2 - Bondage
Bonus kinks: non-con, sensation play, car sex
Despite her weird encounter with Sylar at the mixer, Claire resumed the normal course of her life once again. Her only concession to Sylar's possible return at any moment was to visit a family planning clinic, where she got a lecture about condoms, a contraceptive shot that she was afraid wouldn't work on her, and advice about "intra uterine devices" which sounded a lot more like the kind of thing that would stop Sylar's spawn from settling in her womb. Unfortunately, the clinic wasn't prepared to install one immediately, especially when a quick examination revealed that Claire appeared to be a virgin. So she had to hope that the shot would work.
Exams started; Claire was pondering a depressing G.E. she'd taken that morning when she came back to her room after lunch and found Gretchen at the desk, cramming for her next test. Things between them hadn't improved in the last ten days, ever since Sylar had first abducted Claire. She wished she knew what to say to get her friend back; she missed being able to discuss ordinary topics like classes and exams without a wall of ice between them. But as far as Gretchen was concerned, they had been in a relationship and Claire had cheated. It felt like West's reaction to her Dad all over again.
"Oh, hey, you've received a package," said Gretchen without raising her head. "Doesn't say who it's from."
Picking it up, Claire observed the mailing envelope with curiosity. The address label was printed, with a barcode that suggested it came from a company, but there was no indication which one, just a P.O. Box as the return address. Claire sat on her bed and opened one end. All she could see were red leather straps with silver buckles; puzzled, she pulled one out. She was about to ask Gretchen her opinion when she realized what the short, collar-like object was. She remembered Luke talking about leather handcuffs back in the house in Newark and hastily closed the envelope again.
"Who's it from?" asked Gretchen. Something about the way she was looking at Claire suggested that she had seen the cuff.
Claire blushed a little. "Um, Simon."
"Oh. That kind of present, is it?" said Gretchen narrowing her eyes with amusement. She had definitely noticed the handcuff.
Although their friendship was still strained, Gretchen seemed to be trying to adapt to the idea of Claire's boyfriend "Simon". It just made Claire's situation worse; it was bad enough that she was Sylar's on-demand sex slave, but trying to make out that it was a normal relationship to Gretchen just made Claire feel even more like a freak. The "boyfriend" Gretchen was trying to accept was a freak who sent his "girlfriend" bondage gear.
"Um, I need to go to the library," said Gretchen, "so why don't you have a look at your present in private?"
God, Gretchen was trying too hard. Claire smiled and let her go. She had just put the parcel under the bed, determined to look at it some other time, preferably never, when her phone beeped. Someone had initiated an IM conversation; Claire didn't recognize the user name, but she knew who it was as soon as she saw the message.
GMG1976: did you get the package
Swallowing the bile that rose to her throat, Claire accepted the conversation and responded "Yes".
GMG1976: good practice putting them on and meet me at the south parking entrance at 430 pm bring the package wear the yellow dress and shoes and nothing else
Claire's heart sank into her stomach at Sylar's request. She ignored the tingle she felt as she remembered the last time they had met and the casual way he had screwed her against a tree at her friend's house. At least that had fit in with the notion that he would just appear in her life and take what he wanted. The idea of actually preparing for an encounter with Sylar in advance, and going to meet him as if she was a willing participant, made Claire feel rather sick. She muttered a couple of profanities about stupid asshole psychos who didn't understand punctuation.
TexasClaire: I have to study for an exam. Can we meet another time?
GMG1976: No. You can study after. Don't be late. I'll have to keep you all night if I have to come get you.
GMG1976: I might have to invite your girlfriend too.
GMG1976: See you at 4.30.
He had evidently worked out punctuation and capitals on whatever device he was using. Sylar closed the conversation without even waiting for Claire to respond. She resisted the urge to hurl her cell phone across the room; it would only result in her having no phone and do nothing to resolve her problem. Instead, she sat on her bed and seethed.
However, even seething wouldn't get her out of this situation. It was lunch time now. She had a test at 2.00 and another one at 3.00, which meant she would only have half an hour to get ready to meet Sylar that afternoon. The meeting place was nowhere near the building her exams were in so she wouldn't have time to go back to her dorm and change. She would have to sit her tests wearing the yellow dress -- with the gross contents of the package in her bag -- and then go to meet Sylar straight afterwards.
Claire was tempted to ignore his messages completely. It was probable that Sylar would simply abduct her by force if she welched on their deal, but at least Claire's own conscience would be clear; she would remain his unwilling victim rather than an active participant. On the other hand, he had threatened her family and friends, she had agreed to have sex with him on demand, and she was sick of being everyone's victim. Going to confront him was slightly more appealing than lurking in her dorm waiting for him to come get her. Also, she had to admit that she was just a little curious as to what he had planned.
In the meantime, he had told her to practice putting the gear on. Claire breathed in deeply; she didn't have much time before her first test, so she locked the door and emptied the envelope onto the bed. It contained two pairs of red leather cuffs and two short chains. Claire stared at them in horror; Sylar had evidently taken her objection to the zipties seriously.
"Oh, this is gross," she exclaimed with a shudder.
She didn't even want to touch the things. The Bennets had been reasonably open about sex and Claire already knew from her mother and school friends that some people -- sick people -- liked to tie each other up and/or inflict pain during sex. She'd seen bondage gear and simulated kinky sex scenes in mainstream movies like Pulp Fiction and Basic Instinct. But it had always been a vaguely titillating but entirely remote concept; Claire had more experience of pain and bondage than most girls her age, but none of it so far had been sexual.
"Trust Sylar to be a pervert as well as a stalker," she muttered.
The thought occurred to her then that Sylar was probably stalking her right now. He could fly; there was nothing to stop him hovering outside her window the way that West had done. And Nathan. In fact, he probably remembered Nathan doing it. Claire glanced out the window but wasn't reassured when she saw nothing. Sylar had appeared out of thin air at the party on Saturday; he was probably invisible.
Claire had just reached that conclusion when her phone beeped. She glanced at the message and rolled her eyes.
You really should try them on. Otherwise, I bet your girlfriend would like to help.
Great. Just fucking fantastic. The last thing Claire wanted was for Gretchen to be involved in Sylar's perversions; all through their relationship, Claire had been unable to shake the conviction that Gretchen thought she was a freak, and this would be just too much.
Taking a deep sigh, Claire picked up one of the straps, her nose wrinkled in disgust. She fastened it to her left ankle, tightening the buckle so that it fit like a dog's collar; tight enough to stay on but loose enough to allow her to slip a finger between the leather and her bare skin. She repeated the process with a wrist strap next. The buckle was easy to fasten with one hand, like a watch. Deciding upon reflection that she didn't need it all that loose, Claire adjusted it to fit snuggly.
Aside from the silver buckle and the D-ring attached to one side, it looked a bit like one of the wristbands she had occasionally worn as a cheerleader, only made of leather. She noticed that one strap in each pair had a small clip dangling from the D-ring; the cuffs were designed to clip to each other. She felt heat rising to her cheeks as she imagined herself with her wrists and ankles clipped together, unable to walk or do much with her hands.
"Okay, that's enough," she muttered. "I've practiced."
Claire put away the cuffs and went to the bathroom in the corridor outside to change into the yellow dress, deliberately leaving her cell phone behind. She'd already given Sylar a show; he wasn't getting a striptease as well.
* * * * * * * * * *
It was the first time since her abduction that Claire had worn any of the dresses Sylar had given her. This one looked perfectly ordinary in the banal setting of her university. The smocked band at the top hugged her breasts comfortably, the thick cotton hiding her nipples, and the dress reached down to mid thigh, more than long enough to cover her modestly. Claire had owned plenty of short skirts and dresses; she knew how to move in them without revealing anything, so there was no reason to be ashamed of what Sylar was making her wear.
Even so, the dress felt less ordinary when Claire was waiting for Sylar at the entrance of the South parking lot. She had removed her panties in the bathroom after her last exam, folding them neatly into her bag alongside the bondage paraphernalia. A brisk walk across the campus feeling the air circulating freely around her naked private parts had reminded Claire of her hopefully temporary, but very real, situation as Sylar's sex slave.
Now that she was standing on the sidewalk waiting for him, Claire felt like a prostitute. She bet that they didn't bother with panties either. The thought that someone might mistake her for a whore and stop to accost her made Claire shiver; it also made her nether regions heavy with inexplicable arousal. Great. Bad enough that she should be turned on by Sylar of all people, but now she was fantasizing about complete strangers. Claire blamed the lack of panties; she told herself that she was a young woman at the height of her sexual prime and couldn't be blamed for responding to random sexual stimuli.
Any reassurance brought by this thought -- gleaned from some of Gretchen's feminist literature -- was gone by the time an SUV pulled up in front of her. Terrified that her fantasy might be coming true, Claire was cautious to grab the can of mace in her bag as the back door opened by itself and she leaned in to see who was there. She was actually relieved to see Sylar's dark features over the front seat.
"Get in," he said impatiently.
Claire slid into the back of the car and put her seatbelt on; Sylar slammed the door closed before she could reach to do it, and drove off. The car was a large family car with amongst other things a rearview mirror that allowed the driver to see the backseat and vice versa. Claire could only see Sylar's dark eyes and bushy eyebrows in the narrow mirror.
"Put on the restraints," he ordered, scowling at her through the mirror.
Someone was in a bad mood. "Yes, master," said Claire sarcastically.
She gasped as an invisible hold gripped her throat. Bastard. Claire swallowed and didn't try to talk. She glared at Sylar's eyes in the mirror and set about fastening the straps to her wrists and ankles.
"Put the chains on too."
The car had blacked out windows in the rear and Claire fervently hoped that no one could see her as she took the chains out of her bag. She assumed that Sylar wanted her to chain her wrists together and her ankles the same; she imagined herself with her wrists chained to her ankles, knees bent and unable to move normally and dismissed the thought. Claire did her ankles first, but hesitated when she realized that chaining her wrists would trap her fastened three-point seatbelt. Since she wasn't going to die even if she did fly through the windscreen, Claire undid the seatbelt and clipped the chain to her wrist cuffs.
"Glad you worked that one out. Pull your dress up," said Sylar.
Ha. She'd almost forgotten about that particular fetish; Claire complied but didn't part her thighs. She didn't need to -- Sylar pulled them apart for her and adjusted the mirror for a better view.
"Nice." She couldn't see him anymore, but she could hear a smile in his voice. "Hook your arms to that hook above the door."
Claire looked up and saw a standard plastic coat hook above the door beside her. She looped the chain between her wrists over it. She remembered Sylar jumping on her the day he abducted her, and the time he made Luke rape her, and the way he had fondled her and gone down on her in the car on the last day. Sylar evidently had a thing about sex in cars. She was getting quite a good idea of his particular fetishes: exhibitionism (for her), cars, and bondage. Know your enemy was a major rule in Gretchen's crime books and Claire figured that the information might come in useful some day.
After they had driven another five minutes or so, Sylar spoke again.
"We'll be stopping for a short while now. Get into a position for sex."
The order simultaneously made Claire's blood run cold and her sex throb with excitement. She had to assume that she was excited by the idea of having sex -- she did enjoy it for the most part -- and not the brutal way Sylar was ordering her to change position like… well, like a whore again. Or a sex slave. Claire decided to ponder which was best another time.
For now, she spent a few seconds deciding how to arrange her body. She assumed that Sylar meant penetrative sex; he was a guy after all, and probably thought, Bill Clinton-style, that fucking her vagina was the only definition of "sex". She also presumed that he wanted her arms to stay attached to the hook above the door; car sex and bondage fetish, after all. If her hands had been free, she might also have pulled her dress up further to hit his exhibitionism (for her) kink. Might as well cover all bases and lull him into a false sense of security.
Sylar stopped the car and got out, making no comment on the fact that Claire still hadn't moved. They were parked in a lay-by close to a recycling point again. Sylar put some items in the plastic and paper bins, and then walked about, apparently stretching his legs, but no doubt waiting for her to make up her mind. In the end, Claire chose to kneel on her seat, her head resting on her arms, her elbows against the window and her ass pointing at the opposite door. Sylar immediately got in.
"You like this position, don't you?" he said; though she couldn't see him, she could hear the smirk on his lips.
No, not particularly, thanks for asking, thought Claire sarcastically, since she couldn't speak.
Sylar didn't seem to reading her mind. He stroked her bottom slowly with one hand. "It has its perks for me too. You have a very sexy ass." His finger snaked in between her buttocks to stroke her asshole; Claire tensed and then heaved a sigh of relief when the finger moved down to her vagina, even if it did push inside too hard. "There's something quite primeval about having you like this. Your ass up in the air, your cunt spread and hot in all that fur. The clever co-ed on all fours like a bitch in heat."
It was fortunate for Sylar that he was still pumping his finger in and out of her, or Claire might have lost her arousal altogether. Next time he allowed her to speak, she was going to point out that he was crap at sexy talk. Sylar replaced his finger with his erection and Claire let out a soundless grunt, like the whispered exhalations Peter's girlfriend made when she was signing and didn't vocalize.
"If I'd known you were this good, I'd have fucked you years ago," said Sylar breathlessly. "Maybe had some fun with that cheerleading outfit you used to wear."
Claire rolled her eyes. What was it with people and the fucking cheerleader thing? Even Hiro still called her that. Claire grabbed the handle above the door to reduce the pressure on her wrists. She pushed back onto Sylar's erection to stop him from hammering her into the door. It shut him up for a moment as he got buried deep inside her. Claire bit her lip; her insides were filled up and gently stretched, and it felt great. She couldn't help panting a bit as he pulled down the top of her dress to grab her breasts and rocked his hips a few times without pulling out, keeping his hard penis buried deep inside her.
Sylar grunted quietly and Claire thought for a moment that he was finished. This had already lasted longer than usual. But Sylar pulled back and started thrusting in and out again, his penis clearly still erect. The friction made Claire want to moan even though it was rocking her bound arms against the window again. He was right; there was something primeval about being fucked like this. If only he would rub her at the same time… Touch me, you bastard, god, just touch me and I'll come… She half hoped that he was reading her mind -- she would never have said it out loud even if she could talk -- but there was no sign of him hearing her plea. He continued to pump into her, using her breasts as leverage, and apparently obvious to her desires. It felt good, really good, but just not good enough to make Claire come.
Claire's voice came back as Sylar neared his peak. She moaned far more loudly than she wanted to when it suddenly returned, but she was so turned on that she couldn't bring herself to care. The sound seemed to excite Sylar; his thrusts became less regular and his own noises more pronounced. His grip on her breasts tightened to a point that would have been painful for anyone but her. Claire wished he would move one of those hands further down; it would probably only take a couple of strokes to make her come, but god, it would make all of this worth it.
"Oh, Claire, you… you minx!" breathed Sylar as he gave a couple of weak thrusts and then stilled, his twitching penis buried inside her and his hands still squeezing her breasts. "God. Oh god."
Sylar pulled out and mopped Claire up with something that felt like a bathroom towel. Still on her knees with her hands tied above the car door, Claire tried to grind back onto the towel as Sylar dabbed at her oversensitive sex, but he withdrew it before she could get anywhere. Asshole. Claire twisted around to sit down, her movements awkward due to her chained wrists and ankles. She discovered that Sylar had slipped another towel beneath her; unable to rearrange her clothing, Claire had to rest her bare bottom on it.
"I figured a towel would stop you staining the seat covers," explained Sylar. "Brown is good for hiding the blood."
"Yeah." Claire didn't really want to discuss the ongoing problem of her eternal virginity.
Sylar was sitting in the middle back seat beside hers, wiping himself off with another brown towel. When he was done, he threw the towel onto the floor and ran his hand through his disarrayed hair, trying to get the sticky mass to stay on top of his head. Claire thought it was difficult to decide what was uglier; the freaky furry eyebrows or the greasy long hair.
"How do you like the cuffs, by the way?" Sylar had convinced most of his hair to stay put and was now zipping up his flies. "Better than the cable ties?"
Claire shrugged. "I guess. What happened, you visited a sex shop?"
"No, no, I got them online. They were very expensive too," he added. "I chose comfortable ones that can support your body weight, so they're very versatile."
Claire got a feeling that he wanted her to thank him; like that was going to happen. "Where did you get the money?" she asked to change the subject.
"Oh, don't you know?" he asked, raising his eyebrows and taking on a conversational tone. "I can change objects into gold. It's very useful, especially with the price of gold at a 25-year high. I didn't have a bank account until recently, so I've had to rely on places that trade gold for cash. Not always very savory places," he added, as if his serial-killer conscience had somehow been shocked by the gold-trafficking world. "Paying cash only works in person, obviously, but now I can put that money in the bank and make online purchases."
Sylar grinned as if he had been a very clever boy to think of that. A stringy strand of hair felt into his eyes and he smoothed it back, combing his fingers through his hair and extracting his hand with a little shake. Claire's lip curled in disgust as she remembered putting her own fingers in that greasy mess the last time he had gone down on her.
"You should use some of that money to get a haircut," she said, because it didn't look as if he was planning to go down on her this time.
Sylar's good mood evaporated. "You might want to think twice before making remarks like that. You're not exactly in a position of strength."
"I'm never in a position of strength." Claire looked out of the window. A local bus drove past and she hoped no one could see her uncovered breasts. "There's always someone trying to rape or murder me and fuck all I can do about it except die and come back to life. I'm kinda getting used to it by now."
"Yeah. Passive powers must be a bitch when that's all you've got. Still, at least you don't feel pain." Claire shrugged but Sylar continued. "My plan for today is to test how far that extends, and how much pleasure you can endure. This was just an aside to get us in the mood." He paused. "You were enjoying that. Do you want me to touch you?"
Yes. "No." She wasn't about to admit that she wanted to get off; luckily, her arousal had dampened considerably during their conversation. "What I really want is to go back to my room and study for tomorrow's test."
"Ah okay, so you don't want me to get you off and you'd like to go back to college." Sylar grinned. "Well, I'm glad to say I can do one of those two things." Claire's heart sank and she rolled her eyes before Sylar even finished his sentence. "I won't take you back yet, but I will respect your wishes and not go down on you. I think it'll make you more receptive to my little test anyway."
Sylar silenced her before she could tell him what she thought of that plan. All Claire could do was shake her head as he got back into the front and drove off.
* * * * * * * * * *
Claire shivered a little in the cool air of the abandoned abattoir. It was ironic that Sylar should have chosen the location of her sorority scavenger hunt for his "little test". Sylar was, of course, aware of the connection; Claire was sure there were plenty of things he didn't know, but to all intents and purposes these days, he was pretty close to omniscient. She supposed it had the advantage of sparing her a lot of exposition.
Not that she was in any mood to reminisce right now. Claire grasped the hook above her wrists to shift her weight from one foot to the other; even for a regen who didn't feel pain, standing on tiptoe with her arms stretched above her head was not comfortable. There was enough slack in the chain connecting her wrists to allow her to stand on her flat feet, but that would mean wedging her naked crotch on the metal cattle stall between her legs and that just wasn't an option. Pain or no pain, she could already feel the radiating heat burning the skin on her inner thighs and had no desire to fill the air with the aroma of burnt pubic hair.
"Don't worry, it'll cool down eventually," said Sylar, pacing before her like a panther about to spring on his prey. He certainly knew how to look sinister for a guy who cried in his sleep. "I'm sure you'll be glad to rest your pretty little cunt on it in a few minutes."
Claire thought that was unlikely. Even if he hadn't used a power to bring the damn thing near to melting point, there was no way she was rubbing her pussy on a cattle stall for Sylar's perverted enjoyment. He already had her strung up naked to a meat hook hanging from the ceiling and she wasn't going to make it more fun for him by putting on a show. She might be an ex-cheerleader, but she wasn't a fucking pole dancer.
On the other hand, it didn't matter what she was; Sylar had unilaterally decided that she was his sex slave, and it was only really Claire's pride that prevented her from running to her father to put an end to this. She didn't want her father -- or Peter for that matter -- to save her from Sylar again. This was her fight and if anyone was going to bring him down this time, it was her. They could have their turn again next time.
"Here's the game," said Sylar, circling around her so that she couldn't see him anymore. "I know you were lying about wanting to get off earlier. In fact, I'm flattered you got that close. I guess I'm improving. I'm… I'm certainly working on it." There was a note of vulnerability in his voice which Claire would have found touching if she wasn't currently strung up over the abattoir version of a red hot poker. "I'll let you go when you come. Or in two hours, whichever comes first. I won't help you come so you'll have to make an effort on that one."
Claire decided to brace herself for two hours of mild discomfort. She wouldn't suffer from the cramps of a normal person and the thought that there was an end in sight would provide her with the necessary motivation to stand firm. Since the alternative would involve rubbing her pussy on the metal pole currently glowing red between her thighs, Claire intended to stay on tiptoes. She wondered why Sylar had devised this particular scenario. Maybe he liked the idea of burning her privates off and watching them regrow? That sounded a bit extreme even for Sylar.
"No, I don't expect you to sit on it right now," said Sylar, coming back into her field of vision. "I just thought a bit of jeopardy would make the experiment more interesting. I figured it would take something really extreme to make you feel in danger." He put his hand on her cheek and Claire had to resist the temptation to turn and bite his finger. Sylar cocked his head with curiosity. "But even this doesn't freak you out. You were a lot more upset when we had sex with Luke."
Different situation, thought Claire, since he didn't let her speak. A. There was a complete stranger involved. B. I was about to have my period, so not so in control of my emotions. Now get the fuck out of my head and get on with it. You won't make me cry tonight.
"You really are a student. You even have numbered thoughts." Sylar gave her a sinister smile, curling his upper lip off his unnaturally white front teeth. "Very well. Since you're immune to pain, I thought I would try torturing you with pleasure instead."
That sounded like an odd concept; Claire frowned at him in incomprehension as he raised his hand. She felt a faint tickling sensation in the palms of her hands, as if an army of ants was suddenly milling around there. The feeling was far from unpleasant and Claire was unable to suppress a sigh of surprise as it spread down the inside of her arms and onto her bare chest, parting to circle her breasts. She jumped when it moved onto her ticklish ribs; her left thigh hit the hot metal rod and it seared her skin with a dull burning sensation until the skin healed again.
Claire moaned loudly as the onslaught continued; he had returned her voice, but she was too distracted to talk yet. The sensation, still tingling down from the palms of her hands, twisted around from her ribs to her lower back, enveloping her bottom and creeping down the back of her legs until practically every part of her body save her breasts, face and sex was being stimulated.
"Oh, oh, god," she groaned, overcome by the sensation as every invisible touch seemed to pulse down into her sex. Claire knew she was wet now, hot with need. Unable to help herself even though she knew it was no use, she tried to twist away from Sylar's telekinetic touch, not caring that the heated rod burned her upper thighs, branding her for a moment every time she moved. The tickling was a pleasant sensation in itself, but it was just too much.
Sylar was standing a few feet away, his head lowered so that he was looking at her under his dark brows, more sinister and evil than she had seen him since his return. Claire choked back a sob at the thought that she would have to yield. She couldn't withstand the gentle, tickling sensation all over her body for a whole two hours; it made her muscles twitch uncontrollably and she was more aroused than she had even been in the car. Noticing her distressed gaze on him, Sylar grinned and moved one hand down to gently rub the front of his jeans.
The sight of Sylar, evil incarnate, touching himself as he tortured her seemed to bring back every fantasy Claire had ever had of domination and submission. The fantasies had always been gentler than this -- bodice-ripper dreams of being swept off her feet, helpless and adored -- but her numb body probably needed something more extreme in reality. Claire moaned more loudly, her voice almost a scream as tears began to roll down her face.
Sylar closed the gap between them and pinched both her nipples, tweaking them as if he were tuning an old fashioned radio. The casual disdain on his narrow dark face seemed to heighten the sensations. She was a toy now, something for him to test and poke, to torture for his pleasure. Claire's legs were trembling, her feet struggling to remain on tiptoe, as her nipples shot lancing sensations into her sex. She wanted him to touch her; she almost begged, but bit her tongue, her pride still just stronger than her arousal.
"I knew I could make you scream," murmured Sylar, pressing his lips to hers.
In doing so, he immobilized all her body except her head, leaving her entirely at the mercy of his telekinesis. Claire whimpered as he slid his tongue into her mouth, too desperate for an end to even think of biting him or turning away. Somewhere in her over-stimulated mind, she processed the fact that the bar was no longer red, though it was still hot. She was past caring if it burned her sex as long as the tingling stopped.
"Bring yourself off and I'll stop."
Gulping as her sobs increased in earnest, Claire lowered her heels to the ground, straddling the hot metal bar. It would probably have been excruciating for any normal girl, but Claire's sex merely tingled, the pain starting then tapering off to a dull warmth as she rocked her hips to rub herself. Still crying with shame and defeat as Sylar's power continued to assault her skin, Claire moaned and whimpered as pleasure of a different kind started to build up between her legs. The tingling all over her skin faded away, leaving only Sylar's manual stimulation of her nipples and the warm metal sliding across her sex.
Claire bucked her hips and cried out as her orgasm finally hit her. She swore at him in silence, hating that he had been right about this perverted game. What was the matter with her? Coming shouldn't have been this easy under these horrid circumstances. Overcome by the orgasm and her conflicted feelings, Claire hung limply from the meat hook above her, her throbbing sex pressed uncomfortably on the rapidly cooling tube.
"Wow. You're really hot when you cry," said Sylar breathlessly.
"Fuck you, asshole!" sobbed Claire, trying to wipe her wet cheeks on her outstretched arms.
Sylar glowered at her, then smiled cruelly again. "You're not equipped. But I am."
Without warning, the sturdy metal structure beneath her crumpled flat onto the ground, and Claire herself was suddenly bent in half, her legs rising straight up in front of her. The chain on her right ankle reattached itself to her free strap and looped over the same hook as her arms. Suspended like some kind of game animal, Claire screamed and struggled to resist the demeaning position, but Sylar grabbed her hips and steadied her with an iron grip. The long chain suspending the hook from the ceiling rose a fraction to line up Claire's hips with Sylar's. Keeping her in place by gripping one taut thigh, Sylar unfastened his jeans.
The first thrust made Claire's head hang back through her arms and the constant movement made it hard for her to raise it again. Instead, she swallowed with difficulty and groaned as each movement of his hips twisted the leather straps around her wrists and ankles. With her head unsupported, Claire felt woozy and faintly aroused as Sylar's penis rubbed in and out of her again. She still managed to shout some obscenities at him as he started to rub her sensitive clitoris. It seemed to last forever but she finally came again, crying with shame at being so easy to stimulate. Sylar followed shortly after, bucking hard and holding her in place as he rode out his orgasm.
Claire wiped her face when he finally unhooked her. She stood shakily, shocked by what had just happened. She had really believed that she was invulnerable without pain, but Sylar had once again proved her wrong. Sylar was busy rearranging himself and picking up Claire's clothes. When he came closer, Claire unhooked one end of the chain between her wrists and used it to whack him violently across the face. It left an angry red mark over one cheek and the bridge of his nose, and Sylar yelped in pain, raising a hand automatically to protect himself from a further blow.
It wasn't much of a victory considering that he froze her before she could run away, but at least Claire felt the satisfaction of having done something. He grabbed her hair and forced her to kneel in front of him.
"Since you still want to play, Claire, I'll let you choose your punishment," said Sylar, though he didn't look as angry as she had expected. He was pleased if anything. "You can either suck me off until I come again, which I'll admit might take a while, or you can crawl out of here on your hands and knees." Claire's eyes widened at this ridiculous choice. "Choose, Claire. Suck or crawl?"
What the hell was the matter with this guy? Claire swallowed, glanced at Sylar crotch, imagining his flaccid dick covered in her blood and his ejaculate, and made her decision. "C-crawl."
"Good choice." Sylar waved his hand and the chains reconnected to her wrists and ankles. "It was on my list of things to do another time, but now will be fine. Go."
Angrily biting back the tears that threatened to fall again, Claire turned away from Sylar and began to crawl towards the exit. The chains on her arms and legs clinked on the dirty concrete floor and restricted her movements so that her progress was very slow. Sylar followed behind, carrying her clothes and bag.
* * * * * * * * * *
"You wanna grab some nosh?" Sylar sounded so casual that Claire had to turn and glare at him, even though she had promised herself she would only look out of the window and give him the silent treatment. "Traffic's bad. We could stop off on the way and wait until it gets better."
"No, thanks."
"Maybe another day, then?" continued Sylar.
Was he seriously asking her out on a date? Claire was in the front now; presumably her reward for complying with his disgusting command and crawling all the way to the slaughterhouse entrance. Sylar had allowed her to dress and tidy up before they left; aside from the fact that she was still pantyless and had a towel between her legs to prevent her staining her dress, there was now little sign of the bizarre torture he had just put her through. Claire didn't even feel upset, just numb, as if her mind were putting thoughts on hold until she was out of Sylar's presence.
When Claire didn't answer, Sylar dropped the topic of dinner and drove silently. As he had pointed out, the traffic really was bad. After a few more minutes, it became apparent why. One of the commuter buses Claire had noticed earlier had been involved in an accident and was lying overturned on the river bank by the road. Even from their position, Claire could see that the bus was gradually sinking as it slid down the bank. Emergency services had arrived and a large crane was attempting to pull it back onto the road, but it seemed to be having little success.
"Oh, my god! Can you pull it out?" exclaimed Claire, the numbness in her mind dispelled by her concern for the people still trapped in the bus.
"Me? Why would I want to?" said Sylar with a shrug.
"Sylar! You have to," insisted Claire. She couldn't stand by and let people die when the man beside her could save them. "Come on. I- I let you do all that… stuff to me, you can at least do something for me!"
It was a lame argument since he had actually forced her to do the rubbing… and the crawling… and all the crying… Claire dismissed the ordeal firmly and hoped Sylar wouldn't notice the lack of logic.
"Yeah, I guess except for hitting me, you were very good," he conceded. "I enjoyed it. I'm thinking we'll do something on Monday."
Okay. She had to promise to let him torture her again in exchange for those people's lives. Claire could do that.
"Can it be Sunday?" she asked, hoping that wouldn't completely blow her chances of getting him to comply. "I'm moving my stuff to Dad's on Monday."
Sylar appeared to consider that. "Okay. I thought you might be celebrating or something this weekend. Sunday it is, then. It's a date."
No, it isn't, thought Claire, though she was puzzled that Sylar had dismissed the weekend because he thought she would be doing something else. Upon reflection, she also realized that he had chosen the best day this week for their meeting; the exams she had tomorrow required less preparation than the ones she had on other days. She wasn't sure what that meant. It was hard to imagine that a guy who referred to her as a sex slave and enjoyed making her cry was concerned about fitting in seamlessly to her existing schedule.
Claire was trying not to imagine what Sylar planned to put her through on Sunday, when there was a sudden collective exclamation from the people gathered around the bus. The chains on the crane went slack as the bus miraculously pulled back out of the mud. It stopped at the edge of the road, no longer trapped, so that the crane could continue its work. After a few minutes, the bus was laying on the road and the crane moved away. Traffic was allowed to resume.
"Thanks," said Claire, genuinely pleased with Sylar. "That was… that was fantastic."
He gave her what could only be described as a bashful grin. It was hard to tell in the evening light, but Claire could have sworn that he blushed a little too. It kind of freaked her out.