Clarabelle part 1

Clarabelle part 1

For anyone who might not know, this is a sequel to shawnababy’s story ‘Mama Cow’. It was a story I particularly enjoyed, and felt compelled to write a sequel. With her blessing, this is my take on the theme.

***

When the fog begins to lift, the first thing that comes to me is that I’m cold. There’s metal pressed against me. Straining to open my eyes, I at first think I’m staring at the ceiling. The weight of my head tells me I’m actually looking at the floor. I’m on a metal table with a hole for my face. Metal table? Do I own a metal table? A number of questions shoot through my mind, and I try to answer each in turn, but it takes time.

Where am I? Who am I? What’s going on?

Long minutes pass while I try to remember anything I can. I would panic, if I could move. There are restraints on my wrists, I can see them, but they’re not needed. My muscles don’t answer my mental commands.

My name is Chris Morgan. I’m a university student from Soho. Is this the university? I don’t think so. The last thing I remember is a girl crying. Why was she crying? I broke up with her. That’s right.

I’m…I’m a dick. I break girls hearts for fun. I come on all smooth and charming, fuck them and dump them. It’s a laugh riot. I call it the game. I don’t remember a metal table in my games.

I hear a metal door screech open. Someone walks into the room, closing the door with a clank. It sounds like…are those high heels?

“Awake yet, fucker?” A woman’s voice asks. She walks around into my field of vision as I lift my head somewhat.. She looks like a dominatrix, all leather and latex. Her leather apron and latex gloves freak me out. This isn’t the kind of thing I’m into.
“Whr mmmeye?” I mumble.

“Awake it is. Good, I was hoping you’d be. It’ll be so much more satisfying for you to experience everything.”

As she talks, I begin to take in more of my surroundings. From the feeling of things, the table I’m laying on has more cutouts than just the face hole. My pecks each have a cutout as well. I try to stand up, but I can’t. There’s some type of strap across my waist, keeping me down. Hang on a second. I’m standing, not laying down. I’m bent over at the waist onto this table. I feebly flail around, but whatever drugs I’m on make me too weak to get out. I feel more straps along my legs fighting against whatever effort I can muster.

“Wht’s going on?” My thoughts are becoming sharper. “Who are you?”

“I’m your worst goddamn nightmare is what I am, loser. I’m the pissed off sister of one of the girls you’ve tossed away like yesterdays garbage, you piece of shit. Remember Cindy?”

Cindy? The name rings a bell…3 weeks ago. Cute blond thing, first time away from home. She was a virgin. I broke up with her while I was still insider her and she cried. It was awesome.

“Cindy?” I ask.

She jabs something into my ass cheek and I scream out. Before I know it, some type of gag is put into my screaming mouth.

“Yeah, Cindy. She called me and told me everything. You sick fuck. How many girls do you do this shit to?”

I try to talk, deny everything that little slut said, but the gag stops any sounds from escaping. The gag. It’s too long to be a gag. Oh my god, this bitch strapped a dildo into my mouth.

I start to gag at the realization.

“Not again. Pieces of shit like you, they don’t get to walk around hurting innocent girls. I should kill you. But why should I let you off so easy?” The woman tells me as she sticks something else into my other ass cheek. I think she’s injecting my with something.
“Twenty years ago, a very interesting paper was circulated in some underground circles. A sort of success story. It was about turning a useless cocksucker like you into something moderately worth while. Really sick and degrading shit. But profitable. I think I can do better.” She tells me.

Over the sound of my thrashing, I hear what sounds like switches being flipped and the sound of some type of machinery starting up. She walks around the room, flipping more switches and turning dials. I crane my neck to see what she’s doing, but I can’t make out much in the poor lighting. Nearly ten minutes pass before she returns, wheeling over what looks like a dialysis machine.

“This is a catheter.