Elysian Fields (A Kyman Fanfiction)

Chapter 14: If I Had a Heart

"What are we doing back here?" I ask, pretty sure I already know the answer.

Cartman unzips his schoolbag and retrieves a neatly rolled black linen, held together with a black shoestring bow. He places it gently on the pedestal and turns to look at me. "I rented the room, Kahl. So we could have some privacy. Just you, me, and some toys. Like old times."

I could smack that stupid grin off his face. I cautiously walk further into the room, always keeping one eye on Cartman and one on the door. Leaving was an option. I could just say no. Then he could tell everyone. And I would never make enough money to leave. And he could find another way to continue torturing me, and this would be my life.

He ignores my inner monologue and continues, "Now be a good little Jew and stand next to the cross, would you?"

I saunter toward the black wooden X on the wall and hug myself. The lack of population in the room left it cooler, despite the red walls. I am innately aware just how alone and private this session will be. I've only seen some of the things on the walls in Kenny's magazines, and once when he convinced Stan and I to go to a sex shop with him. Some of the metal tongs completely escape me as to what the use is, but the whips are pretty self-explanatory.

"Just how much did you pay for this room?"

I ask inquisitively.

"Enough for at least a month of rent for wherever you want to go." Cartman's fingers graze the various tools on the shelves, pausing now and again to appreciate the texture of the tight leather or cold metal.

"No rent is worth what you're putting me through," I state.

"Then leave. It's very simple Kahl, either live out your life here, in South Park, with your Jew mom and Jew family, hating yourself, or take a chance," he decides on a black leather whip, and points the butt at the wooden X, "And get your ass on the cross."

I begrudgingly place my back against the smoothly finished wood and look at him, seething with rage and humiliation.

"That's good, Kahl. The look of hatred suits you," he beams. "Raise your hands."

I lackadaisically raise my arms above my head and he moves my wrist, adjusting it into the leather cuff and clicking the buckle. He skillfully plays with the tension until it's secure and I'm unable to move my arm. He does the same to my other hand, pulling the leather tight with a soft sound of animal skin on skin, leaving me bound to the cross, my chest exposed and hands unable to defend. I glower at him but he's too engrossed in his task to notice.

His choppy hair brushes my nude shoulder as he tightens the harness around my waist. My body is shivering in the empty cold but I can feel the heat emanating from his. Finally, he sets to work on my feet, leaving me feeling extremely powerless, exactly the way he likes me.

He steps back and admires his handiwork, not saying anything as he picks the whip back off the tiled floor.

"Why are you doing this?" I have to ask. He seems to be enjoying the high his perverse pleasure at my subjection is giving him. But why does he get pleasure at all?

"Don't you know me at all, Kahl?" He approaches me, taking his time with every step, the panic setting in with each clack of his steel toed boots hitting the linoleum. He knows what he's doing to me. He's in full control of this feeling, my fear and my powerlessness. He grins ear to ear, his gold eyes swimming in the red walls. "I'm doing this because I hate you."

The first crack of the whip came down hard on my naked thigh, fast and hot. I wince but no noise escapes. I am not going to give him this satisfaction. I stare him directly in his gold feral eyes, and he stares right back into my fighting ones. I'm going to make it the least enjoyable I can. He brings his arm up again and whips me on my arm. This time the pain sears a bit too much for me to bear and I utter a pained gasp.