Enigma Nocturne

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Part Six.


“No… please, no…” Jore pleaded, his head turned away again. His eyes were closed tightly, and he was visibly shaking with pain and terror as Mr. Nairicks ran light fingertips over his wound, which had stopped bleeding only slightly. He whimpered as the Headmaster applied slight pressure to the cut with his palm, and gritted his teeth to keep from crying out, fresh tears forming in his eyes. “Agh… s-stop…” he forced out from between his clenched teeth, but his pleas only served to spur Mr. Nairicks to hurt him more, and the Headmaster’s icy hand tensed like a claw before he raked his nails down the bloody skin near Jore’s wound.

Jore convulsed and cried out in agony, his movements starting a fresh flow of blood, and tears. He gasped in air and shuddered, and then he felt a cold, bloody hand grasp his chin and hold his face still. His mouth opened reflexively to take in a shaky breath of air, but then he nearly gagged as he felt two of Mr. Nairicks’ red-stained fingers with their sharp nails invade his mouth.

As Jore tasted his own blood once again, he flinched, closing his eyes and trembling with disgust as Mr. Nairicks whispered in his ear, “If you bite down, I will bite back.”

Jore felt himself give in and nod desperately, the fear of anything more piercing his skin easily overpowering him. He knew what Mr. Nairicks wanted him to do now, and as the Headmaster began to move his fingers in and out of Jore’s mouth, the student rubbed his tongue against them, and created a gentle suction with his lips and throat. Mr. Nairicks hummed approvingly, and Jore tried not to gag. It seemed like hours went by before the Headmaster slid his fingers back out of Jore’s mouth and stepped away a few inches. Jore was panting, and shivering with the pain of his still-fresh wound.

Mr. Nairicks turned his back to Jore and walked over to a shelf on the other side of the room, speaking to Jore over his shoulder. “You don’t have to be afraid. As I said, I’m not going to kill you.”

“That’s not… what I’m afraid of…” Jore said slowly, his forced voice raspy.
The Headmaster turned around for a second, surprised at Jore’s bold words. “Oh? Then what is it?” he asked, although he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it from Jore’s lovely little mouth.

Jore coughed quietly, and then took in a shivery breath. “P-please… please don’t cut me again… it… it hurts so much. Please, I… I’ll do anything, just don’t cut me again,” he begged, his voice crackling as he tried to hold back pitiful sobs.

“You aren’t in much of a position to make demands, Jordan,” the Headmaster said quietly, turning and walking back towards him. Jore’s eyes, now adjusted to the dim light, could make out the dagger, a neatly folded towel, and two small cylindrical objects Mr. Nairicks was holding. He gasped in fright as the Headmaster got close to him, and he tugged at his bonds, his eyes wide with terror at the blade in his captor’s hands. “Be still,” Mr. Nairicks said, and Jore immediately stopped moving, his subconscious triggering his conscious to automatically do anything he could to follow the Headmaster’s orders and thereby prevent further injury to himself.

To Jore’s relief, Mr. Nairicks didn’t slice into him again. Interestingly, he brought the dagger up to his own lips and then held it with his teeth very carefully, while he grasped one of the cylindrical objects— that Jore now saw was a small metal jar-- and unscrewed the cap. Jore watched with mixed feelings of fear, curiosity, distrust, and hope, as the Headmaster lifted the towel in his other hand and tipped some of the contents of the jar onto it carefully. It was a liquid, and Jore instantly recognized the scent from the school’s infirmary; the alcohol smell of disinfectant.
Jore flinched and gasped loudly through gritted teeth as Mr. Nairicks dabbed at his wound with the moist towel, cleaning up the blood. Surprisingly, the Headmaster was very gentle as he worked, avoiding direct contact with the cut, and only rubbing softly on Jore’s extremely sensitive skin.
Was this the horrible man who, only minutes ago, sliced into him ruthlessly with that blade, for no reason other than amusement at the pain it caused? Jore’s mind raced with confusion, and all he knew was that he couldn’t let his guard down.

“These will need to come off,” the Headmaster said emotionlessly after he took the dagger out of his mouth, and bent in front of Jore to unbutton and unzip the student’s trousers. Jore felt his face redden with shame and embarrassment as Mr. Nairicks pulled down the trousers and then cut at them with the blade, and in less than minute they were just a pile of messy, ripped fabric pieces on the floor.

As the Headmaster began to pull down Jore’s boxers, Jore shouted, “Wait!”
His face was bright red, and instantly after the plea left his lips, he felt like such an idiot to think he could stop Mr. Nairicks from removing his last piece of dignity. Surprisingly, the Headmaster paused and looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. For once, Jore didn’t flinch at his gaze, and then he looked away and mumbled, “S-sorry.”

A moment later he felt his boxers being pulled down, felt them being cut and ripped, then they were gone. He was naked in front of Mr. Nairicks, and all he could do was try not to show how insanely nervous and embarrassed he was. He bit his lip as the Headmaster continued to clean the blood off of his skin, and then flinched as the towel touched near his left hip, then moved lower, sliding slowly down his thigh. Jore held his breath as Mr. Nairicks rubbed the towel closer to his groin, and then tensed as he heard the towel fall to the floor, and then Jore felt cold fingers slide down his leg slowly before the Headmaster stood up straight again, the other cylindrical object in his hand. Jore saw that it was a roll of soft gauze, and as the Headmaster unrolled it and began to wrap it around him, starting at his hips, Jore arched his back outwards slightly to make the process easier.

Although the initial discomfort of the gauze on his wound made Jore uneasy, he soon felt a lot more protected, and a lot less naked as he was wrapped up. After Mr. Nairicks had looped the gauze around Jore’s shoulder twice to keep the rest of the binding in place, he fastened it with a small plastic clasp and then patted it gently, giving Jore the first semi-pleasant smile the student had ever seen him show.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” the Headmaster asked, taking the items back to a shelf.
“No, um… t-thank you, sir,” he said softly, forcing a tiny nervous smile to show on his lips for a flitting moment.

Mr. Nairicks nodded thoughtfully as he set the items down and then walked back to stand in front of Jore again. “You’re being a very good boy, you know that?”
“Uh, y-yes sir. Thank you, sir.” Jore had no idea what to think. Did this mean he wasn’t going to get hurt anymore? Then why was he still bound like this? His wrists and ankles hurt a lot, and he was still extremely uncomfortable to be exposed like this in front of the Headmaster. When would this be over? What was going to happen?

“Yes, you’ve been very good, so I’m going to give you a reward.”

Jore didn’t like the tone of Mr. Nairicks voice. This ‘reward’ could be something very bad. He had to get out of it somehow. “Oh, uh, n-no, sir, it’s alright, you don’t… have to do that,” he said desperately.
“Oh no, I insist. Such good behavior should be recognized.”
Jore swallowed nervously, getting a feeling that he wouldn’t like what was coming next. “…Uh, alright, I mean… of course, sir… if you insist,” he said, giving up. He prayed that the ‘reward’ didn’t have anything to do with the dagger.

Mr. Nairicks nodded amiably, and then moved to stand very close to Jore, so that their torsos were touching. Jore shivered as he felt the Headmaster’s breath on the skin of his neck, and then that was all he felt, and he heard his heart pounding in his ears. His captor kissed his neck a few times, very softly. Jore winced despite himself as Mr. Nairicks kissed his collarbone near the gauze, then Jore’s mind raced with his beating heart as he felt the Headmaster move low, and then bend down on one knee in front of him. Jore trembled; he knew what was going to happen next. He whispered, “N-no… don’t…” but before he could protest further, he felt Mr. Nairick’s icy fingertips caress his most sensitive organ. Jore gasped and shut his eyes tightly, a wave of new, intense feelings crashing over him. The Headmaster paused for only a moment to let Jore react, and then began to slide his fingers back and forth very slowly. Jore whimpered, trembling. “Ah… no… no, stop, please,” he said weakly. He gasped loudly as the rest of his words were cut off by a slight squeeze from Mr. Nairicks’ hand. Jore bit his lip to keep himself quiet, and he started to sweat slightly. His body was on fire, and it was getting hotter by the second.

Soon, Jore was panting, and the only thing he could feel was the Headmaster’s hand. Then suddenly, he let out a choked-off whimper as he felt an ice-cold tongue lick him agonizingly slowly. “S-s-stop, p-please… s-stop…” Jore panted, and then he couldn’t stop himself from crying out as Mr. Nairicks wrapped his cold lips around Jore, caressing the boy with his tongue. Jore’s back arched outwards convulsively, forcing his member deeper into the Headmaster’s mouth.

Mr. Nairicks didn’t even flinch at the sudden movement. Instead, he began to move his head forward and back, creating suction. He hummed pleasurably in his throat as he heard Jore whimper and pant. He continued to stimulate the student for a few minutes, waiting until he knew that Jore was close to the edge. And then Jore was in a new kind of agony as, when he felt extremely close to completion, Mr. Nairicks stopped his actions and stood up again, standing a few feet away. Jore whimpered at the loss of contact, then looked up at his tormentor weakly with half-lidded eyes.

“P-please…” Jore mumbled.
“Pardon?”
Jore shivered. “Please…h-help me…”

“Help you?” The Headmaster said, then laughed menacingly. Jore suddenly felt horribly dirty, and he tugged at his bonds, using the pain from his wrists and ankles to distract him and bring him back to his senses. “Do you want me to let you go?” Mr. Nairicks asked, suddenly emotionless again.
Jore looked up, a tiny glimmer of hope in his eyes. He nodded. He didn’t care about emotional traps and disappointments anymore. He didn’t want to play these games.

“I’ll undo your binds,” the Headmaster said, and walked to the other side of the room, where there was a panel on the wall. He pulled a small lever, and Jore’s metal binds sank away into the wall instantly.

Jore wasn’t prepared for the sudden gravity, and he panicked, yelping in pain as he hit the floor on his right side in a last effort to save his wounded torso. He groaned in pain as blood rushed back into his arms and legs, and he looked at the damage he had inflicted on his wrists. They were red and scratched lightly, but they had hardly bled. Jore shivered as he suddenly noticed the cold of the concrete, and stood up on his knees shakily to get back up. But a cold hand on his head caused him to freeze and turn his gaze skyward. He was met with a slight grin from Mr. Nairicks.

“Feeling better?” the Headmaster asked softly, and Jore nodded. But although the momentary shock of being free of his binds, and the cold and pain of his fall, had distracted him, he was still very aroused, and he had a sinking feeling that Mr. Nairicks wasn’t going to just set him free.

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