm lemon water before she entered the cellar. I could see on Siiri’s face and feel as I stroked her belly that her bladder was on the verge of eruption. Small droplets of sweat were already showing on her forehead. Even so, I thought I’d “help her out” a bit. Way out of Marja’s field of view, I straddled the girls, bent forwards a bit and let my hands reach down and backwards along Siiri’s stomach. As I reached just below her navel, my fingertips started pressing into her. Siiri let out a muffled, high-pitched sound and her fingers shot out convulsively from her palms.

But, to my amusement, she didn’t give in. Not a drop left her. That, however, wouldn’t get in the way of the inevitable. I started massaging Siiri’s rock-hard bladder with my fingers, occasionally prodding a fingertip into her abdomen with piercing force. As I let my fingers dig around in her belly, Siiri’s hands curled into tight, shaking fists. It lasted for a few seconds, until what would have been a gasp left her and a gushing sound of liquid onto sheet iron filled the room. She had no way of stopping now.

“Oh? Already?” I said in feigned surprise and hurried down to look at Marja’s face.

She was panicking. She was desperately trying to turn her head, no doubt, but the metal bolts in her ears kept her head in place. “Here it comes,” I cooed as I watched the urine flush through the transparent tube and in through Marja’s gag. Her eyes turned into gigantic globes of shock as she accidentally swallowed a small gulp of it, her throat bulging back and forth in fleeting motion. She now breathed frantically through her nose, supposedly having shut off all access to her throat with the back of her tongue.

“So much for Siiri’s consideration, huh?”

I then lightly pinched Marja’s nostrils together. She protested with stifled wails at the lack of air, and her hands and feet shook. I put my mouth close to her ear as I kept my thumb and forefinger clenched tightly around her nose.

“You will suffocate if you don’t swallow,” I said in a calm voice. “That inflated thing in your mouth isn’t going anywhere. Take three big gulps for me and I will let you breathe for a while.”

Marja hesitated for a second. Then I heard a loud “grroigkh” and saw her throat move back and forth along her neck again. Another second passed before two other loud gulping sounds followed in hasty succession, Marja squeezing her eyes shut from exertion and disgust. I released my grip and Marja’s eyes flew open, breathing heavily through her nostrils.

“Very good,” I said as I stroked her cheek. “Three more, now.”

I pinched her nostrils together again and waited the few seconds it took for Marja to get desperate for more oxygen and three loud gulps followed. When I released her nose this time, she took a deep breath and uttered a subdued cry as tears started filling her eyes.

“Oh, I know,” I said comfortingly. “Judging by the smell, the taste in your mouth is quite bitter and sour. And in your stomach”—I patted it—“Siiri’s piss is swishing about. Just the thought must be sickening to you. And there is still more to go!”

It demanded two more three-gulp sessions before Siiri ran out of fluid. By then, both girls were crying—Marja from shock and revulsion, Siiri mostly from shame and sympathy for Marja. Siiri’s tears were dripping down into Marja’s face.

“Jeez, Siiri. Not only do you take a pee in her mouth, you just have to sob in her face too, don’t you? At least we have solved some basic needs here: Siiri doesn’t have to go to the bathroom anymore and Marja won’t be thirsty for a good while. Now, I’ll leave you two schoolgirls here for a moment. Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be back.”

5.

I put on a pair of sneakers and a jacket that I’d brought with me. I then went through the iron door and went up the stairs. Soon, I was standing outside the cabin, cigarette in hand, gazing out across the plain which darkened as night slowly descended upon it like a thick black rug. “What a strange thing,” I thought. The wind blew through my hair and the nearby trees and I idly pinched my left nipple through my t-shirt, watching the horizon. Way out there somewhere was the closest neighbor, maybe a farmer and his wife having dinner. And here was I, a creature that didn’t really belong anywhere, but was now in complete control of her destiny. “I can do whatever I want here, and all I do is come into your little world and fuck it up in secret,” I thought. “Heh-heh,” I whispered to myself. “I’m a little demoness from hell. An aroused little demoness.” I put my hand between my legs and patted my crotch through my sweatpants a few times. Then I dropped the cigarette to the ground, stamped it out, turned on the spot and went down to the basement again.

“Whoa, it sure smells like piss in here,” I proclaimed as I locked the door behind me.

I pulled my jacket off and threw my sneakers to one side. Marja and Siiri were still in position, two parallel X’s on the floor, one hovering above the other. They had stopped crying. Only a sob sporadically broke the silence. Alisa and Galina stood with their arms crossed on either side of the door. Money in action. I stepped up in front of the X’s and gazed down at the girls. Marja’s face was wet and messy with both hers and Siiri’s snot and tears. I pulled out a knife, sat down on my knees next to the girls and spoke in a calm voice to both of them:

“I’m now going to remove your gag, Marja, and your tape, Siiri, but remember this: You will not say a single word throughout this whole evening. You’re allowed to breathe, moan and cry as much as you like, but if a single word escapes you, I will not hesitate to cut your throats open. You”—I placed the flat of the cold glistening blade on Marja’s burning hot left cheek—“will answer any of my questions with a nod only. Do you understand?”

Marja nodded feverishly, as did Siiri once I looked up at her.

“Good. Here we go then.”

I turned the valve on the bulb, making the gag in Marja’s mouth deflate; I could see how her once stretched lips turned dry and wrinkled. As I tugged the gag out of her mouth, saliva gushed out and cascaded down her cheeks. She took deep breaths, but didn’t say anything. Her breath reeked with urine.

“I’m going to kiss you now, and you’re going to kiss me back. Right?”

I held the edge of the knife to her throat and she nodded. Removing the knife, I dug my tongue into her mouth, letting it run along her teeth and underneath her tongue, sucking it almost dry. Marja herself made a few insecure attempts at answering my kiss, attempts which quickly became more intense once I pointed the knife on the arteries of her neck as a reminder. Her ambitious response made me purr and for a moment we probably looked like a romantic couple making out. I sucked her lower lip and released it with a smart sound, breaking the kiss. I swallowed.

“Yeah, Siiri sure tastes foul, I’ll give you that.”

Turning my head up towards Siiri, I violently yanked the tape off her lips, producing a sudden shout from her.

“Clean them up and tie them together,” I said, standing up.

Alisa and Galina did as they were told. The girls were untied from the metal frames and washed meticulously where they stood by a garden hose. When they had finished with Marja and were still cleaning Siiri, I noticed a mixed look of anxiety and determination in Marja’s eyes. She dashed past my trusted lackeys and probably figured that once she was past the beasts, she only had to shove me to the side, unlock the door and rush up the stair to freedom. She probably figured that I didn’t look that much of an obstacle. Well, I may not be as strong as Alisa or Galina, but Marja’s assessment was way off. I’m the beast here. What was supposed to be a blow towards my head as she tried to pass me, just hit air as I pulled off a swift maneuver and instead grabbed her hand, twisted it behind her back and punched her hard in the stomach.

She lay coughing on the floor in fetal position, grasping her belly. I forcibly laid her on her back, kneeled into her palms on either side of her head, with my crotch resting on her neck and my bare toes on the floor just beneath her armpits. Looking down on her, her eyes wild with horror, I said:

“Wow, you should not have done that.”

I slapped her fiercely on her left cheek. Then equally hard on her right one. Then another one on her left, her hair twirling slightly back and forth across her wet face.

“I don’t know what’s going through your head, Marja, but I’m not going to kill you tonight if I don’t have to. All you have to do is to be a good girl and endure these hours. Then I’ll release you. Okay?”

I gave her three more slaps, all on her left cheek and with increased force. I stopped and looked at her. Marja was sobbing, her cheek glowing red, a trail of blood running from her left nostril. I got up, shot Siiri’s terrified face a quick glance and told Alisa and Galina to wipe Marja off and then complete their initial order. What has night to do with sleep?

In this arrangement, Marja and Siiri were standing on the floor with their bodies crushed together by tight straps, their arms firmly caressing each other and their breasts squeezing into one another, making especially Marja’s immense breasts look painfully engorged, the formerly milky skin reddened and tense. They had their hair tied up and hooked to the ceiling, forcing them to stand with their heels half an inch from the floor. Their legs were entangled so that each girl’s crotch rested on one of the thighs of the other, forming scissors of limbs. Their heads were slightly tilted like a cross so that their open mouths would cover each other when met.

No matter how much they wanted to remove their tongues form inside each other’s mouths, I had made sure to make that an impossible feat: the outside of the corners of Marja’s mouth were pierced to the inside of Siiri’s upper and lower lips, and at deep enough points for the tips of one girl’s tongue to almost touch the other’s uvula. The scene called to mind a bizarre snapshot of two girls about to devour each other.

Almost the whole of their bodies, from their necks to their ankles, had been drenched in oil, making their bodies slippery. There was, of course, method to this madness: it made the flow of skin against skin easier. I had placed a plethora of electrical pads on each girl’s feet and calves, and on the back of their thighs and their buttocks. With continuous sudden electrical bursts through their legs, their feet would rise onto their toes and back again, making them slide their crotches up and down the other’s oily thigh. Although the tight straps wouldn’t allow for much movement, it would be more than enough for oiled up, sensitive teenage groins to send forbidden shivers through their bodies.

Siiri’s face was already red-hot from embarrassment. Their mouths drooled saliva down into the crevices of their breasts, each girl now and then making attempts at swallowing. I sat down in a modern armchair in front of the couple and put into my lap the remote that controlled the pads on their legs. I pressed one of its buttons, releasing it immediately, allowing for a single shot of electricity to force the girls’ crotches up and forwards, their perfectly coordinated pubic bones slamming up next to each other, their labia then slowly slipping back down as far as the straps allowed, the whole act generating suppressed, slightly gurgling gasps from the girls’ throats. I repeated the action a few times, about three seconds apart, until the girls seemed to have gotten slightly used to the sensation. “Time for love,” I mused to myself.

When I pressed the button this time, the settings on the remote were set to slowly decrease the time between thrusts over a five minute period, from two seconds to a quarter of a second. Also, the intensity of the little shocks would gradually increase, making the thrusts of the girls’ legs fiercer. As it started, I put the remote down on one of the armrests, pulled my t-shirt off my torso and sat back down into a sloppy position, massaging my breasts. The rhythmic movements of the girls’ legs and their equally rhythmic sighs made my vision almost foggy with lust and my chin protruded stupidly as my hands groped my breasts more roughly. I tried to suck my nipple, but I couldn’t quite cover all of it with my mouth. My breasts aren’t small at all, but ironically—as biological fortune would have it—they are too firm and therefore not flexible enough to be pulled towards me easily. “Damn these tits,” I thought and pinched my left nipple almost in anger, making me squirm as I pinched it slightly harder than I had intended.

The teenagers now pushed into each other in one-second intervals, definitely with more force than before. Their breaths were dripping with lust, only interrupted by the occasional groan of shame. I clawed at my crotch as I imagined how their clitorises were like compact little marbles shoved deeply up and down against glistening skin. I can easily visualize my own face at that point: my jaw slack, my eyes blank and slightly covered by eyelid crescents, my eyebrows raised almost as if in surprise. No breath coming from my nose, only whispering gasps going in and out of my open mouth.

Marja’s and Siiri’s legs were now thrusting violently, indeed like human scissors bent on cutting something up as fast as possible. Their legs were shaking from tiring muscles, but there was more to it: they were obviously nearing climax, both of them. Their breathing was shallow, rapid and wheezy, their faces scarlet and glistening with sweat, strands of hair sticking to their foreheads. Suddenly: Marja moaned loudly—an anxious, spluttering moan accompanied by her whole body shivering and an explosion of saliva bursting from her mouth and onto Siiri’s cheeks. Although the electric shocks still pierced through her legs, her heels now leapt as far up as they could, refusing to go down again, her buttocks cramping spastically. As if responding to cue, Siiri shrieked and raised her heels into static position, forcing her hips up as far as they would go, her fingernails digging into the skin of Marja’s back and a gush of fluid shooting from her groin during repeated moans of “Ah! Ah! Ah!”

I turned the remote off. As I sat down to watch these shivering pieces of flesh calm down, I noticed I had let a puddle of saliva form on my chest, its stream gliding down to the depths of my navel. I sipped up a hanging strain of drool from my lower lip, wiped off the saliva on my torso onto the cloth of the armchair and put my t-shirt back on. Then I walked up to the girls.

“You almost came simultaneously, that’s so romantic! And Siiri, you really liked this, didn’t you? Squirting all over the place? Well, I’ll let you girls rest like this for a while and really savor the experience. I’ll lower the hair ties a bit so you can stand on your heels.”

And with that, I put on my jacket and my sneakers and went out again.

6.

“Jesus Christ,” I thought. “What if I actually do release them later tonight? And what if they then become best friends for having endured such a harsh ordeal together, a trial by fire that only I can provide? Hah-hah! I, the demons from hell, bringing people together! Why not? People complain about their troubles all the time, but in the end they always have to admit to themselves that they become better people because of it. I’m an angel in disguise, I am.”

My mind trailed back to memories of the scene I had just witnessed—“God damn, that was hot”—my fingers finding my nipples again. “Oh, all right, it can’t be helped,” I said to myself and I ogled around the ground of the nearby trees. It was getting quite dark. I took a few steps into the woods and my hands fumbled around the grass.

Finally, I found a branch, as thick as my forearm. The bark had been peeled off and the underlying wood was smooth, although a bit soggy. I lay down in the grass, pulled my sweatpants and underwear down to my ankles and spread my legs wide. I pulled my t-shirt up to just below my neck and started pulling at my nipples with my left hand. With my right hand I lifted the branch into the air above me and with a crack I struck my right inner thigh, a sigh escaping me as my head pulled back slowly and my eyes closed. I pinched my nipple and struck again, now breathing heavily, the soles of my sneakers pressing together. I put the branch in my left hand and frantically started to rub my bare crotch with my right hand, the wet thumping sound of wood onto skin time and again resounding in the night.

I felt how a trail of liquid started to tickle between my buttocks. I hurriedly sat up on my left elbow, clutched the branch in my right hand and clumsily traced its tip along my labia. Once I thought I was on target, I started ramming the somewhat irregular branch inside me. My inner folds strained and refused to let it in farther than an inch. “Come on, you motherfucker, I’ve had worse things than you inside me!” I grunted as I started sweating. I pulled it out, tried again, and went on like that, gaining an inch each time. Once I felt that most of it had gained access, I began shoving it in and out of me at a regular pace. My eyes were wide with arousal at having this branch inside me, my breathing hurried and I had to swallow once in a while. It was far from painless, but I didn’t care. I lowered myself onto my back and let my left hand reach underneath my bottom, my middle finger finding my anus. It was already a little lubricated by the secretion coming from upstairs, so I just brusquely poked my finger inside. It made me hold my breath for a moment, my right hand still pumping. As my finger made come-hither motions against the nether wall of my rear end, I exhaled long and hard through my nostrils, eyes closed.

Lying like that, both hands working furiously, my eyes squeezed shut and my teeth clenched together, a revue of past experiences crossed my mind in dreamy succession: My hands tied down; semen shooting up my colon; a rough palm hitting my face, my skin burning; the foot of a young girl gagging my throat; an arm strangling me from behind as a woman’s fist works its way up my bottom, her eyes and smile gleaming; a girl being anally raped (she was so dumb she almost deserved it); my being forced to pee in another girl’s mouth, her eyes dead; the same girl forced to lick my behind; used underwear tied across my face; a crazy couple holding me down, massaging my red-whipped crotch with mustard; salt stinging sharply in a wound; branch; salt; finge— sal— fnnkkkkrrrr—

I pulled the branch and my finger out of my holes and held my breath as I felt the muscles around them twitching angrily as though they were trying to crush something. I pulled my knees to my chest, lay on my side and breathed out heavily. With each convulsion, my abdominal muscles pushed my knees towards my chin and pressed shivering gusts of air out of my lungs, making the grass on the ground next to my mouth bend back and forth, back and forth.

Calming down, I lay there for a long time. I felt as though the ground held me in its lap, the black trees looking down at me, their leafy crowns comforting me with soothing, windy voices, slowly letting me sink down through the ground into a warm, dizzy place.

I sat up with a jolt, a little shocked that I had almost fallen asleep on the spot. Taking a deep breath, I got to my feet and pulled my underwear and sweatpants back up, my buttocks dotted with goose bumps. I pulled my t-shirt down again, folded my jacket across my chest and shivered. I hadn’t taken many steps down the lit stairs when I stopped. I stretched the elastic of my sweatpants and underwear with my left thumb and plunged a couple of fingers of my right hand down my crotch. When I pulled my fingers out again and held them to my face, they were covered in a creamy white substance that was partially diluted with blood. “I’ve had worse,” I thought, put them in my mouth and skipped down the stairs.

7.

As I closed the iron door behind me, I was pretty sure I was done with the girls and that the evening had come to an end. But almost as soon as I looked at them clutching to each other and the smell of sex hit my olfactory nerves, the “reptilian brain” in me started working mercilessly and my jaw hung loosely again.

I pulled my jacket and shoes off and circled the girls, watching their shiny bodies shifting slightly. I felt a chill on the bare soles of my feet: the wet remnants of Siiri’s climax were still covering the floor, but the watery liquid had turned cold quite a while ago. The stares of the girls were a bit less shaken by now, their eyes following me almost with curiosity. Now and again, one of them would have to swallow some of the mix of their own and the other girl’s saliva, prompting the other to do the same.

I put my hands on each of their lower backs and let my fingers glide down through the oil to their pairs of pearly-white globes. Massaging their bottoms for a while, I then slipped my hands between their buttocks, pulling my fingers up and down along their crevices. Abruptly—and in sync—I thrust my middle fingers through their tight sphincters and pushed as far in as I could, as though trying to connect the two fingers through the girls’ intestines. They squealed aloud into each other’s mouths, a strain of drool dripping from their lips. I then drew my fingers out a little bit—the first knuckles still inside their warm bodies—and pulled my fingers up with my full strength, like hooks trying to pierce through to their spines, my biceps swelling. The pitiable adolescents shrieked into each other as I felt their racing pulses tapping against my middle fingers through their colon walls.

I pulled out of them and felt their sphincters close shut behind me. I put my oily middle fingers to my nose, noticed the stale smell and saw a light brown tint cover my fingertips. In a fit of creativity, I stroked one of those fingers across the skin between Marja’s nostrils and upper lip. “This is what Siiri smells like,” I told her. “And this,” I said cheerfully as I painted a greasy stroke with my other finger across Siiri’s lip, “is what Marja smells like.” I happily bit my lower lip while I watched as both girls apparently tried to hold their breaths. Pretty soon they realized that they couldn’t keep that up forever, so they exhaled through their noses, inhaled cautiously and started shivering and coughing from revulsion as the stench hit their nasal cavities.

“This is to give you girls a hint of what you are really like on the inside. Excuse the awful pun, but you’re both full of shit. I can’t believe people like you go to college, while I’ve been dragged through a life of which you have only scratched the surface tonight.”

I ran my fingers through Marja’s hair and continued:

“Marja, you’re probably the most pretentious person I’ve ever come across. You’re ever so fancy and cultured when other people are nearby, but as soon as you close your apartment door behind you, you sit down watching reality TV all day long.”

Marja shot panicked looks at me, as though awoken from a daze.

“You don’t think that bubble will burst one day? You’re wasting this fine society’s time and money by attending those university courses when you don’t understand half of it. You have no future in your subject of choice, and deep inside I think you’re very well aware of that. You’re just postponing the inevitable, accumulating a heap of debt you’ll never be able to repay.”

The girl’s eyes filled with tears, but I turned my attention to Siiri now, holding her whitish hair in my hand, like a raptor clutching prey.

“And Siiri. Art college? Really? What were you thinking? Oh, right, you weren’t. Are you just going to daydream your way through your lonely life and masturbate your way through college? Oh, you didn’t think I knew? Your shy exterior is pathetic. You practically have ‘I spend every night masturbating when I think my parents don’t hear’ written all over your silly face. And yes, they know for sure! But what are they to do? All they can do is to try to keep a stiff upper lip while their naïve daughter closes the door to her room and ‘studies’. Too bad there isn’t a masturbation course at this university; you’d be top of the class for once.”

Predictably, Siiri’s face was glowing red by now, tears flowing down her slanting cheeks and a slight shiver of anxiety spreading through her body. I let go of her hair, stepped back and went to a small sink connected to one of the walls to wash my hands. I ploughed my thumbnails underneath the nails of my middle fingers to remove some of the brown residue I’d extracted from the bowels of the adolescents behind me.

“How are you girls going to get through life if you’ve never been challenged by it? Consider this evening your rite of passage. Only when you’ve experienced enough pain will you be able to handle your future. It’s really that simple.”

I now stood in front of them. I held Marja’s chin in my hand and then carefully pulled out the piercings going through their mouths. Their lips, slippery from saliva, pulled from each other with a wet sound and they rested their jaws on the other’s shoulder, breathing shakily, their eyes red from tears. Siiri spat the overload of saliva to the floor behind Marja.

“No!” I yelled and smacked Siiri sharply on the side of her face, which in turn hit Marja on the ear. “You swallow that! You take it all in. That’s the whole point.”

I swiftly circled around to face Marja, who glanced up at me, understood and hurriedly swallowed all the saliva she had left. I smiled and nodded. The corners of her mouth had a pair of small black dots next to them: the little craters formed by the piercings. I turned my back to them and was lost in thought for a moment.

“Untie them and clean them up again. Then dry them off.”

I sat down on the edge of my armchair, leaning forwards and impatiently drumming my fingers on the cloth of the armchair between my legs while Alisa and Galina cut the straps, removed the pads, cleaned the girls off and then rubbed their bodies with towels. The girls were left in the middle of the room, standing next to each other, unsure what to do or where to look. I walked up to them, knife in hand. Their eyes instantly paid attention and they covered their chests with their arms.

“I suppose I don’t have to remind you, but now that your mouths are free again, you’re not allowed to say a word. You may let any sound escape you, but not a single word. Understood?”

Both of them nodded with apprehensive looks on their faces.

“But don’t worry,” I said as I patted my right thigh with the flat of the blade. “What I’m going to do is not going to hurt. Now, I think I’ve properly introduced you to each other already. But you have to manage on your own, without my help. Both of you—stand facing each other.”

The girls obeyed, now standing about an arm’s length apart, their eyes to the floor.

“Siiri, I want you to show Marja how much you appreciate her hard work over at the cafeteria.”

The girl looked up at me in confusion.

“I want you to use your body. Use your arms and hands and mouth to show her your appreciation. I want Marja to really feel it. Go on.”

Siiri stood frozen on the spot and didn’t know what to do. Marja’s eyes oscillated nervously between me and Siiri. Siiri started rubbing her arm, shifting her center of gravity, biting her lip.

“I know, Siiri, you’re a shy young woman; it’s not a common thing for you to show appreciation. But you have to fight that weakness of yours. Now, I won’t tell you again. This blade is sharp and I wouldn’t have any problem at all with cutting your throat and let you bleed to death on this very floor.”

Siiri almost jumped at my suggestion, her lips started trembling and she anxiously looked at Marja’s body as though trying to find a secret passage somewhere. Exhaling shivering sighs, she scratched her palms with her fingers and convulsed as though every inch of her was itching. I took a step forwards and Siiri screamed, covering herself with both hands and one knee in the belief that I meant to stab her. Instead, I grabbed one of her hands and flattened it against one of Marja’s breasts, making the latter girl gasp.

“There, keep it there. Now,” I said as I stood back again, “rub it gently.”

Siiri made an awkward, circling motion with her hand, apparently afraid that the breast would burn her palm.

“Okay, that’s enough, put your hand down. I see you need very detailed instructions to make even the most basic human contact. Marja, spread your legs a little.”

Marja shifted her feet a bit to the sides and I went to stand behind her, my face popping out from above her shoulder, my eyes on Siiri.

“Siiri, put your cupped hand on Marja’s crotch. Do it now, or I’ll stick this knife through your eyeball.”

I didn’t need to tell her again. Her arm swung forwards, stopped just an inch from Marja’s groin as though thinking it might bite, and then covered it with her hand. She looked down at the floor, with seemingly gallons of blood flooding to her pale face.

“Good,” I said and took a few steps to stand facing their sides again. “Take your middle finger and stick it in. Now, Siiri.”

She slowly bent her finger and as she turned her face to the side—her cheeks burning—she drove the finger inside. Marja inhaled.

“Look at your hand, Siiri. Pump your finger in and out of her. Now.”

Siiri slowly turned her face forwards again, her chin pushing into her throat, and started moving her finger up and down, very slowly. Marja was frowning slightly and looking sideways.

“Now, look up into Marja’s eyes, Siiri. And you, Marja, look at Siiri.”

Siiri’s eyes widened as though she was put to the worst test of the whole evening. Her eyes scurried up towards Marja’s in a zigzagging kind of pattern, and once she found Marja’s steely eyes looking back at her, she abruptly dropped her gaze again.

“Keep your eyes on her, Siiri!”

She looked up at Marja again, now apparently determined that she wanted to live.

“Go faster, Siiri, like this: tap-tap-tap. And all the way in each time.”

If Siiri was afraid of my knife, she looked paralyzed with fear looking up at Marja. Her eyebrows curled into a worried, triangular shape, her arm moving automatically to my command. Marja frowned as Siiri’s finger went faster and deeper, but clearly not from annoyance: her mouth was open and her breathing was increasingly shallow as the clicking sounds from her wet crotch filled the room.

“Put your hand down, Siiri.”

Still staring at Marja, Siiri’s arm fell lifelessly from Marja’s crotch and hit her own thigh with a wet smack. Marja shot me an almost disappointed glance, emitted a few aroused breaths and swallowed.

“Look at your hand.”—Siiri looked at her hand—“Open your mouth.”—She opened her mouth—“Put the full length of your middle finger on your tongue.”—Though reluctantly, she did—“Close your mouth.”—She closed it—“Suck hard at your finger and pull it out of your mouth, slowly.”

Siiri’s face contorted, deep wrinkles forming on her forehead, as the finger slowly came out clean, while the creamy, wet secretion of Marja’s vaginal walls amassed along the insides of her lips.

“Swallow it.”

Siiri made a vague digging motion with her head as her throat moved up, then down, making a gulping sound. She frowned, constricted her shoulders and her head rocked from side to side in quivering motions before she exhaled.

“Good job. Now, Marja, show Siiri your appreciation of her fine behavior during your meetings at college. Use your body. Show her what a great impression she made.”

My sarcasm was, perhaps, a little corny, but I looked on with glee and waited, playing with my knife in my hands. To my surprise, Marja didn’t hesitate at all. She took a long step forwards, her arms outstretched and hugged Siiri, clasping her close to herself. Siiri immediately threw her arms around Marja and the girls started crying, quaking in each other’s caress. I was quite amazed. What the hell?

“Okay, okay, that’s very clever, Marja. Now, break it up.”

Grudgingly, the girls parted, standing sobbing in front of me, their arms still touching. I turned to my partners in crime:

“Tie Siiri to the wall and tie Marja to the floor in one of the opposite corners.”

Siiri’s back was brushed up against the rough brick surface, her arms stretched out at right angles to her torso, her legs spread diagonally from her hips. Wrists, ankles, neck and stomach clasped by iron cuffs to the wall. Her feet lay flat on the floor.

“Hello again,” I sneered. “I’m going to hurt you, Siiri. A lot.”

Siiri pouted a little and whimpered anxiously.

“We’re going to have to do something about that.”

I went and fetched a fine steel thread and then threateningly told her to hold still while I pulled it through the little hole made earlier by the piercing in her lower lip. I tied a knot to secure the thread to that lip and then carefully pulled the rest of the thread through the eye of a very thin sewing needle. With the needle in my right hand, I pinched Siiri’s lips together with my left hand. Siiri’s started sniveling loudly and pulling her head from my hands when she realized what I was about to do. I roughly grasped her lips anew in a tight grip and hissed at her:

“This is going to happen, all right? If you move about while I sew, the needle will likely rip your lips off your face or get stuck in your gums, and then I will only start anew. So, we can do this the messy way or the clean way. You don’t want to do it the messy way, do you?”

Siiri shook her head, slowly.

“You want to do this the clean way, yes?”

Siiri nodded, her eyes absent.

“Good girl. Now hold still.”

I loosened my painful grip on her lips a little and pointed the needle at the skin just below her lower lip. The needle shot upwards through both her floppy little brims, promptly but a little choppily. She flinched.

“See? Not that bad.”

I continued to sew her lips together and after several minutes she looked like she had a railway track crossing her mouth. Her lips tightly shut, I could only hear her breathe deeply through her nose.

I then tied long leather strings around her breasts, starting at the base and then circling the strings firmly around the breasts as they put on an almost purple tint, with little blue, fuzzy veins showing through the skin. The strings were tied together in a knot between them, like a base between two towers of entwining leather, cupped by stiff, swollen little globes with fat spires poking out angrily from the top. From these darkening nipples droplets of grey-white discharge were forming.

“There we are,” I said as Siiri vented strained sighs through her nostrils. “Now, I’ll show you some love.”

My cheeks turned into bowl-shaped hollows as I sucked her right nipple as hard and long as I could. Thin streams of discharge tickled the back of my mouth as Siiri pronounced a teeth-clenched whimper. I released her breast, spit the milky fluid in her face and gave it another go, trying my very best to suckle with more force than before. Her nipple was compressed between my ribbed hard palate and my tongue, and the vacuum in my oral cavity mercilessly strained and pulled at it as more discharge filled my mouth.

When I had spit more of Siiri’s fluid into her face, her nipple had become chafed and I had apparently burst a few capillaries in her breast: the discharge was now diluted with red tints. I noticed a faint, irony taste when I swallowed. I thought, “Why not one more then?” I grabbed her breast with both hands, the circle of my meeting forefingers and thumbs just beneath the strangled cupola, really readying myself this time. I put my tongue under her nipple, let my lips cover it fully and then let the multitude of muscles around my mouth and jaw clutch it tightly. I could soon feel my own tongue tingling from the intense suction and as I looked up at the source of the clearly distressed squirms I heard, I could see Siiri’s lips jutting out like dozens of little trapped blisters straining through the grid of steel thread.

I turned my head up, spat and looked at Siiri’s wet face.

“Mm, that was nice. Why don’t we ... hug?”

I stepped right in front of Siiri, her eyes speaking dread and confusion. My palms reached behind her back, up towards her shoulders, my fingers looking up from behind them and burying themselves in her flesh. Slowly but firmly I pressed my chest into hers. Her already bloated breasts were mangled to further extremes. I felt how the outer edge of one of my nostrils quivered with malice, and I couldn’t help but give her a horny, overbite grimace as I saw Siiri tighten her jaw, obviously wanting to open her mouth and scream, yet trying to hurt as little as possible from the steel thread in her lips as I pressed farther and farther into her.

I let go. Siiri’s nipples had left two wet, dark spots on my t-shirt. I cut loose the leather strips encircling her breasts, leaving them to slowly regain their original color. I also cut the thread in her lips. Each little point of entry—once the thread was pulled out—released a drop of blood to pour down her skin, all of them together forming a red grid on her chin. I cleaned her face off and went to a table along one of the walls to prepare a new treat.

I went up to Siiri again and pressed a finger on one of the wings of her nose, closing the nostril shut. In my other hand I had a tube with a conductive paste of sorts. I put the nozzle of the tube into Siiri’s other, open nostril and pressed the tube, filling one side of her nasal cavity with the thick, grey and cold substance. It was all done rather swiftly; the girl barely had a chance to react before I let go of her face, leaving one of her nostrils stuffed with a paste that rapidly turned into something more resembling dough. I bent down and picked up a cord with two thin copper wires in one end. I stuck the wires deeply into the paste and let the cord hang from Siiri’s nose. Finally, I put a small rubber pillow behind the girl’s head.

“Okay, Siiri. This paste in your nose conducts electricity, so when I push a button on this controller in my hand you’ll receive a small electric shock through your nose. I thought I’d just do your one nostril so you can breathe through the other. Let’s try it out!”

Siiri didn’t answer. She just looked sad, which frankly annoyed me a little. I pushed a button on the controller and a short high-pitched shriek was followed by a thick thudding sound made by Siiri’s head hitting the pillow. It had looked as though an invisible hook had clutched her nose from behind and suddenly pulled backwards. Her eyes were wide awake now, which made me excited.

“Good thing we had that pillow back there, huh? You would’ve had a nasty bump in the back of your head otherwise.”

In my hand I held a small cylinder in transparent acrylic connected to a pump. I bent down between Siiri’s legs and with my free hand I pulled up her clitoral hood. The brightly pink clitoris was buried deep within, barely noticeable between the folds. “It’ll get bigger,” I thought. I pressed the cylinder—which was about as long and thick as a grown man’s finger—onto where Siiri’s labia met, in an attempt to have the rims of the nozzle circle her clitoris. I gave the pump a few squeezes. The folds filled one end of the cylinder, vacuum-sucked to its walls, the clitoris starting to take shape in there. Siiri, who could not look down beneath her neck cuff, blurted out a surprised, almost endearing, little yelp at the vacuum pulling at her groin.

I removed the pump from the cylinder and instead connected the latter to a long thin tube going all the way up to the pillow behind Siiri’s head. A small camera was placed just next to the cylinder between Siiri’s legs and a cart with a screen was put just in front of the girl’s face.

“This is where that uncomfortable strain is coming from,” I said as I looked at the monitor together with Siiri. “That cylinder is connected to the pillow behind your head. Every time I give you a little ‘nose shock’ and you bump your head into the pillow, your clitoris will be pulled forwards a little bit more.”

Siiri looked positively dismayed by the prospects.

“But there is more to it than the strain. Inside the cylinder, on the opposite end of your groin, there is a sharp little needle.”

I could practically hear the girl’s heart stop for a moment and the stress tingle in her stomach as her eyes kept refocusing as though what they saw couldn’t possibly share the same reality as her.

“It gets a little closer to your clitoris with every bump. You see how needle is already sticking out a bit? So, with enough bumps to the pillow, your clitoris and that needle will meet. And perhaps make deep, deep love. If you don’t want that to happen, then all you have to do—obviously—is to avoid throwing your head back when those little shocks hit your nose.”

With a drooping mouth, Siiri looked up into the ceiling, as though its wooden beams would come to her rescue if she only stared at them intently enough. I eagerly skipped over to my armchair, placed it to face my victim diagonally and sat down, remote control in hand. I pressed my lips together with excitement as my fingertip pushed the button. Siiri bawled as her head flung back and squealed an octave higher immediately afterwards: her clitoris was pressing forwards angrily now and the needle had gotten even closer, locked on target.

“Okay, that was mean, you weren’t prepared. This time I’ll count to five and then press the button. So, get ready now: One—two—three—four—five!”

Siiri’s shrill lament sounded almost like a question as her head plunged into the rubber pillow. A strangely low and long cry followed as her clitoris stretched its head farther towards the point of the needle. The girl was resting the back of her jaw on the iron neck cuff as she shot agonized breaths through clenched, white teeth.

“Really? I thought you would make a lot more effort to avoid having your head moving, considering what’s in store for your clitoris if it does. I mean, do you have any idea how much it hurts to have a needle penetrate a part of your body which is basically just a bundle of nerve endings? Look at the screen, the needle is less than half an inch away now, I’m pretty sure it will touch skin next time!”

The poor girl looked on in horror at the cylinder’s ominous contents. I suddenly started to giggle:

“Oh! Goodness me, you must have thought I meant to press the button after I counted to five, like one–two–three–four–five and then press, not—like I did—press directly on five. I probably did say to press after five, but I meant to press on five. Shit—hah-hah!—I’m so sorry, Siiri! Okay, here we go again, and on five this time. Ready? One—two—three—”

I pressed on what would have been four. Head thrusting into the pillow again. From Siiri’s mouth came a surprised yowl from the sudden sting in her nose. And then: Siiri’s mouth opened into a big fleshy cave that looked like it wanted to swallow the room, her tongue pressed down, her eyelids wrinkled together. A cry both sharp and guttural pressed through her throat and didn’t seem to end. The continuously stretched lips made some of the little holes around her mouth start to bleed again. Her hips thrust into the brick wall behind her in an intuitive attempt to get away from what was causing that absurd sting in her lower regions.

To my surprise, the needle hadn’t actually penetrated her skin. Siiri’s clitoris was certainly as bloated as ever, but the needle wasn’t really inside. Rather, the sharp metal point was pressing against the clitoris practically as far as possible without actually breaking its tissue. It looked so beautiful, in a way. The pointed, cold needle buried in hills of swollen organ, like a sadistic warlock striking his staff into the ground, his evil curse of unwanted awareness rippling through the sensitive soil, nerve endings sending constant alarm up this girl’s tingling spine at merciless speed. I snickered to myself when I recognized that the clitoris with the needle looked like the mouth of a woman I once saw playing the oboe.

“Hah, this is actually better than I had planned. Bye-bye, Siiri.”

Siiri couldn’t possibly have heard what I said. As I put my jacket and sneakers on I noticed Marja lying on the floor crying. The last thing I saw was how Alisa and Galina had put fingers in their ears and looked a bit annoyed, before I closed the heavy iron door behind me.

Silence. It wasn’t until now that I realized how impressively soundproof this facility really was. I didn’t stay out long; I knew Siiri wouldn’t be able to endure that pain for an extended period of time. Nor would the ears of anyone in that room.

8.

When I opened the iron door again Siiri was in the middle of taking a few fast breaths and then started bellowing again. But it was a much lower, more exhausted screech than before. Just as I was watching the tortured little “oboe player” in the clear cylinder, the tip of the needle was suddenly swallowed by flesh. My mouth gaped as I realized that the needle had just punctured Siiri’s clitoris; that microscopic bit that was left for the needle to travel had somehow been overcome and that sharp little thing was now a few millimeters inside the holy of holies. Not a sound escaped Siiri’s wide open mouth. Her eyes were staring straight ahead and looked as though they, too, were being pulled out by vacuum. I could only hear a few hasty gurgling sounds from the back of her mouth. Then she abruptly exhaled and her quivering body was heaving as though trying to steal all the oxygen in the room, her eyes still as big as golf balls. I understood that the worst pain was in the initial penetration, now numbed down to a dull ache.

I watched as the now sweaty chest in front of me moved in less and less frantic heaves, the skin stretching across the rising and falling ribs underneath it. My arms reached between Siiri’s legs and my fingers pressed down on the skin around the rim of the cylinder sucking at her groin like some sort of transparent deep-sea creature. Soon enough a little gap filled the cylinder with air and it let go with a little plop and a yelp. It left a big, puffy blob of flesh—red and vicious-looking—between Siiri’s legs, with a lone strain of blood leaking from where the needle had found its way in. Siiri started shaking and sobbing uncontrollably.

“God, you’re tiresome,” I said and got up.

I went to a table with some medical equipment and picked up a syringe. I took long firm steps towards Siiri, pinched her left biceps and plunged the needle of the syringe brutally into her muscle. My thumb pushed the contents of the syringe into her arm and Siiri’s soon lost consciousness, her head resting on the side of the neck cuff. As nearly inaudible breaths passed her mouth I pulled out the conductive paste from her nostril and unlocked the cuffs around her neck, wrists and ankles. She fell headfirst to the rubber floor, her limp body now lying on pathetic display not long from the wall she just escaped.

“Let her lie,” I said and walked slowly over to the corner where Marja lay.

She was secured to the floor in the shape of an inverted V, her legs pulled to the sides and her wrists locked on to her hips. Her long hair was splayed like the rays of a black sun around her white face. Her eyes were bloodshot and as I towered over her she looked at me with an expression I couldn’t fully comprehend.

“Ah, there you are,” I grinned.

I pulled off my t-shirt and my sweatpants and my underwear, standing above her in the nude. My left hand massaged my flat belly and found its way down between my legs, the familiar folds of skin brushing against my fingertips as I gazed down on the body before me. I then kneeled down in front of Marja’s crotch, bent forwards to lay my hands on either side of her shoulders and then slowly let my body descend upon hers. My hanging breasts touched her first and then I could feel our breastbones pressing into each other. My stomach met hers—every inch of its skin connecting with hers—and my hips comfortably placed themselves between her legs. My legs rested at full length on the floor behind me, my right cheek lay on her neck and my hands clutched her shoulders as I let my full weight relax on her body.

I let out a deep, peaceful sigh. Marja’s skin was so warm; I felt like I was burying myself in some primordial well, where no evil would reach. Marja’s lungs filled beneath me and I could hear the air going up through her throat and mouth. Her breathing seemed slightly worried, but steady. I tilted my head down towards her right breast. It lay sloping sideways and I weighed its pale mass in my hand. I readjusted my body to rest on the side, pulled the breast towards my face and let the nipple enter my mouth. I closed my eyes and started to suckle, my ear on her chest hearing her heart beat. I don’t know for how long I sucked and sucked on Marja’s breast; my mouth soon worked on it automatically and I couldn’t stop. At intervals I swallowed whatever discharge was pouring out of her into my mouth. Marja’s heartbeat was subtly speeding up. I imagined how her blood pulsated through the network of arteries and veins inside her.

Eventually, I let the nipple drop out of my mouth and the breast flopped down to the side again. My eyes opened slowly. I lifted myself onto my elbows, rested my cheeks in my hands and looked down on Marja’s face. She looked away. I put a hand on her cheek and nudged her face to one side, her pale neck glaring at me. My mouth practically plunged into it, sucked at it, I let my tongue brush along its full length, I bit it softly—I wanted to eat it. I spat on the fingers of my free hand and let it travel quickly down between her legs. My fingers scratched at her folds and I started to rub her as I breathed thickly into her ear. Her face was still turned to the side and as she looked away into the opposite wall with her lips and eyebrows pressed together, she was breathing fast through her nose.

I bit my lip with contentment and slipped two fingers into Marja’s vagina, a warm and wet little mouth narrowing around my fingers. I pressed upwards, gliding my fingertips firmly against her bladder. At that moment Marja opened her mouth and eyes as if she had just seen God and I could feel her body tighten beneath me. I smiled and my breath probably oozed arousal. My fingers went faster, Marja breathed shallower and a worried look graced her blushing face as she seemed to try to bury it into the floor.

Marja’s chest suddenly pushed up into mine as she wailed and grunted, her saliva splashing onto my shoulder through her clenched teeth, her hips jumping towards the ceiling as I felt muscles inside her clutching my fingers again and again and again, my hand desperately trying to keep her jolting pubic bone in a firm grip.

Her body slowly leaned back on the floor, her eyes closed and her mouth droopy, her back moving in waves down to her lower regions as she rode out the last shots of pleasure pulsating through her. At last she only lay there, breathing. I held her in my arms. My head lay on her chest. My left knee pulled up and my thigh rested on her belly. I could lie there forever.

9.

When my eyes opened I smiled faintly as I looked around the room, which now looked almost unfamiliar. I kissed Marja on her neck and lifted my head to get her face into full view. I gasped. The corners of her mouth were pulled down, her nostrils straining upwards and her eyebrows lay in deep crevices, making ripples on her forehead. Disgust, anger, sorrow, loathing. It was all there.

I almost jumped to my feet. My head was spinning. My eyes zipped around the room, looking for my clothes. The t-shirt and sweatpants lay far apart, scattered on the floor. I collected them and put them on in a hurry, bolted out of the room and ran up the stairs barefoot. Hard, pointy gravel met my bare soles on the ground outside. I let my weight press down on it, punishing my stupid feet connected to their stupid body and its stupid mind. The gravel in my soles seemed to force tears out of my eyes, chilling my burning cheeks in the wind.

My sore feet made their way to a grassy patch among the trees. I sat, almost fell, down. I looked up at the black tree tops, took a deep breath and screamed at them until my lungs were empty. I then curled into a ball in the grass, feeling how all warmth left my body. “I should kill them both,” I shuddered to myself. “They don’t deserve the light of day.”

After a while I sat up, wiped the tears from my eyes and stared intently at the skyline where the first hints at sunrise altered the hues in the sky. “No, that would be too easy on them. I’ll stick with my original plan. They deserve hell.”

I went back down the stairs and went through the iron door which I noticed hadn’t been closed. Siiri was still lying like a ragdoll on the floor, Marja was still tied down. My underwear was on the floor, I had forgotten to put them on, which was confirmed by my hand’s pressing the sweatpants fabric into my crotch. I turned to Alisa and Galina who were standing on either side of the door as usual. I said:

“Okay, the girls are yours. Don’t take them to Eino this time, though. Take them to Mr. Krasnov. You’ll get the rest of your payment in the square tomorrow, same time and place.”

“Take them to Krasnov.” That meant the girls were doomed. He would send them to Eastern Europe, more specifically to the underground hell from which I came. I knew the girls would never be able to come back from there.

“Oh, and tell Krasnov to sell them as a lesbian pair. They seem ever so fond of each other. They’ll be best friends and everything.”

Alisa and Galina grunted their approval. I put on my trusty old sneakers and my jacket and went out again while these women went to work. Outside, the wind had died down, the trees stood quiet. I took a deep, chilly breath and then walked over to my car and got in. I bent back in the driver’s seat, put my hands on the steering wheel and breathed out. From the corner of my eye I noticed two dark figures walk along the gravel, each with a body flung over a shoulder. Siiri was still unconscious. “She’ll wake to one hell of a surprise, that’s for sure,” I muttered. Marja was moving her mouth, probably making desperate attempts to persuade her captors to release her, promising not to tell anyone. “Yeah, right,” I said with a snort. As Alisa opened one of the rear doors of the big van in front of me and entered it to unload the bulk of flabby limbs that was Siiri, I saw Marja’s pale face look up from the back of Galina, who was waiting outside. The girl, with those long black curtains hanging down from her head, was looking in my direction.

I froze where I sat. Marja’s face was calm. My eyes probably deceived me, but in my confused state her eyes seemed to speak of some nameless sorrow that no one could understand but me. I told myself there was no fucking way she could have seen me. It was too dark. My car was shadowed by trees. And you can’t get a good look of a person who sits in a car anyway. Those were my thoughts as Alisa’s arms peeked out of the van’s darkness and received Marja from Galina’s shoulder, Marja’s white body then swallowed by shadows. Alisa got out and closed the door shut. They went to the front of the van, opened the front doors, disappeared into the vehicle and started the engine, the tail lamps flashing red like a devil awoken in the night. I just stared as the van drove away, following its red eyes getting smaller and smaller until they closed to blackness in the distance and the monstrous roar withdrew into the night’s stillness.

Deafening silence. Not a movement anywhere. I was afraid to make a sound, but was betrayed by my beating heart, which suddenly and unnoticed had started to race in my chest. My knuckles turned white clutching the steering wheel and I panted as my head hung down. What. The. Hell? I planted my forehead upon the steering wheel and finally managed to calm down. Contradictory thoughts battled each other in my head. I couldn’t seem to make sense of anything. I sat like that until I noticed how dawn was slowly pressing on the atmosphere and could finally see black silhouettes of trees standing on parade along the horizon. My head jerked up, suddenly aware of the world. A few seconds of hesitance, then my foot pushed the gas pedal to level with the car floor, the wheels spitting gravel into the woods behind me. I drove out from that wretched place at aggressive speed and soon reached the highway, my eyes flaming with purpose.

As I reached the suburbs of the capital my stomach curled from the thought that I might already be too late. It wasn’t long until the sun would peep forth and color the sky pink and yellow, which meant that Krasnov and his people would also be in a hurry. I parked my car with a screech next to an abandoned-looking building in the periphery of the city. The car door slammed behind me as I ran in through the building. Ahead of me was a bleak corridor with a few open doors baring dark rooms. I dashed up a staircase to my right, but just met with a similar hallway and similar barrenness. I was just about to run up another flight of steps when I heard voices coming through a closed door on the far side of the corridor. I knew that the door would be locked, but also that everything in this building was about as sturdy as Styrofoam: my sneaker met the door with all the force I could muster and knocked it almost off its hinges.

Inside were the surprised faces of Krasnov and two of his henchmen in a room with a single lamp twinkling in the ceiling. Krasnov sat by a small desk with a phone to his ear while his boys stood gulping down on some Chinese food. On the floor in a corner were Siiri and Marja, kneeling naked with their hands tied behind their backs, their mouths taped and their eyes covered. Siiri was apparently awake again.

“You?” Krasnov yelled as he put down the phone. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I changed my mind, Mr. Krasnov. Let the girls go. They’re mine.”

“Too late for that, you silly girl. I’ve just made an arrangement.”

“I’ll pay you. Call whomever you were talking to and call it off.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that. Now, piss off.”

“You owe me!”

“I don’t owe you shit, girl. Whatever you may have done for me in the past is nothing to the possibilities I let open to you. That you’ve even been able to come to this country is thanks to me. I expected a little more gratitude than this. You’re treading the line for what I tolerate. If you don’t want my boys to carve you a new orifice in your already fucked up body, I suggest you get out of here now.”

“I can’t do that.”

“What’s your problem, kid? You’ve already had your fun with these two, you’ll find more girls.”

I gave him a pleading look that seemed to surprise him. His voice was mocking, but curious:

“Jesus. What the hell happened to you? Whatever did happen, snap out of it and face it: these girls are entirely disposable. They’re just flesh and skin glued together. The fact that they have conscious minds shouldn’t stand in our way; it just makes it all more fun, right? You love it, I know that. You just can’t keep your little hands away from innocence. Your twisted interests are admittedly beyond me. I’m just a businessman. You’re something else, though, God knows what. But you won’t be redeemed just because you get these girls out of here. Because neither of us belongs here. We’re shadows from beyond and we just won’t stick to the fabric of society, so we may as well use the fools for our own pleasure. I know your filthy cunt gets wet from just being reminded of the possibilities this entails, you’re just—”

The left side of Krasner’s head cracked open and splattered a stream of red on the wall behind him. I had pulled my little gun from the back of my sweatpants in a swift right-hand move that—though trained as it was—positively surprised me. The sharp boom stunned the thugs, who fumbled with their chopsticks as they tried to pull out whatever weapons they had on them. Strangely inspired, I pulled my t-shirt up to my neck with my left hand, letting my breasts bounce down against my chest, my nipples pointing at the boys.

“These are yours to do what you want with if you help me.”

They froze. As they relaxed and stared at my breasts with dreamy, hopeful looks, I made a quick decision and pulled the trigger again, shifted my aim and pulled it anew. The wall was decorated with three scattered bullet holes and red stains. The smell of gunpowder filled my nostrils and as my ears recovered from the gunshots I heard the whimpers of the two shivering bodies in the corner.

“It’s okay. You’ll be going home in a matter of minutes. You’re going home.”

I put them on their feet, but didn’t remove the rope around their hands or what covered their faces. It was better that way. I marched them out of the room, through the hallway, down the stairs and out of the building. As I put them in the backseat of my car I could see the fiery brim of the sun make its way up the early morning sky. Pedal to the metal.

Morning traffic was crawling sparsely along the roads; I had no trouble getting around swiftly even in the center of the capital, although a few drivers didn’t seem to entirely agree with me on that. I turned into an alley, a place that was, I thought, central enough for the girls to easily get help, yet closed-off enough for me to escape the scene unnoticed.

I got out of the car, opened the luggage boot and pulled out a couple of blankets, got the girls out of the backseat and placed them against the wall of a building just next to the car. I tied the thick blankets around their exposed bodies while I shot paranoid looks around the alley for any onlookers.

As they stood there against the wall like a couple of blindfolded women in ponchos, there was so much I wanted to tell them. But it was utterly pointless. I knew there was no use. I pulled their blindfolds off, making a hushing gesture. Their eyes tried to get used to the morning light as I said:

“I know you’re still tied, but it had to be that way. When I pull the tape off your mouths, run down this street and out the center and get help. You won’t see me again, I promise.”

I doubt their eyes could focus on my face—or on anything else for that matter—as they were constantly squinting. I took a deep breath. I pulled off Marja’s tape and then Siiri’s in two rapid movements, the girls taking in a mouthful of the crisp air. I got into the car and speeded out of the alleyway before I could hear a word from any of the girls.

As I rode along the highway, I saw the sun taking its final leap above the horizon, its rays following me through the branches of trees.

Epilogue

I’m sitting in a hotel room, writing this short swan song on a laptop. It sure has been an eventful night and probably the most remarkable morning of my life. Long was the way, and hard. I wonder who will come get me first: the police or the mob. Krasner’s men are too loyal for me to deal with, and Marja and Siiri are most probably keen on having the law catch and punish the one who dealt them so much pain. Now and then I look up into the mirror ahead of me, thinking that it’s such a waste. I’m just a little too good-looking to die this young. But there’s no stopping it now.

It will be on my conditions, though. Once I’ve put some finishing touches to this manu, I know exactly what to do. It’s obviously something I’ve never done before and have always been excited to try out. I’m going to stand on a chair in the middle of the room facing the big window, the rising sun warming my naked body. I will masturbate, standing there. And when I’m on the very edge of it, I will take a step from the chair.

It’s been such a strange experience. I never thought it would end like this. And I really thought I knew it all. I thought no one could possibly teach me anything new. To think that I’ve learned more in one night than I have in so many years through so many trials! Krasnov was right: I don’t belong here. But I am what I am. And if I’ll burn on the stake, I think I’ll burn rather happily. At least I choose my torch. I will take that step from the chair out into the sunlight, and I will dangle from the ceiling, with the rope strangling my throat and jamming that orgasm ruthlessly into the bursting veins of my head as I lose consciousness. I’m a bit nervous about it, I’ll admit that, but I’m excited too.

That’s about all I have to say, I think. My story is complete, and I’ve lived it as kick-ass as is possible for me to do. And maybe the dents I’ve made in this world aren’t that bad. Maybe they’ll heal. What is left for me is the undiscovered country.

Here I go.
5 comments

Anonymous readerReport

2016-12-14 10:30:07
"The pointed, cold needle buried in hills of swollen organ, like a sadistic warlock striking his staff into the ground, his evil curse of unwanted awareness rippling through the sensitive soil..."

What a goddamned poet. Awesome story.

Anonymous readerReport

2016-08-02 22:05:07
WHAT A PILE OF CRAP

Anonymous readerReport

2016-05-30 16:15:13
best story on this website

Anonymous readerReport

2016-05-28 20:14:33
Very, very good

Anonymous readerReport

2016-05-27 09:23:52
It was kinda freaky but a damn fine well written story. I was wondering what happened to her breasts though. At first they were too firm to get a nipple in her mouth and later on they became hangers.

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