catorce

But despite the previous threat, he does nothing. He just stands there and looks at me. This makes me nervous. I have a hard time not hopping around or at least rolling up and down on the ball of my foot slightly. But all that would only reveal my feelings. And I would certainly be able to remain calm if his gaze weren't so fixed. So piercing. It seems to me that it just wants to eat its way through me. This is only enhanced by the light green.

And as we look at each other, I really realize who I'm facing. the king It's weird, but I thought that would be seen. By a certain charisma or something that distinguishes him from me. But that's not the case. He looks normal. Like a human. And now I feel stupid for even expecting it to be special. Why should he? He was only born into the right family. No longer. It's not an achievement. At the very least, it should be considered none. But that's not true either. After all, he is worshiped. Or just hated. Depends who I would ask. But even these trains of thought escape me again when I realize that I am blatantly staring back at him. Didn't he say something about it should I look at the floor? Instant heat fills my cheeks and I quickly glance down. The only thing I still notice is the slight grin from Xerxes just before he disappears from my field of vision.

But that's exactly what he seems to have been waiting for. Not even a second later he starts moving and brushes against my shoulder as he passes. This is meant to be intimidating. That's obvious. The room is too big for him to have touched me. And I'm beginning to wonder why Xerxes is so determined to instill fear in me. Actually he doesn't need it. After all, he is the customer. So he's free to do whatever he wants with me. Usually I know that if someone wants my obedience, they just want to panic me. Just like Zaret. But that wouldn't be necessary here. So what's the reason then?

And as I frantically search for an explanation, Xerxe's feet appear in my field of vision. Almost leisurely, he stands in front of me and rattles something metallic. I don't know the sound. But it sounds like he's banging two spoons together. Only the almost sinking scraping of the iron doesn't match. But my curiosity is piqued. That's what makes it really hard not to just look up. However, that is not necessary at all. Xerxes holds the object in my face, and that's enough to make my breathing heavy. It looks like pliers. At least almost. While the handle Xerxes is holding is straight, the actual part of the tongs is curved into a circle. The so-called gripping arms are thin. Very thin and therefore they seem too unstable, to really withstand a great deal of force. But these would slide through something perfectly. And only the converging peaks touch. But that's not what makes me hard to swallow. Instead of the flat metal plates that have pliers to hold a nail or the like firmly, this one has fork-like prongs. Sharp spikes that can definitely penetrate the skin wonderfully.

"Do you know what that is?" Xerxe's voice is calm and I just shake my head. I can't take my eyes off the thing. And now he slowly opens the tongs, approaching me with them. I would like to take a step back , just dodge the metal and ask what he's planning to do with it. But I'll probably find out soon enough, and escaping wouldn't do much good either. After all, Platura said I had to be available to Xerxes one way or another. And something tells me "that Platura was looking for me to drag me to Xerxes. I'm sure he wouldn't let anyone else do that. So I stand still, can only watch with wide eyes as the pincers open wider and wider and steadily approach my chest.

"Words, Kalota," whispers Xerxes and now I look up. I don't care if I'm allowed to do that or not. After all, I could tell from his facial expressions if he wants to hurt me. But he still looks rather interested. That's missing the cruelty in the face. The pain-thirsty twinkle in the eyes. It calms me down a little, and I finally find the strength to say, "No."

He nods slightly as the cold metal now touches my skin. The tips of the pliers scrape them and that alone shows that they are really sharp. But the pressure is still too low to cause pain. This is supposed to scare me. Show what could follow.

"Does the term chest ripper mean anything to you?" Xerxes keeps scraping the iron over the base of my chest, turning it back and forth. It's supposed to intimidate me "It's not crippling. But what the tongs can't do, Xere's words can. Chest tears. That doesn't sound good. Not good at all. And so my heartbeat picks up speed again and I'm having trouble, not in me to slump. But there's still hope that he's just trying to scare me. That's all. It's probably just another test to show him how I react to certain things. "No, I haven't heard."

And now Xerxes frowns. So it seems like something I should be aware of. At least from stories. "You've never seen a witch burned or a woman executed, have you?"

Actually, I would have thought that after breast tearing, no word could shock me any further. But I was wrong. Burning a witch alone sends a chill down my spine. I can't say if witches really exist. And I certainly can't judge whether these are evil or bad. But what I do know is that it often affects women in my class. The poor. As a child I knew one of the so-called witches. It was a heartedly good woman who tried again and again to help us children. She was very supportive of me. My mom did the laundry, helped me find small jobs so I could buy food. From one day to the next she was gone. The rumor mill in the streets has become loud at this time. many said that she was only nice to us children because she wanted to sacrifice us to the devil. Or bathe in our blood to restore her youth. I doubted it. She really had many opportunities to kidnap me or kill me. Nobody would have asked for me. Yes, not even my mother would have noticed. So why should she have hesitated? But I could never ask her what's true and what's not. She was burned alive. i went Not because I wanted to witness the spectacle, but to show her that I am grateful to her despite all the accusations. That's been a big mistake. The smell of burning flesh had eaten into the hairs on my nose and had followed me for several weeks. And not only that. I still heard the bloodcurdling screams in my dreams years later. That day I swore to myself that I would never witness anything like this again. I've kept that to this day.

Xerxes squeezes something with the chest ripper and the small iron prongs prick me a bit. There is hardly any pain, rather an uncomfortable feeling on the skin. But I get the hint. Once again I am lost in my thoughts. "No." I clear my throat, the sadness at the memory in my voice. "No, I've only been to one. But that was a long time ago."

He just looks at me. There is no change in facial expressions and yet I have the feeling that my answer pleases him. As if he thinks it's good that I don't wallow in other people's suffering.

"Good," he murmurs, and then looks back at the chest ripper. And immediately he smiles slightly. One that announces anticipation. "The chest ripper is often used in torture." He exerts a little more pressure on the handle and the small spikes dig even further into the soft flesh of the breast. And I no longer dare to breathe. I can't even see the tips of the tongs because they've disappeared so deep into my bosom. And just when I'm about to wonder why I still don't feel any pain, more force is expended. And that makes me gasp in agony. My skin hasn't given way yet, but that's probably due more to the elasticity of the breasts than anything else.

The prongs seem to have rammed themselves even deeper into my skin with this further small movement alone and it is only a matter of time before it simply rips open. It's actually a miracle that not a single drop of blood has spilled.

"And when the tongs are deep in the flesh, the breasts will be ripped off." It sounds neutral. Like he's telling me a fairy tale. But it makes my blood run cold. I'm not sure if he really is would be able to do that. I don't know him. The only thing stopping me from begging him to remove that thing from me is the knowledge that he's trying to incite fear. I'm scared. No question.

But just like last time, this pain is perceived differently by me. It's paradoxical and probably incomprehensible to many, but Xerxes unleashes controlled torment with his actions. Something I can grasp. It's not like it always is. That I'm being hit blindly. That I serve as an outlet for aggression. No, it's something else. Even I can't really explain why I can bear it here. But I know pain. They are part of my life. But not this deliberate addition. It's a mixture of my everyday life and the knowledge that people will still take care of me. Something familiar and new. And that makes it comfortable for me. At least in a certain way. I probably realize that I can never escape the maelstrom of abuse, and this would be a species that I would be fine with. Which doesn't scare me further into the darkness, but maybe helps me out of it. A kind of glimmer of hope without really being one.

Xerxes studies me again, then looks at my chest. Almost as if in a trance, he brushes my nipples and plays with them until they stand up. "You really are a strange woman, Kalota."

This statement confuses me, but I can't deal with it for long. The pain in my chest increases. It continues to eat into my upper body and I can hardly concentrate. What started with a tweak at the beginning is growing. With every damn second. And even the slight rise in my chest when I breathe is enough for the spikes to move slightly. And that's what keeps the iron wedged more and more into my skin.

"Are you scared?" Xerxes looks at me again, but still brushes my nipple, twirling it slightly, causing my chest to move even more.

"Yes," I whisper, maintaining eye contact. I want him to see that I'm serious. I'm actually panicking that my skin is tearing open. And it's not because of the wounds it causes. I don't care about them. One more or less doesn't make any difference. But what always makes me breathe shakier is what happens afterwards. A lot of force goes into the pliers. A lot of force. And when my skin tears, there's nothing left to do the little ones Jags stops them. Then they can work their way to the center of my chest without much resistance. Meet one another and maim me forever. That would cost me my job. I still don't think Xerxes really wants to rip my chest off. For that he seems too controlled, but he could pierce her.

"Then why can't I see it?" He leans forward slightly, and another whimper rises from my throat as he moves the tongs slightly. But he doesn't even notice my sound. And I'm beginning to wonder what he's expecting. What does this man want from me?

He tilts his head slightly and approaches me a bit more and again there is this incredible green. I could probably lose myself in it if it didn't have this dullness. The eyes don't shine that well. It looks as if something is hidden underneath that nobody should see. What he keeps hidden deep inside. Yet he should be carefree. After all, Xerxes has everything I dream of. Money. Family. Recognition.

"Tell me why you're not completely beside yourself even though I've just put an instrument of torture on you?"

And the question makes me stop. I haven't seen it like that before. He's right. I should beg him. So why don't I do it? And there's that thought again that he doesn't mean to seriously hurt me. The only question is where do I actually get this knowledge from. But that's the point. I dont know. It's more of a gut feeling. A kind of experience. I know enough cruel people who would love to try the chest ripper. And they all have one thing in common. You are unpredictable. Cold. without empathy Xerxes does not fulfill any of these qualities. It's more like he's trying to inflict pain without actually hurting me. "Because you seem too controlled." My voice trembles slightly, showing that I do feel afraid. But that doesn't seem to be enough for Xerxes.

He frowns and shakes his head blankly. "What's that supposed to mean?" I cramp slightly again because the pain is getting worse. The pulling is starting to feel like my chest is being pinched. But I have to answer. If only he would take some of the pressure off. But one look at Xerxe's face is enough to know he wouldn't do that. "You're acting too deliberately. First time the whip and now this." I swallow hard and would like to look down. Watching the chest tear slowly but surely pierce its way through my skin. But I'm afraid I won't be able to bear the sight. How my chest slowly turns red. How the tops are covered by my flesh. And the still stiff nipple. As long as I don't see no matter how dangerously deep the tongs have penetrated, I can negate it. At least something.

Xerxes leans forward even further, lips almost hovering over my ear. "But isn't the one who uses this in a judicious manner the one who should be feared the most?" And with that he squeezes even harder. Not for long. Just a second. But that's enough. My skin gives way to the pressure. Bursts right up and my fears are confirmed. The thin iron bars immediately dig deep into my flesh. Pierce my chest.

****

And now my composure is gone. My scream whips through the room, and without being able to control it, I grab Xerxes' shoulders. Cling to it. He has to hold me. The pain is everywhere. Brings tears to my eyes and, above all, it robs me of my stability. My knees give out. Again and again I buckle and I must not fall. If that happens, my breast will be ripped off. The tongs are too deep for that not to happen.

"Get it out," I yell, grabbing his shoulders even tighter. I have to stop. But it's so hard. God, I'm sick. Really sick. "Please." The word gets lost in my sobs. I don't even know what's worse. The pain or Xerxes behavior. He doesn't move. Doesn't mind my touch, but he seems so calm. As if he enjoys my despair. Enjoyed it. And me? I'm trying not to go insane. Blood runs down my chest, gets lost in the dress. And the agony increases with every passing second. And I still have trouble not falling. A tremor overtakes me. I would like to hug Xeres. This gives me more stability. But that's not possible. The chest tear does not allow for more closeness.

"Look," he whispers, and I shake my head. No. He can't do that. Why should I look? Does he want me to watch him rip my breast off? God, he hurts me. I have really thought that he was a better man? That I'd be lucky enough not to have a madman by my side? I should know better by now. There's the cycle of my life again. Everyone wants to hurt me. They all enjoy in my suffering. And everyone just makes me blacker inside. Every time I think I'm on the brink, that it can't get any worse, I'm taught one thing. Every damn time.

There is the fog of impotence. An unbearable dizziness. The shivering. I'll just collapse. My own weakness will cause my breast to be ripped off.

My thoughts are getting heavier. Even so, I realize that I must obey. So I follow the command and lower my gaze. The thin, curved iron bars disappear into my chest. And instead of seeing spikes, a trickle of blood comes out of the hole. This sight is enough to let bitter bile rise in you. Then the tongs are moved. And now I'm not even able to scream. I can only whimper. Quietly. Hardly to hear. But by God, it's so hard for me to keep my eyes open. Again and again my head sags slightly. But that's nice. The pain is taken from me. The fog swallows him. What do you think Zaret will say to the fact that I've lost a breast? Then he can't take any more money from me. Eventually Pete will fire me. A soft smacking noise occurs and I wince. Only now do I realize that Xerxes is slowly withdrawing the tongs. The thin rods are no longer silver. No, they are soaked in my blood. Red. A really beautiful colour. So intense. It's interesting that I even notice it. And as the spikes reappear, another gush of blood spurts out. And with that, I can't hold on to Xerxes anymore. My hands slip off my shoulders. I want to catch up, but suddenly there is only air. And so I fall. But those seconds of weightlessness feel liberating to me. For a moment, no weight seems to crush me. Just a second that I can breathe. And then I hit the ground. A pain shoots through me. But I hardly notice it.

I close my eyelids immediately. There's that insatiable urge to fall asleep again. It would be so easy. If Xerxes would leave me alone. But he doesn't. He grabs me roughly under the arms and lifts me up. Hurts me. I want to snap at him to leave me alone. After all, he really has done enough. But only a croak sounds. A croak, which is lost in an agonizing moan. I want to see something, but somehow my eyelids seem so heavy. Like lead. And so I always only recognize a bright flickering, which is immediately immersed in black again. Xerxes goes somewhere, says something. I do not get it. Everything seems so blurry. So beautiful. Then there's something underneath me. It's soft. Really soft.

"Kalota, wake up," Xerxes yells and grabs my shoulders, shaking me. And me? I want to scream. But again, my lips curl up in a silent screech. There's no sound from me. But he does is pulling me out of the darkness. The fog is clearing. Slowly. Ceaselessly. And when I finally manage to see something, Xerxes is bent over me. His breathing is labored. But there is no pity. He's more likely to work suddenly like a savage on me. Unruly. Aggressive. And uncontrollable. The green looks like that of a snake. So captivating and yet paralyzing. As if his gaze was enough to send some poison into my bloodstream.

And while I've caught my eyes, he gathers my dress a little higher. Runs his fingers down my knee, up onto my thigh. Immediately I whimper softly and want to squeeze my legs together. It would be so easy to grant him access. But my limbs still don't listen to me. So he can push his way further to my center and thereby take the air for me to breathe. This can't be serious? I want to calm my racing heart somehow, take a deep breath. God, I have to do something. anything! But it doesn't work. My mind races while I can't do anything. Doomed to endure anything. I think about the rape. This will be the first sex after. And again I'm in pain. I'm bleeding again. It's the same position again. The eternal cycle.

But it's still different. After all, Zaret's men didn't touch me like that. There it was a fact. One that was enough to make me gag. It's not like that here. Xerxes is careful. Lets the fingertips slide almost tenderly over my inner thigh. That's okay. A small difference, enough not to drive me insane.

"Legs spread," he whispers and takes a quick look at my chest. He sees how it trembles under my heavy breathing. Sees the blood that is still escaping. But again he seems to be enjoying the sight. As if he finds it arousing. And that's what makes me sob. I'm starting to realize what my job is. Why he's looking for a prostitute in the first place and why he wants to find my weaknesses. Xerxes feeds on my suffering. Another tear silently escapes from my eye and I'd love to get up and leave Tell him he can find someone else to play his sick game But again my rebellion would be useless Platura Zaret They're all forcing me to keep being available for him They're all shoving me closer to the abyss.

And so I just close my eyes while spreading my thighs a bit. This movement alone costs me all the strength I probably still have. God, doesn't it just have to end at some point? How much more can I take? There's got to be a point where I just give up - where I die. Be it heartbreak or freezing inside. But apparently that is not the case now. Xerxe's hand slides higher until it's against my privates. He gently runs his fingers over my middle and hums contentedly.

"I want you to look at me." And as simple as that command is, it feeds my desperation. I don't want to see it. Can't take another man over me just leaning on me passes. I realize it's not like last time. This is consensual. But only half. Yes, I sleep with my clients. Yes, they can hit me. But they can't torture me. There's a limit. At least normally. But we at Zaret seem to have pushed the boundaries there too. And that scares me so unspeakably. It's only a matter of time before even I don't know what's wrong and what's not. What I have to suffer and what not. There will come a day when I won't be able to answer a simple question.What is the client allowed and not allowed to do?

"Open your eyes, Kalota," Xerxes whispers, and suddenly I realize how close he is to my ear. There's the warmth of the lips, the hot breath. Not noticing this sooner only shows how far I've drifted But now I comply with the request. Immediately I see the green again. How it shines slightly. And a second later Xerxes exerts more pressure on his finger. My labia give in to the force and the finger is already on my clit. But I'm not wet. That makes it rather uncomfortable and I twitch slightly. But the fainting that was so close still seems to have clawed at me. It all seems so heavy. Every movement so unnatural. As if I were alive and yet dead.

But that doesn't seem to bother Xerxes. He rather smiles before he lifts the dress and thus completely exposes my most intimate zone. And just as I'm wondering what he's doing, saliva is already leaving his lips, dripping onto my pubic bone. The impact is actually hardly audible and yet I am shocked to the core. I gasp. wanna squirm Somehow show that I need a minute. But again it's rather erratic movements that I bring about. This also shows Xerxes how tense I am - how infinitely tired. But again there is no pity. He laughs, wheezing. Pleased with my reaction. But I can't stop myself with that, so he collects the saliva with his fingertip. And this time there is no game.

He immediately penetrates between my labia and distributes the moisture on it. The movements become smoother. More quickly. And that makes me want to push myself away. I can't get it together. The panic is still in my limbs. The pain is omnipresent. And yet he is so careful now. Gives me time to get used to his massaging fingers. He doesn't caress my clit with full force. Instead, go around it without touching it. lets me breathe Only to then touch the clit again. Again and again. And each time with a little more pressure. Our eyes meet again while Xerxes stays longer and longer on my clitoris. Gently tugged at my pearl, eliciting another gasp from me. What the hell is wrong with him? How can he hurt me and now be so responsive to my body? I don't know that punters deal with my erogenous zones. That's unusual. And the worst thing is that my body actually reacts - reacts positively.

There's a tingling sensation that doesn't match my other feelings. Like a wolf in sheep's clothing, it mixes with the other emotions, swirls them around and I can't do anything but whimper softly. That can not be. I can never respond positively to Xerxe's touch after the chest tear. But it cannot be dismissed out of hand. The longer he brushes my clit, the more I seem trapped. Trapped in a world of pain and this weird feeling of pleasure. This is by no means the way I know it. No, it's completely different. Really scares me. I'd like to beg him to stop. But how could I? How should I explain to my suitor that I can't take that kind of affection? But it is like that. It completely overwhelms me.

But Xerxes doesn't seem content with that. He slides his finger lower. Makes its way through my labia to my entrance. And it all happens effortlessly. There is hardly any resistance. That can never come from the saliva. And as I stare at him wide-eyed, I realize I'm wet. That the man who just used a torture device on me is now pushing me into lust. And just to confirm my thoughts, he starts talking, "We're really gonna have a lot of fun, Kalota."

It sounds like a threat. makes me tremble And maybe it should be. But I can't concern myself with that because now Xerxes is at my entrance. I tense up automatically. And there's that unspeakable panic again. i don't want sex Not in this position. I wouldn't survive that. That was something else. Since my clitoris was touched. Something I could appreciate. Which had nothing to do with my rape. But Xerxes does not penetrate me. He observes. Circles my entrance and then slides back to my clit. Plays with the pearl in quick rhythmic movements. The tingling increases. Eats from my abdomen through my whole body and yet all I can do is stare at it. Panic. Desire. Pain. All of this is in me. All of this makes me barely breathe.