Page 17 of The Last Feast
Her eyes slowly rake down my body as she bites her lip, so I take the opportunity to examine her nakedness. The crucifix branded on her side isn’t the only mark. Others crisscross over her hips, and when she drops the leash to turn around, I wince at the deep slashes on her back. Large, raised keloid scars stretch from the top of her shoulder to the opposite hip, like she’s been lashed. There are some other brands mixing between the lash marks, curling through them like snakes.
But she hums a hymn as she walks into the shadows. Plastic crackles, a loud gulp, and then she walks back into the light like a hunter ready to slaughter their prey with an ax resting on her shoulder.
“Are you going to kill me?” I ask.
Her steps falter as she pulls her brows together. “No.” Relief settles in, but it’s only for a moment until she says, “I’m going to fuck you.”
I stare at the three-foot-long ax handle as she walks towards me, imagining the cold metal being forced into my throat. The cylindrical shape will make it easier for her to shove it down, but the intrusion of the ax handle isn’t the same as the knife. I’ll choke, suffocate, die. Yet, I can’t say anything when the alternative is the video of me stroking one out to genital mutilation being sent to everyone in my contacts. My parents, professors, acquaintances—because no one can really be classed as a friend when I don’t trust anyone enough to show them who I truly am.
Keeping the ax balanced on her shoulder, she lowers to her haunches in front of me and stops the handle from touching the floor as she orders, “Open.”
I slowly part my lips, still staring at the handle. Surprising me, she lifts the bottle of water to my lips and slowly drip feeds me. “You really are a good boy.”
The cool water tastes disgusting with her words in the air.
You’re a good boy. You always listen to me, and you’ll make God very happy like this.
They hit too close, scratching that raw nerve that never seems to heal. Time hasn’t managed to do it, speaking about it didn’t help, and neither does some crazy fucking woman mimicking the very words that haunt me.
But she attempts to as she softly strokes my hair. “I’m glad I found you, Jamie. You interest me too.”
Why the fuck do I preen under her touch?
She gently sets the water bottle down then stands. I quickly snap my lips closed to prevent her from forcing the ax into my mouth. Only, Hana doesn’t remain by my head. No, shewalks around my body with appreciation in her eyes then stands directly behind me. Her silhouette casts a large shadow over me due to her proximity to the spotlight, and I understand how the deer must have felt before she killed it: half fearful, half joyous at being chosen by the beautiful woman who smiles while being the image of death.
If I were asked to describe the angel, it would be her. Without wings or a halo, she’s ready to collect souls. Yet my childish dreams of killing the angel of death disappear now that I’ve met them. There’s no thought about killing them to protect my parents from the Father’s punishment because I spoke out. They just disappear under the protection of Hana’s violent shadow as she keeps the ax propped on her shoulder, tilting her head to examine me.
She gracefully lowers to her knees, entirely focused on me. Her touch is delicate as she smooths her hand up the back of my numb calf. The ax is taken out of my view as she lays it across her thighs, the sharp edge sparkling in the spotlight in the mirror and casting a distorted shadow of the weapon right beside my head. Following up to my thigh, she fixes her eyes on me in the mirror then leans forward to meet the tips of her fingers grazing her teeth marks on the curve of my ass with her soft lips.
“Watch,” she says low, a gentle command that blows over my back as she traces the curve of my ass and firmly presses her hand to my lower back. She tenderly pushes me down until my cheek is resting on the floor. All the gentleness lulls me into a false sense of security when there should be alarm bells ringing. But there’s no threat of loneliness if I disobey, no warped scriptures being recited to excuse the violation. No, this is how you make God happy. No gleaming, gold cross catching the light as it sways with the movements that I cry through.
No. She’s gently violent, righteous in her desires because she doesn’t have to lie or taint the very thing that’s supposed to givepeople hope as she stretches into the shadows to pull a cloth bag closer. It’s not one I recognize, but it’s filled with different types of face paint, so it must belong to her.
She retrieves a bottle of baby oil then lightly presses her lips to her handprint on my ass cheek. “You’re being so good for me, Jamie.” I whimper as she traces the seam of my balls with her thumb. “Your dick is so heavy, but you won’t come until I tell you.”
“Please don’t,” I whimper again, pathetically.
I don’t want her to let me come. If she does, if she allows the physical release, the one thing I could hide in the recordings will no longer be a secret. She’ll see me then.Trulyseeme.
She lays the ax across her thighs before uncapping the oil and slowly pouring it between my cheeks, sinking her praise into my skin with her soft lips. “Shhh, it’s okay. You’re my good little whore.”
I shudder as she pulls my cheeks apart then slowly works her little finger into me. “Such a tight ass. You’re going to break for me, aren’t you, sweet thief?”
“Please,” I mumble as she increases the pace, fucking me faster until I rock back.
“That’s it.” She spits down on her finger as she works another in.
“Fuck, baby.”
My moans are involuntary, as are my hips that move back, needing more of her. She happily obliges, slowly adding another finger as she adds more oil to ease the burn of being stretched. “What a desperate, lying whore. Look at you, fucking my fingers after begging me not to.” Turning her fingers in slow half circles, she taunts,“Please, don’t,”then moves the other way as her voice hardens. “Beg properly, pathetic whore. Say,please don’t stop. Say,break me. Say the truth for everyone to hear.”
I watch her through the mirror, but she’s looking up at Odette, whose tears splash on the faux moss, racing down the plastic foliage to stain the concrete beneath it.
Hana slaps my ass with such a force, I slip forward as she grits, “Is that who you want?”
“No,” I answer too quickly. “Just you.”
“Good.” She pulls her fingers free and lifts the ax from her thighs. I watch her, my dick twitching as I imagine how her hand will work me while she coats four inches of the handle in oil. She shows more care to the metal than she has me, but I wouldn’t want her to be soft. Her touch is even gentler as she kisses the back of each of my thighs then slowly teases my ass with the slippery handle. “Relax.”
