Gently Bitten

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It was never a matter of good criminal/bad criminal.  She had never played games or used violence.  After the initial kidnapping, which was done by other people.

"She put a gun to my head," Steven said.  The court-appointed psychiatrist nodded somberly and made a note.

The guard had simply come into the cell one day, and wordlessly knelt on his chest, as he lay on his back on the stone floor, hands shackled to the wall.  She held his eyes with hers, and lifted her skirt.  She had nothing on underneath.  He knew what she wanted him to do.

She tasted divine.

"She never said anything, just gestured and… sometimes hit or kicked me when I didn't catch on right away," Steven went on.  "I never heard her voice."

The sounds she made while she was coming were the sweetest noises Steven had ever heard, and he spent days dreaming of ways to get to hear them again.  But after that first moment of wordless compliance, she began to speak to him.  Urging him on, telling him what to do, instructing him, guiding him.  He began to imagine he could hear her voice even in the strange static-y hum that was always a background noise in the cell where they kept him.

The sound had given him a headache at first; but now he welcomed it.  Longed for it.

"She wore a mask, like one of those ski caps, you know?" Steven said.  "I couldn't see her face."  The psychiatrist nodded and made another note.

He could still see her face in his mind's eye, with perfect clarity.  If he were anything of an artist, he could have painted her, sketched her, scratched her image on the psychiatrist's hardwood desktop with his fingernails.

In his imagination, in his memory, she was looking into his eyes.  Wordlessly directing him with small signals, microscopic changes in her expression, even while her words rolled over and through him, telling him what to think about, what to focus on, what to remember, what to forget.

There had been a time when he wondered if she was hypnotizing him, or if the dizziness and fuzziness in his head was from some sort of drugs in the air or in his food, if the constant hum that echoed off the walls concealed some sort of subliminal messages.  But before long he came to hope that those things were true, that he was being brainwashed for her use.  Because he so very much wanted her to use him again.

Not long after that, she took the shackles off.

"I just… I felt so helpless, you know?" Steven said.  "And now… I feel like I don't even remember anything that could help identify her.  Them."  He licked his lips.

He was thinking about her cunt.

"That's all right, Steven.  You've done very well just to get this far," the psychiatrist said.  She made another note, and stood up from behind her desk.

"And I'm sure you'll find that you'll be able to identify us when you need to."

Steven's eyes widened and he looked up at the psychiatrist, now standing in front of her desk.  Her hand made a gesture that just clicked in his mind, and almost without noticing himself moving his body was immediately kneeling in front of her.

She lifted her skirt.  She had nothing on underneath.  He knew what she wanted him to do.

She tasted divine.