Beautiful Nightmare Part 2

I've always loved the sounds of screams. Not the fake shit that sex workers make for the benefit of their partners or even the kind made by those who scream an announcement of their orgasms.

No, I'm talking about true screams. The kind that only comes from pure terror and pain so intense the psyche snaps sideways and all one can do is gasp out a rattling whistle of a sound. The kind of screams that come when you still have hope that someone will hear your suffering and come save you. Screams that pitch nearly out of the vocal range, that strike at the primitive part of our brains that remember living in caves before we discovered fire, before we knew that monsters wore human faces just as often as they wore nonhuman ones. Those are the screams I love.

They are the nectar I search for and when I find them? Ooooh, boy. You bet your ass I'ma do everything I can to keep them coming.

And Mariah? Poor, poor Mariah, she makes the best screams I've heard since I played with Asher and his apartment of merry little liars. I've been at her for hours. Have taken off every one of her toenails and fingernails. Punched her where no bruises will show and mar the lily whiteness of her skin. Used the long neck I had been drinking from to teach her that some things aren't meant to be used for sex. That last one had produced a set of screaming pleas for mercy I wish I had recorded.

They had gotten even better when I full force kicked the bottom of the bottle where it had stuck out from her useless cunt and shattered it. She had nearly passed out from that one. But I have smelling salts and she'll pass out when she's dead, not a minute sooner.

"Y'know, Mariah," I muse conversationally, snickering when she flinches. Over the last 14 hours of torture, she's learned that any time I begin with those words, shit isn't going to be pleasant. "I've heard you like tellin' people they're whores. That they need to act right or you'll do worse." I walk over to the bed and trail my fingers across my toys, debating which to use next.

I have no need for the pliars anymore since I don't plan to pull her teeth; I want her to choke on the shards of those pearly whites when I kick them in so they'll stay right where they are. For now. The knives will be used later, maybe. Oh! I outright giggle when I see my dragontail whip. This will be delicious.

"Well, I'm the worse in this case. At least for you," I continue, picking up the whip and giving it a few practice swings. It whistles through the air and snap-cracks inches from her bare ass, making her squeal and try to move away. But she can't, not with her arms still strung up above her head. But it's fun to watch her ass jiggle when she tries in spite of the futility of it.

"Any idea what I've got here?" I ask, circling her until I'm standing in front of her, those pretty green eyes locked on me in that way that prey locks onto a predator when it's been spotted, clearly praying that the predator will go away if it doesn't move. "This," I hold up the whip, "is called a dragontail. It can do nearly as much damage to the human body as a single tail deerhide whip can. Well, in moderately skilled hands, that is."

I swing it again, pulling back just enough so that the very tip of it snap-cracks centimeters from her nose. She recoils but otherwise doesn't move, sensing that if she does she'll risk flinching into its path. And while I may want that, she certainly doesn't.

"But in the hands of an expert?" I smile and step closer. What color she'd regained in the minutes of reprieve I'd given her drains away. "Well, you can slice someone open down to nearly bone. But then you'd know that, wouldn't you, whore?"

Her eyes widen and she blinks owlishly at me. I snort.

"What, think I wouldn't research you properly? You may have been out of the lifestyle for a decade but you don't forget what you've learned, what you've done. And being married to some Jesus loving, bible fucker and poppin' out four snot-nosed brats doesn't change that you're a whore who fancies herself a dominant female deserving of respect and unwavering servitude."

I flick my wrist to test the weight of the 'tail where it hangs down at my side. Mariah's eyes track even that tiny movement, her terror at knowing her torture is only beginning, at knowing just what a dragontail can really do warring with the pleasure she gets from being called a whore. Not that she'd ever admit it.

But I don't need her to. I can read it plain as fuck on her face.

"Well you aren't deserving, whore Mariah, not of respect and surely not of unwavering servitude." I roll my shoulders, playing up the suspense, winding her up so when I strike, she's even less ready for it.

She's shaking her head, pleas caught by the gag that's now soaked through with her spit. I just laugh.

"Mariah, I'm a sexual sadist. Like, the Count de Sade and Jack the Ripper had a love child and that love child is me, sexual sadist." I didn't think it was possible for her to be more terrified than she already was but as my words sink in fully, she proves me wrong. "Your fear, your pleas, your screams, your pain? It all gets me off."

I swing my arm and the 'tail cracks across her pubic mound, the tip giving her clit a drive by. I watch with absolute glee as her body jerks with the impact and then freezes while her pathetic brain tries to figure out what happened.

It's like watching a slow motion accident. You know something bad just happened—or is happening as it were—but the impact of that hasn't fully registered. First her body jerks with the impact of the blow, then it freezes and tenses. Then her face goes slack, a flush rising from where the 'tail touched her, all the way up her torso, across her chest, up her neck, and to her face. By the time it's reached her face, her eyes have clouded over, mouth falling open as a sound that has no description dribbles out past her quivering lips.

"Ten hours and thirty-nine more strikes to go." She freezes again, going so still so suddenly that not even the chain connecting her shackles rattles. It's actually, oddly, kind of impressive. "That's right. That was just a warm up."

I walk up and pull the gag out of her mouth. "Be as loud as you want, whore. No one can hear you, no one is coming to save you. You're my toy now. And I intend to break you."

Stepping back, I readjust my grip, cock my arm back and flick the dragontail forward just as she opens her mouth to beg or insult me or both. This time the 'tail hits between her legs, the tip either hitting her asshole directly or coming damn close, the rest of the whip rippling across her slit.

It's the same as before: impact, jerk, freeze, train wreck slow motion, flush, slack face, then that sound. Only this time, the pain hits full force. And that sound intensifies as her body comes alive all at once.

I love screams. But this sound? The kind that has no name? By the gods, it gets me cumming every. Single. Time.

My laughter mixes with her screams as the wind howls all the louder outside the cabin. And this is only the beginning.