Page 11 of The Last Feast

She gently sets the water bottle down then stands.

I quickly snap my lips closed to prevent her from forcing the ax into my mouth.

Only, Hana doesn’t remain by my head. No, she walks around my body with appreciation in her eyes then stands directly behind me.

Her silhouette casts a large shadow over me due to her proximity to the spotlight, and I understand how the deer must have felt before she killed it: half fearful, half joyous at being chosen by the beautiful woman who smiles while being the image of death.

If I were asked to describe the angel, it would be her.

Without wings or a halo, she’s ready to collect souls.

Yet my childish dreams of killing the angel of death disappear now that I’ve met them.

There’s no thought about killing them to protect my parents from the Father’s punishment because I spoke out.

They just disappear under the protection of Hana’s violent shadow as she keeps the ax propped on her shoulder, tilting her head to examine me.

She gracefully lowers to her knees, entirely focused on me.

Her touch is delicate as she smooths her hand up the back of my numb calf.

The ax is taken out of my view as she lays it across her thighs, the sharp edge sparkling in the spotlight in the mirror and casting a distorted shadow of the weapon right beside my head.

Following up to my thigh, she fixes her eyes on me in the mirror then leans forward to meet the tips of her fingers grazing her teeth marks on the curve of my ass with her soft lips.

“Watch,” she says low, a gentle command that blows over my back as she traces the curve of my ass and firmly presses her hand to my lower back.

She tenderly pushes me down until my cheek is resting on the floor.

All the gentleness lulls me into a false sense of security when there should be alarm bells ringing.

But there’s no threat of loneliness if I disobey, no warped scriptures being recited to excuse the violation.

No, this is how you make God happy. No gleaming, gold cross catching the light as it sways with the movements that I cry through.

No. She’s gently violent, righteous in her desires because she doesn’t have to lie or taint the very thing that’s supposed to give people hope as she stretches into the shadows to pull a cloth bag closer.

It’s not one I recognize, but it’s filled with different types of face paint, so it must belong to her.

She retrieves a bottle of baby oil then lightly presses her lips to her handprint on my ass cheek. “You’re being so good for me, Jamie.” I whimper as she traces the seam of my balls with her thumb. “Your dick is so heavy, but you won’t come until I tell you.”

“Please don’t,” I whimper again, pathetically.

I don’t want her to let me come. If she does, if she allows the physical release, the one thing I could hide in the recordings will no longer be a secret. She’ll see me then. Truly see me.

She lays the ax across her thighs before uncapping the oil and slowly pouring it between my cheeks, sinking her praise into my skin with her soft lips. “Shhh, it’s okay. You’re my good little whore.”

I shudder as she pulls my cheeks apart then slowly works her little finger into me. “Such a tight ass. You’re going to break for me, aren’t you, sweet thief?”

“Please,” I mumble as she increases the pace, fucking me faster until I rock back.

“That’s it.” She spits down on her finger as she works another in.

“Fuck, baby.”

My moans are involuntary, as are my hips that move back, needing more of her.

She happily obliges, slowly adding another finger as she adds more oil to ease the burn of being stretched.

“What a desperate, lying whore. Look at you, fucking my fingers after begging me not to.” Turning her fingers in slow half circles, she taunts, “Please, don’t,” then moves the other way as her voice hardens.

“Beg properly, pathetic whore. Say, please don’t stop.

Say, break me. Say the truth for everyone to hear. ”

I watch her through the mirror, but she’s looking up at Odette, whose tears splash on the faux moss, racing down the plastic foliage to stain the concrete beneath it.

Hana slaps my ass with such a force, I slip forward as she grits, “Is that who you want?”

“No,” I answer too quickly. “Just you.”

“Good.” She pulls her fingers free and lifts the ax from her thighs.

I watch her, my dick twitching as I imagine how her hand will work me while she coats four inches of the handle in oil.

She shows more care to the metal than she has me, but I wouldn’t want her to be soft.

Her touch is even gentler as she kisses the back of each of my thighs then slowly teases my ass with the slippery handle. “Relax.”

I blow out all the air in my lungs as I sink into the floor. It allows her to push the rounded handle into me, and she supports the extra weight in the crook of her elbow to stop it from slipping further.

“Such a good boy,” she coos as she scrapes her blunt nails down my spine.

Hana slowly fucks me with the handle of the ax, only allowing me an inch until I get used to the feeling and rock back. She works in another inch as she shallowly thrusts into my ass, glee shining in her bright eyes. “Your worthless dick is crying.”

Why the fuck does her degradation take the shame away?

It should add to it when she’s voicing the same thoughts I have every single day.

Yet, it doesn’t. Knowing she sees me, really sees me the same way I do myself, somehow counteracts it.

The very fucking thing I’ve been afraid of is taking the burden away.

I sink deeper into the floor, allowing her to take control of my body as I mumble, “I’m sorry.”

First to myself.

I’m broken. Fucked up beyond repair, but the apology is for her too, because no one breaks without force, and she’s broken too.