11: Pieces

Back in Mr. Black’s preferred confessional bondage gear, Elsa sat silently, blindly and unflinchingly waiting for Victor to share his secrets. He had been kind enough to allow her wrists to be bound in front of her and to let her sit on the chaise as opposed to the floor. He had even wrapped a flannel throw around her shoulders to keep the chill off of her. It was an unusually thoughtful act and one that confused her considering she was still being thrust into complete submission.

Seated next to her, she felt his mouth trace the line of her jaw. Soft, gentle, warm… lips feathered the corner of her mouth. Victor. A harsh tug of her hair at the nape of her neck drawing her head back and a sharp bite just below her chin. Mr. Black. Fingertips stroked her upper ribs to the edge of her tattoo. Victor. A hot, greedy mouth latching onto a breast and teeth pulling her nipple to a point. Mr. Black. Scratchy stubble near her navel, a tongue darted between her labia. Victor. Back and forth, on and on their torture continued. Digits inside of her pussy, then her mouth… Strong, confident hands roaming her body… She lost track of who was doing what.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder…” his muffled voice against her mound. “Whoever came up with that phrase didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about.” A tongue slicked into her folds. “Fond. Fondly?” he rolled the word around in his mouth as if it was foreign to him.

She was close. So close… She could feel her release building as he pumped two fingers in and out of her slowly in the awkward, fettered position she was lying in. Just as her pussy began to shoot off in waves, he removed his fingers and stood, leaving her to whine out around the gag and drench the front of her wrap.

“Such a strange word - fond. I know its definition; how to use it in a sentence; but I have no idea what that sentiment feels like. I’m an educated man. I know what it should feel like.”

Padded footsteps across the carpet near her. His voice was calm. Soothing. Victor. Hands centered around her waist. Languid swirling strokes outlining the roundness of her breasts. A tweak of her nipples. Footsteps again.

“My fondest memory…”

Question number four.

“I have none. I mean, sure, there are fleeting moments of mild happiness that I can recall. But every single one of those memories is tainted by the before and after; the what came next. Also…” he paused, gripping her chin in his big hand and tilting her face upward to readjust the blindfold that had slipped slightly. “My life is broken up into three phases,” he continued. “So that question can only be answered in three parts.”

His voice shifted. Not overtly noticeably, but just enough that Elsa knew Victor was fighting against Mr. Black.

Another irritated sigh. “Phase one,” he began as if reading a work memo. “Childhood and young adulthood. I’ll group those two together because really, it all melds together in my mind like one, gigantic, miserable clusterfuck. I thought long and hard about this question, trying to find just one moment of fondness. The only thing that stands out is when I was around nine. Or was it eight?”

The scratch of stubble drew her attention to movement toward the fireplace.

“Whatever. It doesn’t fucking matter. My mom was sober. She had made me dinner and…” silence. No movement. No sound. “Christ this is pathetic, but I was fucking happy that she had cooked for me. Actually fucking, made me a Goddamn meal. And was sober!” his voice boomed. “The things people take for granted, I swear. Like normalcy. Simple, motherfucking, normalcy. A cooked, Goddamn meal and sobriety. Jesus Christ. It wasn’t even a real meal. It was macaroni and cheese and cut up pieces of hotdog in it, but I ate that shit like it was a seven-course meal,” he huffed in disgust. “That fond moment was fleeting. Her sobriety lasted all of a few hours and I found her passed out drunk in the bathroom, lying in a puddle of her own piss and shit.”

She tried to imagine the look on his face as she screamed silently at the injustice that he had grown up with. She hung onto every second of silence as she waited for more, even while knowing that it was tearing him apart to speak of such sadness.

“No child should have to clean their parent the way I cleaned my mother. It’s wrong. Wiping her ass… that fucking dirty cunt of hers… It’s a wonder I still love pussy.”

A wave of nausea crashed over her and she felt as if she would vomit at the mental imagery of a nine year old boy having to care for his mother in such an inappropriate way.

His words faded to a whisper. “What else was I supposed to do? Just leave her there like that? Like some kind of animal with no owner to care for it?”

The weight of his words and compassion crushed her. Victor. It had always been in his nature to help people – even when they didn’t deserve it.

Paced, heavy steps side-to-side across the living room. The sound of something small being unwrapped followed by chewing.

“Phase two,” his evened out. “Adulthood.” He plopped down next to her, manipulated her body around, and dabbed the saliva from her chin with something soft. “The sad truth of my life up to this point is that there’s been more grief than joy. The first time I ever felt anything that could be described as happy was with Chapter One. She made me feel…” he cleared his throat. He quickly stood and his voice deepened with agitation. Mr. Black. “I was so fucking stupid and naïve,” he slammed something down onto the mantle next to her. “Fond memory…” he repeated as if reminding himself of the topic. “It was the end of summer; just before the truth came out about her. It was warm and the colors on the horizon were so amazing that evening. I took her to my favorite place, a scenic spot overlooking Richmond. The way she was looking at me… I felt…”

The romantic tone in his voice slipped over her like crushed velvet. Victor. He had loved. He had light. She remembered reading about it and how it made her feel to know that he wasn’t the cruel man he thought he was.

“Loved, desired and accepted.” His tone had turned begrudging and she dreaded what came next. “Another fleeting moment.” He muttered something unintelligible under his breath. “She whispered bullshit in my ear, said my name like it was the only name meant to be spoken from her mouth, and all the while she was out there murdering.”

A long moment passed before he spoke again, but the savagery of his voice had lessened. “I digress. Phase three,” he cleared his throat again with uncharacteristic nervousness. “Chapter Eight.”

His voice and words vibrated through her in an erotic wave. She had affected him. Then again, maybe this was part of the game, although she doubted it. The unusual edge in his voice revealed sincerity, even if she couldn’t see his face.

“Not everything we went through before, was negative. Maybe you feel differently about that and your feelings are valid, but for me, there were good moments. Moments when I really thought…” A lump clogged her throat and she wished she could speak so she could reassure him that she felt the same way. “I don’t know. I really don’t know what I was thinking.”

Desperation in his voice. The warmth of his body next to her. His hands caressing her cheekbones.

“I was trying to prove something. Like I am now. Like I always am. That I’m stronger than you. That I can win at this damned game and I don’t need to feel loved or desired or accepted to exist in this world.”

His words came too easily and the edge to his tone had gone, leaving Elsa to wonder if what he was speaking was truth or lies.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder. I suppose they did know what they were talking about.” Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. He had missed her. “Fond memory,” he repeated yet again. “The first time your tears came willingly. That night in the alley. When I took you. I’ve often wondered what you were thinking about when you shed those tears. If I slipped the gag out of your mouth… would you tell me? Truthfully?”