Raising Hell [Black Out // Xana]

[Xanaphia]

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If there was one thing Charlotte Kennedy couldn’t stomach, it was boredom. As far as she was concerned, it was a burden that no one should have to bear. Increasingly, as of late, evading boredom meant another line of coke or another tab of acid or another hit molly. But she was young, and hot, and that made it easy to get drugs. And the easiest way was just to date a drug dealer.

And Charlotte was always easy.

Trent, the aforementioned drug dealer boyfriend, was stressed for a leisurely evening drive, constantly checking his mirrors and looking over his shoulder. Totally killing her vibe. “What’s the deal, babe. Are we going to a party to an execution?”

He didn’t answer, just eased up to the red light. “Here,” he said, digging something out of his pocket. Little baggie, with two small white pills, “Take ‘em both.”

Charlotte didn’t need to be told twice, because she could not deal with his paranoia sober. From what she could tell, as she swallowed down both pills together, he was either taking her somewhere really fun, or really boring.

“Fuck, this molly makes me thirsty. And fucking hot.” She tugged at the low neckline of her thin white dress, peeling the cotton material away from sweat damp skin. The sun might have gone down, but the humidity remained, turning her scandalously short dress into a moist rag that stuck to her skin.

“Yeah, well, you probably won’t need to wear that dress for much longer; we’re here.” Here was mansion in the hills, long driveway lined with lush bushes in neat little rows. And then they reached the house. Garish, trying to fit too many styles on one building, between the modern glass windows and traditional marble columns. Tudor accents on a ranch inspired sprawl.

It didn’t look like much of a party. No pulsing bass beat, no writing dancers, no freely flowing liquor. No wonder she was going to need the ecstasy; she was already bored. Hard men in neat suits circulated the long stretches of hallway, eying her and her now nearly sheer dress. They didn’t talk much, and whatever they said amongst themselves was drowned out by the clicking of her stilettos on the marble floor.

At the end of the hall, they entered an office, housing a very serious looking man in a fine Italian suit that barely fit his rippling physique. Trent introduced her to a very stoic nod, and she zoned out as they talked business, swaying and bobbing her head to music only she could hear. Cold hard eyes looked her up and down, betraying nothing but a casual boredom. “Does she know how to suck dick?”

“Do I know how to suck dick?” Charlotte giggled, mocked, unable to take anything seriously while the ecstasy coursed through her veins. Still giggling as he urged her to her knees and worked open his pants. He wasn’t very hard yet. Maybe he’s the one who needed the ecstasy. She managed to stifle that giggle –because a lot of guy didn’t like it if you laughed while eye level with their junk– and ran her tongue up the length of his shaft.

It usually wasn’t a big deal. She got high, she fucked some dude, or dudes, whatever, and they got some drugs. Trent would sell some, to keep them comfortable, and they’d do the rest. But, lately, that “rest” was more and more, and their bills were piling up. So now she had to fuck some guy higher on the distribution chain, or so Charlotte figured.

Her lips closed his bulbous, throbbing head, and her tongue worked the slit and tasted his salty precum. Saliva drooled down his swollen cock, and her mouth followed, working more and more down her throat.

 

[Black_Out]

Trent had his head buried on the steering wheel of his car because Charlotte indeed knew how to suck a mean cock. He had first hand experience, but as of now those talented lips belonged to someone else. Of course it was a trade that he was regretfully willing to make. Twenty thousand dollars of debt owed to a man like Victor Salaki left him with little choice in the matter. He sighed sadly once for Charlotte before starting up the car. At least Victor had been kind enough to toss five grand worth of heroine on top of wiping out the debt in return for his newest redheaded piece of ass.

He needed a place to go, somewhere he could chill and wash the memory of this night away. Fortunately Trent knew several other women just like the one he was leaving behind. Whatever, within the hour he'd have some other whore wrapping her lips around his dick and this time around he'd make sure he wouldn't fall into debt with Victor again. At least that was the plan, but Trent was never very good at sticking to the script.

She worked him over like a seasoned pro and it left Victor seeing dollar signs. So long as the bitch could keep taking orders this investment would pay itself off at a far more reliable rate then that young punk ever had managed to do. That power he had over the fates of losers like Trent and his latest slut of a girlfriend was the best drug on the market as far as he was concerned. Hands buried around the side of her head, guiding her sweet mouth up and down over his throbbing cock, forcing her to take him until she was gagging, that was up there too. But as much as sexual pleasure thrilled him, Victor was a man who took far greater pleasure in causing others to suffer under the rule of his tyrannical thumb.

All he needed was an excuse to go off.

"That's it bitch." His brows angled downward as he gazed intently across the top of Charlotte's bobbing and swaying head. "Your gonna take every cock that I tell you to take." The strangled words fell from between his clenched teeth as he pulled himself free from those succulent warm lips. With a simple push from his boot against her chest, Victor knocked Charlotte over onto her back. He could see quite clearly how glazed over her eyes were, doped up as she was he wondered if she even knew that Trent had abandoned her during the course of their silent barter.

Victor started to unbutton his shirt while he loomed over Charlotte as she laid sprawled out beneath him. "Because your my property now, your little retarded boy toy traded you in and settled up his debt." The tall and muscular man rolled his head upon his shoulders while his shirt continued to slowly fall open. "Now guess what, that debt is yours and your gonna make sure its paid in full." The shirt hung loose around his cut and chiseled physique as he reached down and took hold of Charlotte by her hair. "So your gonna shut up, do what your told, and we're gonna get along just fine." His fingers twisted like steel cords around her hair that was followed with a firm yank to make sure she was looking up at him. "Now flip yourself over, get on your hands and knees, and stick that ass up in the air."

Victor began to slide out of his shirt, folding the expensive custom fit piece up into a neat bundle. He turned away
to lay the garment down across the smooth mahogany surface of his desk, leaving Charlotte to either fall in line or face the consequences. Fate though intervened as a vibration followed by a repetitive buzz sounded from Victor's cell phone where it was resting upon the table.

He picked it up and stuck it against the side of his jaw. "Yeah, what is it?" His tone was sharp as he let his free hand drop down across an ornate wooden cube full of intricate engravings that were trimmed with glistening gold and silver metal borders. He listened for a moment, ignoring the existence of Charlotte while his fingers stroked over the exotic puzzle box. "Alright, I'll be down in a minute." He ended the call abruptly, his piercing eyes lingered on the box that his fingers remained steepled around before finally setting his newest acquisition down.

"Just stay put and don't touch anything." His voice scolded Charlotte as he unfurled his shirt and gestured towards the lavish surrounds of his office. "We'll finish this when I get back." He stuffed his still hard and saliva smeared cock back into his dress pants and zipped up. Without a glance then he strode past her to the stout double doors, opened them and stepped outside. With a resounding thud the doors closed and the lock clicked.

 

[Xanaphia]

Charlotte cried out as he threw her off his dick and to the floor. Mostly from the shock of cool marble against her skin, but the impact made her arch her back. Sprawled before… well, whoever he was, tight white dress riding up her hips and exposing her thin silk thong. She cried out again when he pulled her by the hair, jerking her around like a ragdoll and barking orders. The fuck, dude? All he had to do was ask.

But he got a call before she could begin to comply, and giving her a minute to rub her neck. Fuck, two tabs of ecstasy wasn’t enough to deal with this shit. Where was Trent? Had he really left her here? Given her over to some drug dealer, to settle his debt? It all felt pretty fuzzy, in the moment, and Charlotte was still sure she’d heard him wrong. He barked more orders, this time not to touch anything, before leaving the room and locking it behind him.

This guy seemed like a huge dick, with a huge dick, who liked to get rough. And if he wasn’t interested in some foreplay to warm her up, then she was going to need to be blasted out her mind. A big-time drug dealer like him had to have some oxy or some fentanyl lying, right? Fuck, but the drawers of his desk were locked. Selfish fucking prick.

Her fingers brushed the strange puzzle box, giving her pause. It was some sort of weird, gothic Rubik’s cube. Kinda lame, for a big-time drug dealer. There was something about, something her mind couldn’t easily pass over. Heavier than expected, not merely a cheap plastic toy. Picking it up near her ear, she gave it a little shake, and smiled as something clicked inside. Maybe it was a key? Or some drugs? Maybe. Better than sitting around waiting for dickhead to come back sober.

Fingers traced over the carved face, until she found a loose slat she could pull. Half pulled apart, jagged pieces at right angles and as she twisted it, it seemed to form another shape. Almost circular, with sharp edges that almost looked like thorns. It just fit so well as she pushed it together, new images forming on the sides, from discreet parts that had been separated before.

Before she could hear that satisfying click, the door burst open, causing Charlotte to the drop the box onto the desk with a metallic clang.

 

[Black_Out]

The moment was not quite etched in time, yet when he inhaled the room seemed to fall into a state of eternal stillness. His unsettling scowl was frozen, ill omens brewed in Victors eyes. He strangled the doorknob like it was Charlotte's neck. The only thing that seemed to matter in this slice of time was the dull metallic clang that echoed through the room. That reverberating thud ended as the intricate box, now askew from Charlotte's curious fingers, settled back into place upon Victor's daunting office table. In that drop of silence, the mysterious box had given its blessing.

The door slammed and Victor was already halfway across the intricately woven fibers of oriental rug that ran from the door to the desk where Charlotte stood. The floorboards hummed with the force of his steps and the venom in his eyes stung almost as much as the slap that soon rang across the young woman's face. "You fucking bitch!" Every muscle on his face was etched with rage as his hand chased after Charlotte's head as it was snapped to the side by the force of his blow. "Did you think I was fucking kidding you stupid little whore?!" His hand was back in her hair, but this time it felt like talons that belonged to some great bird of prey were digging into Charlotte's skull. Victor turned her about to face him, leveraging his brawn and height over the stunned girl before dropping a solid, rib crunching hook into her gut. His hand never left the tangled weave of her hair that was in his grasp as Charlotte doubled over, gasping and coughing for breath.

No reprieve was given though by Victor. With his fingers palming the back of her skull like it was some bowling ball, he violently spun poor startled Charlotte around and slammed her face first down against the desk. Again, the engraved box of black wood and gold trim rattled as Victor smeared her face down against the smooth wooden surface of his desk. "Everything I own is worth far more then your scrawny little hide could ever hope to be!"

He towered over her from behind, keeping an intense amount of pressure against the back of her skull. Two rough kicks from his boots followed against the insides of Charlotte's far daintier feet as Victor spread them. His eyes bubbled like a raging cauldron as he stared down over Charlotte's body as he held her in place, bent across his desk. "Now your gonna stay still." Victor hissed, and although the tone of his voice was far lower it was significantly more malicious in the way it hinted at the sadistic pleasure he felt rising through him. He leaned down, the weight of his trouser covered crotch pressing down across Charlotte's backside as the tip of a knife touched down against Charlotte's back. "Really still, or your gonna get cut up and fed to my fucking dogs."

Thread by thread the knife trailed down the shape of Charlotte's spine, peeling her shirt open in spots to
glance over the smooth soft skin beneath. Victors eyes had come into focus now, the embers of his rage remained, but they were tended to now and no longer unbridled. As the knife wandered down the spindly length of her spine Victor released his hand from her head and roughly tugged his trousers down until his fully aroused length was free to press against the girls well rounded ass. He admired how revealing the dress was, how slutty that little thong fit against Charlotte's spread cheeks. His nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply through his nose as the head of his cock prodded at the flared folds of her waiting pussy.

In the ecstacy of the moment, Victors eyes were drawn over towards the box. One slender, manicured brow rose up as it finally dawned on him that Charlotte had somehow managed to open it, at least partially. His knife wielding hand swept the box back in front of her head, the sudden movement causing his weight to shift forward. That narrow thong didn't offer much in the way of resistance when the force of his weight shifted forward and he punched into her. The knife spun about in front of Charlotte's face, its mirrored surfaced flicked her reflection back upon her with every twist and turn it made. "By the time I'm done with your cunt your gonna have that box back in order, just like you found it, or I'm going to teach you a lesson that your never going to forget." He murmured down against the back of her head. "Capisce?"

 

[Xanaphia]

Charlotte’s world blurred with the slap, sending her twisting away from Victor. But she didn’t get far –couldn’t get far as his hands dug into her scalp and his fingers tangled at her roots. His punch drove the words from her lips, along with the air from her lungs. Face pressed against the cool, unforgiving wood of his desk. Warm blood trickled down her lips and pooled under her chin.

Why rape her? It’s not like she was going to say no. This was pure sadism. Time slowed in those moments, her heartbeat like clock, ticking down the seconds until her assault. Except for the ragged breaths, Charlotte was very still, willing the muscles in her back not to react as his knife traced her spine and sliced off her dress. And waiting at the end of her ruined dress was his cock, as steel hard as his knife.

One sudden thrust filled her, forcing tight walls apart on his dick. Charlotte cried out, a strangled whimper that didn’t even sound like her. His voice barely penetrated her ears, over the thrum of her heartbeat, or the slap of his hips against her ass. But the knife spoke loud enough, more threats, more violence. More pain. Eventually his meaning burned through the haze and shame. Put the box back together.

Shaking fingers grasped for the box, losing grip on it twice before she finally had a handle on it. Another thrust slammed into her sensitive far wall, and threatened to loose the box form her grip again. Only with fingers dug into the jagged sides did she keep a hold of it. Focusing was impossible as he moved in her, each stroke demanding more of her.

What had she done in the first place? Something had made the sides slide out, then she rotated it and fit it back together. Once more she tugged at it, pulling the forming picture apart, before crying out again as he drove himself into her depths, and drove her thighs in the wooden desk. His swollen shaft split open her slit, his full length invading her each time. Her screams echoed in the office, playing back her torment to herself.

 

[Black_Out]

Having this fresh piece of meat sprawled out before him, quivering legs spread wide, thighs indented against the edges of his desk while he was in full control. This, to Victor, was Heaven. But there was nothing pearly or pristine about Charlotte's gates as he battered them down with each forceful thrust of his raging cock. He could feel the desk shifting, nudged forward with every slam of his crotch against the forlorn redheaded sluts backside. He had to give it to Trent, as much as he despised the indebted junky, his "girl" was one fine fuck.

Those screams that were ripped out of Charlotte's throat with every deep and hateful plunge of his manhood were exhilarating. Victor felt a rush of adrenaline course through his body, causing his hairs to stand on end while his eyes widened with ferocity. "Ohhh yeah baby! Scream! Scream!" He howled out as he loomed over her back, intently observing her fumbling efforts to manipulate the box back into its proper shape. The desk kept jolting beneath her as Victor would nearly withdraw from her sweet folds only to pound back in like he was driving a spike into her womb. He was certain that her hips would be feeling raw, left bruised as he battered them into the sharp edges of the desk.

The knife ceased its torturously threatening dance in front of Charlotte's face as Victor lifted it up and brought it down, stabbing it into the desk just a few inches from her scrambling hands that were stained with her own blood that pooled across the surface of the desk beneath her head. He buried himself deep as the blade sunk into the wood, letting out a throaty groan of arousal that brought his jaw forward prominently while he tossed his head back.

With his hands now free, Victor reached down and pressed his palms firmly across the back of Charlotte's shoulders, pinning her against the desk. "mmhhh...Mmmhhh...MMMHHH!" His groans echoed through his office while his crotch remained flush against Charlotte's ass, rubbing, twisting, grinding against her toned rear while his cock stayed anchored within her depths.

Slowly Victors spiteful gaze lowered, turning into narrowed slits as the sounds of his arousal fell silent. There was an inquisitive tilt of his head as he peered at the intricate box that seemed no closer to being returned to its proper shape. His voice hissed out from between his clenched teeth as he slowed the rotating, rubbing motions against her upturned rear. "If your not done fixing that by the time I cum in your ass, I'm going to get my cane and whip the living hell out of you." The words fell from his lips, punctuated by the sound of his cock slipping free from Charlotte's plundered folds only to fall down between the contours of her exposed ass. Victor lined himself up, the edges of his fingernails digging into the pale skin of Charlotte's flesh, scratching red angry lines down her back as he abruptly punched his way into her anus, battering his way through the tight knit muscles that guarded it with one furious jab of his now well lubricated cock.

 

[Xanaphia]

“Wait, don’t–” Charlotte started, only to be cut off by a pained shriek when he breached her ass. Half of his swollen length drove into her, sliding in on a film of her humiliation and shame. Another cruel thrust buried him to the hilt inside her, drawing forth a quivering whimper.

By now she was stone cold sober, and she hated everything. This stupid ugly house and this sadist fucking prick and her slimy selfish boyfriend and even herself. Because she’d let things get this far, let her life get so out of control that she could be traded to satisfy a drug debt. She might as well be dead.

But death remained elusive, as Victor promised more pain. All over a stupid fucking puzzle box? Just another excuse for his viciousness? His hips smashed into hers, driving her hard into the desk, and, as badly as it hurt, it brought her within arm’s reach of the box. Stretching, she pulled away just an inch or two, the briefest of respites, before he jerked her back onto his shaft. But this time, she had the box in her hands.

Concentrating was even harder this time around, her ass raw and aching from his harsh strokes, but Charlotte was desperate. It may have been the first time in years she’d been desperate, the first time in a long time since she actually let fear or worry enter her mind. The jagged edges of the puzzle box scraped her fingers, refusing to budge. Not even white knuckles and bulging muscles in her forearms could slide the pieces apart. Brute strength couldn’t solve this problem.

Shaking out her fingers, she again explored the box, remembering how she managed to coax it open the first time. There was some sort of lock or spring in the top, some mechanism she had to push in, before it would come apart again. Finally, she was rewarded with a soft click, faint against the slap of skin on skin. Relaxing, just a touch, his strokes hurt a little less, and she pulled the pieces apart. Still, she couldn’t remember if she had twisted it clockwise, or counterclockwise. Instead of fighting it, however, she let the box move in a way that felt natural, as if it were trying to reset itself. One more twist, and the piece slid into place, connecting with a loud click.

 

[Black_Out]

From out of the corner of his eyes, Victor watched while Charlottes fingers fidgeted desperately with the intricate puzzle box. The sight of this woman scrambling to reassemble that insane mockery of a rubik's cube while he was plowing her from behind was beyond amusing to a man like Victor whose heart beat like a sadistic war drum. The cries of anguish, her whimpers of pain were like an aphrodisiac that fueled his malicious desire to see her suffer. Even if she somehow managed to put that stupid box back together, Victor was intent on making sure that this crack head of a whore would know her place from here on out. So when Victor felt that slight adjustment in Charlotte's responses when she managed to relax just enough to finally get that box to cooperate, he retaliated.

He grabbed a fistful of her silken auburn hair and yanked her head straight up off the table, bringing her torso along with it. The sudden violent shift in posture left Charlottes' fingers clenching at air as the box slipped away from her grasp. It fell with a hollow sounding clatter upon the table, leaving it to be jostled about by the constant jerking shifts that the table made every time that her pelvis was smacked against its angled edge. But even without her fingers around the box, whatever Charlotte had done had seemed to set off a chain reaction as the metallic pieces of the box continued to shift and slid back inwards upon itself.

This was a fact that did not go unnoticed as Victor gazed down over the slope of Charlotte's breasts while her back was kept pressed firm against his chest by one strong arm that had cinched in around her midriff. "The fuck did you do?" The curiosity that had momentarily appeared in his eyes vanished as he pivoted his forearm up between her breasts, parting them as his cigar scented fingers sunk in to her lips like claws, leaving Charlotte with no avenue to clearly respond. While those digits invaded her mouth, Victor tucked his thumb under her chin and pressed vigorously down against her throat, further inhibiting her ability to not just talk, but to breath as he clamped down on her throat. Not that her response would of mattered in any way, shape, or form. No Victor was hell bent, set on a rigid course that wouldn't stop until this pretty little broad was left a battered and bruised mess.

"Guess what, it doesn't matter what you did." His smoky breath whispered into her ear even as he continued to bump and grind against the soft pillow curves of her ass. "It never did." He punctuated those venomous words with a sharp bite against the tender flesh of her earlobe. His jaw crunched down like he was biting into a hard candy, drawing blood and leaving the indentations of his teeth clearly embedded upon Charlotte's earlobe before relenting.

As Charlotte let out a gurgled cry of pain from the sharp stinging bite, Victor releases his hold over her throat. Again he introduced her face to the fine grain surface of his blood smeared desk as he palmed the back of her skull and slammed her cheek down into it. A hiss rose from the depths of his throat as Victor continued to plow deep into Charlotte's ass with a renewed fury. While his hand kept her face plastered across the desk, forcing her gaze towards the nearby box that had seemed to close back up on its own accord, Victor crashed his fist down against the desk, dangerously close to Charlotte's face.

A howl squealed its way out of Victor's lips as his knuckles grazed against the sharp edges of the puzzle box. It felt like a cheese grater meeting flesh and immediately Victor recoiled away from Charlotte, emptying himself from her with a pop that was barely audible over his agonized scream. He stumbled backwards, cursing Charlotte as if this accident was her fault. While he clutched his wounded hand, Victor was far to absorbed to notice how the blood left behind was sliding across the table, drawn towards the damnation of the box as if it was some sort of magnet.

 

[Xanaphia]

For a second, a heartbeat, Charlotte jerked away from Victor, straining to catch the puzzle box that dropped from her fingers. It clattered and bounced upon the desk, shifting into place. Again she tried to reach fpr it, bit he jerked her against his back, swollen length balls deep inside her ass.

Charlotte gagged on his fingers, mumbling around the invading digits to answer his question, and quickly realizing that he didn't actually care about the answer. He probably didn't care about the damn box either, just wanted to hurt her. But of course he did. It was why he took it upon himself to rape her, when she was already willing.

Warm blood dripped down her shoulder, stark red against her creamy skin. Each of his movements jerked her body, splashing her blood against her jostled breasts in tiny crimson bursts.

Again, he pushed her head into the desk, harder time. His fist followed after, hitting the desk so hard and so loud, she half thought he hit her. Especially after her vision blurred and her ears rang.

His angry outburst brought her back from the edge, tensing in preparation for another smack or bite or choke. Was the blood on his hand his or hers? Did it matter? His cum shot into her ass into burning jets, each making her clench against his thick cock.

The blood pooled on the desk, gleaming on the lacquered wood, then it moved, like a liquid snake slithering towards the box. Charlotte blinked twice, sure she was imagining the moving blood. Especially once it crawled up the side of the box, dripping into the carved recesses and flowing over the patterns. How hard had she hit her head? How hard had he slammed her head into the desk?

 

[Black_Out]

Victor was fuming, a string of vulgar curses lashed out of his lips as he cradled his gouged open hand in the palm of his other. Rich crimson blood puddled in his palm and curled its way through the cracks between his fingers where it fell with a Pollack like splattering to ruin the fine oriental rug beneath his feet. He swore he saw the bone of his knuckle peeking through that jagged flap of flesh that had been shaved away. thing was for certain in Victors rage filled state, Charlotte was going to find out tenfold just how bad it hurt. And fuck did it hurt! One

First things first though he had to tend to that wound. He squeezed his hand into his palm, applying as much pressure as he could but that didn't stop the blood from flowing. Victor stormed his way into the bathroom, kicking the loose door open that sent a resounding boom through the room. White porcelain was sprinkled with droplets of fresh red paint straight from Victor's veins as came to loom over the vanity sink. The sound of the faucet running did little to hide his agonized hiss of pain when he thrust his ravaged knuckle bone under the cold stream of water. "Ahhh...you fucking cunt!" He screamed, teeth chattering as the pain made his wound feel like his veins were on fire.

Obviously, Victor was far to engrossed in his own troubles to have ever taken notice of the surreal situation unfolding before Charlotte as the blood he left behind on the desk drained into the box just like the water diluted blood that was spiraling down into the basin of the sink to be swallowed up by the drain. The intricate designs upon the face of the puzzle cube glowed with a tangible neon red hue as Victor's blood soaked its way into its construction. Again the box unfolded, angular portions rising up, twisting about in deft precision, rotating, before sliding back into a new arrangement. Small lines of sparks arched across the gaps and spread like the lines of a plasma ball into the air around its shifting form.

Then everything went silent, the lines of energy dancing through the static filled air fizzled into nonexistence as the box assumed a new form and shape. The sound of Victors cursing became faded, muted as if it was coming from a far away room. A coldness followed, the sort that would send a shiver down ones spine and leave the warmth of their breath to clash with the chill in the air. Even the lights shifted in the room, dulling over as if a shade had been drawn to lessen their impact and allow the shadows that had lived in the solitude of Victors office to grow. While Charlotte remained there, hovering over the desk and the Pandora's box of trouble before her the gentle sound metallic chimes came from the darkest patch of shadows towards the back of the room and in that inky abyss of black, small flashes of movement could be seen from lines of chains that swayed ever so faintly as if caught in a breeze that wasn't anywhere to be felt.

 

[Xanaphia]

Charlotte slumped onto the desk, limp legs unable or unwilling to hold up her weight any longer. Everything hurt, pounding at the forefront of her mind with no where to escape it. Covered in blood and semen and sweat, all she wanted in the world was a hot bath, to clean away the shame and soothe the deep ache.

Well, a bath and a fentanyl or two. Anything to wash away the memories imprinted on her skin and in her mind.

A faint tinkling, like the ringing of bells, drew her eyes to the box, now moving on its own. Clearly, she’d gone mad, her mind splintering from the years of drugs and now the rape, fractured under the weight of her trauma. Fuck… he was going to be pissed the box was misshapen again. He was already pissed, and he hit his own fucking hand on it.

Despite the burning ache of her assault, the room grew cold, and Charlotte began to shiver. She slid from the desk onto the floor, arms wrapped around her legs to keep herself warm. Was the room actually growing darker, or was she about to pass out? That might not be so bad. At least she wouldn’t have to feel anything for a while. And maybe she wouldn’t even have to wake up.

Charlotte blinked, and then blinked again, eyes catching the soft glint off fine silver chains. Had there always been chains in here? Tired eyes followed the long strands, narrowed as they stretched into the darkest reaches of the room. Was… was someone else there? Someone else who was going to rape her, hurt her? Her arms tightened around her legs, pressed against her chest, and unwilling tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Don’t hurt me, please… not again…”

 

[Black_Out]

It was like another world had opened up in the furthest recesses of Victor's opulent office. The glamour seemed to fade, decaying into colors that were far to subdued for what had greeted Charlotte's eager eyes when she first arrived here with her treacherous boyfriend in tow. How long ago had that fateful moment been? With the amount of stuff that the young girl was bound to have in her system, heaped on top of a fresh beating, time bled out in a seemingly random pattern. Just like the gash on her forehead pooled blood upon Victor's ornate desk of mahogany.

But the gleam of the chains was real, or at the very least she was suffering through the most convincing hallucination she had ever laid her doped up eyes upon. They swayed like wind chimes caught up in a gentle winters breeze. There was a music to them, a forlorn and somber tone of clinking chains that brushed together. Shadows moved in the swirling darkness that encroached its way across the expanse of Victor's chamber of horrors. The small, intricate box that still laid upon the table remained settled, unmoving, until a voice as cold as a corpse with a sinister edge cut through the music of the chains.

"To suffer is divine, child." The deathly white features of a man drenched in black leathers emerged from the swirling depths of darkness. His voice, while barely a murmur sounded as clear as the roar of a great beast. Nails that saw no sign of rust or wear were arranged across his face, drilled into his skull in perfect symmetrical harmony. "Pain, begets pleasure." The soulless wells of ink that were his eyes peered down upon Charlotte as tiny pinholes of light pierced the gloom beyond where this figure of dread and despair loomed. "There can not be one without the other."

He approached through the tangle of chains which parted like a curtain before his every silent step. There was movement in the dense field of shadows behind him. Other shapes akin to man or woman could only vaguely be discerned by Charlotte's eyes. But she could hear them, their horrid whispers reached her ears.

"Please....hurt me again." A woman's voice that was as laced with venom as the fangs of a poisonous serpent sounded from the void beyond. That feminine tone was laid across the sound of chittering, a rapid and distinct sound that bore a similarity to a sewing machine's eternal clattering. "...and again, and again..." The amusement buried within that mocking voice, while negligible, was there none the less.

The man, or demon given flesh of a man, stopped before the desk upon which the small box rested. His uncompromising eyes wafted from Charlotte's face, down to the puzzle box that laid bare as if it was the only thing in the room beyond themselves. He spoke as a tentative hand reached out towards the mystical cube, yet his fingers which curled like talons stopped short of laying claim to it. "Show your tormentor the delights we bring and be spared of that same fate." His ink stained eyes turned up to gaze upon the door where Victor waited to be claimed.

 

[Xanaphia]

Charlotte flinched away from the… man? He seemed human enough, except for the nails sticking out of his skull. Was he real? Was any of this real? Her body ached, anchoring her experience in reality. Dreams didn’t hurt, after all.

"To suffer is divine, child." The man stepped closer, and she pressed herself against the desk to shy away from him. But there was nowhere left to go. “Pain, begets pleasure."

“Yeah, for who?” she snapped, fear becoming anger with her back against the wall. Not point in making this easy on him. Making it easy on Victor hadn’t spared her any suffering, after all. “Who get the pain, and who gets the pleasure?”

"There cannot be one without the other." Unblinking eyes like inkwells stared down at her. Fuck, he… he wasn’t human. Not exactly. Maybe she was dreaming, despite the pain? Maybe she was dying?

“Fuck that,” she snarled, fear clawing its way up her throat. Fine, let her die then. Let this all be over, before half his men takes a turn raping her. She tensed, ready to fight if this man… demon touched her. Ready to kick and scream and claw and bite, whatever it took, the moment he laid a finger on her. But he didn’t. He reached, instead, for the puzzle box. Reached for it, but did not grab it. Instead, he spoke once more.

"Show your tormentor the delights we bring and be spared of that same fate."

“Really?” she asked, not sure she understood quite what was happening. Not sure she believed what was happening. But nothing in this world or the next sounded as good as torturing Victor, the way he tortured her. Not even some Oxy. “How?”

“The box,” the feminine voice called out, in between pleasured moans or pained cries. “The lamentation configuration.”

Charlotte had no earthly idea what that meant, but all she had to do was solve the stupid thing again, right? Couldn’t be that hard, could it? Certainly, easier now, without Victor pounding himself into her. This time, the box moved with her fingers, sliding out with ease and twisting nearly on its own. Like it wanted her to solve it. A crazy notion, but everything was crazy right now. And then, as she began doubt herself, the feminine voice returned, encouraging her progress, “Yes… yes… yes…”

With a satisfying click, it slid into place, jagged edges and sharp angles. Again, it glowed, dark red like the flowing of blood. She looked up at the… man? Devil? Pinhead? But his gaze remained focused on the door, focused on Victor. She knew what she had to do.

One hand gripped the box, and the other gripped the door knob. One deep breath steeled her resolve, before pushing the door in on Victor. Whatever he said in those moment, whatever expletive filled rant left his lips, she never heard it. All Charlotte heard was the chiming of chains, and the ecstatic cries of an unseen woman.

 

[Black_Out]

It was a gruesome fate for the man whose reputation in certain unsavory circles had earned him the nickname of the Meat Grinder.

Victor was alone, in the void of some separate reality that was offered by the simple substance of the door that buffered him from the twist of fate that Charlotte was consuming Charlotte's own. His knuckle throbbed and he could see the ivory of bone appearing whenever he stuck his wounded hand beneath the running waters of the faucet. Pull it away though and crimson came flooding out. Worst case scenario, Victor figured, it was going to need stiches. He just needed to wrap it up first.

The door swung open while he was in the midst of rifling through the medicine cabinet. A hand rag splotched with fresh blood that the fibers drank up like a sponge was wrapped about his fist as his gaze snapped over to stare in vengeful rage upon Charlotte. Before he could even let loose with a single venomous word his eyes dropped to the open box that rested in her outstretched hands. A fountain of unholy light burned from its innards, making the brightness of the bathroom seem negligible in comparison.

The dazzling display of radiant light left the girl in a conscious, yet mesmerized state of being. One that spared Charlotte from truly witnessing the horror that unfolded before her. But visions of it were etched in her mind and set aside to haunt the young woman in her sleep. Victor only wished that he could of been so fortunate.

It was a moment that passed both swiftly and painstakingly slow all at once. The pale skinned woman stood behind Charlotte and the eagerness in her eyes was as dreadful a sight to behold as she herself was. "Can you taste it? The pain, such a sweet feast." The words fell from her grinning lips while her tongue slithered across her lips. Her pale and gaunt hands fell across Charlotte's wrists and helped guide the box forward towards Victor. Chains sprang forth from the radiant light, curved hooks that were as sharp as needles embedded themselves into Victor. There was barely any part of him that was spared as the network of chains tightened and pulled, dragging Victor into the light, where his mortal form was slowly chewed up and ground to a pulp, ingested by the hunger of the puzzle box.

"You have been blessed with a most generous gift." The chilled and solemn tone from the loathsome man whose head was decorated with nails spoke with reverence from the background of swaying chains and shifting shadows while the blood of Victor sprayed across Charlotte's face.

By the time she had snapped out of her trance like state, Victor was nowhere to be seen. Her ghastly visitors had vanished without a trace. The room had returned to its normal state. The bone sapping cold was but a memory. But a singular voice echoed in her head as she stood before the entry of the bathroom and it belonged to hideous man with the pins in his head. "There are more games to play. Find us another, or we will choose you to entertain us next."

 

[Xanaphia]

Strangely, the anger in Victor’s face didn’t scare Charlotte. It didn’t last long enough to scare, melting away to a familiar terror that erupted into screams. His agony was delightful. Delicious. Divine. Hooks drove deep into his skin, his flesh, latching onto firm pectorals and bulging biceps. He had lorded his strength of her, and now those muscles were shredded, hardly even able to support his own weight as an infinite number of chains pierced his body. They held him up, dragging him closer and closer to her, and finally, into the box, piece by piece. Chunk by chunk.

Then he was gone, no body, no blood, nothing. He’d vanished without a trace. he had never really existed. But, no, that wasn’t true, was it? His existence clung to her skin, crimson across her face, black and blue around her hips, translucent white from her violated orifices… He was gone, but what he’d done to her would remain, forever.

"There are more games to play.” The voice came from everywhere, and nowhere. “Find us another, or we will choose you to entertain us next."

Charlotte still wasn’t sure any of this were even real, but she understood perfectly what the… demon wanted. Another sacrifice. Another piece of shit, like Victor. Yeah, this town was full of men like him. Plenty of choices, but this one was easy.

Her dress had been ruined, so she stole the silk robe that hung in the bathroom. It could almost pass for a short, kimono style dress, if one didn’t look closely enough. It was at least enough to wear to flee the house in.

But not empty handed. Not after what she’d lived through. Digging through the pockets of his pants –still neatly folded on a chair– she found a key. Bingo. It opened the desk, where she found a couple burner phones, a kilo of coke, a half dozen bottles of white pills and ten thousand in cash. Fucking score. She fit as much as she could into an empty briefcase she found lying around, and slipped out a back door. By the time she made it back to the main road, the taxi she’d caller for was there, waiting for her. An hour later she was checked into a cheap motel on the other side of town, a bath drawn and a couple of oxy bulging down her throat.

She’d call Trent in the morning.