Body and Soul I: The Body Snatcher
Chapter 1: The Fall of the Tower
When he woke up, he wasn't anywhere he recognized. It looked like a private bedroom of some sort. He was alone in the room, and he hurt terribly. There was a strong smell of antibiotic cream; when he looked down at his naked body, he could see that some sort of substance had been applied to his nipples and a few other places on his body that hurt very much from the electrical shocks. In one or two places there were even band-aids.
Slowly, painstakingly Erik dragged himself out of the bed and over to the window. This was the second floor. He could see outside; the woods were not far from the house, maybe forty or fifty feet. Directly underneath the window were leafy bushes. If he could get the window open and jump, chances were he wouldn't hurt himself much. At least no worse than he hurt already. Trying to flee the house naked might not be a brilliant idea, but it was summer so he was unlikely to die of exposure, and if he got scratches and bug bites and poison ivy from fleeing through the woods, it would be a small price to pay for freedom. He reached down to the insets in the wooden frame of the window where hands were supposed to go to lift, and started to try to open the window.
The body snatcher came in. Quickly Erik dropped his hands to his sides so it wouldn't look like he was trying to escape. "How do you feel?" she asked, her tone strangely subdued.
That was an amazingly stupid question. He turned and glared at her. "I live, no thanks to your idiocy," he snarled.
"Of course you're alive. I wasn't trying to kill you," she snapped. "Believe it or not, I do have some notion of how much you can take." She walked over to him. He backed up against the window, instinctively trying to get away from her, though intellectually he knew there was no point to it.
"Indeed? And how did you come by this knowledge?" he sneered. "I doubt I'd have known precisely how much electricity a person could survive when I first came to my power, and I suspect I was far less sheltered than you."
"You were there when I did the research, remember? Or did you think I was too stupid to remember how much electricity it took to make you scream without killing you?" Her hands reached out for him. He stiffened, pressing himself against the window, and when she tried to lift him he struggled, pushing away from her. She dropped him.
"Stop fighting me," she said, rolling her eyes. "You'd think you'd know by now you're just going to get hurt if you struggle."
Which was true. He did know that. After what she'd done to him last time, though, her presence was sending a shrieking fight-or-flight response through his nervous system, and it was all he could do to control it, to let her touch him, although realistically he knew that if he fought she'd just overpower him. The body snatcher lifted him again and swung him up to be carried in her arms, like a perverse parody of a man carrying his wife over the threshold. He let himself go deadweight, not helping by putting his arms around her neck or anything else to make her load lighter. Not that it mattered. He knew perfectly well that even without using power, his own body was physically strong enough to carry the one he was in now, no matter what he did.
She carried him down the stairs, through the living room. The furniture looked new and expensive, and there were an absurd number of overpriced knickknacks cluttering every available surface. They were heading in the general direction of the basement door, and he tensed. It seemed obvious that she'd been keeping him in her bedroom, to keep an eye on him while he recovered. Now that he was conscious and clearly not dying, she was going to lock him in his subterranean prison again, and probably rape him while she was at it. If there was any possibility of escape, any at all... but dear God, he hurt far too much to handle a punishment for a failed escape right now. What she undoubtedly planned to do now would be horrible, but he could endure. If he tried to escape, and failed-- and he would fail, there was no way in this condition that he wouldn't fail-- that didn't bear thinking about.
But she didn't turn toward the basement. Instead she headed into the kitchen. The door to the outside of the house swung open under her power, and she walked outside, still carrying him.
Outside. It was somewhat overcast, hot and muggy with the sky mostly a shade of white and the sun visible only as a hazy smear. It didn't matter. He was outside. He took a deep breath, savoring the pollen and the perfumes of flowers and the woodsy smell of trees and the fresh scent of the mown grass. The impulse was overwhelming to leap out of her arms and bolt for the woods, but he knew better. Not only would he never get far, but it would prevent her from ever granting him this much again. He looked up at her face, unable to understand why she was doing this, but her expression was unreadable.
She set him down on the stone stoop. "You win," she said. "Congratulations, Magneto."
He stared at her. "Are you letting me go?"
"No!" She laughed. "Don't push your luck. No, I'm giving you what you asked for. You wanted to go outside, here you are."
Erik had honestly never expected her to capitulate. Had he been in her place and it had been an issue he cared about, he would never have. But then, obviously, she wasn't him, however much she might look the part. He wanted to gloat, to rub her face in her capitulation, the first victory he'd won from her. That would be foolish, though. "Thank you," he forced out, though after the torture he'd endured to get here he didn't feel in the slightest grateful. Or didn't want to feel in the slightest grateful, anyway. It was almost impossible to avoid feeling gratitude for the warm fresh air and the diffuse sunlight and the soft grass under his bare feet. A slight wind stirred, cool and refreshing against his naked skin. Infuriating that he could have fallen so far that this, which he should be able to take for granted, was something he would actually feel grateful for, and grateful toward a torturer and rapist at that.
"I'll give you half an hour every day," she told him. "You can exercise if you want or whatever. Then you pay me, and it had better be worth my time, do you hear me?"
He nodded. "I understand." And promptly pushed that part of his bargain with her out of his head. He couldn't enjoy this properly if he thought about what he was going to have to do to pay for it. Painfully Erik stood, wobbled, fell onto his hands and knees and forced himself upright again. He had to walk. There was no way he could run or do any sort of exercise today, but he knew from harsh experience that he'd heal faster by pushing himself, and he wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to be outside, to walk about unrestricted in an area so much bigger than the cell he'd been living in for over a week now. This would be easier with a walking stick to help support him, but he couldn't find anything that would suit and wouldn't ask the body snatcher for anything now.
The grass was cool under his feet, not cold like the packed-earth floor of his cell. He walked slowly, taking small, painstaking steps, his muscles stiff and terribly sore and not entirely willing to support his weight without protest. Though he knew he wouldn't be able to range very far, he did walk around the corner of the house. The stolen taxi he'd been brought here in was gone, in its place a beautiful, expensive sportscar. The dirt driveway that had led to the house had been repaved with blacktop, flowers planted along either side of it. Clearly she hadn't been lying when she'd talked about all she'd spent on his credit cards.
As he turned to walk back, he noticed that she'd followed him-- which was no more than he'd expected, but the appraising stare she was giving him reminded him suddenly and painfully of his nakedness, and of the price he'd have to pay for this privilege. He shuddered slightly before he could stop himself. Erik was not one to hide from frank appreciation of his body-- if he'd been, he never would have adopted the skin-tight costume he usually wore-- but there was an enormous difference between seeing women, even women he was uninterested in, appraise him when he was incredibly powerful, male and in his own body, flattered by the attention and in no danger from it at all, and having a captor who'd raped him repeatedly look at him like he was something good to eat, while he wandered around outside stark naked. He tried to turn away, tried to forget about her and concentrate on the freedom of the outdoors, but it was too late-- he could feel her eyes burning into him, exploring him as her hands would later. What a narcissist. Did she really think this body was so attractive? He wouldn't have given it a second glance. It was still a little puffy, though the limited diet and the constant exercise had worn away some of the fat, at least. Maybe it was a little bit more attractive now that he'd had it and had been working to improve it for a week, but certainly not worth staring at like that. Why couldn't she find other partners? His body was attractive enough; she should have no shortage of attentions if she wanted them. What was her fetish for him?
He couldn't take the suspense anymore. Erik turned around and walked toward her as purposefully as he could given his weakness. "I'm done here for the day," he said harshly. "What would you have from me?"
A smile started to spread across her face. "That eager? You've only been out here twenty minutes."
"I'm tired, and I want to get this over with. Well?"
She reached for him, pulling him in close against her chest, one hand wrapped around his waist and the other running over his body. He couldn't keep from wincing as she touched his breast, with the nipples still aching from the shocks. "Oh," she said, and released him. "Oh, of course, you're injured. It must still hurt a lot." Her tone was solicitous, but he wasn't at all sure he believed it. "I guess if I fucked you now it would leave you in a lot of pain, wouldn't it?"
That much was obvious. If given a choice he'd far prefer to use his mouth right now, and it looked as if perhaps she'd let him. "It would," he acknowledged. "Would you prefer a blow job instead?" The degrading gutter language she wanted him to describe sex acts in still irritated, but he used it because it was what she would accept.
The body snatcher grinned broadly. "Actually, no. I want to fuck you."
She shoved him, and he fell to the grass, twisting to catch himself with his hands. He wasn't fully successful; the impact bruised his hip and leg. "Get on your hands and knees. I'm going to fuck you right here."
He obeyed, breathing deeply, bracing himself for the pain. When she entered, he gritted his teeth until his jaw started to ache, fighting to keep from screaming. She seemed to be trying to cause him pain, deliberately slamming herself against sore spots. Eventually he did scream, which seemed to excite her further and bring harder, more painful thrusts.
She finished finally. He turned over slowly, trying to face her without having to sit down or otherwise put any pressure on his groin. It felt like something might be torn inside. "That's what you get for trying to dictate terms to me," she told him as she got dressed. "You win your little victory, Magneto-- you get to go outside, as long as you do whatever I want sexually. And if it hurts you, too fucking bad."
She carried him inside, down into the basement, and threw him to the earth floor of his prison, knocking the wind from him. He didn't manage to recover and get to his feet until after she'd departed.
In the bathroom, he drank three glasses of water, trying to moisten a throat sore from screaming. Then, as best as he could, he examined himself for damage. He was bleeding, heavily enough that it frightened him. It was possible that it was menstrual blood, but given the brutality of the rape he'd just suffered, that didn't seem like the most likely possibility. But he doubted he could summon the body snatcher by pounding on the door to his cell, and even if she came who knew if she'd allow him to see a doctor? She'd be more familiar with the sorts of injuries women could suffer, and she might well laugh at him and tell him this was nothing, hardly life-threatening, gloat about the mighty Magneto panicking over a little blood. If it persisted until she came to see him again, he'd tell her, but he wasn't going to act like it frightened him. No, mild concern at best, that was the tone to take. Or better yet, ask her offhandedly if she'd expect this body's time of the month to occur now, and if she said no, suggest she get him a doctor, acting like it was her problem and not his.
In the meantime, he found supplies in the cabinet where the other toiletries had been. First he tried a tampon, but with the pain he was in that was simply unendurable. A pad was mildly irritating, but he felt he needed something to keep the blood from running free and couldn't imagine that he'd be able to bandage the actual injuries, assuming the bleeding came from injuries at all. He then went and lay down, dressed only in his underpants since, after the shocks, clothing on his body was irritating and painful, with his feet propped up on pillows to elevate his pelvis and let gravity help stanch the bleeding.
It was difficult to sleep with the pain he was in. He began once again to run over all the possibilities for escape. They were very few. Being allowed to go outside might make his captivity slightly more bearable, but if she continued to demand sexual favors that caused serious pain and some degree of damage in payment for going outside, in the long run it wouldn't be worth it. He couldn't afford to let himself be badly damaged, or he'd never be able to escape.
The thought occurred to him of using the blood to try to write a note and smuggle it out with a doctor-- if he could get her to get him a doctor-- but there were a number of things wrong with that. Write a note to who? Police coming in here would be decimated by her power. Heroes like the Avengers wouldn't be particularly eager to see Magneto get his body back, and while they would probably not recognize him if he didn't tell them the truth, and therefore they would treat him decently, it wouldn't help him a lot if the body snatcher was captured and imprisoned. She would either switch, giving him his own body back but leaving him a captive of the US government, who would undoubtedly take steps to ensure he didn't escape, or she wouldn't, in which case he still wouldn't have his own body. And he refused to turn to the X-Men for help. Not after the fiasco of their last meeting. He had considered them friends and allies, and they had attacked with intent to kill. To say nothing of what Xavier had allowed MacTaggert to do. No, he would never allow himself to be helpless in the hands of the X-Men, either. The body snatcher was almost preferable. She could torture him physically, but couldn't rip his heart to shreds with betrayal.
His Acolytes were dead. His children, last time he checked, blamed him for taking advantage of Wanda's mental breakdown to "force" her to join him-- apparently so charitable a thought as the notion that a father should look after his daughter and give her emotional support when she was mentally ill had never occurred to either of them. Lee had decided that even just being friends with a mutant terrorist was a bit too much of a strain on her hectic lifestyle-- not that she'd be any help anyway. Excalibur might be willing to help-- if he recalled correctly, that team had Shadowcat, Nightcrawler, and Rachel Summers on it, all people he'd parted with on good terms-- but they were in Britain, and he hadn't the faintest idea where, exactly. Besides, he'd parted with Storm, Psylocke and Wolverine on good terms, too, and Wolverine had tried to gut him. No, there was no one he could turn to for help, even if he could smuggle a message out-- which was only what he expected. He'd never been able to rely on anyone other than himself.
What had he missed? There had to be something he had overlooked, some key he could use, some method he hadn't thought of to get out of here. Assuming he hadn't been unconscious longer than a day after the torture she'd inflicted, this was his eighth day of captivity, and he was no closer to getting away than before. He had to focus on that, had to devote the resources of his mind entirely to working out a way to escape, because if he started to think about what he'd just been through or the pain he was in, he would be overwhelmed with rage, and there was no outlet for it. He wanted her dead so badly the hunger choked him-- but even if she was powerless and bound before him, as long as she was in his body he didn't dare seriously hurt her, and he couldn't imagine how to make her switch back if kicking her in the crotch and braining her with a shoe hadn't done it.
It was late when the body snatcher interrupted his increasingly frustrated and morbid thoughts with dinner. "Lying around in bed? I'm surprised at you. I thought the Ubermensch didn't believe in resting when he could be working out instead," she said mockingly.
He shrugged. "When was this body's last menstrual cycle?"
"I'd like to know whether I'm simply menstruating, or hemorrhaging to death," he said in as off-hand a tone as he could manage.
It worked. Her eyes went wide. "What?"
"Well." He turned to face her. "I'm bleeding, and inclined to think you've caused some sort of internal damage with your little power games. On the other hand, this could be perfectly normal. I don't really care all that much which-- while I don't particularly wish to die, the thought of your stupidity causing the death of your body and trapping you in mine, to die much younger than you'd have otherwise, is actually attractive."
She was over at his side in a second, the tray of food lowering quickly to the floor behind her. "Let me see."
"I can't stop you."
"Take the goddamn panties off and stop being an asshole."
"Or what? You'll hurt me?" He looked up at her with his best sardonic expression. "That would certainly improve this body's health no end."
The body snatcher made a snarling noise and tore the underpants off him, roughly grabbing his legs and pulling them up to allow her to look at his genitals. He didn't resist, though she was ungentle and her fingers on his sore places were quite painful. After a moment she released him, sighing in relief. "That's nothing. I thought you might be reacting like one of the others did."
"One of the others?"
"Yeah, I hurt him pretty bad. Ended up having to kill him and take the body in for medical attention-- I claimed he raped me, and the medical exam confirmed it of course. But that was big gouts of blood. This is barely what I get when I get my period. You're not going to die." She smiled cruelly at him. "Relieved? Or are you so upset with my hospitality you actually wanted to die?"
"Somewhat relieved. I don't want to die, but I'd be delighted to see you dead, and without this body as backup and with my reputation hanging over your head, my death would mean yours as well before terribly long." He kept his voice casual. "Tell me, if I had been bleeding-- 'big gouts of blood,' I think you put it-- would you have killed my body and switched back?"
"Hell no!" She shook her head vehemently. "Where am I ever going to get a body as good as this one? Handsome, strong, well-hung, and one of the most powerful superbeings on the planet. No, Magneto. I told you I'd keep you forever, and I plan on it."
"So you would have allowed your own body to die?"
"No, I'd have taken you to a doctor."
"Ah." He nodded. "Thus begging the question of how such damage was caused, as well as running the risk that someone would recognize you as me. Sounds like a very risky proposition. You must be quite relieved it wasn't necessary."
"It'd almost be worth it, though. If it became public knowledge that 'Magneto' had brutally raped a mutant woman, your rep with your own kind would be shot to hell. People can respect a terrorist, though God only knows why, but even you feel like you've got some moral high ground to condemn rape."
He ignored the second half of what she'd said entirely. "You are a mutant?"
"Do I look like the kind of person who gets the right to go up in space and get superpowers from cosmic rays?" she asked bitterly.
"Stranger things have happened. In the past, I assumed everyone with powers was a mutant unless proven otherwise. Now I try to be more cautious."
"Oh yeah, I'm a mutant. At least I assume so, since I started being able to do this when I was about 16." She grinned ferally. "My older brother used to fuck me when my folks were drunk, which was all the time. Last fucking mistake he made. He was the first one I did." Her expression grew fierce. "I showed him what it was like to be the girl, to be the smaller, powerless one. Then I went and told Mom and Dad what he'd been doing, as him, and then I blew his brains out in front of them. Kinda dumb of me, since I didn't know I'd be able to jump back, but--" she shrugged-- "it all worked out."
Erik hadn't wanted to hear that. He hadn't wanted to hear of anything that made the body snatcher more real, more understandable, abused and human instead of a remorseless born psychopath. Horrified, he asked, "Did they-- what was your parents' reaction?"
"Well, what would your reaction be if your baby boy, the apple of your fucking eye, came up with Dad's .45 and confessed he'd been fucking your daughter, and then blew his brains out?"
"That would never happen to me," he said strenuously. "If I'd been allowed the gift of raising my own children, instead of losing them to others before they were born, I would never have practiced such neglect that any son of mine could rape his sister with impunity-- nor would any child I raised think of such a disgusting idea."
"I'm sure you'd be a peach of a dad, Magneto. You'd be too busy indoctrinating the kids in how to kill humans to let them develop any unhealthy pastimes like raping their kid sister." She sat on the bed. "If it did happen, would your reaction be to beat the shit out of your daughter for driving her brother to do such a thing?"
"They knew you'd killed him?"
"No, of course not. No fucking clue. No, they just knew their precious boy was dead, and they needed someone to blame." She shrugged. "I got the fuck out of there. Didn't kill either of them. My dad died of a nonexistent liver five years later. My mom's still alive. Hooray for me. You see, I do have some self-control."
"People like that should be shot before being allowed to procreate."
"How very pro-eugenics of you. You sure you still aren't into breeding a Master Race?"
He forced down his rage. "If a failure of eugenics produced you, it might be worth considering. And sadly, if you're a mutant you are what I would have called the master race, ten years ago. Another example of how bankrupt my notions of mutant supremacy were."
"Sucks to be you." She got off the bed, the mood of self-revelation apparently past. "Now. I seem to recall you made a bargain with me?"
"I have no intention of reneging. But if you don't want this body to die, and you'd rather not take me to a doctor, might I suggest you avoid anything that might cause more damage?" He sat up. "If you keep tearing at an injury that isn't life-threatening, you might make it such."
"So you don't want me to fuck you? Poor baby scared he's gonna bleed to death?"
"This isn't about what I want. I'm not fool enough to believe what I want matters to you. Yes, I hope you can manage to get your priorities straight for once, since I don't enjoy pain. But if you kill me, it's your problem."
"Seems to me like it would be your problem too."
"It's out of my hands. I won't waste time worrying about what I cannot control. You, on the other hand, can govern your actions... so I suggest you worry."
The body snatcher smiled maliciously, then moved suddenly, pinning him down against the bed with her weight. Her mouth pressed against his, insistent and probing. After a moment of resistance, he went limp, allowing her to do as she wished.
And she released him, grinning broadly. "You really, really hate that, don't you," she said, her face an inch over his, eyes boring into his. "You can try to play casual all you want, but I know there's something inside you shriveling up and dying every time I fuck you. You hate it so much, and there's nothing you can do to stop it."
"Quit gloating and get on with it," he said harshly.
"I tell you what. I got a deal for you." She leaned back slightly, her face no longer quite so close to his and her body no longer crushing him. "You're the one who made a bargain-- you're the one who decided to whore for me in exchange for what you want. This isn't about rape any more, you admitted that last night. I could still pin you down and fuck you if I wanted to, but you promised to sell yourself if I let you go outside. And I did that. So I want you to whore for me."
"I don't understand what you're asking."
She released him completely, sitting down on the bed. "You take the lead. You do whatever you think is going to get me off. And you act like you want to do it, like a real whore. So you can give me a blow job if you want to spare your poor bleeding little cunt, but you better act like you're going to come the moment I shoot in your mouth."
Erik shook his head. "I can take control, that's hardly a problem, but if you want me to pretend to like it we do have a problem. I'm a notoriously bad actor. I very much doubt I could put up a convincing performance if I tried."
"Well, then you have a problem. Because if you can't give me that, I'll just fuck you." She grinned. "If you're so bloody and sore in the cunt, maybe I'll fuck you in the ass instead."
Since that was where she'd electrocuted him last night, he considered almost anything preferable to that. And she undoubtedly knew it. "Very well," he said, sitting up. His body was sore and stiff, and it hurt to move, but it was clear to him what he was going to have to do. "I accept your bargain."
Before she finished the word, he was on her, pressing her against the bed with the smallest fraction of his pent-up rage and aggression. She wanted him to take control? She could have it. He would dominate her completely, make her writhe and beg with pleasure because he couldn't give her pain, and take whatever pleasure he could from controlling the situation for once. He kissed her as aggressively as she had him a few minutes ago, his hands ruthlessly seeking out the places his most knowledgeable lovers had used to make him lose control completely, when the body had been his. She used power to scoot them both into a better position on the bed, but otherwise let him do as he saw fit.
Erik's sexuality was about as far disconnected from violence as it was possible to go. The things he'd endured in the camps had left him terrified of hurting people as he had been hurt. While he'd been known to be somewhat domineering in bed, he had never understood the concept of the sexual thrill of domination. The only reason he was controlling in bed was that he was controlling everywhere. But his rage had no other outlet, and she wanted him to pretend he liked it, and that meant he had to find a part of himself that did because he couldn't feign enjoyment any other way. And he found it, a core of himself so deeply buried he'd never before acknowledged its presence, which could enjoy dominating an enemy in bed, inflicting pain that was pleasure and pleasure that was pain. He tried things with the body snatcher that he'd always before rejected when a lover suggested them, because he thought they were too degrading to his partner. Her, he wanted to degrade, and for once she let him.
When he was done, his jaw hurt, there was a horrid taste in his mouth, and his muscles ached all the more for being forced into activity, but she'd climaxed twice and he hadn't been damaged any worse, a victory of sorts. She ran her hand down his side, a relatively harmless activity as he had no open sores or damaged skin in that area. There were bruises, but a light stroke hardly disturbed them. "That was impressive. Are you like that in bed when it's by choice?"
He smiled fiercely. "Of course not. That is the way I treat pond scum I happen to be in bed with. If that's what you enjoy, I wonder if it says something about you."
"But you wouldn't have done it if you hadn't thought I'd enjoy it. You wouldn't have dared." She grinned. "So whatever you can say about my sexual tastes, we can say that you have no choice but to cater to them." The body snatcher turned to look at him. "Although, unless you're a much better actor than you claim to be, I think you were really getting into that."
"You misread me."
"I don't think so."
"I do. That isn't the sort of sexual activity I enjoy."
"What kind do you enjoy?"
"The kind with women partners," he shot back.
"So you treat your women partners like that?"
"No, of course not. I treat them with the tender care they deserve. It may be impossible for you to imagine, but some men actually enjoy giving pleasure to women as a sign of affection or love. And no, I will not imitate that for you, whatever you demand."
"Oh, I didn't want it. I liked what you did just fine." The grin grew broader. "In fact, I liked it well enough I think that for once I'll return the favor."
He immediately tensed. If she did to him what he'd done to her, it would hurt, a lot. He'd used levels of roughness that a person who was highly aroused would find pleasurable, and a person who was bruised and injured would find quite painful. The body snatcher laughed, stroking him as she pushed him onto his back. "No, don't get all uptight. I meant it. You gave me a lot of pleasure by doing something I like, so I've decided I'll actually let you come for once, and I'll do it the way you just said you like."
"No." He tried to sit up, to pull away from her.
"No? Did I just hear a 'no'?" She shook her head. "You're not allowed to refuse me, remember?"
"This isn't necessary. I gave you what you bargained for. There's no need to return any favors."
"Why Magneto, I do believe you're scared shitless." She pressed him against the bed. "Why? I've fucked you brutally, and you haven't tried to get out of it-- you just submit and spend all your time trying not to show any reaction. But I actually offer to give you some pleasure in return for once, and you go all panicky. Scared of liking sex with a man's body? Is that it?"
That had nothing to do with it. The idea of being made to enjoy a rape was what he found unbearable. But now that she'd seen his fear, she would never let go of the idea. He damned himself for being so weak, so close to the edge that he'd actually let her see a fraction of how much the idea bothered him. Now there was no getting out of it. "Do what you want," he said dully. "I can hardly stop you. But don't expect me to enjoy it, whatever you do. I'm not the sort of person who finds any enjoyment in being molested against my will."
"We'll see about that."
She kissed him gently, tenderly, sickening him. He'd preferred the brutal kisses from before; they didn't pretend to an emotion that was the opposite of what was really there. Her hands roamed lightly over his body, avoiding most of the sore places. When she kissed his neck, he shuddered involuntarily. As little as he wanted to admit it to himself, part of him had enjoyed what he'd done to her-- he had deliberately tapped into the tiny part of his psyche that could enjoy dominating an enemy that way-- and despite the fear and disgust he felt, he was still keyed up from that. It had been a very long time since anyone had touched him with intent to give pleasure. He tried to hold himself still, to show no reaction whatever she did, but he'd never been nearly as good at hiding pleasure as hiding pain.
Instinctively he flinched as she touched his clitoris, conditioned to expect a shock. None came, and the touch was gentle. But even when she was making an effort to be gentle, the shocks she'd inflicted on him there last night left him far too sore to feel anything but pain. Erik welcomed that, letting it drive out the arousal he didn't want and couldn't stand. Pain he could endure. Forced pleasure was more than he could bear.
Then she replaced her hand with her mouth. He jerked and tried to squirm away. That wasn't painful anymore. She grabbed his legs and held them down as she continued, and he couldn't stop feeling it, couldn't keep from relaxing into it as wet warmth soothed and aroused the sore place. "Stop it," he whispered, utterly humiliated, far more broken by this than he would be by any torture. "Please, stop."
She raised her head. "Would you rather I fucked you instead?"
He didn't care about the damage. He couldn't endure this. "Yes, anything."
"You know, that could mean you don't like it," she said. "But the last time you asked me to stop something, you'd been screaming with pain for five minutes before you started begging, and even then you weren't serious about it since you kept refusing to do what I wanted. And now here you are, not screaming, begging me to do anything to you instead of this. I think that means you do like it and you hate that you do. Am I right?"
"You've made your point. You don't have to finish this."
"Oh, yes I do. I want you to know that a male body made you come."
He wanted to scream. I don't care about the male body! You are the problem! But it wouldn't make matters any better. Almost better for her to think he was that terrorized by homosexuality than that she had such emotional power over him. As she returned to what she was doing, he tried to concentrate on something else. Think about the periodic table, think about the food stocks he had at his secret base, think about anything other than what she was making this body feel. No one had ever done anything like this to him. He had suffered rape as a child, but no one had ever made him like it. I don't like it! It's just the body responding-- it has nothing to do with me... And if he could actually make himself believe that, he'd be fine.
He didn't beg again. Since she wouldn't pay attention anyway, he could cling to his pride in some small ways like that. But despite all the effort he was putting into not writhing, into not feeling, he couldn't stop himself from whimpering, from shuddering with pleasure and nauseated disgust.
It went on for entirely too long, winding him tighter and tighter while the disgust and humiliation kept him from any actual release. He was drenched with sweat, his muscles so taut it was painful. The ability to feel pain at all flickered in and out, at times the pleasure being strong enough to make the pains he was feeling everywhere fade, at other times the sensations being purely painful in and of themselves. He wanted to weep, or scream, or hit her. He wanted release. He wanted her to stop, just stop. The heat had become oppressive, even though the basement was usually chilly, and he knew that had more to do with the stillness of the air and the heat he was generating. He couldn't get his breath, and she wouldn't stop. She seemed to know all the places that this body responded to-- and of course she would; it was her original body, after all. Occasional wrong notes, but for the most part she had mastery of the instrument she was playing. Eventually, exhausted and emotionally battered by what she'd already made him feel, he gave up, no longer trying to fight it. As if she could tell he'd given in, she stepped up her assault, stroking his body and playing with his breasts while her mouth ravished him. He couldn't make it stop. He no longer even had the strength to try. The sensations finally peaked, and the body arched, twisting.
She lifted her head and sat up. "There you go," she said.
Erik had never felt so humiliated in his life. He fell back motionless against the mattress and wished he was dead. The body snatcher stroked him. "See, if you play your cards right, you get to have some fun too."
He didn't respond, feeling no particular compulsion at the moment to move, or speak, or remain alive for that matter. After a moment she stepped back, disappointed that her new toy was broken. "You can give the walls the silent treatment, then. After all I've done for you. See if I care." She got dressed. "There's your food. Better eat it, keep your strength up."
He wasn't going to eat it. He never wanted to get up again. After half an hour of lying there trying very hard to stop thinking entirely, and failing, however, he realized that if he didn't eat, she'd realize quite how badly she'd gotten to him, and do it again. That was unacceptable. So he got up and choked the food down, slowly regaining some range of motion as muscles stiff from too long being tensed gradually unlocked. He then went over to his escape tunnel and dug ferociously until the light of dawn started to trickle into his cell, then showered and scrubbed his skin raw. Only then, hours after the incident, did he even bother to try to sleep.
Body Snatcher: Chapter One Part F
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