A Fall From Grace Chapter 1
#3 of A Fall From Grace
Darkness.
The inky blackness utterly enveloped the room and deprived even the sharpest eyes from being able to appraise their surroundings. Add the oppressive, musty heat and the muffled echoes of a well insulated wall and you have the perfect mixture for leaving someone completely off kilter. Especially if there is a good deal of acepromazine involved.
His breathing was my first clue that my guest was waking up. The slow and steady whistle of air through his swollen and crusted nostril hitched before it started to quicken with the occasional irregular gasp or groan. Pushing myself off of the comfy couch that I had set up across from him, I curled my fingers around the Maglite that was perched on the arm and wandered my way over. He was definitely starting to wake back up, those snorts and groans beginning to be interspersed with mumbled curses and confused gibberish.
I had walked this path many times while he was unconscious. Even in the blackness I knew that I was standing right in front of him when my paws came to a halt. Maglite folded in front of me, my ears pricked forward to catch each and every one of his muttered cussings and statements while he came to. I bided my time patiently, waiting for him to raise his voice the first time and shout someone's name before I removed my Juliets from where they were hooked in the neck of my shirt. He heard me too it seems since his incoherent mutterings stopped dead.
"Who's that..."
I was too busy positioning the sunglasses over my eyes to be bothered to answer. Once I was happy with the hug of the metal arms along the side of my head I lifted the Maglight and pointed it right at his face. My eyes closed and I hit the button. There was a hint of pink in front of my eyelids when his howl of pain ricocheted through the room, the sounds of his handcuffs jerking frantically against the metal chair that was holding him bolted to the floor adding a nice metallic ting to those pained yells. I must have lit up those oh so sensitive, unsuspecting feline eyes pretty well.
Slowly I opened my own. With the bit of priming and the sunglasses to help disperse the majority of the Maglite's vicious glare my eyes were spared the shock, so it took two or three blinks before I was treated to the sight of a burly, naked lion thrashing against the chair I had him handcuffed to. I couldn't help myself. I felt my lips pull up into a self-satisfied smirk while I watched his head jerk and twist; his eyes squeezed shut and lips pulled back into a snarl that was broken only by incoherent curses and yowls of pain.
He was a big boy. Easily six foot four when he was standing upright and built like a brick shithouse. The typical biker in denial about his real sexuality. It was a pity too because while he strained against the handcuffs his shoulders and chest stood out in stark definition against his short, golden pelt. And the fact that the sheath bunched up between his squirming thighs was almost obscenely plump was the cherry on the disappointment sundae. I would have felt bad for what I was about to do to him, really. But I was too busy trying to contain my glee to do so at this particular moment.
It took him a minute to calm down, his head twisting to try and look as far away from the painful beam of focused light I was shining in his face before one eye managed to scrunch its way open. It was too comical to watch him blink like a kitten just sprayed in the face with a water bottle while he attempted to focus on me behind the Maglite. So comical that I wasn't able to rope in the entirety of my snickering and one or two ended up escaping past my lips. The fact that he was being laughed at was bad. The fact that the voice laughing at him was as effeminate as mine probably made it even worse. The blinking stopped and his eyes narrowed to slits while he glared into the light, his rounded ears pinning back against his head.
"Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you think you're laughing at? Fucking untie me before I rip your goddamn head off."
Now that particular rant made me just lose it. I didn't even try to hide the fit of laughter that bubbled out from between my lips. And boy did that just make the kitty even more pissed off. The handcuffs jerked against the steel that they were locked around loud enough to make my poor, sensitive ears pin back against my head in their search for protection from the ringing of metal on metal that accosted them. He added a few choice insults about my breeding, mother and questioned my hesitance at raising my tail while I tried getting my snicker fit under control. But I did eventually manage to rein it in.
With a deep breath, I let the last giggle go with a happy sigh. This further torqued at my guest's tail since he spit out another tirade about my mother having questionable morals while I pulled the Maglite's beam out of his face slightly so he could see mine in the shadows behind it. It took him a few before his eyes adjusted enough, but when they did whoo boy. They got as wide as saucers. I couldn't help myself. I smiled the sweetest, most innocent smile I could muster at him while I focused the Maglite at his chest.
"What in the hell. Who the fuck are you? Where am I?"
The same rant. I couldn't keep myself from smiling wider. And again, this just made him even more pissed off. I set the Maglight on the table beside him while he struggled and cursed at me. I stopped paying attention to his ranting, turning my attention to the more pressing matters at hand. My paws came to rest on the towel draped across the edge of the table, lifting and folding it back so that he could get a good look at the gleam of steel on the surgical tray that was perched at the table's edge. This shut him up right fast.
"Whoa, wait, wait. What the hell is that? Who are you? What am I doing here?"
The anger was gone from his voice, replaced with a concern that was like buttery caramel to my ears. I pointedly ignored him while I let my fingers dance across the various instruments that I had laid out for my perusal while he was unconscious. His nerves were very quickly rising to panic, his breathing coming in short, quick puffs and betraying his growing anxiety. I let my fingers settle on the pair of nail clippers before I turned my attention back to him. His golden eyes were wide, staring at the hinged implement in my grasp.
"You don't know me. But I know you. My name's Phaegan. Remember that name, because you are going to be screaming it very soon."
My words captured his attention. His eyes tore from my fingers and lifted to my face, locking with my own. He was scared. The pinned ears, the quick heaves of his shoulders and the wide, dinner plate eyes all betrayed that fact better than if he had told me in words. That fear was intoxicating. I drank it in while I played my fingers across the clippers. And when he was on the verge of hyperventilating I picked them up in one paw and retrieved the Maglite with the other.
He started to struggle once more as I made my way behind him, his head twisting and shoulders straining while he tried to keep me in his gaze. But when I finally crouched behind him he stopped trying to watch me and turned his attention to trying to get free again. I focused the Maglite on those big ol' paws of his. His wrists were already starting to bleed from the constant straining of soft flesh and fur against unyielding metal, the fur rubbed clean off in a few places. His back was just as magnificent as his front. The lines of muscles along his spine stood out in stark relief while he fought against his bindings, his hips and ass clenching and tensing almost hypnotically while his tail thrashed over them.
I made sure to grasp the first finger with an almost nurse-like care. His fist balled up, but the force of one finger was no match for my entire paw draped around that digit. Carefully, I straightened it back out while he struggled, getting his finger nice and straight before I dug my thumb into that calloused pawpad. His claws were almost manicured. Seems the big boy definitely took care of them. That was definitely going to make what I was about to do so much more torturous. The Maglite was positioned beneath my arm, grasping it against my side and twisting so the beam focused on my work while I lifted the clippers up to the exposed claw.
I know he realized what I was up to right before it happened, because as soon as the metal hasp scraped over that claw, he started to struggle again, yelling and jerking against the handcuffs that held him at my mercy. But I had my target, and I was not letting go. So I let him have his little tantrum, even letting him tug his finger just a bit out of my grasp before tightening my grip and holding it firm. The pressure against his fingerpad as I squeezed the clippers was all it took to melt his macho attitude.
"No! Please! I don't know what..."
His sentence was cut off with an abrupt and delicious scream as I pulled the handles on the nail clippers together. The sharp click of steel through nail and skin was lost in his outburst, but that claw sailing through the beam of my flashlight before disappearing into the darkness, followed by the little squirt of bright, angry red pulsing from the tip of his finger where that claw was a moment before was all that I needed. I let that piggy go, snickering while it coiled into his palm to try and quench the flow of blood that was oozing steadily from it and focused on my next target. His little finger on the other paw was hanging out a bit, so he chose the next victim for me.
Again, I seized a hold of my target and pulled it taut against my palm. The cat was out of the bag now so he was thrashing and fighting me with a renewed vigor. But, as strong as a lion is, he's still trumped by steel. To his credit, the chair definitely rattled and groaned on its attachment points to the floor. But I made sure that it was solid. Nothing short of a bulldozer was going to knock it loose from the concrete floor beneath. I dragged this one out. I savored the cursing and pleading and panted breathing as I forced the next claw from its sheath and slid the clippers over to nestle against the tip of his finger. I waited for the cussing to give way to the plaintive begging and pleading before the next click was again drowned out by the guttural roar of a lion in pain.
One by one, each of those so well cared for claws was removed from his paws. Each clip, I made sure to nestle the trimmers as close to his fingertips as I possibly could and get as much of that sensitive quick in the path of the blade. He fought and he fought well. But I had spent way too much time planning the horrors I had laid out for him for his brute force attempts at resistance to derail me. When the last of his claws spun off into the darkness I released my hold on his paw and stood. Casually, I made my way back around him and set the trimmers back down on the table, the Maglite still held beneath my arm so that he could see just where my attention was focusing on the table before me.
I pushed the sunglasses out of my eyes and back up between my ears while I reached for the hypodermic needle and the Zippo beside it. I turned my attention back to my plaything while I flicked the Zippo to life and began heating the needle to a bright, angry orange in its lazily dancing flame. His eyes were huge, easily the size of dinner plates. He was definitely petrified and I could almost swear I smelled piss wafting up from him. If he hadn't wet himself by then, I would have bet money that he was going to in the next few minutes. Ignoring the blubbering, sobbing begging I walked back behind him and crouched down once more.
He tried to keep his already battered fingers out of my grasp, but the prod of almost white hot steel against sensitive fur and flesh tends to make a person much more cooperative. I got his first finger and again poised its tip out for inspection. Once I had a clear view of that still bleeding stump where his claw was a moment before, I brought the still glowing needle downwards and dug it around in the soft, pithy center of the freshly cut nail. Now, I thought he was loud before. Those roars were nothing in comparison to the ruckus he made while I systematically cauterized each and every one of those bleeding stumps for him. I didn't want my guest to get an infection after all.
The smell of burned flesh was heavy in the air by the time I finished the tenth and final stump. He still had a bit of fight in him, but by that last claw it was all jerks and incoherent garbles. Seems like he was starting to get shocky. So I stood back up and made my way back to the table. Zippo and needle were traded for a bottle and a fresh hypodermic. He was staring right at me while I drew out a few milliliters of the acepromazine, but something told me he didn't see a damn thing. So, I gave him my first kindness and pulled the needle free, jamming it into the meat of that plump ass and delivering the clear solution that pulled his eyelids down by force a few moments later. When his breathing slowed I turned off the Maglite and went to turn on the lights hanging from the rafters above so I could get the next act in his little drama ready for when he woke up.