Redoubt (Part II)Characters/pairings:
Hope is a dangerous thing to lose. Rating:
Kinks are servitude, penance/punishment and caning. Notes:
* * *
Oh god. Her stomach and nerves churned in protest, freezing her to the spot at the thought of another crucifixion. She couldn't do, he'd have to carry her there. “Please,” she whimpered, throwing all pride to the wind. “I can't, can't be nailed up to the cabinets again. Please don't make me go there myself.”
“Go to the kitchen, now. Do you want to make this worse?” Cringing decisively she realized she really, really didn't and started a dragging walk toward the kitchen the long way around the coats. Worse could mean hurting Molly again, not just hurting her more. Shaking didn't help her speed up any, either. He grabbed the coats on his way past her, and passed the kitchen, probably to return them. By the time he came back she'd reached the kitchen counter and dropped down to her knees next to it. “Stand up.”
He barked it, she did it, gripping the counter edge tight to steady herself as a wave of panic rolled through her and her eyes darted to the cabinet with the nails. Please, please don't let him do that again. Another whimper made it past her lips and she turned her eyes down and away in an effort to stop thinking about it.
“Oh, relax. I'm not going to nail you to the wall again. Not now, anyway,” he scolded as he went over the fridge and started to collect fruits out of it, using telekinesis to lift the blender over to the island in the middle of the kitchen. A knife dropped into place along with a thin, plastic cutting board next to her and she stared at them in blanketed confusion while he finished putting the fruits out, some in front of him and some in front of her. “We're making fruit salad. Starting today you're going to be responsible for the cooking in the house and most of the other chores: laundry, vacuuming, dishes, other cleaning. I expect the place to be kept nicely. I'll do the grocery shopping, take out the trash, and things like that. Got it?”
Why wasn't he hurting her? She struggled to curl her shaking hand around the knife and managed after a minute. “Yes, sir.” As quick as she could she hurried to peel and slice up the nearest fruit: the bananas.
They worked in near silence through most of the fruit, nerves rattling her in expectation of him lashing out, or attacking her with the knife, the entire time. But he stayed to his side of the table and dished up the fruit into two bowls, placing them next to each other on the dining room table. Next he brought her over, tugging her down into his lap and picked up a fork. He couldn't possibly he over it already, could he? He must just be hungry and want breakfast before he got to the hard work of making her miserable. With a stomach as upset as hers she could barely swallow the food but she got down a few bites that Sylar held up for her and picked at the seedless watermelon.
“You're not hungry?”
“I don't want to throw it up when you punish me,” she admitted, the threat of making her lick up her own puke still fresh in her mind. She might never get rid of that image.
He snorted. “It's not going to be that severe. Probably. You did exactly what I'd expect of you in this situation, but apologized before I prompted it, gracefully, and only trying to protect Molly from my anger. That deserves some points.” She tensed in disbelief but opened her mouth to the next bite, honeydew this time, that he held up for her. “But I think I've been giving you too much freedom if you think that you can manipulate me. I guess letting you talk as much as you want was a mistake.” A mistake? She barely said anything to him unless prompted! Keeping her mouth shut and her body safe for now, she brought a slice of orange up to her lips as he went put down his fork and, slowly, touched her temple.
The pressure pounded at her head before it burst, deafening her again so that the entire world went silent from his voice to the clang of the fork against her bowl as she dropped it. She kept her hands down, no plans to 'have her say' and get him even angrier. She could play along; she had to. She couldn't stop him. The shaking started up again, worse now, as he stroked her hair to try and calm her. Calming her down took a long, difficult time as even his touch made her want to jump out of her skin but finally she took a deep breath and got most of the trembles under control. Most of them. He signed, “Good girl,” and went back to eating.
With a grumbling stomach at the little food she'd eaten so far she decided to risk eating too, one piece at a time, slower than him.
When she'd managed to finish an apple's worth of slices, a few bites of watermelon, and a couple bites of pear, he tugged the fork out of her hand, set it down, and started to 'talk' to her through his signs. “Ask permission to go to the bathroom from now on, but don't wake me up to do it. I'll tell you no and be annoyed.” Another rule, perfect. “Some of your chores will require standing so you have permission for that and only that. Remember what I'll do if I catch you standing anywhere else.” His hand slid down to her dress, brushing the straps off her shoulders. “No more clothes now, except lingerie. And I expect you to wear the lingerie, happily, and with all the enthusiasm of a new bride. I'm sick of your attitude and have no patience to take it now. None at all. Nod if you understand.”
Slowly she nodded and folded her hands in her lap, like a little doll waiting for instructions to move. Soon enough she'd need permission to move at all, except during sex. Speaking of, she slid to her knees now that his arm didn't loop around her waist, and decisively reached for the drawstring of his sweats. He pushed the chair back, taking himself further out of reach, and knocked her head up by her chin.
“What are you doing?”
The signing felt awkward, unnatural and too new, so she slowly worked through the words, “Trying to make you happy. Enthusiastic, right?” Her mind blanked on the sign for enthusiasm so she finger-spelt it and waited for a reply.
“Yes, but right now we're having breakfast. Are you full?” Her appetite had never really appeared so she guessed she was. “Then start with the clean-up. You may stand.”
Forgetting all about signing thanks, she cleared the edge of the table completely and stood to walk over to the island where the biggest mess started. Sylar grabbed at her wrist, pulling her back towards him, with a slight, pleased smile as he tugged her down for a soft kiss. “Go on. I like watching you work in the kitchen. I thought you might make cupcakes for lunch. I had one back in Odessa; they were yummy.”
It reminded her that he'd met her mother, been near her, been a threat to her that Claire really didn't like. It also reminded her of how badly she missed her mom but she stayed silent as she wiped up the bits of fruit juice running over the ceramic counter-top. She did nod. She'd make the cupcakes; she could probably make them in her sleep.
In fact, as she finished packing the fruit away in the fridge, dropping the knife and cutting board into the sink for later, she went about the kitchen looking for the ingredients to make cupcakes for something to do. Enthusiastic, obedient, quiet; definitely a little Stepford Doll, the perfect housewife to the perfect fifties husband.
After finding the flour, she raised her hand and waited for permission to speak. “Do you want regular or chocolate chip?”
“Plain's fine.” He smiled at her, a genuine, pleased smile, as he brought over his empty bowl and her half-full one. Passing her on the way to the sink, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head, a gesture of approval. She still expected the punishment but maybe he thought she'd been scared 'straight' by the threat of what he'd do for trying to run again.
Without being able to change it, one way or another, or speed him up, she focused on engrossing herself with making the best cupcakes she could manage and found all the ingredients for home-made icing too, except the food coloring. When she brought that up he said he'd handle it and she pushed the thought aside to start baking.
Eggs, flour, butter, mix, mix, mix. The well-known cupcake recipe lulled her into relaxing.
Even in this foreign kitchen, without her mom, she felt all the warmth of those Friday nights and Sunday afternoons baking cupcakes for bake sales, games, championship parties, birthdays, class parties, the list of people who wanted one of the Bennet cupcakes – the dish they were known for – went on. Her mother had always been a good cook, always had dinner on the table at the right time for her dad, always been gracious and entertained company with a smile and no complaints, always been the perfect housewife, a perfect model for Claire to live up to if she wanted to survive this. Of course, now... Now she knew the truth. Her husband was a killer and a liar, a manipulator; her daughter was a freak and had been kidnapped by a psychopath; her son was unquestionably dysfunctional, and who could blame him; and even Mr. Muggles was on the psycho's hit list. What a nice reward for always being enthusiastic. And Claire, well, Claire could look forward to being smacked and beaten for not having dinner on time or cooking the wrong thing. Perfect. And Molly – and probably their children – punished for any of her mistakes.
She got so caught up in these thoughts it took her a minute to register when Sylar slid in behind her to shadow her back and bend his head down for a light kiss on her bare shoulder. He took one flour coated arm and then the other to strip the straps away and let the dress pool down at her feet before crouching down to lift those and peel the socks off. Naked and vulnerable waiting seemed like the only thing to do as he stretched back up to his full height and fumbled with his drawstring pants.
Oh, of course. He wanted to fuck her. She went back to work except to spread her legs a little wider apart, adding the grainy sugar next.
As she worked he rubbed his hands over the arched expanse of her back, digging palms into tight muscles like a standing massage that pushed her into a little sway before she braced herself. The nice, caretaking gesture left her on edge, tenser than before, until he crouched down and really put his hands in it. His hands worked up her body together, massaging her calves, rubbing her knees, squeezing her thighs, until everything below the waist ached somewhere deep in need and not pain. His hands continued their careful path, smoothing the worst of the knots out of her shoulders and lower back long before he reached around for the first, knowing touch of her more private places. But he found them, one hand palming her breasts playfully while the other slipped between her legs. One finger thrust into her, teasingly shallow and incomplete and, completely involuntarily, she gasped. For that he pressed a smile against the curve of her neck.
In the few days since the shaving itchy, blonde stubble had grown up where it'd been smooth and it caught strangely on the lines of his hand, almost tugging and pressing on the skin at the same time. It still felt good, like whenever he did something like this. For better or worse her body felt primed for sex, whenever, wherever, with whoever and all her masturbation during the last couple of years suddenly came into sharp focus. Yet another way she'd always been a freak.
He tensed her with one thumb grazing over her nipple and his other fingers scrapping across the outside curve with their nails. Playful, sensual, intimate. What he wanted from this relationship. She couldn't have rolled her eyes mentally any harder. But outwardly she played along with the game, sighing only quietly and covering it up with what she hope sounded like a content noise. From the soft kiss on her neck, it must have been.
It made her bold enough to dare putting a hand up and, when he cleared it, asking, “Am I forgiven, sweetie?”
“No.” He kissed her neck again. “But I'll deal with that tonight. Right now I'm enjoying this.” Even as he said it his hand inside of her pulled out to grip the inside of her thigh instead and he angled her back to enter her with a little lift.
He slid in with her muscles clenching around him and her hands bracing on the counter when her feet lifted off the floor. She found purchase against the cabinet and he held her tight, pushing the bowl out of the way, and bending over to get in a little deeper before he slowly pulled out. Sylar worked his way in again, the passage easy with her slippery inner muscles and she let her eyes drift shut to relax into the only enjoyable thing about this whole ordeal. The pace he set stayed mellow.
A part of her couldn't help but be worried, tense and ready, at the announcement that he'd deal with her 'transgression' later that day, promising pain and humiliation – and probably a lot of it. The warring feelings left her dizzy and eventually she gave into his strong grip, the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the feel of his cock thrusting in and out of her welcoming sex as she bent over the counter mostly on tiptoes. He filled her up and then some, rocking into her with just an edge of pain every time he stopped against her cervix and still worked deeper. And deeper still, hitting her cervix with a sharp pain that stole her breath in one thrust and following it with another that brought tears to her eyes.
But, to her surprise, he eased off and slowed his pace again to wipe her tears away. When he mouthed two words against her neck, she could only suspect what they were but they, along with the kiss, seemed to be his way of telling her 'good girl.'
She rocked her hips gently back toward him to keep with his rhythm but limited by leverage until his strokes, still slow, became uneven. Then he nipped at her neck and came, warm come spreading all over inside of her. Yet another chance for her to get pregnant if she wasn't already.
Sylar rested there for a long minute, content to pant against her neck and shiver a little in post-orgasm aftershocks before he pulled out of her entirely and let her be with no attempt to get her off. Maybe he thought it'd be a little punishment while waiting for the big one.
Her stomach bottomed out as a horrifying, sickening image burst into her mind with all the welcome of a swarm of killer bees, blotting out all other thoughts as she choked on air and started shaking again. Why had she thought of that? Would he? Even as she took a step back she pictured being spread out that night, tied down and helpless, while he took a knife to her cunt and gave her an amateur circumcision. When he wrapped his arms around her she flinched away but had no where to go, his hands in front of her and his back behind. “What's wrong?” he signed quickly, almost looking worried.
She gulped but knew she couldn't lie. He'd know and then when he dragged the truth from her he might do it out of spite. “I,” she started with shaky hands. “I thought of a punishment you might do. A horrible one.” Just as she figured he would, he asked for more information. “Cutting off – Damaging – A circumcision,” she spelt out slowly.
Behind her he went still and effectively silent but she didn't dare turn around to see his face. If he looked interested she'd fall apart right here and now; if he didn't, she wouldn't know what to think of it. Finally, he answered, “No, I wouldn't do that, even if it would grow back. I don't think you could handle it.”
Well, good on him to think of that! He wouldn't do it, not because of the cruelty it represented or the inhumanity of it but because she might end up sobbing and incoherent with pain and trauma. All because she couldn't handle that level of mutilation. What else did she expect from him?
Without comment she went back to working on her cupcakes.
The day dragged slowly on. They played a game of scrabble, had sandwiches and cupcakes for lunch, read for awhile, and in the evening he brought out a math book from one of her college classes – they'd started by now without her in them – to study. He even gave her back hearing for that part, instructing her on what to do and helping with the more difficult problems. Linear algebra had never been her strong suit and apparently he'd taken over the roll of teacher too.
But the closer they got to nightfall the worst her concentration became until shortly before sunset she couldn't focus at all, mute with fearful anticipation and curled up in on herself with thoughts of all the awful things he could and would be willing to do. He let her withdraw, clearing the dinner plates and getting Molly back to her bedroom with the promise of devoting his time solely to her the next day.
Did he expect Claire to be out of it for that long or just for her to entertain herself?
Finally he had nothing left to put it off, no small tasks to do before he told her what awful thing he had in mind to do with her, and she waited in the bedroom kneeling by the bed with a curdled stomach and the shakes. A night in the cage seemed like the least of her worries now s he circled around the edge of the bed and threaded a hand into her thick hair. When he tugged up, she went, following his small pushes to sit on the edge of the bed nervously. The last punishment had made an impression and it was only the chancy opportunity that made her risk pain and the cage again but she didn't know how to explain that or apologize for it.
Even though he'd given her back her hearing a few minutes earlier she followed the same rule as before, holding up her hand for permission to speak. To her surprise, he allowed it and she had to find something, anything, to say. She settled for a simple, somber, “I won't be doing anything like this again. It's not worth the pain.”
He twisted her hair in a fist loosely. “And you're not even hurting yet.”
“The anticipation is bad enough. Hurting Molly was bad enough. You broke her wrist.” She could look forward to at least that and with all the 'toys' he had lined up on the walls he didn't lack creative, wicked options. “I've said sorry and that I won't do it again. That's all I can do.”
Sylar sighed lightly, easing onto the edge of the bed next to her with one leg tucked underneath him and the other planted on the ground. Using the hold on her hair he kept her head still, facing forward. “You know I'm only doing this to impress upon you the stupidity of what you did, don't you? It's not that I want to hurt you – this time – but that you don't seem to respond to simple requests or even commands. It takes pain to get your compliance and until that isn't true that's the strategy I'll use. It's important to me that you respect my wishes and don't try to leave. It hurts when you try to run, completely aside from trying to kill me.”
It hurt him? He kidnapped her, what did he expect? She swallowed heavily. She bit her tongue on a reply that couldn't help her and tilted her head to the side, toward him. “You win,” she said quietly, not asking or waiting for permission. “I give up.” She couldn't stop him. He could have been a flood or a tornado or something, something unstoppable and merciless and destructive. She hated him but she couldn't stop him. Admitting that made her relax, the worry seeping out of her as she closed her eyes. He'd do what he'd do, she'd survive it, and that was just how it was. She hated it but she couldn't stop him.
When nothing happened she opened her eyes again and looked up at him, watching him look down at her with pursed lips and a thinking expression. Probably planning what to do but she didn't have to worry about that. Since she didn't have any control over it she couldn't see the point of ever worrying about the future. She dropped her head a little when he finally let go of her hair. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing.” A nice, floaty nothing. No worries, no plans, no anything, just... deadness. She couldn't even bring up the panic or the anger that had been constant companions since her kidnapping. She blinked up at him again, feeling a little like the doll he wanted her to be. Maybe that was the way to protect herself, the real her; this was a lot better than panic. “If you wanted me to think, you'd tell me what to.” Then she shrugged.
“Claire,” he stretched out her name.
“That doesn't sound like you.”
She guessed it didn't, did it? She usually sounded angry, but what was the point of being angry? Or hopeful? Or scared? “It's the new me. The one that knows you're in control.” Giving up was its own kind of freedom. And then he surprised her. He kissed her on her forehead, treating her gently, carefully, and then tucked her into bed. No pain, no punishment, no fucking. Now who was acting out of character? “Don't you want to fuck me?” she asked, spreading her legs under the sheets so he'd know she wouldn't fight.
“No, not right now.”
Okay. She closed her legs and curled up on her side, the way she liked to sleep. He'd move her if he wanted to later. It seemed early to go to bed but getting to use the bed and not being stuck back in the cage seemed like something not to question. Well, no, it didn't seem smart to question any of it anymore. He crouched down next to the bed and watched her, so she watched him back, her expression as blank as her thoughts until she remembered he wanted happy. So she thought of Mr. Muggles jumping into bed with her at night, excited and warm, happy to have a human to snuggle up against and smiled a real smile.
When he tilted his head and kissed her, she kissed back, enthusiastically just as he'd instructed, making the little noises she knew he liked, but he pulled away before too long and kissed her forehead instead. “Get some rest.”
Okay. She closed her eyes. Maybe she'd dream about being home; that'd be nice.
When she woke up a small amount of light shined through a window making her wonder if she hadn't woken up after all. Then she noticed he'd taken down the sheets of fabric that had blocked out all the windows, opening one up for the early dawn to come through. She stared at it, transfixed, peering over his body where he'd splayed out on the mattress next to her to get a better look. Somehow she'd started to forget what natural light looked like and her brief glimpse the day before hadn't done anything with how distracted she'd been.
A minute later she noticed he'd woken up too and his eyes opened to watch her. “You opened a window. It's pretty.” She went back to watching. He might take it away soon.
“It's not that interesting, princess.” Not an order to stop watching so she didn't, noticing the way the light reflected all of the colors onto the wall and smiling. She'd never realized you could miss sunlight. “Are you feeling better?”
“I feel fine.” No lie there.
“And what are you thinking?”
She smiled. She'd already told him what she was thinking. “The light's pretty. I like it.” Maybe it wouldn't hurt to ask. “Do you think Molly and I could go play in the snow today?”
“We'll see.” Not a no. He'd probably say yes later if he had a good morning. He'd wanted to spend some time with Molly too. She relaxed against his chest, sagging against him, and watched the reflective rainbow on the wall before putting her hand up in a close by stream of light. She hoped he didn't take it away. “I love you,” he said, stroking her hair back from her face. Her stomach felt squishy at the words, confused, and she hoped he didn't want an answer because she didn't have one.
He turned her chin to point toward him and she went with the movement easily while pulling her hand back from the light. When he kissed her he kissed soft, loving, sweetly, making her feel warm inside. She kissed back knowing he would want that. He wanted a lot from her, didn't he? But most of all he wanted her to be silent. So silently, without a sound, she broke the kiss and slid down his body until her hands reached the tie of his pants. It came undone with a simple tug and she reached inside, her hand wrapping around his erection and stroking it firmly. Like usual, he was hard for her and he came free of his pants a second later. Even though she could have, she waited before bringing her mouth down, slowly and softly stroking his cock to full erection and then playing just a little more.
When he groaned, his hand clamping down on the back of her neck, she stopped teasing and dropped down to her elbows. Her mouth opened, ready and welcoming to the intrusion, as the head touched the tip of her tongue and slid back. He tasted salty. “Wider.” She opened wide at the command and he pushed up and down at the same time with his hips and his hand, thrusting himself all the way into her mouth. It grazed her gag reflex, surprising a lurch out of her, but popped through before it could be anything more. “One, two, three... When I get to sixty you can pull back.” He let go with his hand and kept counting. It had to be a test and she struggled, unsuccessfully, to swallow while he made shallow little thrusts in her throat, scraping the inside and stretching it. “Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty.” To prove she'd be good Claire held an extra five count before pulling off and sucking in air one lungful at a time. “Good girl. How very good you're being for me, babydoll.” His hand stroked her face, thumb brushing over her bottom lip.
Wanting to keep the good mood up she nodded and slipped his cock head back inside her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip. This time he pulled her off.
She stared up at his chin, waiting for another order, or to be pushed in the right direction, but he only leaned over to reach behind her and feel her wet cunt. Swollen and red from arousal it twitched under his touch and dampened his searching fingers long before he got to her clit to flick it. His other hand grabbed her by the throat, tilting her head back with his hold. This time she couldn't breathe through her mouth but her nose still drew in air in harsh little puffs. “I still haven't punished you for yesterday. I'm going to do that now and if you're a good girl, like you've been today, I'll give you a reward afterward. I know how hard these punishments are on you. I just want you to learn.”
That she didn't understand. What did Sylar want her to learn except that he could hurt her when he wanted for reasons he had or no reason at all? She already knew that. She made a questing sound in her throat and he raised an eyebrow before asking if she had a question. Then he let her ask. “Learn what?”
“To obey me.”
“I already know that, Sylar.” She pushed back against his fingers in a grind. “You're in control. You're the master. I'm yours.” What else had he said since she got here? He hadn't called her a slut as much as he'd used her as one, but he had said... “I don't have any choice. It's the way it has to be. Right? Did I say it right?”
His palm caressed her face. “Yes, that's what I told you, but you don't believe that. Or you didn't last night. What's changed?”
“I realized how pointless it was last night. I don't have control. I don't have any choice. You won't let me.” Her lips pressed together hard at the admission and she knew, normally, she'd be really, really angry at that. Today she felt... content. She hadn't exactly liked her life when she did have control and made the decisions. If he just stopped hurting her, like he said he'd try to if she behaved, things would be okay. Pushing the top of her head against his stomach where he'd stretched over her, she made a soft, sigh-like noise. “If I make you happy you won't hurt me more than I like. You said so.”
“And you trust me to do what I say?”
“Y--” No, that wasn't quite right. He hadn't always done what he'd said. He hadn't killed Molly. “Unless you're being merciful. Thank you for not killing Molly. I'm sorry I was bad.” He'd been proud of her last night when she agreed to take the punishment without whining. So she pulled back.
By the time she'd pulled off and twisted over onto her stomach he'd adjusted by pulling his pants back up to button them. Claire stretched her arms high over her head, holding them together so the metal cuffs touched as she squeezed to keep her hands from shaking. Then she spread her legs.
“You're ready for your punishment?” he asked it softly, tugging on one wavy curl in a way that didn't hurt. She nodded.
When he got off the bed her stomach clenched and she forced herself to close her eyes, not wanting to see where he went or what he'd decided to use. His footsteps went away, quietly, and came back a little heavier like he carried something. A weapon, to punish her. Her throat caught on knowing soon she'd be in a lot of pain even though it'd heal. Reaching over nearby, close enough she could sense his arm moving, Sylar grabbed something that rubbed against the wood from near the top of the bed. A belt. He'd left his belt there.
A vibrator switched on a second later before she felt pressure in her ears and all sound stopped in one simple blow. Her eyes shot open but he only held the belt, the other stuff laid near her feet, between them. Then he shook his head and his hands moved in deliberate motion to make words. “Close your eyes. I'm going to blindfold you.”
She trembled. She hated not knowing. She hated waiting. But she closed her eyes. The blindfold came over her eyes and she recognized the fabric as a soft, soft fleece or faux fleece that gently pressed against her eyelids to keep them closed. He reached behind her, raising her head off the mattress, to fasten it closed. Then he pulled away.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.
The air rushed out of her as a thick, wide strap punched across the middle of her stomach, forcing all her breath out of her lungs and making her cough. It stung badly as her muscles tightened with the coughing and before she'd even uncurled all the way he slapped the belt down again only inches lower. His hand reached out, gripping her chin, and holding it straight. If she'd been able to see, she'd be looking straight ahead, and even blinded she got the message to keep her head there herself.
He didn't make it easy with rough leather beating across her skin, stinging sensitive patches of nerves with every simple contact. Starting lower, across her hips, he worked his way up until her whole midsection burned from repeated blows and she sucked in breath in quick, pained gasps. She thought she might be saying 'ow' over and over but couldn't be sure. Then the blows stopped to let some of the sting fade away and she could catch her breath. Way too nice to last. The widest part of the belt, already doubled over, licked at her ribs on one side where the end curled around her pliant body while the rest made solid contact across her small breasts. Her nipples sent waves of pain down her spine and it went taunt, arching to get away or avoid another blow even as she cried out. Now she knew she started saying 'please.'
He hit her again in the same spot, adjusting his angle for how she'd twisted, and she collapsed back, exhausted by the pain. Her legs trembled at the messages from the rest of her body and she hissed in breath to repeat 'please' as many times as she could. She'd be good. She'd be perfect.
Everything felt so much more without sight or sound, each touch a little more painful than it had to be. He laid the belt across her stomach and drew an electric line up her chest, scorching a trail of shocked pain behind his light touch. Then he slapped her. The back of his hand connected with her cheekbone, his knuckles digging into the soft skin, and her head snapped to the side at the force. She didn't want to put it back. Did she have to put it back? His fingers dug into her jaw, setting it back in place, and she whimpered. Or thought she did.
What came next shocked the breath from her.
His hand pushed down on the center of her chest, between her breasts, as cold as ice. It made the rest of her shiver from the cold, skin tightening, nipples puckering, goosebumps raising. His other hand found her hot cunt and he thrust two ice-cold fingers inside of her. The cold had never felt so painful before, almost like fire. She felt tears on her cheeks. Slowly his hands warmed up again and she stopped shivering, going still and wary. He couldn't be done yet. He'd been furious. He'd use the knife at least.
When his lips brushed her untouched cheek and he kissed her temple she didn't flinch away. She'd survive this. She'd survived worse.
He flipped her casually, spinning her world around as she rose in the air and turned over, landing on her stomach on the bed. His hands prodded and pulled until she'd gotten up on her hands and knees, her breasts dangling down and exposed, her spread legs showing her pink, swelled sex between them, he seemed satisfied with this position. Almost. He shoved down hard on her shoulders, right between the blades, and dug her cheek into the comforter as she turned her head just in time. His strong, large hand even stayed there while his other went away, flicking at the sole of her feet as he passed. She felt the flick of something coming undone instead of heard it, a cold metal point touching her side. A second later she knew what he held: the metal pointer from that first, awful punishment. A second after that it struck her and she hissed in air.
Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. She counted ows, starting over at fifty, every time he hit her with the thin metal stick as her mental voice grew louder and more distressed with each passing hit. When she felt her skin split she'd been arching her hips, thrusting back and worth to avoid the blows for thirty ows, helpless to stop it. The sharp sting of skin breaking left her breathless and she went completely still as a tangy smell of blood filled the air. He kept hitting but she didn't move from where her knees had collapsed still kneeling. Her thighs pressed together and against her calves.
The tears broke through next as small sobs wracked through her, draining her emotions out like he'd siphoned them off. Then her thoughts shut down to bare necessity: processing the pain, carefully still breathing through the tears and desperate whimpering, became her whole existence.
He stopped after he'd broken skin again and again, five times. She didn't straighten, she didn't lift her head, her chest barely moved, even though the pain started to fade. It wouldn't last. He'd been so angry. His hand cupped broken skin, squeezing blood out of the healing cut, and then his slicked up fingers reached around and he forced them into her mouth. Choking on her own blood, she did the only thing she could think of to make him pull out, sucking all the blood off and swallowing it. When they were clean, he did pull back. Good girl. I'm almost done.
He sounded so happy.
If she'd had the air to do it, she would have sighed in relief. Instead she sucked in careful small breaths and waited for Sylar's next move. The slaps to the bottom of her feet barely stung with all the pain pulsing through her like a living thing but she made noise, making a show for him.
When something pinched at her ankle it felt like a bite but a woozy rush of warm and calm passed through her a minute later. It built in waves, taking her away from the pain, as sound broke back through. She sobbed, loud, heaving sounds that took out his quiet, slow slaps.
But she didn't miss his voice. She didn't miss a single word. “I'm proud of you. You took this so much better than before. You've learned so much while you've been with me, how could I not be proud of you? You should be proud of yourself.” She didn't feel proud, she felt pain. “I believe you. You understand now, about obedience, about how I'm in control. Do you understand I'll take care of you?”
It took awhile for the words to work through to her and she didn't know what he meant when they did. He'd hurt her, a lot, but took care of her? She whined, avoiding an answer.
He answered for her. “You'll never have to want for anything. I want you to be happy here. I have the resources to take care of you and our children. When you're ready you can go back to school, be whatever you want I'll help you do that too. And you'll never, ever be alone when you're hurting, or sad, or confused ever again. I'll always be here for you.”
It sounded nice when he put it like that. Freedom, her own life, not having to worry, and not being alone. Especially not being alone, even if it was Sylar. She could barely remember why she'd been fighting him. A loud sniffle drew out of her and broke her thoughts up as she coughed out caught air. “I did good? I'm a good girl. You'll be nice? Be nice and not hurt me?”
“I'll be nice and not hurt you.” His hand stopped the constant slaps and he kissed the back of her head. “Stay in bed today. No permissions. I'll come get you when I want you again.”
She had to pee. She swallowed her pride to speak up. “Can I use the bathroom? Please. I need it.” He slapped her butt but not hard enough to really hurt, helping her up a second later and leading her to the bathroom. Still blind she felt her way through going and he wiped her clean, making her stomach twist at the intimate act. Then he led her back to bed and tucked her in.
But as he left, he stopped to say, “If you need me, you only need to call my name. I'll come.” Then his footsteps faded away.
She believed him.
* * *
Like always, please comment! Again, sorry about the lateness of this update as it's been a rough month. Also, I'm curious (calling all anons *grins*) what kinks you guys would like to see. I don't promise to include them but anything short of cannibalism and things including vomit will be considered and included if I think it fits the dynamic I'm writing.