Of course, I hate to lose. You can find a link to my counter-response to this story at the end.
"You terrify me," he says. I don't think he realizes yet why I have him strapped to the chair palms up. He probably thinks I was just being clever.
Then he sees the needle. I don't look at him; I don't need to. I can hear it in his breathing.
"What are you doing?" he asks me.
"Revenge is a dish best served," I explain cooly, "through the icy cold tip of a hypodermic needle."
I am careful. After all, I just learned to do this over the weekend. Sliding the tip of the needle through the lid of the small glass jar, withdrawing the liquid, and tapping it with my index finger.
He looks at his hands. He looks at his vulnerable arms. He understands why I have strapped down not only his wrists and ankles, but his forearms. He is going nowhere.
"I didn't do anything to deserve this," he says, and I can hear real anguish in his voice. It is almost worth stalling over.
As I move to him, slow and deliberate, I see him trying to squirm away. It had always been easy for him to fight blindfolds and gags, just turning his head away and shutting his mouth real tight. But this he could not get away from.
With an alcohol-soaked cotton ball in my fingers I sat on his knee. "You think I've come a long way? You probably never guessed I was capable of this. Of learning how to use a hypodermic needle. Did you know they have different sized needles they use? Do you want to know what size this is?"
"Leave me alone," he says, and he isn't looking at me. He's looking around the room, trying to find something to distract himself. Just like I had seen him do at the doctor's office so many times. But in the past, I would help him by talking to him.
Not this time.
Taking his chin, I make him turn to look at it. He shuts his eyes.
I explain calmly. "You are not only going to watch this, you are going to beg me for it.
He laughs. It's a real laugh. It's accented with a "yeah right."
"I gave you a drug this morning with your coffee. You probably feel it. Dizzy, a little. Your body aching slightly. Like the flu might be coming on."
His eyes are still closed. Lips pursed.
"It gets worse. A lot worse. This will make you feel better. I am ready to wait here for an hour until you change your mind," I say. "But I don't think it will come to that. Will it?"
And I watch him consider it, consider his own discomfort. He opens his eyes briefly, looks at the needle, then shuts them again. His breathing is staggered.
As I wait for him to come to terms, I enjoy myself. Watching him sweat. My hands at the insides of my thighs. He is even too distracted to watch me masturbate. He can think of nothing but the needle.
Poor boy.
Occasionally I'll take a story that Akasha just left hanging at some suspenseful point, and I'll finish it in some way. Here's one possible completion: Insensible.