When the Master comes down in the evening, Sue and I are still fast asleep. We’ve lost ourselves in slumber all afternoon. But the girl wakes up at the first rasping of a key in the outside door. She hears the Master coming in. She shakes me awake, and raps her knuckles on my head to let me know that the Master is there…
As soon as I’m awake, I freeze: the man who punctured my eardrums is back and I cannot hear him coming! I cannot even detect his presence… my mind starts racing. “What can I do, I’m defenceless… But I must make sure I keep quiet, maintain the impression that I’m truly locked up inside my own head…” I feel so overwhelmed anyway, that I don’t even need to pretend that I’m completely defeated and subdued. I actually am. And that’s exactly the impression I want to give.
Then he is right next to us, inside the cell. I can smell him. Of course I didn’t hear the key turning in the lock of the barred door, its familiar clanging sound, but already I feel that the girl is being wrenched away from my arms, from my bed… The man is probably chaining Sue to the other wall, by her own bed. When a moment later his hands close around my wrists and grip me, I almost scream. But just in time I check myself: at all costs I must avoid letting the man know that I can still use my voice. Meanwhile I am paralysed by fear and submit passively to the Master’s rough handling.
First he presses both my hands to the front of his trousers so that I can feel his erection. He rubs himself against the back of my hands. “Oh no, unbelievable! Don’t tell me that the sick bastard is going to rape me! How can he even think of it after what he did!”
Loretta has told me that the Master is something of an exhibitionist. He likes to wag his erect penis right in front of her face, for instance when he’s tied her to the rack or locked her in the pillory. But this is the first time that he makes me touch his crotch like this. I now realize that he must have found it too embarrassing to do this with a blind woman, and a woman of his own age at that. But now that he thinks that he has “destroyed” me, he is no longer holding back.
I tell myself, “Great! This really excites you, huh? Your handiwork makes you randy? I get the picture, you sadistic bastard: you probably went to work this morning—say as a dentist—as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. You treated your patients all day long, all the while lost in phantasies about this moment. Now you can finally play with your new toy!”
The Master yanks off my clothes and ties my wrists in my back with the handcuffs. I am already bracing for the clamp, but to my great relief the Master skips that and starts frogmarching me to his pleasure room without throttling me. “Well, at least that’s a good sign. The man is definitely letting down his guard; he must be quite confident that he has crushed me completely… Great!”
On the way to the pleasure room my mind is racing. In those few seconds I realise that a head butt is no longer an option. Even though he is holding my elbow and propelling me along, the man is quite “invisible” to me. I can’t even hear him breathing. How can you hit someone hard on the root of the nose if you can’t locate the spot at all?
In his pleasure room, the Master pushes me onto the bed and proceeds to tie my limbs to the rack. He seems to be in a great hurry: still feeling very randy. Suddenly I feel a surge of anger deep inside. I have never felt more disgusted than now. “He is really enjoying this! Gloating over what he’s done to me, the little shit! Still, it must be a bit annoying for him not to be able to taunt me… That’s why he’s so eager to fuck me.” I am literally shaking with rage now: let him believe that I am trembling with fear. I am careful to still go along with the part of the hapless victim…
And soon enough the man is on top of me, wallowing with his whole weight on me like a big fat animal, as is his habit. But immediately I become aware of an astonishing fact: the Master has neglected to gag me! Apparently he is throwing all caution to the wind in his haste to satisfy his lust… Of course this is not entirely unexpected under the circumstances; I had been hoping for it. “Now let us think this over carefully,” I tell myself. “There is no hurry…”
I wait for a while, allowing time for my rapist to work up some steam. No Tantric tricks this time; he is hardly holding back; maybe he’s confident that he can achieve several orgasms tonight… In the meantime I focus on his neck, right under my nose; I can smell his skin, feel its heat radiating on my face. Through my own chest I feel how the man’s heartbeat accelerates, how it starts pumping harder and harder. Talk about a heart-throb hug! “Let his blood pressure rise a bit further…”
Finally I decide, “Now the moment to strike has come…” As unobtrusively as I can, I probe the man’s neck with my closed lips. He keeps on exerting himself. And the problem is that by now he’s bobbing up and down on top of me without restraint, bent on reaching his climax. How can I bite him if he keeps moving like that?
Suddenly an idea strikes me. In a very normal tone of voice—I hope—I utter these words in his ear: “You’ve made a mistake, Master!” And just when the rapist freezes in astonishment, I open my mouth wide, whip forwards, and sink my teeth into his left mastoid.
The mighty bundle of muscles seizes up immediately under the acute lesion of the bite; it contracts violently, paralyzing the neck on one side. The man is thrashing wildly on top of me, and through my teeth and my jawbones I can feel the silent vibrations of his screams. He must be squealing like a pig at the slaughterhouse! Now he tries to free himself from the grip of my teeth, but the mastoid is a very solid muscle, the sinews that anchor it to the sternum, the clavicle and the skull are incredibly tough: my grip on my prey is completely secure. Of course my limbs are tied wide apart, my wrists and ankles strapped to four solid anchor points in such a way that I am forced to lie spread-eagled on the bed. But that is precisely why, by tightening my arms and legs, I get a solid grip on the rapist’s neck with my clenched jaws…
By now the man is hitting me furiously, trying to beat me off him with his fists, but his efforts are pitiable and ineffectual. My head is sunk in the nook of his left shoulder, so his left fist hasn’t much range: it’s like trying to hit yourself. The rest of my body is buried completely out of reach under his own: he has no access to it. In the meantime I am shaking my head left and right, pulling on that mastoid muscle like a wild dog harassing its quarry, yanking on those tough tendons so as to inflict maximum pain. The man stops thrashing about, paralysed in agony.
This is the moment I have been waiting for. The muscles of my jaws and neck are starting to smart from the exertion. So I let go briefly, and immediately snap at another, smaller area where I know I can find the carotid artery. With surgical precision I cut through it with a shearing movement of my front teeth. A straight jet of blood starts gushing.
My mind is racing: I am completely focused on the task at hand and on what still needs to be done. “I have to drink his blood… I have to drink his blood!” Taking hold of the mastoid again with my teeth, I start swallowing small gulps of the blood that is gushing through my open mouth. It requires my utmost concentration not to gag on it, and not to drown in the stuff. At length the man stops moving; he is no longer screaming; he must have fainted a few moments ago, either at the sight of so much of his own blood spilling all over the bed, or because his brain is no longer getting enough oxygen… Now I relax my grip and just keep on sucking up blood in tiny gulps, at a slow but steady pace. After a while I can feel that the heartbeat of the man lying on top of me is petering out… Then the moment arrives when I conclude, “The Master is dead!”
But I keep sucking on his severed artery. It is evening, as far as I can tell, and my last meal—not a very hearty one—was in the morning; my last drink of water just before I went to sleep in the afternoon. “Now,” I reason, “I need to live for as long as possible on the blood I can drink in one go… my survival depends on it.”
Then there’s another problem to deal with. Not only does a meal of fresh, hot human blood lie heavy on the stomach, but so does the corpse of the man who is providing it. Without letting go of his neck, I rotate my upper body to one side and manage to push the man off me. His slack penis slithers away from inside me… With the weight off my chest and stomach, I now can breathe more freely and I continue to suck tiny gulps of blood for a while longer.
At last I decide that I’ve had enough. Drinking any more would only make me vomit. This time I can release my grip for good. My jaws are aching and I now move them slowly, cautiously, to relieve my cramped and stiffened muscles. With a sweep of my head and neck I push the Master’s head away from me. His body is still weighing on my inner thigh, cutting off the bloodstream to my leg. So jerking my knee and turning my leg left and right, I manage to move the body along inch by inch. It takes a long time, maybe an hour, but eventually the corpse has been inched along far enough to fall off the bed: it suddenly disappears and I am free from any contact with it.
So here I am, spread-eagled, tied to the bed, unable to free myself. My belly feels sated and queasy with blood. Oh, and another thing: I’m blind and deaf of course… I reflect that Sue is probably chained to the wall inside our cell, but there’s no way of being certain of this. Maybe the Master left the keys lying about somewhere, within reach… He was being incredibly careless, just now.
Sue must have heard the screams, even if the Master closed the door to the pleasure room, but the girl has no way of telling if it was him or his victim who was screaming like that. I wonder if I should try to shout a message over to Sue: let her know that I’m all right, that the Master is dead… But I feel so queasy that I’m afraid I might throw up; and why give her false hope? If Sue starts shouting back, I cannot hear her. She’ll find out soon enough that no one is coming over to her cell. “The Master brought down food and water for two before he took me to this place,” I reflect, “so Sue has enough in stock to survive as long as I do… If we have to die here, we will die more or less at the same time.”
For hours I keep thinking back to what has just happened. It all went so fast! “I hardly had the time to think things through, obviously…” Now I can’t help obsessing about other courses of action I could have taken: the ones where I would not have ended up spread-eagled on a blood-drenched bed. For instance: make the Master bleed, bite through his carotid all right, but then tell him, “I’m a trained nurse, if you untie me I can save your life…” Of course he would have jumped off me straight away, and he was surely smart enough to know that you must press your finger to the wound… No-no-no, it is not sure at all that this would have worked. “In the end he would have killed me anyway!”
Then, finally, after brooding like this for a couple of hours more, I fall asleep at last.