February 23, 2010

Cake

Posted in stories tagged at 8:01 am by littlesubmissions

“Take your shoes off and get in.”

He grabbed the top of the open crate with one hand, balancing on the concrete floor while he picked a foot up, pulled his shoe off without bothering to untie it. Felt the cold and grit seep through his sock while he balanced and removed the other shoe. Took a deep, shuddering breath wondering how far this would go.

She tossed him a plastic bucket one handed and jerked her head. He climbed in, muscles trembling and twitching, balancing on the rough slats of wood. She grabbed the top and leaned it over, picking up the bottom and letting it sink down towards him in an arc. He dropped to his knees, then all fours as it slid over him, closing the top. He could see her through the wide gaps between the boards, looking down at him poker faced.

The screech of metal sinking into wood and electric whine of grinding gears as she drove a screw into each corner, then worked her way around the sides. Sealing him in.

Her voice was flat, monotone. Not even echoing against the empty garage walls, just sinking into the air and ending. “Take your clothes off, and push them through the gaps in the boards. All of them. You’re over the drain if you need to piss, shit in the bucket.” She walked over to the shelves, dropped the screwdriver and then looked back at him. “I almost forgot. Stick your hands out.”

He wormed his hands between the wide wooden slats, and she wrapped leather around his wrists. Bells jingling on the black bands, small brass padlocks sealing them on him. “No jerking off. Believe me when I say you do not want me to hear those bells jingling. You’re a fucking idiot anyway, don’t make it worse.”

He whispered a “Yes, ma’am” as she walked out, turning the light off and slamming the door behind her. Sitting in the dark he exposed more and more flesh, carefully pulling off his clothes, moving his hands as slowly and carefully as possible. Feeding each item through the gaps in his cage, letting them hit the floor outside, carefully pushing the last snagged bits of thread and material off the wood until they were gone and he was naked.

Crouched, lying on his back, rolling on his side, feeling splinters rubbing against his skin, the cold metal heads of the rusted nails brushing tenderly against him when he moved from side to side.

She gathered up his clothes later, threw them in a trash bag and twisted the top closed. Tied the top in a double knot and dropped them in the garbage can against the other wall. Pushed a half bottle of warm water through the gap, then left again.

He pissed like an animal. Balancing on his knees and one hand, the rough wood digging into his skin, turning it white with friction and rasping wooden teeth. Aiming his cock between the slats on the bottom, as close to the drain as possible. The acid smell of piss washed back up to him, warm wet heat turning to vapor in the cold and rising back up against him.

The empty bottle dropped out and lay on the floor, rolling slightly back and forth as the furnace kicked on and off. She came back later, pushed it back and forth with her toe. “Well, you were smart enough not to piss in it. I wasn’t really planning on washing it out anyway, to tell you the truth. Speaking of which…” She held the bottle with one hand, pushed her pants and panties down to her knees with the other. Sighed and pushed the mouth of the bottle against her cunt, relaxed and slowly, carefully filled it with her own piss. Pulled her pants back up and poured it over the top of the crate, drenching the cheap wood and him in alternating stripes of human waste.

He could feel it drying on his skin, dripping down from the coffin lid above him, a slow ceaseless series of shame and humiliation that made him shut his eyes and try to sink further into his head.

Somewhen he slept, waking to the stench. Shoved the hard plastic edge of the bucket against his ass, squatting and smashing his face against the side of the crate, sharp lines cut into his cheek as he balanced and shit. Put the bucket in a corner and curled up from it as far as away as he could. Slowly stroked his cock, barely getting it hard before he could feel the bells shifting on his wrists and stopped with a tortured sob. Thankful he could at least make the animal sounds of desperation without being punished.

Cold lo mein noodles poured down on him later. He picked them off his body with filthy hands and ate eagerly, digging them out from between the wooden slats on the floor, trying to scrape off the dust and concrete taste. A few bites and the cattle prod slid through, hitting the back of his leg. He yelled, spraying half chewed food out of his mouth. She watched dispassionately, cold eyed, head slightly tilted. As he picked up a noodle with trembling hands, the tip inched closer to his leg until he put it back down. She watched him and ate a sandwich with one hand, teasing him with the end of the cattle prod with the other. The tip inched closer, and he scrambled around in a circle, pushing the bucket out of the way as he crawled.

Her sandwich finished, she left after driving the arcing tips of the cattle prod into him until he lay whimpering and sobbing, no longer trying to get away. “Finish your supper and I’ll bring you something to read. Don’t and I’ll get some more use out of the cattle prod.” The light flicked off and hunger, desperation, and fear left him slowly dragging his fingers around the tiny crushing world around him looking for food. Eating it in small bites in the darkness, trying to scrape the cold wet strands clean with his hands and ignoring the grit and filth that was still on them no matter what he did.

The crunch of dirt in his mouth as she came back, looked around carefully, and shrugged. “I suppose it will do.” A handful of pages, crumpled and wet. He carefully peeled them apart, looking at each in turn, trying to put them in order. “Don’t bother, I just pulled random pages out of one of my romance novels. I was going to give you the whole thing, but jerking off on each page until I soaked it through got tiring.” A theatrical, dramatic pause. “And now I have to go wash ink off my cunt.”

He read the smeared words back and forth, made up events to fill the gaps in his head. Tried to ignore the smell and cold rising up from the concrete floor, the harsh feeling of grit in his mouth. Kept his hands tight between his thighs to keep his shivering from making the bells ring.

Later he pissed again, not even bothering to try to kneel, just laying on his side and swiveling his hips down a little.

Lay there without a thought through the night, until it all became a part of him.

The stuttering of metal on metal woke him up. Her legs moving methodically around the crate, wood screeching as the metal screws twisted out. The lid fell off, hitting the floor with a crash. “Oh, god. You smell awful.” She reached down and pulled the bucket out with two fingers, sitting it in a far corner, coming back with a second bucket, steam rising off of it in lazy spirals. “Stand up, here, do something.” She fanned her hand in front of her face as he slowly moved to his knees. Pulled the sponge out of the hot, soapy water and ran it over his face, his hair, his chest.

She bit her lower lip while he scrubbed, watching him. “You ok?”

He rubbed his eyes carefully, moving sleep debris and filth away and off. “Yeah…” He nodded, then blinked slowly. “Yeah, I just… when you asked for scene ideas for my birthday, I didn’t think you’d do all of them.”

A snorted laugh. “Well, then next time be more careful what you ask for.”

A nod and a laugh.

“I’m going to go get some newspapers to put down so you can get to the shower.” She turned to walk back out the door.

“Hey.” Her steps stopped. “Thank you. Best birthday present ever.”

She smiled back over her shoulder. “You’re welcome. Now hurry up, I made a cake.”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

2 Comments »

  1. Ferns said,

    I’m always grateful for the glimpses of their relationship in your stories… That is what makes it work for me. When I see it, it takes it out of the realm of the typical and it is what makes your writing so wonderful.

    Of course, I always see it from her perspective and really enjoy trying to see inside her head while she is doing this… did she have doubts that he could take it? Did she worry that it was too much? Did she second guess? Did she peek in to make sure he was ok? etc etc…

    A great story.

    Ferns

    • littlesubmissions said,

      Thank you, I mostly wonder what kind of cake it was…
      -Vague


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