WARNING: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF BDSM
Christopher
I could only watch in terror, my tremblings hands covering my agape mouth, as the dominant continuously whipped the submissive, who, on the other hand, had been agonized for the past ten minutes. I hadn't seen anything as brutal as that. Utterly blind to the crimson blood dripping down the submissive's ravaged back, the dominant yelled at him to count, which the smaller had complied to, yelling out the number "seventy-nine!"
Seventy-nine wasn't a number to mess with in my opinion. Being whipped seventy-nine times seemed in BDSM seemed like sugar-coated abuse to me, especially when the submissive was evidently bleeding nonstop. What if he was injured? What if he forgot his safeword?
The fact that videos, as such, were up on the internet for the pleasure of billions to see made me feel ill. The comments were filled with people praising the dominant for handling the submissive in such a way, some even saying that he deserved even more humiliation and torture. Only a few were calling him out, saying that the punishment was too extreme and didn't fit the crime.
My eyes had been filled with tears as I listened to the taunting screams of the punished male, who barely cried out the number 'eighty-six' and breathe at the same time. What could he have done to deserve such brutality?
Despite how revolting the video was, I couldn't take my eyes off it. I wanted to get to the soft part, the part where the dominant dropped the act and took care of the submissive, built him up after breaking him apart, help him come out of the role as well.
I watched through the cracks between my fingers, my hands covering most of my eyes simply because I couldn't bear watch how scarred and destroyed the man's body was. His stomach had thin slices made with the whip as the dominant made sure to hit the same spots over and over again until he broke skin. Through my observations, I had come to the conclusion that not only was the dominant a sadist, but he was also ruthless and didn't seem to care about the submissive.
I pondered about the idea; didn't BDSM involve a romantic, loving relationship on the side? I searched the question, but because of the limit the program had installed, it didn't let itself step over its boundaries and refused to scavenge for the answer to my question.
I fast-forwarded to the ending, where the dominant walked close to the submissive, who was almost passed out. His body was being held up by the cuffs locked around his wrists, which were attached to the ceiling through a thin chain. Then, he spat in his face, making me gasp loudly at the disrespect and how low he had stooped. He then spread the spit all over his face, slapped him with all his might, then left the frame, not providing any comfort or love to the submissive, who had passed out.
I gave myself time to comprehend the video and what horrors it contained. If BDSM was indeed like that, or if Master wanted me to perform acts and scenes like that with him, I'd rather face death than participate. I needed comfort, and I knew I did because I identified myself as sensitive, timid, hesitant, maybe even fragile. I needed reassurance, and at that point, I was terrified for my life.
Wrapping my shaking arms around my slim body, I hugged myself and rocked back and forth, humming a small tune. One more video, I said to myself. After watching almost fifteen videos, I'd watch one more and make my decision based on that.
Before I could search up 'soft BDSM videos,' the computer started playing another video, with the submissive kneeling in front of him dominant. The boy was breathtaking with obedient, pure eyes that shone like emeralds and black, slightly curly hair. He was ready to follow orders and please his dominant, who sat in front of him, wearing newly cleaned boots.
The cute boy opened his mouth after a few seconds, asking, "Master, may I please you?" I cooed at how adorable he was, his cheeks flushed pink. But he didn't have the same effect on the dominant, who harshly stepped on the boy's crotch, crushing his balls. The boy gasped, desperately trying not to move away, which would agitate the beast even further.
"I don't recall allowing you to speak, bitch." I hated that nickname. Bitch wasn't even sexy to me. You literally call someone by a curse word. I despised it also because of the coldness and distant feelings it held. I couldn't imagine calling my lover by that name or them calling me by that. Ever.
The submissive didn't say anything in return, following instructions. But apparently the dominant didn't agree. He pulled his hair and kicked his crotch, the boy already in tears at the harsh treatment he was getting.
I yelled at him through the screen "GET OUT OF THERE!" over and over again, but realized that I was staring at myself through the unclear reflection provided by the computer screen contrasting with the dark colors of the video. I was telling myself the get the hell out of there, to save myself before I ended up just like the boys in the videos.
I didn't want that. I wasn't about to allow myself to go through such abuse even if it had benefits and excitement to it. From what I'd seen, I'd just be degraded and brutally beaten for the pleasure of Master. I needed to get out of there before he came back to check on me.
I activated my master plan by opening another video, primarily for it to create noise. I wanted it to seem as if I was still watching a video in my room if Master came to check without opening the door. Maybe he'd just listen in until he felt pleased and then go to bed. With high hopes, I turned the volume up and then tiptoed to the window.
I was on the second floor of the palace, the floor beneath covered in snow. Outside, it was pitch-black, no stars in the sky, a thick mist crawling up the castle slyly, swirling about outside. There seemed to be a harsh snow-storm outside, and I could hear the wind howling from inside of my room. I couldn't go out like that.
Rushing back and walking around my bed, I opened my closet, searching for the thickest pair of clothing I had given to me. There wasn't much, three shirts, sweatpants, boxers, a sweater, and a thin jacket. I had no choice.
I wore the pants over my pajama bottoms for extra heat providence, put on the sweater and the jacket. I felt warm and cozy, but I was sure that it wouldn't be enough for the ghastly weather outside. Still, if I ran for half an hour, I knew I'd get back to my little corner, where I'd sleep uncomfortable but safely and without any chances of being forced into this whole other world.
I went back to the window, holding my breath and peering down, my hands on the cold glass. My breath fogged it up as ı contemplated my decision. Here, I had a bed, a room, clothes, and food. Back at home, I was starving, abused, forced to work as a garbage boy to survive... But there I had the most important thing: freedom.
I tightened my corset and put my slippers on, the ones I had found in the bathroom. They weren't shoes, but if my socks had come into contact, they would absorb the water and make my skin even colder. Sucking a deep breath in, my fingers curled up underneath the window still and pushed up upwards, opening up the passage.
The palace was high up, but not enough to kill the one who'd fall. The worst that would have happened to me was to break a bone, maybe not even that. The snow would make the impact softer from how thick and abundant it was.
As I put a single leg over, the blares of an alarm rang in my ears, making me suck in a gasp and start hyperventilating. Alarms. He had alarms installed all over the palace. I'd been stupid enough to fall for the trick.
I heard the panicked sound of a door opening violently and feet padding towards my room. I had no choice but to jump now. Otherwise, I'd surely be murdered. Letting a hopeless, beaten sob escape my throat, I shut my eyes, the wind blowing in my face, my eyes teary and hair flying all over.
I jumped as the door opened, making eye contact with the bloodshot eyes of my, now, former Master. He looked like he was ready to strangle me for defying his orders and breaking the most important rule. Now, he was out for blood.
I screamed in pain once I landed, pain shooting up my entire left leg. It wasn't broken, I knew because I could move it. My theory about the snow softening the impact of my fall as proven to be correct. I would have loved to sit in the snow and cry about how much my leg hurt, but I had to run for my life, unfortunately. For the second time in a day. Look at me; breaking records one step at a time.
I heard him yell out orders to his servants, barking orders at them in rage, telling them to find me. Meanwhile, the alarms were still blaring hauntingly as I stood up, limping as quickly as I could. I blindly limped, not knowing where to go with all the mist surrounding the area. I just hoped to run as far away from the place. I didn't have a particular destination at the moment, my only goal being escaping the Ice King. But I needed shelter because I could feel my body heat decreasing by the minute.
I suddenly missed my warm room but shook the thought out of my head. I wanted freedom more than warmth.
I heard the voices of a few men behind me, yelling to each other. One of them, I recognized as Master. I gasped, limping fast only to fall down. As helpful as it was in terms of me not dying from falling, the snow still limited my movements, only slowing me down. I sobbed, whimpering desperately, yelling at myself in mind to just fucking move and run. But I was aware that it wasn't my fault, that my leg was injured and the snow still fell on top of the layers mercilessly, the wind blowing like ghosts circling me, whispering in my freezing ears.
I fell, painfully trying to get back up. I was worn-out, and I was sure that I was dying. I was going to freeze to death. And I was surprisingly okay with that, as long as I died free...
...I would have liked to say only if Master hadn't seen a small boy laying on the snow, shivering and shaking as if he was having a seizure. Master hopped off his horse, who let out a neigh, waiting patiently for its owner to return.
With half-lidded eyes, I could make out his silhouette, his icy blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight, red lips bitten and chewed in anxiety, his black hair blown by the wind. I could only beg for him to leave me unharmed; leave me or give me warmth. I let out little noises, murmurs of pleas, for what, I don't remember. But I had curled up, my body dying slowly, giving up. Through my clouded vision, I could make out his snarl and the hatred in his eyes, the desire to let me die as punishment. But he didn't do that.
Gently, I was picked up, a warm coat placed around my shoulders. I felt myself being carried somewhere, then put on something. Master wrapped an arm around my waist to secure me, yelling at his servants to go back to the palace. I just cuddled into his chest, trying to get as much warmth as I could, still shaking.
Master whispered something into my ear, something that I couldn't comprehend before the horse started to take us back to the palace. His hold on my waist tightened when I let out a loud mewl-like noise, pain shooting up my leg once again. I heard the loud sounds of heavy doors being pulled open, the same doors I had entered only a few hours ago, trespassing into the palace without care. I was selfish.
Master got off the horse, picking me up bridal style. I buried my face into the nape of his neck, snuggling to gain heat from his body. I heard him begin to speak again, his voice laced with madness and anger directed at me and my actions.
"Take him to the waiting room. I need to be away from him before I do something I'll regret. Make sure to lock the doors."
"Yes, sir."
I was handed over to one of the servants, who was muscular and bulky, making me whine and reach out towards the warmth. I could open my eyes slightly, and through the small cracks, I saw Master watching me, his jaw locked and gaze as hard as a stone.
I fell limp against the servant, who I could identify as a guard now. He took me upstairs and straight through a corridor while I watched the light from the staircase slowly disappear. Before I knew it, we had entered through a room that was almost as cold as outside. Alarmed, I began to whimper, desperately wanting to be warm again. I fought against the guard's hold, who only squeezed my injured leg painfully, making me scream bloody murder and quit my fighting.
He set me onto the floor that was made of ice. The whole room was, but I couldn't describe it from lack of sight. I was too tired to even open my eyes fully. The room was seventy-percent ice, the only light from above, which was light blue. The floors were slippery, as expected.
I screamed as I felt the man take off my pants and slippers, my socks cold and slimy from how damp they were. I kicked and fought, but the amount of energy left in my body was nothing compared to him. Crying softly, I felt him take off my clothes one by one, pausing once he got to my corset. He stared until taking it off harshly, the harsh plastic sliding over my skin and scarring it.
"It will be in your room," he informed nonchalantly, taking off my boxers as well, the last piece of clothing on my fragile body. I was exposed to his eyes, naked as a jaybird. What would he do now? Rape me? Or prepare me for someone else? My questions were answered as he shackled my feet and handcuffed my wrists in front of me. I had resisted too much for him to cuff me behind my back.
He then stood up, looking at me with sympathetic eyes and then turning around, leaving me in the freezing room, naked and cuffed. I was left alone to plead for my life, crying until I wore myself off. At least it wasn't as cold as the outside weather, but I was lying naked on ice. I curled up as much as I could with my restrictions, crying softly, my tears sliding onto the ice below me.
Now, I was going to freeze to death, just as I would have outside. The only thing different was my lack of freedom. I would freeze and die, locked up in the last moment of my life.