#my birthday present to myself this year was finally getting this god forsaken chapter finished and published

[slashhinginghasher]

Midnight Star - Chapter 10: Exploration

Midnight Star masterlist

[Ao3]

It's been 3 years since I last updated this fic so I really recommend going back and reading it from the beginning whoops

TW: noncon, knifeplay, bloodplay, blood as lube

Summary: Jesse indulges in his new captive a little more thoroughly

~

Jesse leaned back in his chair, luxuriating in the full-body warmth that came from a good fuck. The glass of whiskey sat untouched in his hand; he was unwilling to wash the taste of her, of them, out of his mouth just yet. He’d bury his face in that cunt someday soon and drag a real scream out of her. Just the memory of that little gasp was nearly enough to make him hunt her down for another round or three, but he didn’t. He needed to plan first, to prepare.

Things had, once again, not quite gone the way he’d expected. He’d spent much longer than necessary with his back turned at the bar, waiting for her to move so he could turn around and catch her mid-ambush or mid-flight. Instead, it was only decades of finely honed reflexes that kept him from getting a knife to the throat. He should have heard her move. He should have felt her at his back. It was the third time in as many days that he’d had cause to doubt himself, and he’d been angry. Scratch that, he’d been enraged. He was furious beyond reason at this scrawny little nobody bitch who had upended his life, exposing weakness after weakness. He wanted to gut her at his table and mount her corpse over the fireplace.

Then he’d seen her eyes, that I fucked up fear he’d been trying to get out of her from the beginning, and he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off or her clothes on her any longer.

The floor around the table was a mess: shattered plates, scraps of food, spilled wine soaking into the rug like a puddle of blood. Smears of actual blood were streaked around the gouge left in the wood by the knife. It would be expensive as hell to fix; maybe he would install a cuff ring instead so he could have the girl for dessert whenever he wanted. Worth it. Jesse grinned as he remembered the way her spine had arched as she came all over his cock. That was one thing that remained unchallenged, at least. He’d always been proud of his sexual prowess, his ability to pull reactions from his victims’ bodies whether they wanted it or not, and it was good to see that edge was still as sharp as ever.

Fuck, he was hard again.

He switched his glass to his injured hand, watching the trickles of blood blossom into red clouds where they met the amber liquid. At the rate things were progressing, he wasn’t going to have any damn fingers left by the time this little song and dance reached its conclusion. The thought didn’t bother him as much as it should. He finally took a sip, scotch and copper bursting across his tongue. Swallowing, letting the liquor slowly burn its way down to his stomach, he thought of knives and bullets and pink-silver scars, of hot blood and a crimson halo spreading across the floor around a small, pale body.

Truth be told, he hadn’t expected her to answer him. Definitely hadn’t expected more than a few words. That was, of course, assuming she wasn’t lying through her teeth. He’d have to press her more, later, and see if she’d contradict herself. But the idea of her as a skin trade escapee seemed to fit; explained the skittishness, the black box of her past, the… Russian-ness. (In Jesse’s mind, all of Eastern Europe was an amorphous mass of vodka, fur coats, and hookers.) It kindled a perverse little fire of jealousy in his chest. He didn’t like the thought of so many hands on her, of so many others tasting what was his before he’d ever had the chance. That’s all it was, really: sheer possessiveness. The way she told it, it didn’t sound like she’d been there on purpose; she hadn’t used her cunt to string men along because it was the only thing she knew how to do. She was still very much not a Piggy. The whoring was just an unfortunate hurdle she’d had to clear before arriving at her rightful place in his house and his bed, and that was all easily remedied, as Jesse had both the time and the inclination to fuck the memory of any other man right out of her. He’d imprint himself on her so thoroughly, fill her with his smell and taste and touch, that she’d forget how she could even breathe before him.

The only thing that rankled, that really bothered him, was the age. Jesse Cromeans was a fucked up person who’d done a lot of fucked up things to people who maaaaaybe, by general standards, didn’t entirely deserve all of it. But one thing he’d never done, and never would do, was kids. Didn’t touch ‘em, didn’t look at ‘em, didn’t think about ‘em, unless they got directly in his way, in which case he dispatched them cleanly and efficiently. He’d been called a lot of nasty things in his life (and agreed with quite a few of them), but “pedophile” had never been on that list, and in his opinion, those who fell in that category deserved to be fed their own balls after watching them get cut off. Slowly. With a blunt knife. If nothing else, for their cowardice in choosing such weak and easy prey.

Jesse knocked back the rest of the whiskey and pushed himself to his feet. He swiped a finger through the congealing blood on the table before pinging a member of the staff to clean up the mess before the wine stain had a chance to set. The girl’s door was a siren call as he passed by it, but he pushed down the urge through supreme force of will. He pressed the bloodied fingertip to his tongue and imagined it welling up, hot and fresh and sweet, following the path of his blade.

***

He spent the next three days planning, preparing, and clearing his calendar. Meetings canceled, rescheduled, or delegated to employees; shipments confirmed; necessary communications answered and unnecessary ones told to fuck off. Knives sharpened; chains, cuffs, and frameworks arranged. He kept half an eye on the cameras in the girl’s room to make sure she didn’t do anything drastic. The first night, she had stripped the duvet from the bed and cocooned herself in the corner farthest from the door. After that, she lapsed into a despondent stillness, hardly moving except to eat the meals delivered to her room a few mouthfuls at a time.

On the fourth day, he unlocked her door and waited for her to approach it, mask on, two knives holstered at his hips and a third at his back. The moment she reached for the doorknob, he moved to intercept her in the corridor. Despite the clear skies outside, the hallway was nearly pitch black, two long branches of shadow stretching away from the pool of light at the wide stairwell that led to the first floor. He’d turned off the hall lights and shut all the doors specifically for that effect. Between his customary black wardrobe and the soft-soled shoes he wore for jobs that required stealth, he was practically invisible, and he wanted to see if he could make the girl jump.

She reached the stairs first, materializing from the gloom like an old-timey ghost in one of the most modest dresses he’d provided: black, with long sleeves and a high collar. She’d ripped all the lace off the hem and cuffs, leaving loose black threads hanging around her knees. Her eyes were unfocused, but not in the “lights on, nobody home” way they’d been before. It was more like she was channeling all her concentration into her other senses. Chromeskull shifted his weight experimentally, and her head snapped unerringly in his direction. Hiding place now effectively spoiled, he stepped up to the edge of the light.

He’d had standoffs like this before, a tableau of predator and prey like the ones that had played out across countless species, echoing down countless millennia. The prey would crumble, would plead or flee, and he would silence them or run them down, but he would catch them in the end.

He always caught them. When he wasn’t interfered with.

The girl bolted for the steps when Chromeskull reached for her, his fingertips brushing the ends of her hair as she ran. Halfway down, she vaulted herself over the railing. She landed with a painful sounding thwack, throwing her momentum into an awkward roll before scrambling back to her feet and disappearing around a corner.

Chromeskull laughed. She was so quick, like a little bunny. The short ones were often easy to catch with his much longer legs, but this one might give him a run for his money in an open space. He pulled up the home security system on his phone, making sure all the doors and windows were shut tight. He left one side door unlocked, just to see if she’d find it.

Then he gave chase.

***

He cornered her in one of the side rooms, one of those useless spaces that were little more than an oddly-shaped bit of hallway between the actual functional rooms. Exertion had put some color in her cheeks and disheveled her hair. One ankle was starting to swell - probably twisted it in her leap from the stairs. Every line of her pretty little body, from her clenched jaw to her rigid shoulders to her curled fists, was tense enough to shatter with a touch.

Oh, how Chromeskull wanted to break her.

I HAVE A GAME FOR YOU.

The girl flinched as the shriek of his phone echoed off the walls, but rallied quickly.

“We already have a game,” she said. “The question game.”

Several times over the past few days, he’d had questions delivered to her along with her food. She’d stew over them for an hour or two, then monologue her replies to the empty room. Monotone, blank-faced, but with that odd sing-songy cadence like she was recounting a story she’d heard a dozen times before and was tired of. They were enlightening, but still raised more questions than they answered.

SO WE HAVE! AND YOU PLAY VERY WELL.

He sighed dramatically and pressed a hand to his cheek.

ALAS I GET BORED.

Her eyebrows pulled together slightly as she shifted on her feet, confused and unimpressed by his theatrics. Maybe she didn’t know what “alas” meant.

MAKE IT TO THE FRONT DOOR AND YOU CAN SLEEP ALONE TONIGHT.

She was running before the sentence even finished. By the time he’d stuffed his phone back in his pocket, she was already out of sight.

The front doors were unmistakable, twin slabs of wood and metal detailing that stood nearly twice as high as all the other doors on the property. They were also on the opposite side of the house. He could have chased after her, or tried to predict her route so he could blindside her from another room. Instead, he unlocked the nearest sliding glass door and cut across the interior courtyard, enjoying the faint breeze against his scalp portending an afternoon thunderstorm.

No one ever said he had to play fair.

Leaning against the wall in the foyer, he checked the adhesive on his mask. It was a new model, one with a button cam installed in the socket over his missing eye. The added hardware made it slightly heavier than his standard model and so required some testing before he brought it out in the field. It would never replace his beloved tapes, but it was always good to have a more streamlined option available. Especially for days like today when he planned on stripping down and didn’t want to deal with the harness.

There was no patter of bare feet on tile to herald the girl’s arrival. She just appeared in a blur of black rounding the corner. She screeched to a halt when she saw Chromeskull, an unspoken GOD FUCKING DAMN IT clear as day on her face. He waggled his fingers at her in a playful wave. Her only response was to hunch over, hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath.

She didn’t retreat as Chromeskull sauntered over to her. He noticed her favoring the swollen ankle; it must be too painful for her to run anymore. She glared at him balefully through the curtain of her hair. He was near grabbing distance when she twitched right, as though to duck around him. When he moved to block her, she dove straight between his legs, sliding briefly on her stomach, handskneesfeet towards the door. In his haste to course correct, spin around, and lunge for her, his own feet tangled with each other and he went down hard. He managed to snag her leg on the way down, bringing her to the floor with him.

Bare toes and fingers scrabbled against the tile as she fought to gain even an inch of distance. It was too late; he already had a handful of dress and hair and was pulling himself up to straddle her waist. She put up a good struggle as he wrangled her arms behind her back, but she was hopelessly outmatched. He adjusted his hold, easily gripping both of her wrists in one hand as the other went to his belt. The girl tried to lurch forward at the clink of the buckle, squirming as he wrapped the black leather tightly around her wrists.

The front door was merely feet away.

Satisfied with the bindings, Chromeskull let a little more of his weight settle onto her thighs, grinning at the way she immediately went stock-still when she felt his bulge press against her back. As if that would make his cock any less hard. Her head dropped to the floor in defeat. He brushed the hair out of her face, petting her like he was soothing a dog, and pulled out his phone again.

I WIN!

The little huff of air she gave could’ve meant anything: resignation, irritation, exhaustion, any number of other -tion’s. As Chromeskull hauled her over his shoulder, he decided to go with whichever one stroked his ego the most at the moment and in hindsight. He gripped her leg as high up as he could - thumb rubbing against her ass cheek and index finger tucked snugly against her pussy. Her thighs tensed at that, but she made no other move to throw him off. From what he could tell so far, she was an at least somewhat intelligent girl; she had to have realized that if she wriggled free, she’d just land on her head and Chromeskull would scoop her right back up.

Didn’t stop him from wishing she’d rub against him just a little in the elevator on the way to the basement, though.

***

The framework was something he’d had custom-made when he got sick of having to find things for Veronica to stand on so he didn’t have to crouch to fuck her when she was strung up from the ceiling. A stainless steel arc formed an almost-complete circle over a pedestal of adjustable height. Attachments at regular intervals along the arc allowed the subject’s arms to be cuffed in nearly any position while still giving Chromeskull - and the cameras set up around the room - unfettered access to all sides of her body.

The girl was upright, her arms stretched outward and slightly up, like a crucifix. She had to stand slightly on her toes to ease some of the strain on her shoulders.

Chromeskull had given a lot of thought to the lighting and layout of the room. The ring frame stood in the center  and could be removed and broken down, the pedestal recessed to be flush with the floor, if he wanted to use the space. Certain lighting configurations were saved as presets that could be accessed with a press of a button. The amount and quality of camera equipment down here was probably comparable to some professional film productions.

Unsheathing the knife from his back, he trailed it slowly along the row of buttons down the dress’s front, teasing each one with the point of the blade. When he reached the bottom, he gripped the hem, pulling the fabric taut, and slipped the knife underneath the last button. A flick of the wrist, and it popped free, landing somewhere out of sight with a soft plink.

Plink.

Plink.

Plink.

Plink.

The final button rested at the girl’s throat. He took a moment to caress her there with thumb and forefinger, feeling the frantic jump of her pulse underneath the thin skin. She was, once again, steadfastly refusing to look him in the face, gaze unwaveringly fixed at some unknown point over his shoulder as he liberated the last button. He made quick work of the sleeves - two long, clean slices from shoulder to wrist - and tossed the ruined dress away.

The gauzy fabric of her bralette and panties was designed to accentuate rather than cover. Honestly, he was surprised she was wearing them at all, given her apparent aversion to lace. Not that he was complaining, though.

No, definitely not complaining, he thought as he hooked a finger through the center of the bralette. But they were still getting in the way of the places he wanted to touch the most, and the flimsy material tore so easily under his hands that he didn’t need the knife. Almost as if the garments themselves were as eager to leap free as he was.

Chromeskull backed away, admiring the view. A pool of light illuminated the central display, casting the rest of the room into shadow. To the camera’s eye, the girl and the metal frame were the only things in the universe.

And fuck, did she look delicious up there.

He’d seen her naked before, of course. But he hadn’t really looked, too eager to get his cock inside her at the time. Now that he was more level-headed and the girl was secured with leather cuffs that wouldn’t rip her wrists open, he could take the time to really drink in his latest acquisition.

She was still too skinny; a few good meals weren’t enough to change that yet. The shape of her ribs under taut skin flowed with the dark lines of the scars across her chest and stomach. He’d been ready to dismiss the thing with the bear as bullshit, but the marks really were undeniable. He tried to match up some of the other scars with the stories she’d told so far, but the bullet marks were hidden by her curls. The way she’d ducked her head and shaken the hair over her shoulders seemed practiced, the actions of a person who’d often found themselves in a state of undress when they didn’t want to be.

Bruises were already forming on her knees from being dragged to the floor, and the injured ankle was noticeably red. The blooms of color excited him. He couldn’t wait to mark her over and over and over, with knives and teeth and unrelenting fingers, reds and purples and blues and yellows like abstract art on a ragged white canvas.

Still hidden beyond the edge of the light, he began to circle her, slowly. He stripped off his shirt as he prowled, tossing it to the ground next to the remains of the dress. His pants and shoes followed, leaving him in his increasingly tight boxers with a single knife strapped to his thigh. She didn’t crane her head to try to follow him, but her fingers twitched against the chains and he could see goosebumps starting to prick along her skin.

He re-entered the spotlight directly behind her, close enough for her to feel his heat but not close enough to touch. Slowly, deliberately, he gathered up her hair in his hands, brushing his fingertips over her face as he did. When the whole mass was pulled back, he wound it tightly around his fist like a soft black rope until his knuckles rested against her scalp. He gave an experimental tug, tilting the girl’s head up and down. Then he tied the hair back in a loose knot with the shredded remains of her panties.

Her back was a tracery of thin, fine scars like the nearly invisible cracks in a piece of ceramic just before it shatters. One shoulder had a little pink exit wound scar matching the entry wound on the front; the other round must have lodged itself in her body when she was shot.

Hell of a thing, having to dig a bullet out of a little girl’s shoulder.

The knife was like an extension of his hand, and he swore he could feel it when he pressed the tip in at the nape of the girl’s neck. Skin parted and mouth-watering crimson welled up in the knife’s wake as he cut a perfectly straight line down the length of her spine from neck to tailbone. He moved with careful restraint; the blade could easily carve down to the bone with a little added pressure, and that wasn’t on the menu tonight.

Planting the other hand between her shoulder blades, he spread the edges of the incision with his ring and index fingers and ran the knuckle of his middle finger over it, teasing the wound the same way he’d teased her cunt a few nights prior. Blood coated his hand like slick and his cock throbbed in response.

Muscle and bone shifted visibly under the girl’s skin as she fought to tamp down her pained reaction. Inspired, Chromeskull carved two more lines parallel to the first, from shoulder blade to the lowest rib. The streams of blood pooled at the crack of her ass, trickling down her cheeks and thighs to pool on the floor. His mouth watered and he briefly regretted his decision to wear the mask this time. He could imagine dropping to his knees and running his tongue up the bleeding slit, working her with his mouth like he was eating her pussy, blood dripping down his chin and throat.

Another time.

He holstered the knife and unholstered his cock before running both hands down her back. The smears of red across her skin sent a frisson of need up his own spine. When he was coated in blood from wrist to fingertip, he reached around and grabbed her tits, engulfing them easily in his hands. Her nipples had hardened at some point, little pebbles against his palms. He kneaded the soft flesh, then stepped forward to press himself against her, chest to back and not an inch of space between them. It was the most skin-on-skin contact he’d had with her yet, and he couldn’t help rutting against her like a horny teenager. His erection was a living, pulsing thing trapped between them, leaking spurts of precum that probably hurt like fuck when they dribbled into her open cuts. With another squeeze of her tits, he leaned down and pressed the teeth of his mask against the scar on her neck.

She jolted so hard her bad leg gave out, jerking awkwardly in her restraints like a marionette on tangled strings. The iron grip Chromeskull had on her chest kept her from dropping too far, and he hauled her back into him with a silent chuckle. He could feel the twitches as her body tried to fold in on itself protectively. Tendons stood out along her arms and her fingers curled into claws in the air as she pulled uselessly against the cuffs, all animal instinct.

One hand slid down to cup her pussy, leaving behind a trail of sticky scarlet across her belly. She was dry when he fondled her, but that wouldn’t be an issue with such an abundance of natural lubrication at his disposal. He wetted his other hand with fresh blood and gave his cock a few firm pumps until it was slick and red and winking like a ruby in the light. Then he spread her folds and pushed into her tight little hole.

A small, agonized wheeze escaped the girl when the head breached her tight walls. She clenched her teeth against any other sounds, trembling in silent pain as Chromeskull forced his way deeper. When the final inch slid home, balls resting against her bloodied ass, he took a moment to just breathe, nuzzling her sweat-damp temple and pressing a hand to her abdomen where he swore he could feel himself pulsing in her guts. Her inner muscles clenched down on him rhythmically as her body fought against the girthy intrusion. He probably could’ve cum from that alone, if he were inclined to wait.

However, Chromeskull was not a man who was inclined to wait for anything, so he pulled out part way and gave a short, hard thrust.

He would have stuck his fingers in the girl’s mouth for her to suck so he could toy with her clit, were it not for the very real threat that she would bite the damn things all the way off. Her stray dog proclivities meant she would have to deal with the consequences of her behavior and take his cock in her cunt unaided. She was doing a stellar job of it so far; every thrust glided a little smoother and his pleasure was rapidly reaching a crescendo.

With a hand on her thigh, he pulled her leg up and back, opening her up to the camera and leaving her to balance precariously on her swollen ankle. The other hand pressed the knife flat to her neck, forcing her to lean back into him lest she slit her own throat. Every point of contact felt alive. Thighs, stomach, chest, arms slippery with blood and sweat; cock soaked with juices from the most perfect pussy he’d ever fucked.

His balls began to tighten with his impending climax, and his grip on her body tightened, too. Fingers digging into the meat of her thigh, forearm an iron bar across her chest, he lifted the girl completely off the ground as he came: an earth-shattering, vision-obliterating orgasm that nearly made his knees buckle.

For a moment, he worried he might’ve broken her neck in his paroxysm of pleasure; she was so quiet and still in his arms. But then the buzzing started to recede from his head and he could feel her breathing, softer and more even than he’d expected. He set her down carefully, unsurprised when her legs completely folded. His cock was still outrageously hard, but he needed to get her back taken care of before she lost too much blood. He kicked off his boxers - no sense trying to put them back on in his current state - and strode over to switch off the camera and retrieve the key for the cuffs.

Cum dripped from the girl’s cunt to mix with the puddle of blood on the floor. A perfect bloody handprint marked each breast; more red streaked across her legs and torso and a hand-shaped bruise was already darkening on her thigh. Tendrils of hair were plastered to her face and neck, and her head drooped listlessly. When Chromeskull lifted her head by the hair, her face was slack, eyes blank. He pulled out the knife and smacked her cheek with the flat of the blade - nothing.

Oh well, he figured as he undid the cuffs and bundled her unresponsive body back into his arms. There was nothing for it down here in the basement. He had a bottle of lube in the ensuite up in his bedroom; he’d get her cleaned up and bandaged and then see about fucking some life back into her.