Hillary_Tail of the Dog (28 page)

What have I done?
Dr. Bentley wondered as he kept his facetious smile plastered upon his face. He had to go along with it. It was his only chance.
God forgive me
, he begged. He faked a moan as his fingers explored her. Hillary’s moans and subsequent orgasmic gasp was clearly not feigned. She leaned over and kissed his lips. He was greatly repulsed by it but had to play along. He had to earn her trust, had to try to convince her to set him free.

He parted his lips and allowed her tainted tongue to mingle with his own. He thought about his wife, Patty. He was only kissing her;
it’s just Patty,
he tried desperately to convince himself. Yet, the foul metallic taste Hillary introduced to his taste buds indicated otherwise and it took every bit of willpower to keep from pulling away and gagging. When Hillary finally pulled away, she seemed quite pleased.

“Oh, God, I needed that,” she panted.

“There’s more where that came from,” Dr. Bentley promised, proud that he had the strength and courage to go through with it.

“Oh, really?”

“Didn’t you want to feel me inside of you?”

Hillary definitely did want that, but she wasn’t a fool. She didn’t really believe he had any interest in her. She saw through his act; it was all just a scheme to escape. After all, didn’t she try the same thing when she was the one confined to the bed? She would play along a while longer. Why not? It was all part of the fun.

“Oh, I do, of course I do...soon enough,” she said with a wink.

“Hey, that’s not very fair to me...to keep me waiting....”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” she promised as she kissed him once more on his lips then slid back off of him. She pulled down her dress and walked toward the door.

“W-where are you going?” Dr. Bentley asked nervously, scolding himself for sounding so feeble.

“Don’t worry lover boy, I’ll be back,” she replied, without turning back to face him. She left the room.

Where’s she going?
Dr. Bentley wondered, fearing that she was on a mission to find additional items with which to satisfy her bloodthirsty appetite. She had inflicted such pain on Monica and Patrick. He didn’t even dare to imagine what she would do to him when she returned. Or, at least he didn’t want to imagine what would happen, but left alone on the verge of a panic attack, it was hard not to keep his mind from conjuring up atrocious scenarios and imagery.

Nearly a half an hour later, Hillary entered the room carrying a new bag, which caused Dr. Bentley to grimace. She had washed up and was wearing a different dress she had borrowed from Monica’s wardrobe—a light pink dress with a floral pattern. She was eerily humming “My Favorite Things” from
The Sound of Music.
It sent a shiver up Dr. Bentley’s spine.

He wondered just what “favorite things” she was referring to.
And why bother changing?
Dr. Bentley thought, irritably,
it’ll be blood-stained in no time at all.

“What do you have there?” he asked, his pretense enthusiasm sounding too forced and chipper.

Hillary rolled her eyes. He was really overdoing it.

“What do you think?” she said sarcastically, and added, “more tools,” before waiting for his response.

It was just as he had feared. How many of his nightmarish visions would come to fruition before the day was through? His heart began to race as beads of sweat formed along his hairline.

“C’mon Hillary, is that really necessary?” he asked nervously.

“What? Did you really think I’d spare your life because you pretend to have an interest in me?”

“I wasn’t pretending,” Dr. Bentley said, so unconvincingly, even he scowled.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“No...I...it’s just that Dr. Morrison was always in the way before...now that he’s gone....”

“You’re so full of shit. I’m not buying any of it,” she said as she kneeled down beside the objects on the floor and started sorting her collection.

From where he was seated, Dr. Bentley could only see a few of the items. His view was obstructed by the foot of the bed. He didn’t like what he saw: a small container of toothpicks, a scalpel and a pair of utility scissors. He could hear the clinking and clanging of several other unknown items as Hillary dug through her latest bag of newly acquired tools.

“I thought we were just starting to get to know one another better,” he said a little more steadily.

“Oh, I’m going to know a
lot
about you,” Hillary teased back, and thought,
how loud you scream, whether you beg for mercy, how your flesh tastes....

“So what are you going to do to me?” he asked, his anxiety level rapidly rising.

“Patience,
darling
, I don’t wanna ruin any surprises.”

As if to give him a clue, she rubbed the sharp blades of two knives together. The unmistakably sinister sound added to his apprehension. He was sweating excessively and breathing rapidly. His anxiety was further exacerbated when Hillary stood up and he saw a scissor clutched within her tightly clenched fist. She lifted it up as she walked toward him. Dr. Bentley held his breath as she approached, expecting her to plunge it deep within his chest. Hillary hovered over him and laughed. The scissor was still within her grasp, suspended just inches above his throat now. He was visibly trembling.

“
Aww,
did you think I was going to stab you with this big, sharp scissor? You are
so much
fun
,” she teased, then stabbed him just above his left knee. She purposefully didn’t plunge the scissor in too deep—just enough to break through his pants and skin and trigger a reflexive jerk of his leg. Dr. Bentley let out a sharp yelp along with a string of involuntary profanities. It made Hillary laugh out loud.

“Well, I didn’t want to disappoint you,” she said, planting a quick peck on his pallid cheek.

“Thanks for that,” he said sarcastically when the pain dwindled down to a dull throb. He wondered whether a series of deeper, more painful jabs would follow.

“I really wasn’t planning on doing that, but since you seemed so ready for it....”

“I’m not ready for anything else,” he said, in a jocular tone, though he was dead serious.

Hillary swiftly moved the scissor about an inch away from his crotch. His face turned even paler and his stomach instantly knotted. He began breathing heavily. He knew Hillary wouldn’t hesitate to castrate him. She had brought the scissor over to him for some purpose, and he was sure he would dread it.

She giggled as she watched him sweat. She loved making her victims cringe with fear. Their rising anxiety was nearly orgasmic for her. Especially now, watching her handsome doctor squirm. She had the power to make him experience heaven or hell and she fully intended to dole out heaping portions of each, particularly the latter.

Hillary used the scissor to cut through the duct tape that had bound Dr. Bentley’s legs to the seat of the chair. He was surprised to see her do so. He wondered what she was up to. Surely she wasn’t setting him free. He sat quietly, staring at her as she continued to cut his legs free. When she was done, she kneeled before him and started cutting his pant leg from the hemline up. Dr. Bentley could feel the blade of the scissor brush and scrape against his leg as Hillary quickly cut through his pants. When she was done with the first pant leg, she moved on to the second.

What the hell is she going to do?
Dr. Bentley worried as Hillary unfastened the button on his pants and unzipped the zipper. She yanked at the waistband as if trying to remove his pants. Frustrated, she began cutting off pieces of his pants, pulling at the material, ripping it until the top half of it fell to the floor. He sat there nervously, sitting on the lower half of his pants, in his boxer shorts. He felt completely self-conscious and vulnerable.

Hillary didn’t stop there. Without much of a hesitation, she went to work cutting off his boxer shorts until he was entirely exposed. It was a humiliating experience for Dr. Bentley, who could do no more than look away, embarrassed. But modesty was the least of his problems.

Hillary tugged at the cloth underneath him, trying with all her might to pull it free. She sighed heavily in frustration.

“Do you really need to be so difficult?” she huffed.

Dr. Bentley shrugged.

“Lift your fat ass up already!” she shouted.

“It’s not as easy as you think,” he replied, arching his back and digging his feet into the floor to propel his posterior slightly from the seat. He grumbled as Hillary tugged and yanked at the lower halves of his ripped pants and underwear. There was something holding his pants back. It was his wallet. Hillary shoved her hand underneath him to pull it as he involuntarily collapsed down upon the seat, crushing her arm in the process.

“
Ow!
” she yelled as she attempted to recoil her hand slowly from under his rear end. “
Get off!
”

Dr. Bentley struggled to lift up and Hillary pulled her hand free, along with the rest of his pants.

“I’ll make you pay for that,” she said angrily as she examined and rubbed her reddened arm.

“It was an accident,” he explained.

“I can have accidents too,” she hissed, as threw the remains of his pants to the floor. “Don’t let it happen again,” she warned.

As he strained to keep his rump off the seat, Hillary pulled the remaining shred of his boxer shorts free. He was completely naked from the waist down. Feeling ashamed and degraded, he looked away from Hillary as she leered down at him lasciviously. She dropped the scissor to the floor.

She bowed her head down, buried it within his crotch and sniffed. Dr. Bentley was mortified, horrified. He felt more violated than he’d ever felt in his life.

“
Mmmmm,
” she said with a soft moan, “I love how you smell, like sweat and man.”

She stood up and slowly disrobed, tossing the dress to the other side of the room. Dr. Bentley could see that in addition to showering, she also shaved. Her entire crotch was hairless. She looked like a small child from the waist down.

Dr. Bentley quickly averted his gaze. He knew he should be taking advantage of the situation, just as he had planned. He knew he had to be strong, had to go along with her games, but he could not bring himself to say anything. He felt mentally paralyzed.

Hillary fondled his limp penis, massaging it—surprisingly gently—within her savage hand. After several minutes of unsuccessfully trying to get Dr. Bentley aroused, Hillary sighed in frustration then resumed fondling him. Dr. Bentley looked away. He did not want any part of what she planned to do, despite what he had told her earlier. He could not bring himself to participate in such a sick, twisted affair.

Hillary rubbed her breasts along his still-flaccid member. Dr. Bentley could feel her hardened nipples brush along the most sensitive part of his slowly stiffening penis. He had absolutely no desire to become erect, but he was losing his battle. Once Hillary leaned over and took him in her mouth, the battle was over. His repulsion gave way to his innate biological urges. Hillary could feel him throbbing in her mouth. She pulled away, not yet ready for him to explode. She stood up then straddled him, guiding him into her. She thrust her pelvis down firmly, allowing him to penetrate her deeply. It was even more pleasurable for her than when he had fingered her. In fact, it was the first time she had ever enjoyed sex.

Dr. Bentley, on the other hand, while physically stimulated, was mentally and emotionally revolted. It was wrong on so many levels. Even though he was an unwilling participant, he was still having sex with a fifteen year old girl. A small part of him found it perversely exciting and he opened his eyes to stare at the beautiful creature atop him. It was the only reason he was able to attain and maintain his erection. Yet, the predominant part of him wanted to shut his eyes and disassociate himself from what was happening because the truth was, he wasn’t making love to a beauty, he was being attacked by a monster.

While Hillary pleasured herself with his amply rigid erection, he began thinking about all of the rape victims he had counseled over the years. Until now there was no way he could truly comprehend their plight. Now, as a rape victim himself, he could completely empathize with their sense of helplessness, anger and self-loathing. Dr. Bentley was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t even realize that Hillary was saying something to him.

“sky...” she panted, grinning madly as she threw back her head and cried out in ecstasy.

What did she say?
Dr. Bentley wondered.

In the midst of her orgasm, she yelled out, “it’s me, Daddy, Amber Skye...oh, you feel so good, Daddy...
soooo gooooddd....
”

Dr. Bentley, who had heretofore assumed an inactive role in Hillary’s perverse frolicking, began pulling forward against the duct tape, trying desperately to break free. How dare Hillary say such a thing? How dare she sully Amber Skye’s name like that?

“
I’ll kill you,
” he threatened superficially. His idle threat only fed Hillary’s sadistic appetite.

“Oh, Daddy,” she continued in a small, child-like voice, “don’t I feel good? You like little girls, Daddy? Are you going to come in your little girl?”

Dr. Bentley felt sick to his stomach at the mere suggestion that he could ever molest his little girl. All trace of the primal libido that had allowed him to attain an erection was now completely lost. Hillary could feel him softening, shrinking within her.

“You’d better come!” she warned as she roughly propelled herself forward as if trying to prevent his rapidly withering penis from slipping out of her.

There was no possibility that Dr. Bentley would ejaculate, as there was no chance that he would become erect again—not after the disturbing thought Hillary left festering within his brain. Like a venomous neurotransmitter poisoning his neurons, Hillary’s sexually twisted game was sure to render him impotent for a long, long time.

Yet Hillary tried tenaciously to reestablish his erection nonetheless. She fondled his testicles, caressed the shaft of his penis, even placed him in her mouth again—to no avail. His disinterest infuriated her. Dr. Morrison was able to achieve an orgasm with her, why couldn’t he? Her ego could not—would not—accept this rejection. If she couldn’t make him feel pleasure, then she would make him feel pain.