Living in Torture
Title: Living in Torture
Authors: absinthe_memory & trollsttroll
Chapter: 3
Fandom: Jackass/Viva La Bam/HIM
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ville/OC, Ville/Bam
Warning: Explicit gore!kink...
Disclaimer: Fiction means this isn’t real... unfortunately...
Word Count: 1785
Summary: The antics on the set of Jackass 3 drag Bam into a world unknown...
Author's Note: When we said gore, we meant it...
Chapter 1, Chapter 2
I can see the anger boiling in the brazen, young man before me. It’s coiling in his stomach and curving up along his back. He thinks I’m a joke. He believes I’m nothing more than some mock apparition that one of his friends created. He’s wrong… he’s so very wrong. And it pisses me off. I try to act as if it doesn’t. I put on my charm… trying to coax something out of him. He should be reacting to me not them. Jesus Christ… no one ever fucking listens to me. I watch his eyes go wide as I literally sink into the wall. I’m spiraling in to my past life as if I’d been swept away in a cyclone of my very own memories.
No one ever fucking listens to me.
I specifically asked for a cock, not a tongue. My hands were tied to the bed posts with black leather; simply because my body would naturally try to fight what was happening to it. I hadn't wanted my hands tied down. I wanted to touch myself while it was happening.
I asked for a cock, a fat throbbing cock to tear into my flesh and fuck me until I bleed all over the bed, until I'm all but floating in my own juices. I would say I'm a kink freak; a slave to torture if it sounds better.
When he came at me with the blade, after sharpening it for almost an hour, my cock twitched in anticipation. The mere thought of him cutting into me more than a few inches deep is enough to make me moan in pleasure. The pain that awaits me is beyond any sensation that I could hope for. His cock coated in my blood is enough to make me cum without him touching me, but I wait for it. I wait for him to touch me. See how far I can push him and myself. I want this so badly.
He spreads my legs, running his nails over my flesh, leaving red welts on my skin. Now he's just being a tease. I moan for him to continue, my throat choking up and leaving me almost breathless with that fucking knife so close to my skin. I feel the first drag of the blade over the tender flesh of my inner thigh. My cock jumps. It feels so fucking good to be torn open and bleeding. This isn't deep enough. "Again," I demand.
He surprises me by placing his index and middle finger over the wound, then scissoring his fingers and widening the lips of the cut. He takes the knife in his hand, curling his fist around the handle, and drags it down my skin, tracing over the wound he had already created.
I scream out, not because of the pain, but because what he is doing feels so fucking good. I am willing to wager that I'm gushing all over these cheap, white sheets. I want more, so much fucking more.
He slides his finger over my thigh, collecting the blood oozing from my wound. I want to reach up and lick them clean, lick his palm where my blood as dripped down and is freely flowing down his wrist. He bends his head down, blowing over my inner thigh, and my eyes roll back in my head.
I really want him to stop being such a pussy and get on with it, until I feel his tongue licking over the five inches of opened flesh. His tongue is pushing harder and harder while his fingers keep me open wide. The pain is so real I can barely speak. The pleasure is so intense I almost forget to breathe.
A single finger joins his tongue, fucking the cut slowly. I want him to go faster. Much. Faster. "Another...add another."
"No," he replies, like he's fearful of my life. At this point, I don't care.
I lift my leg quickly, making his tongue and finger slam harder into this new opening in my body until I see stars. If I don't be careful, I'm going to pass out.
He complies and adds another, scissoring and stretching me. My moans are coming out in short whispered gasps. My hands are positively shaking in their restraints. My wrists are bleeding from my constant moving. I let my head fall back on the pillow when his blood covered mouth swipes over the head of my cock.
This is too soon. He shouldn't be touching me until I want him to. He takes his four fingers, noticing I'm not happy with his mouth at the moment and tries to rip me wide open. I fucking scream out when I feel him succeed in adding another inch. My body convulses and he knows, as well as I, that my body could go into shock at any moment. He gets up from the bed and leaves me to calm down.
I try to calm myself down, willing my body to not react to the pain being inflicted upon it. My cock his leaking and it's not even over, I don't want it to be over. He's smoking a cigarette by the window, biding his time until he's back on the bed beside me between my legs. I smile, forcing my lips to move when he is back on the bed. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth and leans over to the ashtray on the night stand. I shake my head. "On me." He follows my orders and puts his cigarette out inside the wound. My body trashes again from the pain, my body forced to react.
I can feel the wet sheet under my ass… the blood spilling from my thigh, dripping down onto the bed. It’s pooling and collecting against my body. There are splatters of blood all over me from my convulsions. When he reaches for the sewing kit to close me up, I shiver.
His mouth is on me. He hollows his cheeks as he bobs his head up and down on my cock. I don't know how much more I can take, and he shows me when he shoves his finger deep inside this new opening. I buck up into his mouth and spill down his throat. And as he threads the needle and starts sewing me up, I get turned on all over again.
The clueless, though mildly amusing young man is still in the hotel when I step back out into the hallway and roll past him. Thread-bare red carpet lies in shreds. He’s literally torn this place apart looking for his explanation for my existence. “Find anything?” I ask with a smile upon my lips. My hand grazes my thigh… and instead of looking at me… this blue-eyed intruder stares mouth gaping at my most private places. Though it does him little good due to the leather stretched over so much… flesh. What would he even be able to do with me, if he could touch me? I laugh spitefully and watch slightly bored as his tongue flickers out and wets his lips. Before I call him on it, he’s yelling again; his voice bellowing down the hallway. “All you fuckers are gonna pay… this shit is fucking over… you got me? It’s fucking over. Get your asses out here. Now!”
Then the fun really begins. The first couple of doors fly open with little to no effort on the young man’s part. His foot connects solidly with decay and mildew that has overtaken the woodwork. He’s strong, I’ll give him that. I’m actually quite enjoying the show until I realize… until I realize he’s almost upon room forty one. I close my eyes… my own desperate voice fills my ears for a brief second before I reopen them. Spread eagle in front of the room… my room… I stand. I know I can’t stop him from kicking down the still locked door. That the crumbling, barely there police tape will not give him hesitation. “Y-you don’t deserve to see th-this…” My voice has lost its luster… lost its bravado and charm. I’m full on begging this stranger. “Please don’t…”
A loud crack reverberates down the empty hallway. I’d laugh at the fact that he kicked around me rather than through me… if it weren’t for the fact that the door is hanging half off of its hinges now. I cling to the frame like it’s the only thing keeping me standing. He wouldn’t… he couldn’t… but is he? The young man advances towards him. His very being focused on entering the room. He can’t! He won’t! I reach out and grab for his arm.
Now I’ve done it… he falls to the floor like so much dead weight. His kneecaps are cracking and protesting their brutal treatment as he lands solidly upon them. But it doesn’t end there. He cries out, his voice laced with more lust than pain. I should know. The very distinction draws me closer to him. He’s panting as his eyes flutter momentarily before he looks up at me.
And before I know it, a sharp wind pushes against my back and sends my hair into a wild mess of curls. I don’t want him going in there. I know this much. I just don’t know how to fucking stop him. As the wind picks up, the doors that are still half way intact begin opening and slamming shut. All this takes less than a minute and I’m on my knees.
Which is not a pretty as it sounds… Sobs wrack my body. How can I explain so he’ll listen? The words leave my lips and it’s then that I realize I’ve lost control. “I never asked anyone to stop... I never... he wouldn't... it was too late... I could have done something... should have said something... He...only because I wanted... never stop...."
The intruder’s reaching in his coat pocket. The plastic of the key catches my eye before he’s even got it out enough for the numbers to be visible. When they are, my breathing stops. I mean it would have if I truly breathed. He runs the pad of his thumbs over the four then the one before dropping it with a loud clunk to the floor.
Again I’m speaking… and it’s like I can’t stop myself. "That number... don't let it.... you will lose yourself here…"
He looks at me like I've lost my mind. Or he's losing his. I barely have a chance to speak again before he's gone. This time, I’m almost sure that he won’t be back. This place is in shambles… and he never quite found what he was looking for...
Authors: absinthe_memory & trollsttroll
Chapter: 3
Fandom: Jackass/Viva La Bam/HIM
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ville/OC, Ville/Bam
Warning: Explicit gore!kink...
Disclaimer: Fiction means this isn’t real... unfortunately...
Word Count: 1785
Summary: The antics on the set of Jackass 3 drag Bam into a world unknown...
Author's Note: When we said gore, we meant it...
Chapter 1, Chapter 2
I can see the anger boiling in the brazen, young man before me. It’s coiling in his stomach and curving up along his back. He thinks I’m a joke. He believes I’m nothing more than some mock apparition that one of his friends created. He’s wrong… he’s so very wrong. And it pisses me off. I try to act as if it doesn’t. I put on my charm… trying to coax something out of him. He should be reacting to me not them. Jesus Christ… no one ever fucking listens to me. I watch his eyes go wide as I literally sink into the wall. I’m spiraling in to my past life as if I’d been swept away in a cyclone of my very own memories.
No one ever fucking listens to me.
I specifically asked for a cock, not a tongue. My hands were tied to the bed posts with black leather; simply because my body would naturally try to fight what was happening to it. I hadn't wanted my hands tied down. I wanted to touch myself while it was happening.
I asked for a cock, a fat throbbing cock to tear into my flesh and fuck me until I bleed all over the bed, until I'm all but floating in my own juices. I would say I'm a kink freak; a slave to torture if it sounds better.
When he came at me with the blade, after sharpening it for almost an hour, my cock twitched in anticipation. The mere thought of him cutting into me more than a few inches deep is enough to make me moan in pleasure. The pain that awaits me is beyond any sensation that I could hope for. His cock coated in my blood is enough to make me cum without him touching me, but I wait for it. I wait for him to touch me. See how far I can push him and myself. I want this so badly.
He spreads my legs, running his nails over my flesh, leaving red welts on my skin. Now he's just being a tease. I moan for him to continue, my throat choking up and leaving me almost breathless with that fucking knife so close to my skin. I feel the first drag of the blade over the tender flesh of my inner thigh. My cock jumps. It feels so fucking good to be torn open and bleeding. This isn't deep enough. "Again," I demand.
He surprises me by placing his index and middle finger over the wound, then scissoring his fingers and widening the lips of the cut. He takes the knife in his hand, curling his fist around the handle, and drags it down my skin, tracing over the wound he had already created.
I scream out, not because of the pain, but because what he is doing feels so fucking good. I am willing to wager that I'm gushing all over these cheap, white sheets. I want more, so much fucking more.
He slides his finger over my thigh, collecting the blood oozing from my wound. I want to reach up and lick them clean, lick his palm where my blood as dripped down and is freely flowing down his wrist. He bends his head down, blowing over my inner thigh, and my eyes roll back in my head.
I really want him to stop being such a pussy and get on with it, until I feel his tongue licking over the five inches of opened flesh. His tongue is pushing harder and harder while his fingers keep me open wide. The pain is so real I can barely speak. The pleasure is so intense I almost forget to breathe.
A single finger joins his tongue, fucking the cut slowly. I want him to go faster. Much. Faster. "Another...add another."
"No," he replies, like he's fearful of my life. At this point, I don't care.
I lift my leg quickly, making his tongue and finger slam harder into this new opening in my body until I see stars. If I don't be careful, I'm going to pass out.
He complies and adds another, scissoring and stretching me. My moans are coming out in short whispered gasps. My hands are positively shaking in their restraints. My wrists are bleeding from my constant moving. I let my head fall back on the pillow when his blood covered mouth swipes over the head of my cock.
This is too soon. He shouldn't be touching me until I want him to. He takes his four fingers, noticing I'm not happy with his mouth at the moment and tries to rip me wide open. I fucking scream out when I feel him succeed in adding another inch. My body convulses and he knows, as well as I, that my body could go into shock at any moment. He gets up from the bed and leaves me to calm down.
I try to calm myself down, willing my body to not react to the pain being inflicted upon it. My cock his leaking and it's not even over, I don't want it to be over. He's smoking a cigarette by the window, biding his time until he's back on the bed beside me between my legs. I smile, forcing my lips to move when he is back on the bed. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth and leans over to the ashtray on the night stand. I shake my head. "On me." He follows my orders and puts his cigarette out inside the wound. My body trashes again from the pain, my body forced to react.
I can feel the wet sheet under my ass… the blood spilling from my thigh, dripping down onto the bed. It’s pooling and collecting against my body. There are splatters of blood all over me from my convulsions. When he reaches for the sewing kit to close me up, I shiver.
His mouth is on me. He hollows his cheeks as he bobs his head up and down on my cock. I don't know how much more I can take, and he shows me when he shoves his finger deep inside this new opening. I buck up into his mouth and spill down his throat. And as he threads the needle and starts sewing me up, I get turned on all over again.
The clueless, though mildly amusing young man is still in the hotel when I step back out into the hallway and roll past him. Thread-bare red carpet lies in shreds. He’s literally torn this place apart looking for his explanation for my existence. “Find anything?” I ask with a smile upon my lips. My hand grazes my thigh… and instead of looking at me… this blue-eyed intruder stares mouth gaping at my most private places. Though it does him little good due to the leather stretched over so much… flesh. What would he even be able to do with me, if he could touch me? I laugh spitefully and watch slightly bored as his tongue flickers out and wets his lips. Before I call him on it, he’s yelling again; his voice bellowing down the hallway. “All you fuckers are gonna pay… this shit is fucking over… you got me? It’s fucking over. Get your asses out here. Now!”
Then the fun really begins. The first couple of doors fly open with little to no effort on the young man’s part. His foot connects solidly with decay and mildew that has overtaken the woodwork. He’s strong, I’ll give him that. I’m actually quite enjoying the show until I realize… until I realize he’s almost upon room forty one. I close my eyes… my own desperate voice fills my ears for a brief second before I reopen them. Spread eagle in front of the room… my room… I stand. I know I can’t stop him from kicking down the still locked door. That the crumbling, barely there police tape will not give him hesitation. “Y-you don’t deserve to see th-this…” My voice has lost its luster… lost its bravado and charm. I’m full on begging this stranger. “Please don’t…”
A loud crack reverberates down the empty hallway. I’d laugh at the fact that he kicked around me rather than through me… if it weren’t for the fact that the door is hanging half off of its hinges now. I cling to the frame like it’s the only thing keeping me standing. He wouldn’t… he couldn’t… but is he? The young man advances towards him. His very being focused on entering the room. He can’t! He won’t! I reach out and grab for his arm.
Now I’ve done it… he falls to the floor like so much dead weight. His kneecaps are cracking and protesting their brutal treatment as he lands solidly upon them. But it doesn’t end there. He cries out, his voice laced with more lust than pain. I should know. The very distinction draws me closer to him. He’s panting as his eyes flutter momentarily before he looks up at me.
And before I know it, a sharp wind pushes against my back and sends my hair into a wild mess of curls. I don’t want him going in there. I know this much. I just don’t know how to fucking stop him. As the wind picks up, the doors that are still half way intact begin opening and slamming shut. All this takes less than a minute and I’m on my knees.
Which is not a pretty as it sounds… Sobs wrack my body. How can I explain so he’ll listen? The words leave my lips and it’s then that I realize I’ve lost control. “I never asked anyone to stop... I never... he wouldn't... it was too late... I could have done something... should have said something... He...only because I wanted... never stop...."
The intruder’s reaching in his coat pocket. The plastic of the key catches my eye before he’s even got it out enough for the numbers to be visible. When they are, my breathing stops. I mean it would have if I truly breathed. He runs the pad of his thumbs over the four then the one before dropping it with a loud clunk to the floor.
Again I’m speaking… and it’s like I can’t stop myself. "That number... don't let it.... you will lose yourself here…"
He looks at me like I've lost my mind. Or he's losing his. I barely have a chance to speak again before he's gone. This time, I’m almost sure that he won’t be back. This place is in shambles… and he never quite found what he was looking for...