⌽ Samael ⌽

 

I watch Anna break down.

It’s darker in her cell than it is in the room next door. I have switched off the light where I’m at, too but in the background the screens are still burning light like headlights behind me. I wouldn’t be able to see anything because of the reflection but my own body throws a shade through which I can see her.

I can see her cry. Silently. Her little sobs are barely audible. She is not hysterical, or upset, but her tears are still streaming down her face in big, fat drops. I wonder if she would hide them behind her hands, if she could use them.

Something tells me, she wouldn’t.

She looks different from the times I have watched her in her dorm room. So, I walk up to the monitors and zoom in on her face, looking at her closely.

Are these tears of defeat, Anna?

Have you finally realized, what you have done?

These tears of hers want me to go back in there. But not to comfort her, not to taunt her, not to scold her. My body burns with the longing to get in there and make her mine, make her a woman, while Anna cries these tears. But, that’s not my part to play.

I am just a soldier of God, his sword wielding hand, not the guiding one. And for the first time in a long time, I wonder, why that is.

I have accepted my role, and never questioned it. No, that is not entirely true. I did when I learned what was supposed to happen to Anna. The thought of my father with her was unbearable. It haunted me in my dreams. I stood there, watching silently, incapable of moving while my father pounded her. But I could not see him, all I saw was Anna, moving rhythmically, and turning her head towards me, asking me why.

“Why Sam?”

For a moment, I am startled. Did I see Anna turn towards the camera and ask me the same thing? But she’s still there, crying silently with her eyes closed now. She does not know where the cameras are, so she cannot look at them.

It’s just in my head.

But the tears are not. And I want to lick them up, drink them, refresh myself with her sorrow. And I want to do so much more.

Maybe, I should give in to the temptation. No one will know. And I already received the punishment.

 

೦ Anna ೦

 

The last thing I expected for today, was for the door to be unlocked and opened again. I don’t know why, but I thought Samael was done with me for today.

I flinch when I hear the noise and instinctively want to get up, but I can’t. Without my hands, it’s so much more difficult to get up, and before discovering how I will manage to stand, Samael has reached me, grabs the metal band in front of my nose and pulls me onto my feet as if I weighed nothing.

I’m in shock, paralyzed by his display of strength, and something else that embarrasses me once more and makes my tear-soaked cheeks burn. Those are my darkest fantasies, in which Sam comes to me to whisk me away, just to ravish me. This is so similar, but also so different. My reaction confuses me, shames me, but then I realize how close he stands to me, pressing the dome on my head against the wall. And then, then his other hand slips between my wet folds and finds my clit, pressing it, roughly.

A jolt rushes through my nerves and I gasp for air. A part of me wants to grab that hand and push it away, but they are still shackled to my collar.

“Do not stop crying,” Samael commands me, his black eyes glaring down at me, but I’m in shock.

He moves his finger against that bundle of nerves, as if it’s a threat and it makes me gasp again.

“I can put that finger somewhere else, Anna,” his voice is so dark it blinds me.

I instantly know what he is talking about. I don’t want that, but a part of me does. If he really wants to give me to his father, so he can do what he wanted to six years ago, I will at least have Sam inside me like that. I deserve it. It's a punishment. I want it. What is wrong with me?

The echo in my head becomes comprehensible: Anna, he called me Anna, not Rachel.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, but instead of crying, my body moves against his hand, and the finger that was pressed against my clit slides inside, while the rest of his hand gets coated with my juices.

I can’t stop the moan from escaping my throat.

“So be it,” is all what he says, pulls his lower hand away, and yanks me around.

My head bucks back and forth from the sheer force of the movement, and before I understand what is happening, my hips collide with the wall and he prods the same finger into my anus, right up to his knuckle. The initial pain is sharp, and I whimper. But, it’s only one finger, and I try to relax around it.

“If you act like a slut, I must treat you as one,” he tells me and I hear him unbuckle his belt.

Excitement strikes me like a whip; so, does panic. I don’t know if I want this to happen, or if I need this to happen, if I need this as a punishment.

 My mind is jumbled. And with one strike, it’s empty.

Samael has pulled away his hand, so he can open his pants – that’s what I thought, but instead he lashes his leather belt against my buttocks. This time, I cry out. The tears are back, rolling down my cheeks, and I sob loudly, but he doesn’t stop.

He strikes again, once.

Twice.

Three times.

Four times.

Five times.

I cry out every time.

Louder, every time.

More tears fall, every time.

And then, Samael pulls back the cage on my head, forcing my back to arch. My breasts scrape against the rough wall.

“Did you think I would fuck you?” he whispers to me, throatily.

Samael brings his hand, that is holding the belt, back to my butt and thrusts at least two fingers inside my anus. His fingernails scratch my sensitive flesh and I whine weakly.

“That’s better, little bird,” he speaks to me under his breath, and his words hit me harder than any whip of a belt could ever do.

Little bird.

Sam always used to call me that. My Sam, caring, protective, sweet Sam. Not this monster.

 

⌽ Samael ⌽

 

Oh, how much I want her right now. Whimpering, crying Anna. The cage on her head protects me from her as much as it protects her from me. I want to suck those tears from her burning cheeks. I hunger to do exactly what she wants. I know she wants it, and that is why she cannot have it.

“Spread your legs,” my voice has returned to me, yet the need stays.

Anna is still lost in her pain.

“Now,” I bark at her and she moves, suppressing a sound of pain.

Even before she settles into the position, I lash her again between her legs, and she screams. I look at my belt and it’s moist where it connected with her.

“Such a little slut,” I comment aloud and strike her again, five times more.

Six times, every time.

Six times, for six years.

She screams without restraint, already, when I hit her the second time. The door is shut. No one will hear her. She screams just for me.

My little bird sings only for me.

I’m dizzy, instantly, as my last thought flits away, and I must blink, to make the nausea stop. I drop the belt involuntarily.

It’s Anna’s suppressed sobbing that gives me focus again, but I’m running on instinct and yank at the metal construction on her head and toss her around.

Her eyes are closed.

“Look at me,” I tell her.

Her eyelids twitch but do not move.

“Look at me!” I bellow, and this time, her tear-dwelling eyes stare at me, terrified.

I shove my fingers between her legs and part the now swollen but still moist lips.

Anna flinches and presses her eyes shut, tearing them open again in panic. I hate that she fears me. I love it all the more. So, I move closer and press my hand forward, all the way to her anus and she tenses.

I grin at her, before I know what I am doing, and press two fingers inside her. Anna’s whine is so loud, it feels as if it is only in my head. That sound, and her moistness on my lower arm, make my cock twitch. I know that cannot happen. That is the only thing that cannot happen.

My blood rushes in my ears, and it begins to boil in my veins. My time is running out. I can feel it. There is nothing I can do to keep it at bay, but I don’t want to leave. Not now.

 

೦ Anna ೦

 

His fingers hurt and he know it. Samael keeps moving them, parting them, and I can’t stop it. My beaten skin burns against his arms and I feel sick, so sick. The way he said, ‘little bird’ won’t stop repeating in my head, despite all the other words that followed. It makes my stomach turn. I want him to stop, I don’t want this. He’s not my Sam. I try to gather courage to tell him to let go of me, when he makes me scream once more.

I don’t know what to feel: terror, disgust, panic, or all the wrong things as his tongue slides between my lower lips, reaching my clit. It burns terribly, and yet the warm softness of his tongue snakes through my nerves when he touches them. But I flinch, I tense. This sensation is too close, to the release after having to pee. I try to shake him off, but it only hurts my butthole, as he spreads my anus with his fingers and shoves in another. And that makes me buck against his mouth and tongue. My reflex forces the chain of movements all over again.

“Please stop, please stop!” I beg him, but all he does is start sucking, and his fingers start moving, in and out.

His tongue moves against my clit.

It burns. It makes me want to let go.

His fingers continue to prod.

“Sam!” I squeal, pleadingly, and my body makes the same mistake all over again, trying to escape him.

This is so wrong, so wrong, so wrong.

The tension inside my body heightens, as I refuse him, fight him, and make everything worse. I don’t want to come like this. I never expected that I could feel like this. Not this way.

“Please stop,” I start to chant, trying to think myself away. “Please stop.” But he only increases the pressure and speed. “Please Sam. Please stop.”

 

⌽ Samael ⌽

 

All I hear is her chanting my name, only calling out my name, not God’s, not once. Her tormented voice is my serenade, and I want to rip her open further. I want her to scream. I want to know if it’s still only my name that breaks from her body.

As much as she pleads with me, I only truly hear her speak my name, over and over again. Just like in my dreams, repeatedly.

Anna tastes like honey and sun, like heaven. It is the only reason, why I am still somewhat in control, because I want to continue tasting her while she says my name, not only in pleasure but also in pain. It feels like balm to my invisible wounds, and I want more, need more.

I don’t want to stop but I can feel and taste her coming. I must decide whether I make her come like this or not come at all.

So, I pull away with one movement, ungentle, and rough. Anna squeals and I stop her from collapsing to the ground by catching her by the cage.

Her face is wet with tears, red, and swollen.

Instinctively, she forces her burning eyes open and looks at me. Confused and desperate, Anna is still pleading, with her eyes only. Her lips move devoid of sound, but I can read my name.

I am her only God.

“Anna,” that’s all I say, but my voice makes her flinch and cry even more, so I repeat myself. “Anna.” Her reaction is the same.

I hate it.

I love it.

“My Anna.” I say this before I know what I am doing, and her lips start moving, parted halfway, and the beautiful tears stop.

She wants to say something, but stays silent.

I want to tell her so many things, but my mouth stays shut. All I do is stare back at her while my body screams, blood roars in my veins.

And then, she breaks. Her lips quiver, her jaw trembles, and the tears stream down her face again. She sobs. Her face begs me to comfort her, to be her Sam again. But that man is dead. And she killed him.

I can’t look at her face, so I toss her around.

Without her hands to soften the blow, she crashes against the wall, but I don’t care.

Anna bawls uncontrollably now, and I loathe her for it. Where are her prayers for me?

I free my painfully pulsing erection from my pants and seize it roughly. This is her fault. This little outer-world tainted slut. But I still want her. It drives me insane, mad, rabid.

 

೦ Anna ೦

 

There’s only a glimpse of him, before he tosses me around and my head is thrown back as the cage collides with the wall. My breasts and stomach are scraped again.

I can’t stop the tears. I don’t have the strength to. At least now, I can close my eyes and try to think myself away during whatever comes next. I burn and hurt at all the wrong places.

And then, I feel his cock, slide between my legs.

I must admit that I had dreams like this, dreams of Sam taking me, not giving me a chance to respond. I fantasized of Sam not being able to control his desire for me.

This is not like these fantasies. He doesn’t desire me. This is not longing, or love. This is hate-sex. And I don’t want it

I can’t stop the sobbing once it has begun. I brace myself to be raped by the only man I imagined it to be hot and perfect.

Not like this.

Not like this.

I grit my teeth and clench my hands into fists. No matter how hard I try, I cannot relax my body. Not a single muscle. It’s going to hurt. It’s going to be bad. I’m not prepared for this.

And the worst thing is: It’s Sam’s face I see. I can’t pretend that this is someone else. I can’t pretend that this is a different person looking like him, or that my Sam is gone. I wish I could. I wish I could pretend that this is his evil twin, but now when I need to the most, I can’t lie to myself. This is still Sam. My Sam.

He called me ‘little bird.’ He could have called me anything, but not this. I want to scream at the top of my lungs, but I choke on my heart-broken, desolate sobs. All I can muster is a wheeze, and his name.

 

⌽ Samael ⌽

 

“Sam.”

She speaks my name and it is so much more a sound than three letters. I realize just now that she didn’t call me the way she was supposed to, but I’m not angry. That high-pitched, weak noise blows it all away and I can’t control myself.

I’ve slid my cock between her legs, coating it with her juices, but it brings no relief. I am so tempted to just push a little and enter her, take away what I want to give to my father, but I cannot.

I cannot.

So, I decide to go for the alternative, but her sobs make me hesitate just for a moment, while I move my hand, so I can shiver to the rhythm she sings for me.

And then, there it comes, that sound.

I’ve heard it a thousand times, a million times, in my head, every time. The very sound I imagine her to make when I force her to come around me, impaled by me, violated by me, destroyed.

And I can’t control myself.

The release is as painful as it is intense. I still claw my left hand around the band of her headpiece, while I cum on her burning red butt cheeks, coloring white stripes over red.

Anna winces, flinches, and her butt twitches every time I strike. Her sobbing has stopped. Apart from what she can’t control, she stands completely still, and absolutely silent.

I’m spent, and I still want to ravish her, still want to prod her, hit her, choke her. But I do something else, and it makes me want to continue groaning.

I reach out and start to spread my semen over her buttock, making sure that I cover every red streak I’ve created on her skin. How much I want to push my hand into her core and let fate decide.

Let God decide.

This is Devil’s work.

Instead, I press my fingers back into her butt-hole. She whispers, but I continue. I add a third, and Anna tenses. That’s not enough.

 

೦ Anna ೦

 

When he comes on my behind, I’m all but startled. And even more confused. Despite it all, it is strangely arousing, strangely intimate, until my skin burns even worse than before. These jolts, are different whips. They hit me deeper, and in a way, that is so wrong. At least, he will be done now.

But he isn’t. Again, he forces his fingers up my anus and quickly adds another one.

I am ashamed and shocked that it feels easier, that I am already getting used to his fingers in there.

Samael leans in, as he continues to move his hand. He wants to make me cry again. I’m sure of it. I bite my lip, refuse to give him the satisfaction, and pray silently that he won’t turn me around again to suck on my swollen clit that is still aching for him.

I can’t suppress a whimper when he pushes his fingers even deeper, threatening my skin to break. He’s closing in. I can feel his leg against my butt and then something else, something softer.

I bite my lip so hard that I draw blood, but this time I don’t make a sound, despite the reaction of my body. I tense. My anus clenches around his fingers.

Then Samael does something unexpected. He pulls out his hand, steps away, and leaves.

Without his iron grip holding me up, I collapse to the ground. I have no strength to stand, or stop my fall from happening. More scratches on my body. But my behind still hurts most. It pulses. All I can think about is that his semen is on my body.

He’s marked me.

I have never allowed anyone to come on me. I have never allowed anyone to lick me, or touch me. And I have never touched a man. I’ve seen movies, porn. I didn’t want anyone to know that I had not the slightest idea, since I am a virgin.

I don’t know how long Samael is gone. I don’t know if I fell asleep or simply stared at the grey wall in front of me, while lying on the thin mattress. Apart from my butt and my pulsing, swollen pussy, I don’t feel a thing.

When he returns, I don’t even flinch. Maybe all of this is just a nightmare and I will wake up soon. Then, finally, my subconsciousness will have won and I will let go of him and never look back.

Samael doesn’t give me an order. He just grabs me by the cage on my head again and simply pulls me up. I feel like a human puppet for him to do with me as he pleases.

In a dark and twisted corner of my head, this is an arousing image, and for a second, all I want to do is close my eyes and stay limp. But the last thing I want is to infuriate him again. And, because of that, I gather my strength to maneuver my feet beneath my body. At least, I am standing on something soft.

One of Samael hands pulls on my hips and I know what he wants. I arch my back and present my butt. I already know what is coming and then I don’t.

He stuffs something thin and rigid into my anus, but that’s not what strikes through my body like fear and makes me clench around it. It’s the clacking noise of something metallic and then the smell of fire.

Fire?

“I need to leave for a bit,” Samael explains. “You will not move, and you will not drop the candle, or your mattress will be on fire.”

I blink.

Instinctively, I tense even more.

A candle?

This can’t be!

A candle?!

I hear him grab the chain that is attached to my collar and he steps next to me. There is a hook in the wall with a snap lock and he attaches the chain to it, which he then padlocks. Samael drops the chain and walks to my right side, where the same mechanism is, and he attaches the chain to it again.

Samael doesn’t need to tell me that I cannot move away from the mattress anymore, because the chain is taut now.

“Want me to put it in deeper?” Samael asks me as if he was offering me more sugar in my coffee. “You might get burned.”

All of the sudden, I feel sick.

 

⌽ Samael ⌽

 

It’s my grandpa’s lighter I use to lit the candle I’ve stuck into Anna’s butt. I can still see my semen on her skin and thanks to the light of the flame.

A tremble runs through Anna’s body as she realized what will happen, if she can’t control her sphincter.

I am not lying, when I tell her that I must leave. I simply do not have to go anywhere, only outside, out of this cellar and away from her.

I need to discipline her and myself. She made me almost lose control, and she will do it again. I cannot allow this to happen. I cannot allow these thoughts to return. This was not how I planned her training.

So, I have no choice and so I resort to the punishments for the youngsters, who have broken the holy laws of my father’s church.

Anna does not make a sound. She does not utter a word, and that is for the best. Maybe, she instinctively knows that already. Maybe, she is not so untouched as she claims to be.

When she was younger, when she truly was my little bird, she would never ever lie to me and I never lied to her. I want to believe this has not changed, but if I have learned anything in the past years and in the seventeen before I met her, is that nothing is set in stone, even mountains crumble, trust fades, and love is as true as the winds can whisper.

After I take another look at the candle and check if the angle is not working against her, because I intend to stay away for a while and use my ‘favorite’ flogger again, before I chop some firewood.

When I leave Anna behind, I only hear the chain move a bit. It sounds like she is trembling again. It is not enough that I can tell she is trying to move the chain or has turned around to watch me.

I do not look at her, when I close the metal door. I do not look at the two monitors showing what the two cameras in the room are recording. Instead, I climb the wooden stairs up into the kitchen and close the falling board behind me, roll out the rug to hide it and place my kitchen table on top of.

The room looks like it always has. Only my father knows that my grandparents had a cellar store room. No one knows that I used the time I had for myself to expand it. Just as no one knows that sweet Anna is already on church grounds. No one but me.