Learned helplessness [n.] The state or behavioral trait in which exposure to repeated adverse events reinforces the belief that one is powerless, ineffectual, and cannot exert change even when evidence to the contrary is presented. Rating:
Kink is caning. Also includes violent rape, bloodplay, nipple clamps, bondage (chains), humiliation (verbal), and general bastardy behavior. Notes:
~5500 words, written for kink_bingo
(new card means new kinks!). People will probably find this piece either incredibly disturbing or incredibly hot so please pay attention to the warnings
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The pleasure from the day before still swum around her as she paddled her way out from under a tide of sensation and control. At the surface, Sylar loomed, his warm body wrapped around hers as his hands slid between her legs, over her breasts, and anywhere else he wanted to be. What Claire wanted had ceased to matter four days ago. If she wanted to get Molly out of this alive, she had to remember that and she had to pray it’d be enough to get his guard down. He rubbed a palm over the mound of her sex and dug his heel into the nerves there so she gasped. Or maybe she gasped because he bit the back of her neck at the same time.
It reminded her of this nature program they’d made all the girls watch – and maybe the boys too, she’d never asked – about lions mating. In it the male lion climbed over the female, who hunched there submissively, and got rammed into until he’d managed to get off. The program went on to talk about lion ovulation and the differences from humans, but the image had stuck with her more. Guy got on; guy got off. Girl? Got fucked.
No wonder she’d fought Brody off.
Of course, the reality had nothing to do with the program or the sex talk or Brody the MVP or anything so mundane as high school. Sylar had long since passed that age, passed being a boy, and he treated her body like it. Yesterday, he’d fucked her body like it. And she’d come, and come, and come, because when he played her just right she fell apart in his hands. It made her sick. Then it made her wet.
“You’re awake,” he observed from behind her, his words thick with sleep and satisfaction. “How do you feel today, babydoll?”
What a loaded question – and she could tell him what it was loaded with. “Physically or mentally?”
“Let’s start with physically.” With that, he bit the back of her neck again and she felt the gush of betrayal coat her insides.
Still, she could do one word answers and she would. “Aroused.” He laughed, stroking her hair back and told her to go on with mentally. “Angry.”
Sylar didn’t seem surprised by her answers or lack of elaboration as his hand dipped between her thighs to check the amount of moisture. Where his fingers touched felt like live wires and she whimpered embarrassingly. Then he pulled his hand away, rolled over, and sat up on the bed. What? Why didn’t he fuck her? He had a routine, why change it now? Unease hanging around her, Claire decided to risk sitting up too and she dressed when he handed her one of his big dress shirts. The black cotton draped around her hips and covered her.
When he wanted her to move, he tugged her hair and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Today I’ll bring Molly over to our new home and we’ll all get settled in. Most of the materials have already been moved,” he said easily, leading her towards the kitchen. She hopped up on the counter next to stove when they got there, putting herself even with his eyes, and he smiled.
He kept right on smiling as chains flew into his hand. “Sy – “ Crap, the stupid name rule. “Master. What’s that for?”
“Good girl.” Claire pushed out a slow breath through her nose, refusing to respond to the praise. Fuck him. “You don’t think I’m going to leave you unchained while I go get Molly, do you?” His grin suggested he’d never heard something funnier and she blushed a little because she had, well, expected it. “No, I’m definitely going to chain you up first, right here.”
When he raised the chains she blinked, biting her lip because she didn’t see cuffs. Did they wrap around her wrists? Would he melt them on? Tie them mentally? As her eyes spotted the spikes on one end and the hooks on the other another, worse idea hit her. Another idea that fleshed out to full-fledged reality as he found a hammer in a nearby drawer. “Master, you’re not –“
“Shh. Don’t protest. And you can scream as loud as you want here. No one will hear you.”
She swallowed roughly, her lower lip trembling as the heavy weight of this hit her gut. When he brought out inch thick boards big enough to lay her hand on she wanted to fight him but then he’d only make it worse. Instead she examined the nails. They were thin, maybe two inches long, like door nails maybe – she really didn’t know the difference – and she knew they wouldn’t cover a lot of territory. A mixed blessing, she guessed. She didn’t fight him when he set her hand down, palm up, on the first board and the sharp end of the gleaming nail poked into the center of her palm. The first crushing blow that ripped through muscle, bone, and tissue brought a grunt from her lips but little else as she kicked her feet against the counter she sat on. Ow, ow, ow, fuck.
She’d wanted pain back?
Her arm shook when he lined up the second nail, in the center of the other palm, and this time she couldn’t watch. She didn’t breath as the hammer came down and shrieked when the end of the nail drove into her flesh without ripping through. “There we go, now to tie these up.” The other end of the chains, with hooks that closed tightly, floated up above her and attached to rings hanging from the ceiling. Her arms spread apart.
“Okay, I’m stuck,” she agreed, managing her breathing again. Every little shift hurt like a bitch. And that bitch’s name was Sylar. Why were there still chains?
“Oh, but I’m not done,” he said cheerily, kissing her on the forehead. She nearly bit him.
Two more boards, rectangular and slightly larger, were pulled out of a cabinet and fitted up against her feet as he straightened out her leg. That allowed him to brace it on his thigh, bent over, and drive the nail home. If she thought the pain in her hand had been awful the tiny bones of her feet proved that she’d forgotten what real pain felt like. She shrieked. With tears welling in her eyes he quickly finished the last nail, blood trickling all over her now, dripping down onto the counter or running down her arms too. He chained her feet to the door handles of locked cabinets, spreading them wide as well.
“It hurts.” God, it hurt. It hurt, she hated it. Most of her hated it. She’d missed this.
Sylar chuckled cruelly, patting her opened pussy fondly, and Claire wanted to hiss at him. He walked away and a few minutes later came back with a drink from the fridge – no two, but one was in a baby bottle. She blinked in confusion as it was attached to the ceiling and dangled over her head, just close enough that if she strained her thighs she could suck on it. What the hell? The other bottle he started to shake, plugging the top with what looked like a piece of ice. Part of the bottle froze down almost to the shoulder but he kept shaking.
Then, without warning or preparation he reached down and thrust the freezing bottle into her pussy, getting it deep inside before her muscles revolted. She shrieked at the cold and tried to lift off, only to shriek at the pain from her feet. Motherfucking bastard!
“There. Perfect. I’m going to be gone for awhile. That’s nicely shook up but frozen over. When your hot little body melts down the ice it’ll explode inside of you. Or you could open your thighs and let it slip out, but if you do I’m going to do something really nasty when I get home. Your choice.” He kissed her on the mouth but she refused to respond. “Water, coverage against the temperature, what else? Oh, right, entertainment.” He grinned, sliding the television around to face her and bringing the remote over.
When he pressed play she gasped. She saw herself, in the clothes she’d been abducted in, sitting on Sylar’s bed as he stroked her face. Her on-screen self said, “Stop touching me.” And she knew this had to be from the first day. He’d been making recordings? Her skin burned.
“Better than that. Daddy’s going to get a copy. He’d want to be updated on his darling girl’s condition,” Sylar cooed.
The tears on her cheeks felt unreasonably hot and as soon as he disappeared from sight, teleporting off to wherever he planned to go, she broke down into sobs.
Sylar had been done for hours, most of the packing completed before he’d ever taken Claire to the house, and even Molly’s room only took twenty minutes. To her surprise, he took her outside in a small city in Oklahoma where no one would recognize either of them. Mohinder had yet to declare her missing to the world, an unexpected result, and must be relying on the Company to handle this. As if they could ever handle Sylar. It allowed him more freedom of movement, however, and he took advantage of it by taking her out for ice cream. She ate her ice cream quietly, barely looking up, and when he gave her hot chocolate – laced with a sedative – she drank that down and quickly fell asleep against him.
Once he’d settled her on the second floor, in another telekinetically contained room like the one in his apartment, he left her there and invisibly went to check on Claire.
The blood made trails of red and streaks of bright brown where it’d dripped or dried along her arms, soaking into his business shirt. The bottle had fallen out but from the liquid dripping from her cunt she’d followed his instructions. And now her face pulled tight with agony, tear tracks making her skin gleam, shifting every few seconds to try to take pressure off. She gasped when the pain wracked through her again. He loved it. Sure, it made him a sadistic bastard but, god, he loved to watch her suffer for him. He loved her helpless, confused, and looking to him for guidance like she had the day he’d taken her power. She wanted him to teach her.
Now he’d taken her up on that restrained promise, with a harder lesson than she expected. As dry coughs caught in her throat she tried to breathe deep and use her thigh muscles to raise herself. It appeared excruciating and he hardened against the inside of his boxers in seconds as her voice caught on a strangled wail. He hadn’t realized how erotic it would be to watch her suckle the bottle’s teat, like a little lamb trying to find dinner, and he smiled to himself. Then he strode over to her.
“It would seem you’ve been a good girl,” he told her gently, cupping her face without regaining visibility. Her eyes searched for him wildly, gleaming with tears.
“Pleas-se take me d-down,” she gasped, easing back down. “Please.”
He slapped her hard across the face and watched her head snap to the side as she cried. Over the next few days he had a very specific plan but it meant softening her up first, in this exact sort of torture. His eyes skimmed the time on his classic watch and he made himself appear to her as he smiled softly. Not the vicious smirk she expected but a proud, fond look. “Thirty minutes and I’ll let you down.”
Claire’s childlike expression of hope fell, collapsing in on itself as she shifted her head in the slightest of nods. “Oh.”
“Or… “ Now, to reel her in. “You could come back to bed with me and allow me to experiment with your body. I’d like to see, up close and personal, how it… ticks, in more than an abstract way access to your brain allowed me.”
A smart girl like her knew that she could only expect pain in bed if she agreed, but what choice did she have? She looked on the verge of passing out from pain and would have if her ability didn’t work constantly to heal the damaged tendons and muscles. He tapped the top of one nail, was rewarded with a high-pitched whimper-shriek, and waited for her to answer.
“Time’s ticking,” he pointed out after a minute, licking his lips. Then, impulsively, he licked a trail of blood off her chest, in the valley where the shirt hadn’t been buttoned up. It tasted coppery of course and almost sweet, especially when she shuddered. “You taste like victory.”
Her jaw clenched, telling him fuck you, but she nodded and whispered, “Bed.”
He raised his hand and the nails pulled out of her a centimeter at a time as she huffed and wailed and collapsed back against the kitchen wall behind her. When the last one pulled out, dangling free, Claire gasped in relief and started to cry again. “What do you say?”
Through mutinous eyes, she met his gaze, and said, “Thank you.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“Good girl.” She’d never understand how proud of her he’d become. He hadn’t felt this way with Maya, who he’d tamed easily, nor with Elle, who he didn’t believe he’d ever tamed. But Sylar had the reassuring, certain though that she had potential.
She sat still. Except for the sound of running water and her snuffed breathing, the kitchen had fallen silent. Silent and compliant she stayed as he washed the blood from her healed skin and stripped the stained shirt from her body. Soon he’d cleaned her up, as good as new, and he carried her after that. Learned helplessness would be one of his biggest allies in breaking her. For the next three days her behavior would have absolutely no effect on his; he’d stick to his plan, no matter the pleading or begging she tried or how desperate she’d become. The last decision she’d make for the next 72 hours had been to go to bed.
And, oh, would she beg.
He'd laid out the master bedroom with an efficiency and minimalism of planning that allowed him access to the bed from all sides. The king sized bed, with collapsible steel rails built into each side dominated the space and the stark, forest green sheets tightened the space of the otherwise airy room. One wall consisted mostly of a large, rectangular window that allowed light in from the west over the treeline. The opposite one contained cabinets, shelves, racks, and hooks of materials that he could use. After he'd laid her down gently on the center of the bed he kissed her forehead. Claire twisted, moving up onto her side quickly with her thighs pressed together, trying to become a smaller target, and he let her be – for the time being. There were clothes in one of the cabinet and he stripped off his blood stained outfit before replacing just the pants with black sweat pants.
Sylar had never really put a lot of thought into his physique or whether people considered him attractive, not even as Gabriel. Intellect had always mattered more. Strength of spirit. All the things that attracted him to Claire. But he guessed he must be passable, with a toned torso that cut with muscle and strong thighs. Elle had said he had kissable lips. He still found more importance in other features, like his strength.
A second cabinet had a series of ties, from rope to plastic zip ties to steel chains that she'd be unable to break through. He took the heavy, hard steel from the cabinet and warmed it with his hands as he carried it over to her and left it on the bed. Her eyes didn't open. Next he grabbed the immediate supplies he wanted: a hunter's knife with a six inch blade; a thin rattan cane; a tie for her hair; two metal clips with sharp, miniscule teeth that would shred through flesh; and a small flat vibrating disk that he immediately pressed and held against her clit.
Claire gave a long, uncontrolled shiver at the first stimulus since the crucifixion, trying to press her legs close enough together to push it out and failing. The other items he put down on the bed next to the chains. “Sit up, babydoll.”
Her eyes slit open, attention falling to the knife, and she shook her head. Maybe he'd shorten her hair a little more once he got some curl into it. For now her hair fell across her face and chin so she reached up and pushed it away. Sylar repeated his command and she ignored it. “No.”
“Okay.” He held out his hand palm up and jerked two fingers towards the center of his palm, tossing her up into a sitting position and pinning her there. “That's better.” This time she didn't reply. When he locked the cuffs on her her arms tensed, both at the tightness and he'd guess the weight. He'd adjusted these specially, centering them out of steel to transform it into gold. They had to be heavy. He did her ankles next and those jerked too. With a small gesture – turning his hand over and spreading his palm – the chains flew out towards four corners, spreading her as wide as his fingers. Her grunt made him smile. “Tell me when it hurts.” Focusing on her legs, he kept spreading his fingers. Her body had bent more than halfway to the splits before she gasped.
God bless cheerleaders.
“You're going to be in chains for the forseeable future,” Sylar told her easily, sitting down on the bed next to her hip and the other supplies to stroke the skin above her belly button. “When I move you, when I feed you, when I clean you, until they feel natural. Until they are natural.” Her glare told him she still fought. “If I see you on your feet without permission, instead of kneeling, crawling, or lying down spread like this, I'll cut the tendons in your legs and stick nails in there so that they don't heal properly. Then you won't be able to walk. It'd be excruciating too.”
Oh, look, a little flinch. Apparently today's lesson had settled in. She hadn't liked that one bit.
“Good, we understand each other.” His hand slid up her chest and he detoured to play with each of her nipples in turn. “Maybe I'll make these bigger. What do you think? Real C-cups? Ds? No, I think I'll wait on that, until you're housebroken and it's safe to take you outside for a walk.” Now her teeth gritted like she wanted to growl. “Are you still waiting for Daddy to find you and save you? Before I kill Noah I'm going to make him eat you out and fuck you. Don't worry, he won't come in you – at least not your pussy. That privilege is for me alone; it belongs to me. You may speak.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” Huh. Not what he expected.
“I told you, Claire. We need to build bridges. Since you've vowed to keep hunting me until eternity and that simply won't work for me I decided to start the process myself. If you'd just said yes you could have put me off for, oh, a hundred years, maybe a hundred and fifty. Your loss.
“More immediately, of course, is my revenge against Angela Petrelli and Noah Bennet, your progenitors. The people who made you – and me – who you are. I remade myself and now I'm remaking you so that we'll be a matched set. When I'm done you'll see how much better it is.” He gave her a sweet smile. “And how much stronger you'll be. They'll never be able to hurt or control either one of us ever again.”
Claire didn't look like she believed him and the mention of Noah seemed to pain her, but he glossed over that for now and reached for the first clamp. The spring clamp squeaked open from new joints and he positioned it over her right nipple. He let go and the clamp snapped shut, biting into her sensitive flesh, and blood welled up as she hissed. The second clamp went on just as easily and then he massaged both tits and increased the vibration on her clit.
Next he put her hair up in a high ponytail meticulously. It took a few minutes but comfortably got all her hair off her face. “That's good. I want to see your eyes my sweet. Now, hmm, the cane or the knife? The cane.” He picked it up and swished it through the air, satisfied with the crack it made when he stopped his hand suddenly. “Or the knife.” Then he picked up the knife and tossed it in his hand, getting used to the weight. “Cane. Knife. Bruises or bleeding? So many choices.” He laughed a little and put down the knife. “Cane first, I think.
“Just close your eyes and think of, well, anything you can.”
“You sick bastard,” she hissed, staring up at him malevolently. “HELP! HELP! IS ANYONE OUT THERE?” He let her scream, no longer worried about non-existent neighbors she could scream her voice out. “HELP ME, PLEASE! I'M BEING HELD PRISONER!”
Sylar laughed, stroking the cane over her flesh as he stood up. “Oh, I'm hurt, Claire. You want to leave me? We're going to have to fix that.”
As she started to scream 'HELP!' again he brought the cane down hard on the top of her thigh right above the knee. Her words strangled with a shriek and a thin red line appeared. “Stop!”
“I'm forgetting something,” he said, mostly to himself. “I'm definitely forgetting something.” He turned around and studied the wall then smiled when his eyes landed on a tube of IcyHot. After bringing it over he coated the cane with it and tried another strike. The crack sounded louder, slapping against her skin with some wetness, and long after he'd pulled his hand away the pain still burnt in her leg. “There we go.”
Claire bit down on her lip to stop from screaming obscenities at him but it didn't help her. He brought the cane down again on the inside of her thigh. Crack – gasp – burn. A new line appeared. A third appeared as the first one faded now on the top of her other thigh.
He worked methodically, covering both sides from between her legs as the pain built. Using his ability to understand worked beautifully to understand her pain and drink it in, floating on it as her heart beat ratcheted up with fear and stress. She gasped out a sob when his strikes got too high, too close to her vulnerable pussy.
“No, no. Sssylar, no.” Her pretty voice choked on the words as he lined up his next strike.
When Claire got aroused or excited – and it turned out aroused and terribly frightened – her pussy flushed a deep pink-red that offset with the rest of her skin like a beacon saying 'right here, come in.' He pressed the thin, light brown cane against her left vaginal lip and raised his hand. When he brought it down the cane jarred in his hand at the impact and blood welled to the surface, breaking through damaged skin. For the longest moment she didn't react at all except for her eyes going wide.
Then her hips arched off the bed, bucking as well as they could, and she screamed.
“P-please, please, Master, no,” she whispered, sounding like she had in her living room the year before. 'Aren't you going to kill me?' She probably wished he had now but he had other plans for her.
“Say hi to Daddy,” he suggested, lining up a mirrored strike. Her entire body cringed but she had no slack to move away. “Do it!”
“D-dad. Please, help me, D-daddy!” A flood of tears burst down her cheeks and Sylar smirked in satisfaction at a job well done.
“There you are, Bennet. Proof that I'm, well, doing exactly what you swore you'd protect Claire from. That's the whole reason you lied to her, abandoned her, hurt her, isn't it? What good it did you!” He laughed. “But that's alright. I won't lie to her nor abandon her and she'll come to like being hurt. She's safe with me.”
When Bennet saw this he'd growl 'That sick son of a bitch' and Peter would vow to stop Sylar once and for all. Oh, how predictable they were becoming.
He brought his arm down again, splitting the skin on her right cunt lip. Blood dripped out as her body jerked violently, trying to find escape. No such luck, princess. Without pause he shifted his attentions to the middle, pressing the rough wood onto the vibrator on her clit. With a gel core it'd protect her clit to a degree but not her entrance. He flicked the cane and snapped in a perfect line down the center of her cunt. Her wailing choked off, reaching levels humans couldn't hear as the agony rose. He tossed down the cane.
“There, done with that. Babydoll, look at me.” When she didn't he reached out and slapped her cheek. “Look at me!” It took a few minutes but slowly her head turned so that her violently red, swollen eyes met his excited ones and he rubbed her aching pussy gently as she watched him. “There, there. You did well, very well. Good girl. I want you to repeat the rule I told you a minute ago. Can you do that for me, princess?”
Glassy eyes blinked up at him and her lips parted, her dry tongue darting out to lick them. “N-no walking.”
“Good girl.” She looked away in too much pain to even keep up her mental diatribe of hate. “Your place is on the floor, not on furniture until you earn it. Right now even Molly, who proved she can be trusted in public today, is above you in this house. Your eyes will also stay down: do not look at me, at Molly, or up unless you have permission. Do you understand?” Claire nodded. “Repeat it.”
She did slowly, choking on some of the words. He'd started to overwhelm her. Good.
After a minute he stood and went to put the cane away before crawling back between her legs and kneeling in front of her. He raised her hips with his hands and slid his knees underneath her upper thighs, letting her rest where, were he to unzip his pants, he could penetrate her. “I love you.”
“N-no!” She gasped in surprise at her sudden outburst but recovered quickly. “You're torturing me.”
“Hurting is the only way I know to show love,” he answered.
“Why won't you stop?”
“I can't yet.” Sylar reached up and stroked her exposed face, bending down to kiss her lips, her jaw and cheek and temple and hairline. He laid feather light kisses over her without break, licking up her tears as they fell until they began to slow, then halt. “Shh, shh, it's alright. You're going to be alright.”
Her shoulders jerked in misery but she didn't start crying again, not even when he reached down and unbuttoned his pants. It felt like he'd been hard forever and he knew with the IcyHot smeared across her intimate flesh this would hurt him too but he grabbed the base of his dick and pressed on. It stung, a clean, minty sting that refreshed him, and then he worked the first inch of his cock in. Somehow Claire's muscles had swollen up to the point of blocking his entrance even though wetness flowed in the form of blood and even pre-come, but he sat patiently and rotated his hips very slowly. It worked by millimeters of flesh being consumed by flesh, her hot sex accepting him through the pain, fear, and anger.
“That's it.” Hissing felt natural there and his eyes fluttered closed as she wrapped tight around him. To his disappointment he'd only been able to deflower her the once, though it did bode well for natural children. “Take me. Accept this. Accept I'm fucking you. Your body belongs to me. Your life belongs to me. You belong to me. You need me to feel alive.”
Like she'd been stabbed Claire began to thrash wildly on those words, yanking at her bounds with all her strength until he felt and heard bone crushing, joints popping, and skin ripping. Blood drenched her and she whimpered, growled, and whined as her left hand collapsed into itself and she could yank it through the cuff. Her right hand followed and she went for his throat. For a moment, Sylar let her hold him. Then, as her hands healed, he shifted them around his neck in a lover's embrace instead.
“Impressive, little princess. Yet another thing I love about you.” From here he could kiss the top of her hair. This position allowed him to rub and rake his hands down her smooth back and as he took in the scent of her sweat and hair he enjoyed touching her amazing skin. Everything about her aroused him. “I need you.” His eyes shifted over to where he'd set down the camera. “More importantly, they need you. Think of it this way. Everything I do to you is one thing I could be doing to Angela. To Noah.” He kept Sandra out of it; he thought he might be able to win the woman over if he had made substantial progress with Claire by the time they were reunited. “Even to Peter, though he's just as much their pawn as I am. So, in a way, your suffering is sparing them. You're saving the world.” He didn't mean that facetiously either; sometime after meeting his father he'd realized he'd lost all of his touchstones with reality – shifting into his own mother marked only the beginnings of his problems – and he knew that without Claire he'd be far more dangerous and destructive.
He couldn't redeem himself as redemption was for things that hadn't started out monsters, that weren't rotten to the core of their souls of darkness, but he could control himself with her around. She blotted out the importance of everything else. He smiled and kissed her temple again.
She whispered, “I hate you,” and his cock twitched inside of her.
“I hate you.” The noise she made came out like a feral growl and he pumped up into her.
“I hate you!” He built up speed, fucking her harder with each thrust, squeezing her tight against his chest as he rammed up inside of her and she gasped, riding his cock, repeating, “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you,” with each breath.
He came inside of her with a shout and stilled inside of her, leaving her worn, pleasure-deprived body on the edge of an orgasm she couldn't get over. Claire tried hard to jiggle on his lap without it looking that way but he held her too tight. He held her until her body calmed down, the orgasm staved off for now. Her pride wouldn't allow her to ask for orgasm after all he'd done to her today so she went without.
“Your body is here for my pleasure. Just as your mind and your soul are. I made you who you are.”
She shuddered and he reached for the cuffs mentally, nudging her back down on the bed. This time when he secured them, he tightened them a little bit more. She didn't want to see the next step if she slipped those.
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Comments appreciated! I'm not usually the beg for comments type (if this is begging) but more comments, or more in-depth comments, really encourages me to write and get the next part up more quickly. So, if you'd like to see this series coming faster, comment!
And for those I scared off, I'll write something not so disturbing someday.