Mabel Shot Part 2

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, feeling guilt consume me once again, the cycle beginning more forcefully, where it always ends with me reliving every second I was in that meeting, only to then masturbate incessantly for hours in my room. One, two, three, four, five times, until my body is completely drained, and I search for release in those precious seconds when the endorphins from the orgasms hit me. And after they’re gone, guilt remains, the shame of not being able to control myself, the tears, the fear of losing myself again, no longer able to be in charge of my desires, just a distressed body needing pain and pleasure to feel alive.
"I wasn’t ready, Macro." I feel the tears rolling down my cheeks, and I turn my face away, looking at the street. "I wasn’t ready to let another man touch me."
"I just wanted to see you well, to see you free, like I feel," he whispers, getting closer and resting his forehead against mine. "I wanted you to understand that you’re not a freak, that there’s nothing wrong with you. Forgive me if I rushed things. I know I should’ve told you where we were going, but I was so afraid you’d refuse. I was a fool, a big fool..."
I wrap my arms around his back and lower my head, resting my forehead on his chest, listening to the sound of his breathing. Macro sighs and hugs me tighter, squeezing his arms around my waist.
"Forgive me."
"You didn’t do anything wrong, Macro," I mumble softly, lifting my head and kissing his cheek. "Everything’s going to be okay."
"I just want to see you happy, Bel." His face pulls back slightly, his green eyes red from crying, his head tilting to the side on his shoulder.
I stay silent, seeing his worn-out face, noticing his sad expression and teary eyes.
"What happened?" I ask, worried, reaching out and touching his face.
"I was afraid you’d leave, disappear from my life again," he says, sniffling, giving me a sad smile.
I smile back at him and shake my head, holding his face in my hands, giving him a peck on the lips. I pull back and wipe the tears from his face, caressing his flushed cheeks.
"You’re such a fool, Boots, a big fool." I lower my hands and grab one of the beers in his hand. "Nothing’s going to separate us again."
"Yeah, I’m the biggest fool of all, you can bet your ass on that," he murmurs, pulling away slightly, holding my hand between his and bringing it close to his heart. "But a big fool who just wants to see you well, not this sad shell you’ve created to cover yourself."
"Macro, I can’t do this," I respond, pulling my hand from his chest. "I’m afraid of myself, do you understand?! I’m afraid of these sick thoughts I have."
"Oh my God, Bel! These sick things, as you call them, are a part of you. There’s nothing wrong with that, you’re not an abomination, and I guarantee there are people who find pleasure in way weirder things," he says quickly, wiping his face and smiling at me. "Sodoma can help you."
"Christ, Macro!" I shake my head and open my beer, walking over to his car and leaning against it. "How do you think a place like that can help me? The most it can do is make me feel more abnormal than I already do."
"No! It won’t!" He walks over and stands beside me, shaking his head vehemently. "It’s not just about sex, orgies, and depravity. The people in there can help you, help you regain confidence in yourself, in others..."
I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out a cigarette as I listen to Macro’s words, having no faith in what he’s saying.
"Normal people don’t find pleasure in being beaten and gagged, Macro." I take a cigarette from the pack and light it, slowly exhaling the smoke after taking a drag.
"Screw normal and whoever says we have to be normal! Look at you, Mabel, a twenty-five-year-old woman who’s only had sex with one asshole, who literally fucked you up mentally, and now you repress everything you desire," he snaps, opening his beer and taking a big gulp. "One day, all this shit you keep pushing down is going to explode, and this control you cling to will slip through your fingers, and the consequences could be serious for you."
"I don’t have control, Macro, that’s what you don’t understand."
"You don’t need control, that’s exactly where you’re going wrong." He takes a step forward, standing in front of me. "You don’t need control, Bel, you need to lose it, let someone help you keep it unstable, you understand me? And in a safe way, where you won’t get hurt." He reaches out and holds my face. "Every time I remember that you paid a stranger to beat you violently, I get terrified. How long do you think you’ll keep control until you lose it again and do something crazy like that?"
"Macro, I’ll be fine, I just need to stay disciplined until I finish this job, then I’ll go back home, to my routine..."
My words are cut off by the sound of his phone ringing in his coat pocket. Macro looks at me, lost, shaking his head, gripping my face tightly with his fingers.
"I’ve made my decision, Macro," I whisper to him, lowering my eyes to the buttons on his shirt. "Answer the call, don’t worry about me, I’m fine."
He lets go of my face and reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out his phone and looking at the screen. I only see the initials on his phone’s display: S.M.
"Is it him, the man you’re seeing?" I ask quietly, watching him shrug his shoulders and nod his head.
I exhale slowly, looking at him with concern, still unsure if this is good or bad for Macro. I can’t see any way out of the path his life has taken, a chance for the future or anything. I walk slowly over to the door of my building, sit on the steps, and gaze at the starry night in Moscow, lighting another cigarette, giving Macro some privacy to take his call. I take a deep drag, filling my lungs with nicotine, feeling a wave of relaxation wash over me, easing just a little of the agonies weighing down my soul. I close my eyes and hug my body as if I could hold myself together when a cold wind hits me, making me shiver.
"Please... please."
"Shhhh!" His hands caress my head, his fingers sliding down the sides of my face, while his other hand tightens the leather strap binding my wrists. "Just close your eyes."
A tear slips from my eyes as I feel his cold lips press a kiss to my forehead.
"Please, Nate, let me go..." My lips are silenced by the wooden gag covered in leather, which he adjusts between my teeth.
I feel the leather strap cutting into my ankles, just as the ones binding my wrists burn my skin. My body is sweaty, with cold perspiration dripping down my chest. He hums softly as he places the electrodes on my head, arranging them carefully and fixing the wires hanging beside the bed, connecting the electrodes to a machine. He smiles at me when he’s done, tapping his finger on my nose. My eyes remain open, staring at the ceiling. I feel his hand slide down my stomach, slowly grazing my navel as he stays composed, watching the reaction on my face. I turn my face to the side and close my eyes when his fingers touch the small mound of flesh above my groin, placing the last electrode on my clitoris. His lips part, letting out a soft sigh. He steps away from the bed and sits beside me in his comfortable chair. He picks up the book and resumes reading from where he left off. The room is cold, so cold from the air conditioning that it sends shivers down my spine, my body trembling.