I’ve made a lot of bad decisions in my life.
Dropping out of college to marry a man fifteen years my senior was pretty high on the list of worst mistakes. Abandoning my friends and family to move to North Dakota so he could work on an oil rig might top it. Not leaving him the first time he hit me topped both of those easily. Staying with him long enough so that he was the one to divorce me was hard to rank, but the shame of it still stung years later.
Trusting a total stranger to lead me into a sex club to check on my sister was somewhere in that list too.
I’d been worried when she didn’t respond to any of my calls, so I decided to go check on her. I was being a good sister. She was still too young, she didn’t know the kind of danger she was walking in to. These people fetishized violence, they abused each other for fun. I couldn’t just let her get hurt like I had. If I had shared what Jeremy had done to me, if I were brave enough to admit I’d been abused, maybe she would have taken me seriously.
Instead, I was here.
I took account of my surroundings while I still had presence of mind to do so. I was standing, naked except for a pair of agonizingly tall stiletto heels locked to my feet. There was some sort of dildo shoved between my legs, atop a metal pole fixed to the ground. The simple combination was enough to keep me from moving from my spot. I could bend, I could arch, I could spin, I could lift my legs and kick, but the infernal pole kept me from just walking and the heels kept me from raising myself off of it. Rope kept my arms bound behind my back, they had been there so long that my shoulder muscles screamed for movement.
The room was hard to discern, Amelia had turned off the lights when she left me here. I remembered a heavy oak door. The walls had been covered with some sort of foam, checkerboard grey and black. If I had to make a guess, they were designed to dampen sound. The floor was blue and white tile, sloped towards a drain in the center of the room, just beneath where I stood. It looked like a serial killer’s wet dream.
Everything hurt, really. My feet were wailing for release from these impossibly tall heels. I had spent so much of the day gagging around a plastic penis that my throat would be aching for days. I was bent and twisted and bound in so many positions that every one of my joints ached. My knees had a particularly rough time, with so much of my day spent kneeling, and now have been stuck supporting me standing completely stuck in one place for hours. My pussy had taken particular abuse more recently, when Amelia had me writhing and screaming in pleasure by turning the pole into a vibrator.
I’d cooperated with everything she’d asked me to do. I didn’t want to, but I’d do it again.
Something about Amelia took me off guard when I first saw her. She was dressed so innocently. I knew it had to be a costume or gimmick of some sort, she was walking into a sex club, but she was so insistent that she had seen Oriole. She wanted to let me know she was okay, when I asked about her. I was embarrassed to even be asking, but then the giggling began. It was a nice, quiet titter, it sounded just like Amelia’s voice. It was uplifting, sweet, encouraging in ways I hadn’t known I needed. It felt as good as laughing, smiling, all just for pushing through my barriers. I agreed to follow her. Her eyes lit up with such joy, and the giggling grew more pleased, happy with me pushing through my barriers to agree to her help.
I needed more.
Agreeing with her brought more of that lovely sound, and the more I agreed, the clearer it was. A little giggle that lifted my heart, my mood, eased all my worries and tensions, encouraged me to push past my embarrassment. It was easy to forget about checking on Oriole when making Amelia smile lifted my heart. When she started flirting with me, I got flustered, uncomfortable. When I grew uncomfortable, the giggling grew softer, more sultry. My libido responded in kind.
When I tried being receptive, despite my lack of interest, the giggling grew more attractive, more uplifting. The more awkward it got, the more I had to push past my instincts to agree, to be receptive to her words, the more of those sweet, sultry, uplifting giggles ran through me. The giggling became more of my thoughts, more of my wants. More like everything I needed.
It felt like a natural progression to agree to go to a private room with her. It felt natural to agree to sleep with a woman, if it made her happy. I didn’t want it, I wasn’t attracted to women, but with her smile, that laughter so firmly associated with pushing myself, it felt like the more attractive option than turning her down. It was so hard to think of saying no, even if I didn’t want it, when such a pleasing laugh was giving me everything I never knew I needed.
It was the same when Oriole asked me to go home with her, after Amelia turned out to be too rough. Mean. Abusive. I wanted nothing but to leave once she started calling me names, humiliating me, but that would have made the giggling stop. I couldn’t make the giggling stop. I needed it.
I needed her.
Amelia had left me alone on the pole for some time. It was impossible to tell how long, but it felt like hours. ‘Rest is important during a long scene’, she’d told me before she left. She told me so many disingenuous things it was hard to keep track. She played like she cared about what I wanted, like I was agreeing to everything. I was agreeing, but it wasn’t my fault. It was her. It was whatever she was putting inside me.
I hated Amelia, I hated her snide comments, her taunts. I hated the way she pretended I wanted it, I hated the way she made everything my fault, my idea. It was hard to believe she didn’t know what she was doing, that she had put the laughter into me, that she wasn’t the one making me need it. I didn’t know how, but it wasn’t here now. It wasn’t here when she was gone. I was able to think clearly for the first time since she began speaking to me once she left. It had to be her doing, it wasn’t me going crazy.
The click of a deadbolt behind me signaled Amelia’s return. Bright fluorescent lights clicked on above me, humming for just a moment before blinding me with their brightness. By the time my vision returned, she was already standing in front of me. She’d changed her clothes into a simpler outfit than what she wore to the party, a pair of black shorts, a tight black tank top, a pair of boots. Her expression was one of spiteful amusement, all the same. She looked less like a young girl and more like a mechanic getting ready for work.
“Mmm, nothing like a good shower to refresh you, huh? Ready for more?” Her voice sent shivers down my spine. I could feel that laughter prime at the back of my mind. It was like there was a third person in the room, or a second Amelia right behind my ear. I could almost feel her breath, her heat. I could practically hear that laughter caught in that Amelia’s throat, that joyous, peaceful, sickeningly tempting amusement. I wanted to scream, I wanted to twist, I wanted to swing my body at her, to kick her, as dangerous as that prospect seemed.
“I... I don’t...” I began to protest, and the Amelia in my mind stiffened. Fear shot through me, the fear of disappointing, of upsetting someone dear. Agreeing was so so easy, and such a simple thing to do to make her happy. She was so so sweet. She had helped me push through so much hardship in the night already, soothed me through being choked, being humiliated, through the hardship of being pulled away from Oriole.
Protesting was so hard to do, and it wasn’t like she was going to let me go if I did. This was all a facade to make her taunts hurt more, so she could trot me around in front of other people as her conquest without them intervening. She had helped me through so much, it was such a small thing to please her, to keep the facade up. Protesting wouldn’t work. Agreeing would make it easier.
“I’m ready.” My voice was still hoarse. There was the tiniest of titters at the back of my mind, a moment of relief from the tension. Not much, but enough for me to feel like I had done the right thing. I sighed in relief.
“Good! I have plans for you.” She giggled. Her own giggles twisted my stomach in fear and disgust, they were nothing like the ones in my head. If the Amelia in front of me was happy, it meant nothing good for me, I learned that before she had even trotted me out in front of everyone to humiliate me. Her amusement is what made the giggling in my head so necessary to survive, to not crack. “I think you’d like an interrogation scene. Don’t you, Robin?”
My stomach twisted in knots. Interrogation did not sound like something I wanted any part of. I didn’t even know what information she could want out of me, or if she would just be using it as an excuse to hurt me. If it was the latter, I could at least take solace in the laughter, but it didn’t make the anticipation any easier. I started twisting on the pole in a vain attempt to move. Amelia leaned over and unzipped her bag, pulling out a black extendable baton and a pair of thick leather gloves. I whimpered. “Interrogation about what?” I winced. I wanted to protest, but I couldn’t bring myself to do anything but inquire.
“Oh, you know. Stuff.” She spoke with a sing-song lilt in her voice as she donned her gloves, flexing her fingers inside of them. “Things like your name. Things you like. Things you don’t like.” She smiled up to me. “These are called sap gloves. They’re filled with tiny steel balls at the back of the fingers and the knuckles. They let someone as small as me give really, really good slaps and punches despite my size!” she giggled.
I wanted to run, I wanted to hide, to disappear, to curl up in a defensive ball, to do anything at all, but my hands were bound and my feet were unsteady. I did not want to find out if she had safety measures in place if I fell while on this pole or if the possibility of damaging my cervix was part of her ‘fun’.
“So what’s going to happen is, I’m going to touch some place on your body” Amelia placed two fingers on my abdomen, just below my ribs. “I’m going to ask a question. If you lie to me, or if you take too long answering, I’m going to hit you where I’m touching.” My breath quickened, panic rising in my chest. “If you tell me the truth, I’ll turn up that little vibrator you’re riding on, as a reward for being so obedient. Understand?”
I nodded. Before I could speak, I felt her fist impact just under my ribs. I retched as all of the air was forced out of my lungs. I felt nauseous, curled over from pain as I gasped for breath. My stomach hurt, my ribs hurt. I screamed at her in incoherent anger, twisting on the vibrator that held me in place. Amelia smiled her sweetest innocent smile.
“Forgot to mention, you should answer me verbally, ’kay?” She giggled, and I felt the one inside my head titter along with her. It was soothing, took the edge off of my anger, my fear, even if it did nothing for the pain just below my lungs. My stomach sank, even amid the giggles. Like it or not, hearing that giggle made lying to Amelia feel like the better option. I closed my eyes and tried to straighten my head. I couldn’t afford to be beaten all night. Despite everything, if I could, I wanted to survive the night. She grasped her baton, extended it, and tapped my left breast. “What is your full name?”
“Robin Starling Crane”. I spoke before I could second guess myself, my sense of self-preservation winning. Amelia smiled, and the giggling in my head let out the tiniest ‘tee hee’. Amelia reached between my legs and clicked a dial, bringing the vibrator inside me to life. I twisted, trying to pull myself away in vain, and the laughter in my mind grew into a stream of amused giggles.
It was amused at my writhing, but more at my pain.
“Your parents thought they were clever, huh?” Amelia said flatly, keeping her baton pointed to my breast as I writhed. “You’re thirty-three, right?”
“How did you kn- Ahh!” The baton slapped across my breast, leaving a searing string of pain. I recoiled, nearly losing my footing in my heels. As that giggling grew into a fit I considered letting myself fall, but I recovered, whimpering. I closed my eyes and shook unsteadily.
“The only words out of your mouth should be answers to my questions, Robin.” She put on her sing-song voice, but her face was flat. She pointed the baton at my other breast. “You’re thirty-three years of age?”
“Y-yes.” I spoke quickly, the giggling fit, disappointingly, calmed into a titter. My thighs clenched as the vibrator turned from a whisper of a hum into something I might actually use to get off on. I let out a gasp and clenched a little, twisting and writhing on my one-bar prison. Strictly speaking, it felt good, but I wanted it to stop, I wanted off, I didn’t want to be feeling this. It was violating, it was revolting, it was infuriating.
The laugher in my head loved it.
“Robin, what is your social security number?” I froze, clenching my fists into a ball. My lips trembled. I couldn’t give her that, it would ruin me. I twisted possibilities around in my mind. I could lie, but she might know she might see through me. I couldn’t give her my number though, that could get me in deep trouble. Identity theft at the very least, bankruptcy, everything I’d worked for since the divorce falling down the drain.
She slapped the baton against my breast, and I cried out in pain. It felt good to hear the laughter, it felt like my last grip on sanity, on not caving in, on not becoming a crumpled mess of a person after everything I’d already been through. “Answer me, Robin.” She tapped two fingers just above my pelvis, at my bladder. I whimpered in anticipation, lips trembling. I opened my mouth to protest, but remembered what happened last time I asked.
I spouted off the first nine numbers that came to mind, a lie. Her fist connected and I screamed, doubling over in pain. “S-stop! I’m not lying!” I pled, desperate. Doubling over pressed the vibrator harder against my clit and I writhed, I squirmed. I stomped my feet in desperation, as that laughter soothed everything but the pain.
“You’re not the brightest girl, Robin.” Amelia smirked, reaching into the pocket of her shorts. She pulled a black leather wallet and flipped it towards me.
Right. She had my possessions. She had my social security card.
“Tell me, Robin. I want to hear it from your lips.” I panted, I whined, I hesitated still. Her giggling was running through me, endorphins running high. I wanted more of her, I wanted more of her laughter, I needed it to get through this, and if I told her, the laughter would go away. If I lied or hesitated she would hit me again, but I would have it to get me through it, to get me through this.
Why was she making me choose?
“Oh Seven Eight, Oh Five, One One Two Oh...” I panted. The giggling stopped, and the full brunt of the horror of my situation sank into me. I shook like some tiny beaten dog as she turned the vibrator up. I gasped more, I clenched, I tried to get off it.
“I’m not sure which is turning you on more, the vibrator or the impact. Are you a masochist, Robin?” Amelia grinned.
“No- Yes, I... Nnh...” No, no no no, no, no, I hated this, it was the laughter, it was her, she was doing this to me. My head spun in confusion. I wanted more of her giggling, I wanted her to hit me, but I didn’t want her to hit me, but I didn’t want her to turn up the vibrator, but I wanted to struggle on it so she would laugh, I didn’t even know which answer would bring which result and I just wanted it all to stop.
The vibrator stopped.
She didn’t do anything.
I waited in anticipation, my body aching, I waited for the giggles, for a strike, but she just stood there. Silent. Watching me, not even taunting me, just watching me, observing me, and I felt empty. Disappointed. Disappointed that her giggling stopped, that she wouldn’t hit me to bring more, and that I couldn’t struggle for more. Disappointed that I wanted her to keep raping and assaulting me so that I could feel her inside me more.
“We’re doing this reward structure all wrong, aren’t we?” Amelia mused. “Had I known you were such a pain slut, we could have had so much more fun from the beginning!” she giggled. I trembled, in fear in anticipation, at the fact that my heart was lifting at her words. “Oh, it makes so much more sense now, Robin!”
“W-what?” I asked, meek, quiet.
“Your husband!” She laughed, pulling my phone from her bag. I closed my eyes, cheeks turning red with shame. Oriole had told me I should password protect it, but I always figured if someone had my phone, I was in deeper trouble anyway. I hadn’t anticipated it compounding my troubles.
They were both right. I wasn’t the smartest girl.
“From Phoenix Reborn, on Survivors Forum dot com. That’s you, right?” Amelia swiped her fingers across the phone as I tensed. That was my handle on a domestic abuse therapy forum I frequented. “And I quote.” her voice took on a tinny, mocking tone. “Never again. I vow to never make excuses for bruises. I vow to never let a man get away with assault. I vow to tell my friends, my loved ones, the police, and anybody else who will hear me of any future abuser’s actions.”
Tears began running down my cheeks. I sobbed, heaving breaths wracking my body. I was so proud of myself when I had written those words, I was so proud of myself for making those vows, for bolstering myself. It was hard to write, it was even harder to post, especially knowing I’d never told my family of the abuse I’d already received. It hurt in ways her blows never could, to have it read back to me, here, now, just after wishing she’d hit me again.
There were no giggles helping me through her remarks.
“I will never claim I’ve run into a door to excuse a black eye. I will always keep aware of warning signs of abuse in any future men I date.” Her voice cut through me like a blade, she was so smarmy, so dismissive. “Most of all, I will be on the lookout for signs of abuse for my sister, my friends, even my mother, if she ever gets a date again. Smiley emoji.” She looked at me, her smile curled into the most horrifically proud smile I’d ever seen. “End quote.” She giggled. I sobbed.
“He just didn’t hit you well enough, Robin. Is that it?” She laughed. “It’s okay. It’s alright. We’re discovering so much about you tonight, Robin. Your attraction to women. Your submissiveness. Your masochism. It’s okay to cry, it’s a big revelation.”
“I’m not a fucking l-lesbian!” I screamed. “I’m not any of those things! Stop, please, just fucking stop, let me go and you’ll never see me again, please, I just want to leave! Please just let me go, please stop whatever it is you’re doing, please, please, I’ll do anything! I’ll do anything, just let me go!”
Amelia let out another girlish giggle and sighed. “It’s okay, Robin. It’s alright. I’m here, baby.” She looked me over. “We’ll try this: I’m going to keep asking questions. If you answer, I’ll give you the vibrator, and I’ll hit you. If you lie, or don’t answer? Nothing happens.” She smiled. “No more punishment. Just… nothing. Just like right now.”
I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, I couldn’t stop my cheeks from burning in shame, I couldn’t control myself anymore, the full brunt of my situation was weighing down on my shoulders. I couldn’t cope. I couldn’t handle it.
“Now, Robin.” Amelia spoke softly, caressing my cheek. The palm side of her glove was rough, meant for gripping. She tapped the side of my left eye socket and smiled. “I’m going to ask you some questions about your sister, okay?” She bit her lower lip, an excited, anticipatory glee in her eyes. “Now remember, nothing will happen if you say nothing.”
I’ve made a lot of bad decisions in my life.
It was hard to think of any decision that brought those brain-giggles back as one of them.