a lot of those, lately.
For my waifu.
<3
"My man's
got a heart.
like a rock
cast in the
sea--"
Saliva was gathering at the back of his throat, bubbling up until he tugged back his lips and swallowed it down, this throat bobbing noisly
with the action. He was dozing against his will, the limbs of his body pulsing against his sore muscles, stretching his skin over the restraints. The ropes rattled behind him, like dizzying snakes, but the ones currently tied at his wrists and ankles (and hair, he thought) would not budge. Their prickly texture gave him an itch somewhere along his heel, but he was unable to scratch that particular area, so he let out a quiet groan and blinked behind his blindfold.
A light faded through the material, but he was still unable to see the room around him. He felt his pulse quicken as sounds begin to filter through, a tickle of tiny mouse paws on the floor, the rusting metal of the chair he was tied to, even the sound of his hurried breath against his teeth. He forced himself to remain calm, while his head began to sway with numbing terror. He shifted again within his holds and huffed out a curse, elbows bent awkwardly against his sides. He tried to lift his head, and felt the cool stream of the room's damp air against his neck, alerting him of the perspiration there. He grew a little more apprehensive when he felt his legs go numb in some places, and he tried to move again to get the blood flowing, but that too was restricted when he felt a pinch on his wrist.
It was like his body was molding. Growing soft and wet and sick. His heart was stuttering now, panicking against his ribcage, stirring fear into his chest like a thick smoke. He strained to hear anything other than the silence creeping all around him. Anything that might acknowledge life beyond the walls. Anything. Anything...
---pop!
He froze. His heart clenched painfully in shock. The sound echoed through his body, urging him to turn towards it. Again, there was the soft undertone of scattering on the floor, and another pop followed after that. At least, he thought it was the floor. Something clinked gently against a surface--wood, a table, maybe a wrist-watch-- and paused. His breathing grew louder, almost moist as he opened his mouth.
"...Hello?" He heard a short exhale of breath, followed by a string of restrained chuckles. Something cold dribbled down his ear, dipping to meet the lobe before soaking in his ruined suit. He licked his lips and jerked his chin again. The terror was crawling all over, grasping him, leeching him. "H-hey. Hello?"
"How long have you been awake?" A voice mused, stirred in honey, soothing like warmth. He was momentarily caught off-guard by another sound from across the room, but he forced himself to pay attention to the man, the person beside him.
"...Who are you?" He almost cried at the one comfort he felt at this moment. The sound of his own voice, as familiar as his flesh, his bones, the dirt beneath his fingernails. "Wh-what're you doin'?
"Me?" The voice perked a higher tone. "I'm doing my job. Are you doing your job?"
"My...job?" He choked out the last word. "What job? S-sucking cock for you bastards?" Maybe the blood had rushed to his head, or maybe he was scared as hell. Moisture dotted his upper lip, wetting his nostrils. He let out a sneeze, short and bursting through.
"Salud. It is a little cold in here," The voice rolled into a purr. "You caught a cold."
"G...go to hell."
The voice sighed. "Not quite. What's your name again-- Luis, Louis..."
"Juan!" The man gave a soft laugh. "I was really off. I have about two more Juans in this building, did you know that?"
He dragged his teeth over his lower lip. The small of his back was aching, growing hot and bruising. "N-no."
"Juan," The whisper nipped at his ear. "What a common name for you people. Let me guess, you're mother's name was Maria?"
"Fuck y--" He let out a twisting hiss, pain and heat spiking up his forearms. The sweat began to roll down his face in little rivers.
"Graciela." The beautiful word that almost choked him up. How dare this asshole use it in his mouth--
"She has a nice name. My apologies. Barragan. That's your last name," The voice whistled under his breath. "Father: Unknown. Assholes, am I right?"
He did not respond this time. He felt like he was being pulled deeper into the cave, his feet were sinking into the floor.
"So," There was a screech of metal on the floor, and the swift twitch of clothing. "You're here because you were laid-off, a week ago. You couldn't pay the rent or my men, so you left town. You stole a 12 pack of Bud Light and a lighter from a 7-11, then proceeded to head east into Fresno. You stopped at a hotel and bought crack off a couple of kids, then you were beaten, tied up, and brought here."
"....."
"You visited your cousin for money, but his girlfriend refused to hand it over. You stole gasoline from his car anyways."
".....What?"
"All these things, could have been avoided. All of it," The voice tsk'd. "If you just came to me. This wouldn't have happened."
"They were gonna kill me," He whispered to the person, a quiet sort of desperation in his voice. "They told me, my land lord was saying--"
"It doesn't matter," The voice hissed back. "Who says shit. You should have come to me."
"...." His clothes were damp. A stench began to waft near his nostrils.
"They would have told you. If they weren't so busy jacking off to useless things like this."
"I didn't know," His throat crumbled under the weight of his emotion. "No one told me. Don't--don't do anything, please."
Wetness seeped out of his nose, and he sniffled it up, feeling thoroughly humiliated. "D-don't, man."
"...You know," The voice hummed, but never finished. Another popping noise filled the room, and the smothering sound of licking lips attract his attention. Soft, crushing juices.
"I love cherries," Almost distant, this time. Another plump break of skin. More licking. "Not so much on ice cream. I like to eat them straight out of the box." His eyes tried to see through their bind. The faded, scratchy rag made his eyes water. He tried to pray the voice away from his treat by moving again, but he could only twitch and grunt, tugging at the robes and cursing in a tongue he thought he had forgotten. Ten minutes passed, and the voice was still engrossed in those damned cherries, while he was in desperate need to take a piss and just scream, or possibly cry. Half an hour turned into two hours, into three hours.
Three hours, he listened to the no voice, licking up the cherries and rolling seeds between his teeth. He let out a short shout of frustration, and his tired head slumped. "The fuck...! What're gonna do to me!? Just tell me!"
The voice, the skittering in the room, it all vanished. The sound of a chair grazing back was heard, and polished footsteps approached him. His heart throbbed in fear, in anxiety. He detected the sent of rosaries, a familiar growing scent he would catch when walking to church.
He jumped, flinching when he felt a round, plump cherry press against his lips.
"Let us," The voice returned, rich, filled with intent. "...talk of little...of the world's economy."
The fruit was pushed passed his lips, smooth on his tongue, firm in his bite as he sunk his teeth into the tender surface.
Life swelled in his mouth.
"My man's
got a heart.
like a rock
cast in the
sea--"
Saliva was gathering at the back of his throat, bubbling up until he tugged back his lips and swallowed it down, this throat bobbing noisly
with the action. He was dozing against his will, the limbs of his body pulsing against his sore muscles, stretching his skin over the restraints. The ropes rattled behind him, like dizzying snakes, but the ones currently tied at his wrists and ankles (and hair, he thought) would not budge. Their prickly texture gave him an itch somewhere along his heel, but he was unable to scratch that particular area, so he let out a quiet groan and blinked behind his blindfold.
A light faded through the material, but he was still unable to see the room around him. He felt his pulse quicken as sounds begin to filter through, a tickle of tiny mouse paws on the floor, the rusting metal of the chair he was tied to, even the sound of his hurried breath against his teeth. He forced himself to remain calm, while his head began to sway with numbing terror. He shifted again within his holds and huffed out a curse, elbows bent awkwardly against his sides. He tried to lift his head, and felt the cool stream of the room's damp air against his neck, alerting him of the perspiration there. He grew a little more apprehensive when he felt his legs go numb in some places, and he tried to move again to get the blood flowing, but that too was restricted when he felt a pinch on his wrist.
It was like his body was molding. Growing soft and wet and sick. His heart was stuttering now, panicking against his ribcage, stirring fear into his chest like a thick smoke. He strained to hear anything other than the silence creeping all around him. Anything that might acknowledge life beyond the walls. Anything. Anything...
---pop!
He froze. His heart clenched painfully in shock. The sound echoed through his body, urging him to turn towards it. Again, there was the soft undertone of scattering on the floor, and another pop followed after that. At least, he thought it was the floor. Something clinked gently against a surface--wood, a table, maybe a wrist-watch-- and paused. His breathing grew louder, almost moist as he opened his mouth.
"...Hello?" He heard a short exhale of breath, followed by a string of restrained chuckles. Something cold dribbled down his ear, dipping to meet the lobe before soaking in his ruined suit. He licked his lips and jerked his chin again. The terror was crawling all over, grasping him, leeching him. "H-hey. Hello?"
"How long have you been awake?" A voice mused, stirred in honey, soothing like warmth. He was momentarily caught off-guard by another sound from across the room, but he forced himself to pay attention to the man, the person beside him.
"...Who are you?" He almost cried at the one comfort he felt at this moment. The sound of his own voice, as familiar as his flesh, his bones, the dirt beneath his fingernails. "Wh-what're you doin'?
"Me?" The voice perked a higher tone. "I'm doing my job. Are you doing your job?"
"My...job?" He choked out the last word. "What job? S-sucking cock for you bastards?" Maybe the blood had rushed to his head, or maybe he was scared as hell. Moisture dotted his upper lip, wetting his nostrils. He let out a sneeze, short and bursting through.
"Salud. It is a little cold in here," The voice rolled into a purr. "You caught a cold."
"G...go to hell."
The voice sighed. "Not quite. What's your name again-- Luis, Louis..."
"Juan!" The man gave a soft laugh. "I was really off. I have about two more Juans in this building, did you know that?"
He dragged his teeth over his lower lip. The small of his back was aching, growing hot and bruising. "N-no."
"Juan," The whisper nipped at his ear. "What a common name for you people. Let me guess, you're mother's name was Maria?"
"Fuck y--" He let out a twisting hiss, pain and heat spiking up his forearms. The sweat began to roll down his face in little rivers.
"Graciela." The beautiful word that almost choked him up. How dare this asshole use it in his mouth--
"She has a nice name. My apologies. Barragan. That's your last name," The voice whistled under his breath. "Father: Unknown. Assholes, am I right?"
He did not respond this time. He felt like he was being pulled deeper into the cave, his feet were sinking into the floor.
"So," There was a screech of metal on the floor, and the swift twitch of clothing. "You're here because you were laid-off, a week ago. You couldn't pay the rent or my men, so you left town. You stole a 12 pack of Bud Light and a lighter from a 7-11, then proceeded to head east into Fresno. You stopped at a hotel and bought crack off a couple of kids, then you were beaten, tied up, and brought here."
"....."
"You visited your cousin for money, but his girlfriend refused to hand it over. You stole gasoline from his car anyways."
".....What?"
"All these things, could have been avoided. All of it," The voice tsk'd. "If you just came to me. This wouldn't have happened."
"They were gonna kill me," He whispered to the person, a quiet sort of desperation in his voice. "They told me, my land lord was saying--"
"It doesn't matter," The voice hissed back. "Who says shit. You should have come to me."
"...." His clothes were damp. A stench began to waft near his nostrils.
"They would have told you. If they weren't so busy jacking off to useless things like this."
"I didn't know," His throat crumbled under the weight of his emotion. "No one told me. Don't--don't do anything, please."
Wetness seeped out of his nose, and he sniffled it up, feeling thoroughly humiliated. "D-don't, man."
"...You know," The voice hummed, but never finished. Another popping noise filled the room, and the smothering sound of licking lips attract his attention. Soft, crushing juices.
"I love cherries," Almost distant, this time. Another plump break of skin. More licking. "Not so much on ice cream. I like to eat them straight out of the box." His eyes tried to see through their bind. The faded, scratchy rag made his eyes water. He tried to pray the voice away from his treat by moving again, but he could only twitch and grunt, tugging at the robes and cursing in a tongue he thought he had forgotten. Ten minutes passed, and the voice was still engrossed in those damned cherries, while he was in desperate need to take a piss and just scream, or possibly cry. Half an hour turned into two hours, into three hours.
Three hours, he listened to the no voice, licking up the cherries and rolling seeds between his teeth. He let out a short shout of frustration, and his tired head slumped. "The fuck...! What're gonna do to me!? Just tell me!"
The voice, the skittering in the room, it all vanished. The sound of a chair grazing back was heard, and polished footsteps approached him. His heart throbbed in fear, in anxiety. He detected the sent of rosaries, a familiar growing scent he would catch when walking to church.
He jumped, flinching when he felt a round, plump cherry press against his lips.
"Let us," The voice returned, rich, filled with intent. "...talk of little...of the world's economy."
The fruit was pushed passed his lips, smooth on his tongue, firm in his bite as he sunk his teeth into the tender surface.
Life swelled in his mouth.