#v001. the purge.

[zoeysandin]

“this heart beats for only you” ( @politestrange )

he knows how to make her shake & yield to him. more than any other person ever has & ever will ( if he has anything to say about it ). & unfortunately it’s completely against her will. it torments her how malleable he renders her, despite how evil he is. how she trembles, beside herself, under him with the way his hand snakes upwards to slot itself around her elongated throat as he holds her in place, thumb digging into her vocal chords.

how he forces her against her best efforts to melt under him & cling to him desperately as he breathes against her ear & tugs on her earlobe with his SHARP TEETH. condensation from his breath sticking to her cheek as his palm slides from her neck over the breast he’s claimed as his long ago — & back up to capture her throat once more.

wantonly, she just hangs onto him, his cock filling her, owning her, in the most intoxicating way. splits her soft pleading cunt for him incessantly, completely soaked for him as she always is ( even the first time when he took stole her virginity ) / her legs draped over his shoulders & her head is thrown back as her inner thighs shake with how deep he’s going. the curve of her back inclining down, BEGGING to take him in further — to the hilt & more ( if she could ).

she wants to consume him. ERASE him. stop him.

but he won’t let her.

the way he’s soft & gentle ( he presses his abrasive lips to her thrumming pulse point ), but rough & demanding with the way he rolls them over now — her on top ; secures her firmly to his body with one lean but toned arm around the small of her back while the other grips her features in place.

she’s gasping at how he makes her body ache for him, bottom lip trembling as her hips buck down & her back arches. his own hips expertly move to drive his cock in deeper within her desperate hole, looking down the best she can to watch him disappear within her repeatedly. but he slaps her across the mouth — HARD — then clasps her throat again as she whimpers, finding his eyes once more. pay attention, she can hear it without him saying a word. she’s not supposed to look at anything other than his eyes. she repents for her sin silently.

the way he looks at her right now tears her soul in two. how the sternness in his eyes makes her want to ride him right, just the way he likes it. swerving her hips to serve him in the way he’s trained her to — but with a violence & vengeance that only ANGERS him more ; makes him whack her ass & tighten his grip on her throat to tug her down to lock their gaze closer.

her brows furrow apologetically as his intent gaze holds her own & the heat rushes with that red hot hue to her cheeks ( she wishes she could stop whimpering ) — her hips moving less mean since he’s reprimanded her for it nonverbally. doe-like now / she can’t handle it when his beautiful endless eyes shift lightly now as if in approval ( good girl ) & penetrate her soul like that. those wicked, possessive, yet always shockingly reverent eyes that grip her soul & tether her to him & him to her. his thumb traces her parted bottom lip & her lashes flutter to a close as she leans into his hold.

he’s quiet as she noses against his palm. she supposes her tenderness engenders him to speak.

“this heart beats only for you.”

her eyes flash back open with the shock of the sincerity & it stings because she can feel how TRUE it is. he says it so SOLEMNLY, in a barely there whisper that for a moment she struggles to believe its true. he’s glaring at her as she does, as if to challenge him or mock him for saying it. she’s on thin ice & she knows it. its a moment of severe vulnerability he’s never given her before.

“christian—” comes her soft hymn of disbelief. his blonde locks frame his angel set features.

he’s never said something so.. earnest. he just stares at her insistently, his hand starting to tense around her face, ready to punish her, almost out of habit but then—

“i love you—” escapes her lips before she can stop herself & he sits up immediately, clasping the back of her neck as he slows the rocking & upwards thrusts of her hips ( making her gasp ). deliberate in the way he guides her to take his cock inside her more agonizingly tempered. straddling him now in his lap, the tangle of the silk sheets around them as she mews weakly at the change of angle.

“say it again,” he’ll breathe the demand quietly ( maybe even innocently / brokenly? as if he doesn’t believe her? ) & she’ll relent — over & over again into his mouth. & he’ll pull her flush to him, chest to chest as the tides roll over.

because she does / heavens knows she does / & she’ll never even try to escape. as her arm hooks & wraps around his neck, her other hand gripping hard onto his platinum luscious hair. he buries his face in the solace of her neck. you’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine.

through the bedroom window, blue baptisias line the front lawn.

i’m yours. i’m yours. i’m yours.

( @politestrange / @daevilhorns )

[zoeysandin]

when he’s gone during the day, nothing makes sense. nothing in the world matters at all ever again & everything collapses in on itself. him there meant everything had logic once more. if she couldn’t see him, touch him, hold him, be held against him at all times - what purpose was there in living anymore — what did life mean without him telling her how to think, how to be? even in her most coherent moments , she struggles not to want him to just think for her. it’s easier that way, you’ve learned. and you like it , too. you do love him, despite your family dead at his hands. you’d do anything for him and it’s not the stockholm’s syndrome and you know it. yeah, definitely not . . . he is the air you breathe and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

but she bears his absence though , because subconsciously she knows in those moments she can relax and breathe, even if she didn’t like a d m i t t i n g it ( he leaves her breathless — and always has ) ; doesn’t like remembering his violence - what he’s capable of. and yet sometimes she’ll taunt it deliberately. sometimes she likes to escape his giant mansion and take off to see if he’ll come find her.

( he always finds her. o’ , he really does love her. )

it’s been a few years now , that they’ve been at this. that she’s had the luxury of being able to be his. to drape over his back, donned in just a small frilly fluffy thing , all fuzz and silk the color of champagne and gentle pink like the blush on her cheeks whenever he speaks. the way she hangs on his every word, tracing his sharp avian features ( mine mine mine ) , once he’s finally there , home , where he’s supposed to be and belongs.

“ you have been , ” comes her whine, tearing up and wrapping one arm around his torso and the other around his neck as she clung wholeheartedly , legs wrapping around his waist now , pressing her full rosy tiers to his neck and lingering there. her skin always sensitive and ready for him - always will be. large brown hues come into glistening stillness, shadowed with that forever gently pleading gaze as he tucks away her errant stubborn tresses. “no , i was already up,” she whispers gently , smiling small at him. it’s sweet of him to ask. he’s having one of his good days today.

—————————- “do i get to go outside today?” she asks him tenderly, in her sweet and ever reverently ingratiating way, the way she knows he loves & dies for, timid as she touches her nose to his cheek dotingly , like the desperate for affection little kitten she is , never enough , never satiated of him. & then kisses his jaw.

the lavish comfort of his own bed beneath him was enough to elicit a silent hallelujah ; not enough care in the world to remove anything other than the blazer that began to feel hot and asphyxiating with a careless toss towards the foot of the mattress. ( she'd been sleeping. ) at least , THAT WAS THE IMPRESSION HE HAD INITIALLY BEEN UNDER. seated on the edge with his back facing her —— fingers were busy untying laces when her own had stretched out gently in search for him ; making her presence known. AS IF HE HADN'T NOTICED HER. as if he had forgotten that his attention was always desperately required upon setting foot in the door. he didn't. and he'd be foolish to deprive her after time apart.

@zoeysandin: i miss moments like this more than anything.

bodies lovingly connected and embraced [ ... ] but as much as he missed her and didn't quite desire to let go ; he would rather continue undressing before she fell asleep to inevitably trap him beneath the weight of her body. ❛❛ mm— ❜❜ a hum vibrated and a slow smile began to stretch across features as his gaze remained fixated on dark ceiling above. ❛❛ you say that like i've been gone forever. ❜❜ it's almost cooed back in response and his neck craned to find her at his side. DIGITS RISING ; DANCING OVER FAMILIAR CHEEKS. he brushed away the few dark stray hairs that dared conceal even a piece of her from him. ❛❛ i didn't wake you up , did i ? ❜❜

[exquiiisite-blog]

( && CLOSED ! )

       ( she’s holding tight onto his hand. no, no. she’s not scared. just.. just a little nervous. her breathing is hard but! she’s been training for this for the whole year, the overwhelming lovesick pride rushing through her as she looks up at him with her doting eyes. zoey takes him in tonight, takes him in for everything she couldn’t appreciate that fateful day one year ago and her heart flutters. )

                                         ‘ch-christian?’ ( she whispers {like a soft hymn} timidly up at him, her dulcet tone muffled slightly by the rosy-cheeked mask. she’s just staring up at him, his face traced by the night sky. he was so.. beautiful. ESPECIALLY tonight, when his soul could be rectified && made whole. the thought makes her little rabbit heart race in her chest, tender curls of her pigtails bouncing. she’s wearing a cute blue tennis polo, her argyle socks and white pennies, along with a soft white pleated skirt. she pushes up her mask as a shy little smile gleams as those big DOE EYES gaze up at him with so much hope. ) 

                   ‘are you sure i can do this?’ ( the girl asks, her entire worth hanging on his perfectly sculpted lips, leaning into him as she does. the nerves are getting the better of her as she grips onto her handaxe in her free palm. of course she knew she was, but the doubt still lingered. )

                                       // @politestrcnger​ :*

[zoeysandin]

sometimes she just sits in a cheap folding chair on the porch of the seedy bar and thinks about her life, how far she’s come, where life has taken her, but most importantly right now — how she’s finally lodged a knife into christian’s throat. and it just happened like twenty minutes ago, give or take. the bones in her body hurt, she laments, as she drags in a slow inhalation of nicotine mixed with the good stuff, (a spliff, for those that are confused). leaning back against the rickety metal fence in her chair, she rests a heel on the metal railing in front of her surrounding of establishment. she wonders suddenly how lonely and mentally unwell someone would have to be in order to become like tyler durden. she shakes the thought away with a flick of her silk curtain of deep umber tresses. her focus shifts to examining her hands. blood lines the under crust of all the nails on her right hand, and the blood may also be slightly splattered across her face. she absently traces each nail, savors the blood she’s taken as her spoil of war now — his blood. then she takes another drag from her vice.

situation: she’s finally managed to murder her captor and escape after being captive for roughly three years.

open to all, 18+.

[zoeysandin]

“are you listening?” ( @politestrange )

they’re at the dinner table & honestly the dining hall of his mansion is beautiful , ornate , & nothing JAMES SANDIN could aspire to have achieved. her delightful leader is seated next to her , relaying the events of the days passing & the sound of his voice brings her completely at ease , even if she’s not fully absorbing what he’s saying. it’s something about one of the guys at the yacht club doing some egregious faux pas or something & how lacking of class / tact ( not good people ) he was & she can tell the moment it happened he couldn’t wait to come home to talk his shit. she does love that about him — how much of a gossip he is. it makes her giggle to herself really ; how he always tells her stories about his day & she gets to just stare at his perfect lips and how they move.

it’s exactly the type of home she’d live in — his home. he’s exactly the type of man her father would have loved for her to be with. funny how that goes, isn’t it?

she silently wonders ( & has always wondered but never DARED to ask & never would ) if christian was responsible for his own mass amount of wealth — or if it’s like herself — an inheritance. when he leaves her to fend for herself for the day , does he really leave to do his work? yes , most likely , among . . . other things ( or women ) she’s sure. but zoey doesn’t dwell on it. he comes back to her always & for her that’s enough. ( she tells herself that, at least. )

but ah , yes — her inheritance. the sandin estate. it’s in the same condition it was left in since that fateful night. paid off to the homeowners association to leave it be & maintained to remain in its d e s t r u c t i o n. the bodies are gone , of course. but the blood stains ( after years now ) remain. & she hates to admit it but some of the best dates she’s had with him were when he’d f o r c e d her on a fieldtrip — back to where it all began. how he’d revel in owning her in her childhood bed , again & again. & she’d come apart for him ( against her will ) every time.

—— “ are you listening ? ”

oh fuck. normally , she’d be enthralled by every word that spills from his lips ( & she is! never doubt that , okay! ) but she can’t help the way her mind wanders today as the sheepish blush dusts over her tender cheeks.

& he’s visibly upset , the lines of his insecurity quickly simmering / anger mounting / etching along his pristine features. he was petulant in nature ( she found it endearing ) , & because of it she liked restricting , at times , his triumph in being the object of her unrelenting hyperfixation. if only to keep him on his toes. her deep sulfuric hues find his , swimming with that familiar adulation.

“when are you gonna ask me to marry you?” comes her rueful response — answer a question with a question ( it saves you every time ).

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[zoeysandin]

you alone are enough. ( @politestrange )

she gets in her head a lot about the state of things between them at times. zoey will have days where she allows it all to sink in of what kind of person he is. it’s not like she forgets but when he’s not the full scope of himself 364 days out of the year, a person can be lulled into a false sense of normalcy that she has to proactively work against.

she replays it over & over again in her head. the feeling of him walking around in the room while she hid under the bed.

the word EXQUISITE still makes her shudder.

but then why? why does she get split in two when she sees him mingle with other women. why does the insecurity spike within her? that he may not want her anymore? that he’ll want a fresh, new, unused girl. that he’d get bored & dispose of her & move onto the next one — why does she care? why does it break her heart?

they’ve just come back from a purge convention gala. RELEASE THE DANCING BEAST & DANCE THE NIGHT AWAY. purge priests were there, politicians, some of the most ELITE in insurance ( like her father once ), & weapon aficionados that were selling the top of the line machinery for maximum purging effects. they’re home now — & she wonders what people think when she’s introduced. of course, zoey doesn’t say much. & when she does she makes sure to simply play the part.

i’m lucky to be with him. he’s my entire life.

he SAVED me on purge night.

they don’t want to hear that you’re simply a SPOIL OF WAR that he was able to walk away with.

instead the crotchety old fucks will just aww and swoon like the FUCKING PSYCHOPATHS they are. and they say purging doesn’t bring about love! one of them will have the gall to coo that at her & christian will laugh along with them while she just smiles, screaming internally for some kind of salvation from this impossible hell she never fathomed would be her reality. to top it off, he’ll tug you flush into him & grip your ass as a job well done. THAT’S MY GOOD GIRL you can practically hear him say & you pray to God ( yes you still do sometimes ) that He forgives you for immediately getting soaked between your legs. you’re doing this simply to survive. just to survive.

right?

she’s taking her earrings off now as she frowns & tries not to let the tears well over. as soon as her job was done at establishing just how in love with the murderer of her family she was . . . ( the knife & torture of it all twisted in deeper by every person’s laugh throughout the night ) . . . he’d left her to her own devices so he could go schmooze & flirt with a gaggle of giggling young girls that didn’t know just who they were flirting with. that wanted their throats slit.

that rancorous jealousy & hatred followed them all the way home. quiet & distant from him — having the AUDACITY to swat his hand away from the possessive & comforting way he always always grips her thigh during car rides. it’s where his hand belongs, so it stalls him when she does that. as if she thinks she’s above being. . . trained in the basement again, now that she’s been promoted to being able to leave the premises at all. what an ungrateful little bitch.

she can see his jaw set & clench from the corner of her eyes. she’s surprised that he doesn’t hit her, attack her, something. the driver has already heard & seen enough. why would he shy away now? she just looks out the window of their fancy limo / away from him, silent the whole ride home.

the door will open behind her to the large marble flooring of the master bathroom, also ornate in gold & crystal chandeliers & fine tastes & he’ll walk through. she’ll see him in the mirror before her as she puts away her earrings. she doesn’t turn around to greet him though & the man will walk over behind her & she’ll feel more tears well. it’s one of those moments where she nearly buckles at his proximity, his hips lingering so close to her own that it makes her weak. you’re MINE, her entire figure screams.

and there’s no fight in her when he gently moves her hair out of the way to find the clasp of her necklace. if anything she R E V E L S in his touch, peering ever so slightly towards him over her shoulder.

“you alone are enough,” will come his soul quaking words & she’s his, she’s his, she’s his. he’ll take off the necklace & put it away without much care into the little jewelry box, his focus on finding her lips — & immediately she’s melting into him — into his hands — & she’s his, she’s his, she’s his. completely & utterly his.

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[zoeysandin]

change is never easy. ( @politestrange )

SHE’S BEEN WITH HIM FOR NEARLY TWO YEARS — HER FIRST PURGE WITH HIM A SUCCESS / EXTENDED HER LIFESPAN FOR A LITTLE LONGER ( bartering never felt so integral than ever before ) / BUT THIS NEXT PURGE IS JUST AROUND THE CORNER & THE CLOCK IS TICKING.

HIS WORDS ARE COLD — like his eyes as they bore into her own , like the iron cuffs along her wrists as she hangs from chains bolted into the cold brick wall behind her. her bare flesh stings where the freezing grout grazes her coccyx. the rusted metal suffocates the circulation to her ankles & she still doesn’t actually know where she is. bruising & scarring litter her form & her arms ache. dried BLOOD drips from her bottom lip / cakes in a line along the curve of her chin.

— “CHANGE IS NEVER EASY.”

this christian before her ; jaw clenched & gaze devoid of compassion ; is the christian she remembers & knows well. the man that drove a machete through her father’s torso with ease. & despite her d i s s o c i a t i o n towards the truth of being in this DUNGEON & despite how he still manages to leave her trembling ; she doesn’t cry anymore , she doesn’t sob like the little girl she used to be — at least not in front of him. ( she only will once he’s gone. )

zoey quietly contemplates as she gazes into his beautiful piercing eyes while he winds the leather coil around his palm — that he simply likes to keep trying to break her in. to get her back to that place of PLEADING SUPPLICATION that he gets d r u n k off of & sometimes he still can whip it out of her — literally — her begging cries as she clings to the meager shreds of humanity he has left, her only SAVING GRACE.

the thick animal hide rope lashes against her supple flesh as she holds back the choked sound that T H R E A T E N S to escape / not once tearing her vengeful gaze from his as he punishes her for talking back. abdomen clenching as her chest heaves & her jawbone feels like it‘s about to CRACK from the pressure she’s putting on it to keep her composure.

she’s come to the conclusion that he sees the full breadth of her capacity now though ; that he’s realized that she would be his undoing / seen her ability to MURDER when her survival is at stake ( & even her capacity to murder him ) — he knows / chooses to ignore it — just like she chooses not to act on it. but maybe he hasn’t realized / she’s unsure. there’s still parts of him that are difficult to read — parts he keeps cloaked from her on purpose. too close & she could be a threat to his CONTROL.

& it’s unspoken ( unless he’s rubbing it into her face that even paternal , maternal , & fraternal mortality couldn’t stop her affections / gloats & basks in it even ) , but they both know her constant hesitation to end his life & escape is due to how IN LOVE SHE IS WITH HIM — despite it all. ( because of it all? )

his words continue to ring in her soul even as he leaves her shaking / naked ; S L A M M I N G the door to the cold , dank , wet , basement / dungeon / holding cell behind him. she hears the lock & she’s grateful that at least the words are honest , like he always is. if there’s one thing she’s learned since he killed her father ; & HIS MEN murdered her mother & brother before her ( after he promised they’d go free ) / it’s that brutal honesty is a constant from him. a constant she can rely on. someone to rely on.

( where else was she supposed to go? would he even let her leave. )

her first.

her . . . only.

CHANGE IS NEVER EASY. the tears begin to roll freely now & she has to hold her breath , bite down on her bottom lip hard — breaking the scarred over wound on her lip & causing fresh blood to seep ; the metallic tinge of it staining her tongue — as the grime & sweat pour down her body . . . so he won’t hear her quaking sobs. she won’t give him the gratification she knows he craves. at least , not today.

@politestrange | inbox fun. | send away!

[zoeysandin]

tomorrow is another chance. ( @politestrange )

zoey looks at him forlornly. she knows he’s trying to reassure her but she’s not doing it right & she knows it. the disappointment lining his voice lurches her into less panic than it used to - replaced with frustration instead filling her. she’s supposed to THE BEST. she’s a SANDIN. you have to be THE BEST.

———— if you’re not first then why do anything all.

oh james , even three years postmortem , the complex you’ve given your poor daughter remains.

zoey steels herself , grasping his arm to tell him to wait. she will always be his babygirl. but she’s grown now. she doesn’t need to be c o d d l e d - not like before , when she was still a young naive teen.

“ thank you , christian baby ," she starts in her low alto timbre. " but the truth is — we only ever have today — in this FOREVER PURGE , ” comes the rest of her reply. she lets the love of her life’s arm go , gravel crunching underfoot in this abandoned alley way. turning towards the hogtied male , zoey braces herself & brandishes the axe. the man is sobbing , sweating profusely , & begging her not to do this through the gag. she pities him & quietly prays for his soul & thanks her founding fathers for his sacrifice so her a f f e c t i o n s could be shown , realized , & deepened.

she doesn’t need HIS kiss for reassurance anymore — HIS guiding & ever influencing hand has been the pedestal she kneels to ; the BLOOD she’s pouring a testimony of her love for him. to purge the space in her heart of anything that isn’t her d e v o t i o n to him.

gripping the wooden handle as the man tries to wrangle himself away, she swings the axe upwards , pauses to levy the weight of it with her shoulders & then quickly bears the weight of the sharpened metal down on him. with a thunk & a strangled cry from him , the thick blade gets lodged right in his chest. THE SOUND OF CRACKING RIBS REVERBERATE ACROSS THE BRICK WALLS & IT MAKES HER INNER THIGHS CLENCH BECAUSE she knows he’ll like the sound of t h a t.

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[zoeysandin]

` you’re not supposed to be here.

[exquiiisite-blog]

&& OPEN !

               ( she stumbles forward, b l o o d i e d, bruised & most predominantly: scared. a hiccup sounds as she sees you and tumbles onto the ground in relief, already shaking with wracking sobs. and while zoey has NEVER been one to beg, dire circumstances call for such measures. )

              ‘p-please. i’m l-locked out of my HOUSE a-and i need help. th-they’re after me. he’s g-going to find me and k i l l me. you need to HELP me. PLEASE!’

[exquiiisite-blog]

&& CLOSED !

           “please,” she c r i e s out, a sobbing mess as she tries to struggle against the restraints, the SALINE dripping from her eyes as she looks up at him, features burning bright. “d-don’t do this.. please,” zoey implores as she stares up at him. whatever he had in mind, it was making her stomach c h u r n. she closes her eyes and tries NOT to resign to the fact that tonight will be the last NIGHT she breathes. somehow that gives her the strength to c h o k e out the next few words. “zoey,” she spits, almost literally, glaring up at him. “if you’re gonna kill me, then call me by the right fucking name.”

                                                                                   @politestrcnger​ + meme !