Chapter 5
Day 9
“Please choose between the following tasks:
1.A gets a tattoo on B's belly and inner thigh, which must include his name.
2.B removes one of A's eyeballs.
Miles opened his eyes to the image of Hobie holding his finger up to his own eye, letting the fingertip linger and rub at the lash. The boy yawned before looking at the task bar in the air.
Immediately after Miles made out the letters on the second line he jerked his hand back vigorously, ignoring the red color left behind by Hobie's clenched fingers: "YOU CAN'T possibly be thinking about it."
"About what." Hobie cocked his head, to which Miles struggled for control and still couldn't resist rolling his eyes: he'd thought they'd long since stopped having this conversation.
"No. I'm not--taking out one of your eyeballs! It's--disgusting and inhumane!"
"Don't know 'bout it," Hobie shrugged:" I could be Captain Hook."
"Yeah, Captain Hook didn't just got one eye, genius. He was the one who lost an arm. You could be Horatio Nelson though..."
At this point Miles suddenly remembered the famous British admiral's somewhat dismal end, and so immediately closed his voice, while Hobie shook his head : "Never heard of him."
"Doesn't matter man . . so let's get it done, the tattoo. you wouldn't happen to know how to print one, would you?"
At Miles' skeptical look Hobie pulled back his jacket to reveal the upper half of his body; he pointed to a tattoo near his lower abdomen, the same symbol as the one on his jacket, a circle with four letters in the center:FMNS
"Get it done myself."
“How could you have so many skills? I mean you-you know how to pierce, and now you know how to tattoo?”
"Do you regret? There is still time to change our choice--again, I could live with one eye."
Miles simply gave up arguing and took what looked like a few tools for tattooing on the table and pushed them in front of Hobie: "Let's start, or do you need some time to get ready?"
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As Miles watched Hobie carefully sterilize the implements with alcohol he began to feel a twinge of fear; Miles began to shiver a little at the thought of the props that were going to leave irrevocable marks on his skin in a few moments.
"Where do you want it?"
"H-Huh? Sorry you were saying--?"
"I said, where do you want my name on?" repeated Hobie patiently as he gazed at the boy who was obviously nervous to the core; according to the assignment he had to tattoo each of Miles's, belly and inner thighs, and one of them had to be his name: given that they hadn't yet discussed the second motif, Hobie decided to tattoo his name first.
"I-I um . . whatever... I mean I don't really care, so . . you can pick for me."
"Thigh it is."
Hobie gestured for Miles to remove his pants, then had him sit in a chair and spread his legs; he stood and squatted down between Miles' legs, carefully sterilizing the patch of skin with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball.
The alcohol began to absorb heat and evaporate the moment it touched the warm skin, and the cold sensation made Miles subconsciously try to clench his legs; Hobie, however, anticipated this and firmly pressed down on Miles's knees to prevent him from continuing : "Don't. Move."
"You know it's gonna hurt a lot more later, right?" Hobie looked at Miles after a final pressure on the cotton ball to make sure all the preparations were complete: "I wouldn't suggest you move around. Try control yourself, create some, distractions."
"Yeah, like there's a lot of things in this room to distract me... I'll try. I won't move--promise!"
Upon meeting Hobie's gaze, Miles quickly changed his tune, assuring him that he would behave.
Hobie gave his thigh a final wipe, and before doing so he brought his hand up to Miles' mouth and looked at the boy's puzzled gaze as he calmly explained, "If you can't take it, just bite me."
In response, Miles felt a rare subtle hint of bruised pride; he firmly pushed Hobie away while cocking his head to the side: "No thanks. I think I can take a lot more than you think."
It wasn't until Hobie's chuckling "Yeah I also think so" that Miles realized how ambiguous his comment had been. Especially after they'd just been locked in a room for over a week engaging in various acts of intimacy.
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"It doesn't hurt like I thought, you know."
Miles couldn't contain his curiosity to look down while the lush growth of Hobie's hair lying between his thighs blocked his entire view; the expected pain didn't come, but rather a dry, wet sensation poking and prodding at his inner thighs. To satisfy his curiosity he quietly reached out and attempted to lift Hobie's hair like a curtain, however the man buried between his legs before he could touch it suddenly raised his head, causing Miles' hand to nearly touch his cheekbone.
"......I um...I-I was," hell, he couldn't think of a plausible explanation.
Hobie lifted the pen in his hand to indicate:”It doesn’t hurt, sunflower, coz I haven’t started yet. I was just write my name on it so that later I’ll just follow the print. Since you’re ready, here we go.”
The moment the stinger touched his skin caused Miles to let out a low gasp that he couldn't hold back; the sharp stinging sensation reached his brain first, followed by a numbing swell of pain. The ink pierced the tissue along with the skin filling with blood, bringing the torment along with it; Miles was beginning to regret his decision to let Hobie choose, maybe he should have gone for the small of his back where it might not have hurt so much; he shouldn't have turned down Hobie's offer so early, now he was more than willing to find something to bite on to prevent his moans from spilling out further; Miles might not have realized it yet, or maybe he was in denial; but all in all, what was tormenting him wasn't wasn't, or was more than, the pain of needles piercing his skin.
Hobie's curly, exaggerated hair constantly harassed his thighs, the tips sweeping between his legs like a kitten's tail bringing an itch if nothing else; his searing breath spewing from time to time leaving moist moisture on the tender flesh of Miles's inner thighs, the heat draining away again as quickly as he raised his head. During this alternation of hot and cold Miles was embarrassed to realize that he was getting an erection: now he had to think of something else to distract him.
He knew every nook and cranny of this room, and the line of tasks floating in the air, he could memorize every letter; in the end Miles chose to stare at the countdown together, ten hours, thirty-eight minutes, nine seconds, ten hours, thirty-eight minutes, eight seconds -
A distending pain that he couldn't ignore interrupted Miles' silent counting, and the person working between his legs looked up at just the right moment for Miles to be able to see what was going on: beads of blood were oozing out of the area where the needle had been pricked, mixing with the black ink. Perhaps feeling disturbed by the excess liquid, Hobie stuck out his tongue and licked the inside of Miles' thigh.
The sensation of his tongue touching his skin made Miles start to gasp violently; a hot current rising from his belly made his waist shrink back a little before Hobie stopped him again : "Don't. Move."
"You see Peter Pan, since you choose to have pain, you're gonna stick it through. try to, enjoy the pain. or think it this way: the sooner you lemme finish, the Or think it this way: the sooner you lemme finish, the sooner you'll be free."
"How do you enjoy pain?" "How do you enjoy pain?" Miles couldn't understand.
"Like this."
Hobie licked him again, this time not exactly where the tattoo had left him, but closer to his lower back; the tip of his tongue nearly circled his genitals leaving wetness behind; one of Hobie's hands pressed firmly against Miles' thighs and the other pinched his waist hard, each movement reminding Miles of his presence - maybe this was how he should enjoy pain.
Pain was the signal of danger, the prerequisite that had allowed mankind to survive through the millennia; linking the great joy that came from coming back from death over and over again to pain, pain that reminded him that he was still alive, still able to perceive things in the outside world, pain that made him appreciate every second, that made him begin to crave for more, more pain to allow him to better embrace life. And now, it was the same person who gave him pain as well as made him grateful for life-
In a sense, pain is like a special drug with a long, addictive aftertaste.
Luckily, Hobie's name wasn't too complicated.
"Done."
By the time Miles could no longer feel the roots of his thighs, along with the soreness and numbness of being separated for so long, Hobie had also finished his first tattoo. 50% progress.
Miles was a little lost; just moments ago at the moment Hobie stopped he couldn't help but push forward, hungry for more - both the pain and Hobie's licks; to cover it up Miles snapped his head down to check out his tattoo.
“Hobart Brown”
"That's your name?? Wow, didn't see that coming."
Miles unconsciously touched his hand to the swollen skin, and the stinging sensation made him grin a little while carefully withdrawing his hand not daring to move it; Hobie brought some ointment to put on it for him, and he carefully smeared the pale green cream on the swollen skin while asking Miles if he had any ideas for a second tattoo.
"Honestly, no."
The coldness of the ointment did well to ease some of the pain. The coolness coming from his thighs made Miles squint in enjoyment: "You can just . . really, anything would be okay . . it's my first time getting a tattoo."
"You've got plenty of first time's going these days." Hobie gestured with the tip of the needle in her hand: "You wanna finish this? I think I just got the perfect pattern for ya. Or you wanna take some time to get ready?"
Miles stared at the needle of the machine, his inner thighs still swollen, blood spurting out like it was going to burst through the skin, and after the numbness was gone all that was left was the pain hitting his nerves in one wave and then the next.
"Continue, please."
Miles heard himself say.
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The angle looked a little like Hobie was giving him a blowjob.
Miles decided to distract himself a little with thoughts like that. He began to imagine Hobie's hand dropping to the small of his back, pressing and kneading a little as before, gradually working its way up to his hindquarters, his thumb pressing into his loin socket, squeezing the bone through the skin and then sliding down, all the way to that wet entrance, the fingertips circling around and around and in and out again and again; he imagined Hobie nibbling on his nipples or gently pulling at the studs or lowering his head to suck on his cock and give him the best blowjob he could ever have; though As far as he could remember Hobie had minimal need for sex, calling it frigid, but his technique was the best Miles had ever experienced.
The tip of the needle jabbed into the sensitive area of his lower abdomen causing pain and pleasure to erupt together; a white light flashed before Miles' eyes causing him to throw his head back and gasp desperately; his fingers dug into Hobie's hair clenching it involuntarily, and it took a long time for him to realize that the hand swirling around his ass wasn't an illusion.
"Patient, Bambi . . almost done."
Hobie kissed the small of his back, the patch of skin where his lips had touched so red and swollen that the black ink had seeped inside. He was sure Miles would like it, like the style he'd chosen for him, and he'd been irrepressibly excited during the painting; to keep a hint of mystery and surprise alive he'd looked up as he neared completion and demanded of Miles, "Close your eyes. Don't open till I told you so."
But he still didn't feel safe. So Hobie pulled the hood of Miles' jumper down and tightened the ties, exposing only his mouth and nose for breathing; and after doing so Hobie stepped back to look around again and finally decided to hold Miles in front of the mirror to admire him.
The whole time, Miles was at his mercy like a big obedient doll.
"Voila."
The bright light took Miles a moment to get used to; when his pupils became normal size he could barely see through the reflection of the mirror: there was a pitch-black spider near the lower right side of his belly, eight legs laying on his skin with their teeth and claws open; the hind limbs were close to the navel while the two front limbs rested on the pubic bone.
A hand landed on the spider's abdomen, the black-painted fingernails making a strong visual impact against the red, swollen skin and dark tattoos; Miles looked up to see Hobie gesturing at him:
"Mine."
His behavior could easily be mistaken for a declaration of ownership, a display of possessiveness over the boy, and Miles understood at once: "This is--This is the one that bit you?"
Hobie raised an eyebrow in approval. He tattoos the radioactive spider that bit him on Miles.
"Got a matching one here." said Hobie as he lifted up his shirt to reveal an almost identical tattoo, and on his chest lay a spider as well, teeth and claws stretched out on eight legs.
Miles stared curiously at the complete tattoo in the mirror as he stroked the design and eventually couldn't help but touch his own body; the pain was more than just torture to him now, the addictive pleasure and excitement from the hormones secreted kept him going on and on.
"Mom and dad are so gonna kill me if they know this..." the boy's fingers were pointing at the base of his thighs as he carefully turned his body sideways for a better view; the action made him look like one of those laurel-crowned men in ancient Greek paintings, white robes, pure and handsome virginal boys-
Or a sunflower.
Hobie cocked his head patiently, "I don't think they'll ever know, considering the places where your tattoos are."
His boy looked like a sunflower in a Van Gogh painting. Whether dazzling like a ball of fire or nearly wilted and dull, they held a great deal of life; he had once thought of keeping this vitality permanently, nursing it in a glass enclosure, but now his sunflowers were thriving, chasing the sun.
Hobie stepped forward to wrap his jacket around Miles, and at the moment he lowered his head to straighten the other man's clothes the boy suddenly grabbed his wrist: "Hey, just out of curiosity . . what do you think will happen tomorrow? Like what kind of task would--"
"Whatever it is," Hobie gently zipped up the zipper and wrapped Miles' entire body in his jacket: "Tomorrow's the end."
"Yeah..."
Miles looked up confused: "Tomorrow. Tomorrow's the end."
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"Day 10
Please choose between the following tasks:
1. A penetrates B and performs sexual asphyxiation with internal ejaculation
2. B slits A's throat "
—————————TBC—————————