Page 68 of Hello, Listener
“Good.” I kiss her cold skin right above the zip tie. Next, I move to her ankles, restraining each one to both of the legs of the chair. She jumps as I run my hands up her bare calves. More goosebumps form at the feel of my palm on her flesh. Memories of earlier are at the center of my thoughts, and I can feel my dick straining against the fabric that keeps it in.That’s not what tonight is about.Scolding myself and adjusting myself before I slowly stand up and walk around to the front of her.
“You look so good like this. Exactly where I want you.” She runs her tongue over her lower lip at my words and releases a small whimper as her thighs shift in her seat.You poor thing. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.“This is going to be a night you’ll never forget. Just a little fuck toy and her master.” She looks so helpless right now. I wonder how long it will take her to scream.
The longer I stand watching her so helplessly, the more her shoulders tense. She practically bounces out of her seat when she hears the door of the storage unit come down at full force.
“Relax.” I laugh and lock the padlock, securing us both in the small room. “You’re in good hands.”
I move casually to the white card table behind her chair and regard the array of tools. My switchblade stands out under the harsh lighting. I move my fingers over the smooth black handle.
She startles in her seat as I unlatch my trusty knife, causing her chair to scrape on the cement. It’s a harsh, new sound that reverberates in the small space. I can’t help but let out another small laugh. My focus fixates on the sharp edge and the point asI stand in front of the white table. The reflection of her behind me bounces off the metal surface as if it tells me my next move. My fingertip slowly runs down the edge from the tip of the blade to near the top of the handle. The blade closes with one click of a button, and I slide it into my pocket.No better time than now to tell her how much she broke me.
Mentally, I go over my next steps as if I’m reading over a list of tasks.I make my way to the front of the room and set up the tripod I had previously used for Jace andmy pretty girlI picked up from the bar the other night. My phone fits in the rightful space.This image will be for my eyes only.I can only imagine how many times I will replay tonight’s scene of just the two of us. The tripod is set up in just the right way, so we are both in view of my camera.Once my phone is ready, I eagerly hit record.Perfect.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I command, breaking the tense silence in the room.
“I honestly don’t know what to think.” She laughs.I love the way you laugh while in the state you’re in. Just wait until you see what I have planned.I keep my gaze on her smeared, bright red lips. They’re a nice contrast to the black blindfold covering her eyes.
“Tell me, Listener, when you were a child, did your parents ever tell you not to play with knives?” I ponder, walking closer to her chair. The tip of the blade spins on my index finger as she anxiously shakes her head.
“What do you mean?”It’s cute the way her voice shakes at her question.
“Have you ever been enticed by the blade, so much that you graze your skin with the sharp edge… just to feel… something?”
“No. I can’t say that I have.” The timber of her tone is filled with jittery nerves.I like the way you squirm.Her chair creaks asshe sits up straight, and the muscles in her calves flex. I examine her body–how it tenses in her seat as I saunter towards her tied-up body.
I feel the cold surface on my knees through the fabric of my slacks as I kneel in front of her. I gaze up at her as if she’s a deity to worship. In a way, I am. I am worshiping the time we had together, preserving the moments with her that will stay in my mind. The way she made my heart fucking jump out of my chest, only to be contained by the buttons on my shirt. Honoring the times she gawked in my direction like I was a fucking delicacy she would devour and run her tongue over every last bit.
I start removing her shoes and throw them to the side. Like a natural reflex, she tilts her head down as I trail my hands up her skin from her feet to the tops of her thighs. I feel her tense muscles release the closer I get to the hem of her shorts.
“There you go. Relax for me.” I lightly press kisses on her skin and slide my hands back down her legs. I replace one hand with the smooth, flat side of the blade.
“When I was a child, my mother always told me to never play with knives. Sure, it was in her nature that she wanted to keep me safe. Even in her materialistic stupor, she had the motherly instincts of a spider, but she had good intentions. Her waspy lifestyle led her to believe that her child needed to act and look a certain way to keep up the appearance that we were a normal and wealthy family. Wealthy, yes, but even as a child, I was never what you would call normal.” I continue to glide the flat surface of the blade up her shin.
“Unfortunately for her, and the rest of my superficial family, I had become interested in blades of all kinds. She and my father were appalled by my newfound love of weaponry. I would stare at the shiny metal and how it looked under the sheath.
When I became a teenager, I would buy them and sneak them into my bedroom when they were away at some sort of town meeting or a fencing lesson. I had a collection. I never used them. Well, not often anyway.” I keep my slow pace of sliding the flat side of the blade up past her knee and onto her lower thigh as I continue with my story.
“I never used my knives on anyone or anything. I just appreciated the way the razor-edge cut so easily through the pads of my fingers. It was so fascinating how easily I could control the pain it caused and the depth of the cut along my skin.” The tip of my switchblade sits just slightly under the opening of her cotton shorts. I pay close attention to the way the goosebumps quickly form again along her skin. The leveled metal surface of the knife makes her shift slightly in her seat.
“Usually, they were stored away out of fear that I would get caught. Once my mother found the collection hidden in the one place I thought she would never look, my underwear drawer. You know what she did?” I pause briefly, waiting for any kind of responses from Thalia. “She removed them. How would it look if her baby boy had nicks and cuts all over him from the blades he was so attached to?” I glance up at Thalia while her breathing becomes heavier. I fix my gaze on her chest as it moves quickly and I carry on with the history of my fascination.
“Has anyone marked you before?” I move the knife gently into the opening between her skin and the gray fabric.
“What do you mean?” She tests, trying to stay as still as possible.
“Just what I said. Has anyone marked you as their own?” I turn the knife on the sharpened edge and glide it back down her leg.
“You mean has someone fucking carved their name into me?” Her voice rises, and she jolts in her seat.
“Precisely.” I come to a stop at her ankle, right where the stem of her rose tattoo starts.
“No.” Her voice is no longer shaky. It’s almost a command, like she’s reprimanding a child or a fucking pet.She's not in the position to tell me no. I’m not the one strapped to a chair.
“Relax, Thalia. What’s wrong? You don’t want people knowing you belong to me?” The glare of my eyes reflects off the horizontal surface. It becomes a sort of trance as I spin the tip of the blade on my index finger.
“It’s not that… I-I-” My blood starts to get hot as she stumbles over her words.
“You, what?” The knife moves through my fingers, and I behold the reflective blade, allowing the small weapon to go under and over each one. Her red hair shows on the blade at different angles.
