Page 13 of Brian and Mina's Holiday Hits
They didn’t care about me. They didn’t care about my pleasure. I was never the one in control or the one whose pleasure was prioritized. It was always him. As fast as humanly possible. It was as though these men were engaged in some sort of race against time… come before your life runs out. Hurry, hurry!
I never agreed to play that game.
They didn’t know the meaning of the word slow, or tender. I always felt guilty even being there, taking up space, as though my pleasure was something in the way. And so that part of me shut off before it could ever open. And I just thought… I didn’t like it.
But today, when I was in control, when I straddled Brian and rode him. When I was drunk on the power of turning the tables on Matsumoto, showing him what he couldn’t have while playing his plans against him. When I was impaled on Brian’s cock, it was different. Because it was Brian.
It was twisted and fucked up. But it was me. And it was him. And somehow despite this entire situation, I was able to have the first orgasm of my life from penetration. I’m not sure what this says about me. I’m not sure I want to know.
I don’t know if I’m more broken than before, or just broken in a more complex way. I wouldn’t know where to begin in the journey to become normal. But if I were normal, I don’t think I would fit together with Brian anymore, and I’d rather be with him than be normal.
He finally returns, thrilled to have found a chainsaw and heavy duty trash bags.
“I’m not sure you want to keep eating while I do this. Blood splatter,” he says.
I shrug and pull back the blanket revealing the considerable amount of Matsumoto’s blood I’m already wearing. It decorates my body like war paint. But maybe Brian is right.
I keep waiting for the normal emotional response, and every second it doesn’t come I feel less and less human. I feel like I exist in the same half-life as Brian does. But is that such a bad thing? It’s our world, and as long as we’re in it together, everything is somehow still okay.
Aside from the adrenaline, which calms more with each cracker sandwich I eat, I’m not a shaking hot mess. I’m not crying. I didn’t have some meltdown. Despite how destroyed I’d be if I lost Brian, I didn’t lose him, and so I can’t seem to call up the emotions that the potential of losing him should cause.
Brian leaves again and comes back, happy this time to have found a giant blue tarp that had been covering a boat on the property. Honestly this is the happiest I think I’ve ever seen him, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m safe or because he gets to cut up some bodies. Maybe it’s a bit of both.
“I-I think I’m broken. For real this time,” I say, as he unshackles Matsumoto and lays his body out on the tarp for disassembly.
He turns to me and levels me with a long hard stare. “Well, I think you’re a glorious badass.”
This draws a small smile out of me. Then I do feel something, a little warmth in my belly, a flush of pride that despite his determination to punish me and reclaim control of our dynamic, that he’s proud of me and sees something good in what I’ve become.
I’ve finished my crackers by the time he drags the guard inside, and without a word I go follow Brian’s directive about the shower. I grab my black bag which I hid behind a plant when I saw the guard. I knew it was foolish to think I could bring obvious weapons here, but I didn’t think Matsumoto would expect me to come packing heat anyway. So maybe he wouldn’t even have a security detail. There was only one guard, which in some ways proved my point. His father was always surrounded by bodyguards, and I know he was no different. But my weapons were in my bag and the lone guard was already pointing his gun at me.
So I’d gone with seduction, and while he was distracted, I’d pulled the capped syringe from the place I’d sewn into the backof my corset to hold it. I felt proud of myself for figuring out a way to alter the inner lining of the corset so that when I pulled the syringe, the cap stayed behind. If I’d had to fumble with it, the temporary distraction never would have worked.
And I couldn’t conceal the syringe on my body without the cap or else I risked injecting myself with the drug and being rendered completely helpless against whatever they decided to do with me.
I take the bag upstairs to the main floor and the master bathroom. I wonder absently if this is a secondary vacation home or if he rented it or borrowed it from a friend. I drop the bag on top of the bed and step into the shower. I’m only now realizing that when I’d finished my crackers, I just walked out of the room completely naked.
Old Mina never would have wandered anywhere, even alone, totally naked like that. She would have put some kind of clothes on, even the corset. Or she would have stayed wrapped in the comforting cocoon of the blanket. But I’d shed that without a thought like the new darker butterfly I’m becoming.
I barely feel the shower spray. There’s a sort of muted dullness that has overtaken all my senses. It started in Japan and had crystallized by the time we got back to the house. And today, with Matsumoto’s death, another layer of whatever this is, has wound itself around me. I feel like I’m falling down a dark well with no way to climb back out. And a part of me doesn’t care. I’m dimly aware that this part that doesn’t care is the pretty poison of the numbing.
I’m not sure if this is better or worse than the pain and fear I lived in as Mina version 1.0. I can see the protection of it, the utility of it. Had I been that Mina, no way could I have just walked in here like a badass, used the promise of my body to incapacitate a guard, and taken Matsumoto out withoutblinking. But there is a price, that thick cocoon wrapped around me. The way everything mutes into dull gray.
The way food tastes… less. Smells go unnoticed. The water falling on me feels as though it’s falling on a layer of plastic wrapping that stands between me and the pure experience of it and the rest of life as I knew it. I stare down at the blood running in watered-down rivulets down my skin, swirling and finally going down the drain. If only I could wash all my damage off so easily.
SEVEN
brian
I’ve gottenthe dungeon sprayed down and bleached, the tarp folded, the bodies chopped up, and everything that remains from two men is in about thirty heavy duty garbage bags. It’s almost like the inventors of these bags made them with body disposal in mind because I’ve been a satisfied customer for well over a decade now. Opaque. No leaks. Sturdy.
It’s always a bad sign—for the captive—when there’s a drain in the floor of the dungeon. That means someone plans for someone to bleed. This feature did make clean-up neater though.
I glance up to find Mina standing in the doorway, her hair still wet from the shower. She’s wearing black leather pants and a black corset with dark red lace overlaid.
I swallow hard against the sudden dryness in my throat. I didn’t realize she had a change of clothes. She always planned to walk away from this. I gesture to the lingerie Matsumoto made her wear. “I assume you want those burned?” I ask.
“Keep them. I want to remember today.”
