Story Time: Mrs. Stephens 8

The pain started on my right pectoral.  “Hmm.. ”  She said as she rubbed my chest.  The scar she’d left me from before was interesting to her.  “I suppose I can work with this.  Not every canvas is perfect.”  She winked at me and then brought the blade to my skin .  I have to admit I wasn’t prepared for the sensation.  The blade moved along my skin in slow, deliberate motions.  My torso bucked weakly as  the drugs started to ware off.  I wondered how long before I could actually do more to resist.  The thought was all I could focus on as she kept cutting me.  “That is a good J.”  She said.  I took some deep breaths in an effort to recover as she admired her work.   “See my love.  This way you’ll never forget who you belong to.”   I tried to look down at my chest.  She pressed my head back against the chair and smiled.  “Oh no, Dick.”  She said.  “You won’t get to see it till I’m done.”   I tried to scream, but could only let out a slight moan.

She had stuffed a shirt in my mouth.  It was sprayed with her perfume so all I could smell was her.  She knew the drug was going to wear off eventually, and had tied me to the chair using duct tape.  My wrists were bound to the arm rests.  I was like some life size puppet in my paralysis.  She’d been able to manipulate me at will.   She had cut my shirt open and was enjoying what she’d come here for.

She continued her work on my chest.  By the time she’d gotten to the E the pain in my face was completely forgotten.  The burning sensation of the blade sliding through my skin had left me light headed and pumped full of endorphins.  Each slice of the blade brought be back to the ground.  Each cut made her smile even more.  My breathing was heavy and labored.   I must have lost a decent amount of blood because I was tingling all over.  If she hadn’t told me what she was planning I would have sworn she was spelling her own name wrong.  It didn’t feel like the letters were being properly written.  That was the least of my worries however.  I still couldn’t move, and if I could she’d put a decent amount of tape on each arm.  Behind me the Rockie’s game played and I wished I’d just bought a ticket instead.  I wished like hell I wasn’t here right now.  I felt the metal slip out of my flesh.  She brought the tip of the knife to her lips and licked some of my blood off it while she considered her handy work.  I could only count that she’d taken the knife to make at least 5 different things on me.  Maybe she put her last initial for all I knew.

“Oh this is perfect.”  She said.  Her satisfied expression lingered on my chest.  I felt the tingling leave my limbs.  With a sleepy numbness I felt my fore arm start to ache again.  I kept my eyes locked on hers and she looked up at me.  I’d never welcomed the pain in my arm before.  If I lived through this, I’d never take a pain killer again.  She reached to the right and picked up something.  As she moved off me a bit I looked at my hand and hope bloomed.  I had successfully made a fist.  I straightened my fingers before she sat up again. She had a mirror in her hand and was twirling it.  “Are you ready Dick?”   Her sardonic smile betrayed just how crazy she was.  I couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for her.  Until she held the mirror up.  When she held the mirror up, I knew the woman felt completely sane.  She winked, and I looked in horror into the mirror.  She must have noticed the look of hatred in my face, because she’d started laughing at me.  I couldn’t tell what she was carving because she had done it in a very special way.  “I practiced this the entire time I was locked up Dick.”  She chuckled.  “It was all I thought about.  My property out there and free.  This way you’ll never escape me Dick.”  Carved into my skin, was my ex-wife’s name in a bloody and curvy script with a little heart at the end.  I could read it perfectly, because she’d carved it in mirrored.  Every time I looked at myself.  I would read her name.  Her carving was meant for me alone.  I had been branded.

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