Enigma Nocturne

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Part Eight.


It was dark. Always dark, without end.
Where was he?
He took a step forward, but tripped, and fell down hard on what he supposed was a marble floor. But… it was dark. Always dark, without end. And it wasn’t open darkness… it was the kind of darkness that you can taste and feel like the cold, that touches you and hems you in and invades your mind.
He lay where he fell on that surface, shivering in fear. He was so alone. It was dark. Always dark, without end.

Why? Where was the light? There had to be light somewhere. Where was the glowing crack in the wall, or the golden beams from a high window? Where was the dust, and the sound, and the smell of antiques that he knew so well?
But then… he realized he was missing something more than that. Something that felt like it was hidden behind a curtain in his mind… the edge of which was just barely stirring in the light breeze of his curiosity.
He neared the curtain, and pulled it back. There was something there…. but it was dark. Always dark, without end.
Then he heard a voice. It cut through him like the deafening roar of jet engines, and yet it was soft and it echoed through him, and was peaceful.
“Jordan,” it said.
“Where are you?” He answered, opening his eyes but seeing only dark.
Always dark, without end.
“I’m right here, wake up,” the voice urged softly.
“Wake… up…?”


Jore’s eyes opened. There was a very faint light coming from somewhere, and he turned his head to look around. He was lying down, on his back, most likely on a bed. Where was he? He reached to rub his eyes… but couldn’t. He couldn’t feel his arms.

“Tell me how you are feeling, pet,” the Headmaster said, suddenly there, standing by the bed and leaning over Jore.
Jore flinched, startled, and saw his Master’s eyes lit softly in the small amount of light. Jore turned his gaze away, and tried to regain his conscious sense. “I… I’m alright, Master… I had a… strange dream.”

Mr. Nairicks nodded. “I know. I heard you talking in your sleep,” he said, and moved back, walking a few steps away from the bed into deeper shadow, and said quietly, “You were dreaming about me.”
Jore felt himself blush. He had an idea of what the Headmaster was thinking… but it hadn’t been like that… it had been a frightening, unnerving dream. However, he nodded. The Master could think what he wished.

“I heard you mumbling, and you sounded scared,” Mr. Nairicks said, a hint of sadness in his voice. “So, I spoke softly in your ear, and you answered me in your dream.”
Jore nodded. “Yes, Master.”
The Headmaster smiled. “You are too cute, my pet,” he said, the smallest hint of a giggle in his voice. Jore blinked. His Master continued, “I know that before, I said I wouldn’t hurt you.”
Jore winced as he found that his Master was suddenly leaning right over him again, their faces no more than three inches apart.
The Headmaster whispered again, “I said I wouldn’t hurt you,” and he kissed the tip of Jore’s nose softly. “I said that… but well, I’m afraid… I lied.”

Mr. Nairicks’ lips descended on Jore’s in mere milliseconds, and this time his teeth came into play. The Master demanded access to Jore’s mouth, and the boy gave it with little protest. The Headmaster bit down on Jore’s tongue, and used his abnormally sharp canines to scratch at his sensitive lower lip. Jore shivered with fear and at the stinging pain in his mouth, but also, despite his will, felt a strong wave of arousal run through him. He was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was naked. He whimpered, running out of air, and struggled against the numbness in his arms. He knew, though, that it was futile. His arms were once again bound. So he instead tried to move his legs. To his surprise, they were loose, only slightly numbed with cold.

As Jore felt more sharp pain from the Headmaster’s teeth, and as the lack of air became painful as well, he lifted his torso and kicked his legs against the bed violently.

Immediately, his Master stopped his assault on Jore’s mouth, and Jore opened his eyes for a split second before a harsh slap fell on the side of his face. The slap was no mere bluff of power… Mr. Nairick’s hands were large, his fingernails sharp, and he was very strong. Jore’s cheek stung like it had been exposed to dry ice. Instinctively, he turned on his side away from his Master and curled up as best he could. His eyes moistened, and he shuddered, taking shallow breaths through his swollen lips.

The Headmaster was standing again, rubbing his used hand. “You should know better by now, my pet, that you shouldn’t deny me.”

Jore sniffled quietly, hardly registering his Master’s words. He hurt all over. He was wounded, bruised, scratched, stinging, and cold. He wondered how much longer he was going to be trapped here. He wondered if he would ever see sunlight or feel warmth again. He wondered how much more of this he could survive.

Mr. Nairicks gazed down upon Jore’ curled-up form. “I’m sorry I had to do that, my pet,” the Headmaster said, and Jore had a sense that his Master wasn’t sorry at all.
Mr. Nairicks sat on the bed next to Jore. “I know I lied to you,” he said quietly. “I don’t regret it. It had to be done.”

Jore tasted a little blood in his mouth. It was bitter on his tongue. “Why… why do you… hurt me, Master?” Jore asked in a timid whisper. He felt the Headmaster’s fingernails run down his arm lightly, and he closed his eyes at the intensity of the touch.

“What do you mean? I would never hurt you, my pet,” the Master said, and his voice was so smooth and soft that even Jore believed him for a second. But then the boy shook his head slowly.
“No… you have. Look at me, Master,” Jore said, and turned over onto his back. Jore tried not to shiver as he watched Mr. Nairicks’ gaze trail from his face to his wounded and bandaged torso, pause slightly on his groin, then move down to his feet. Jore had numerous bruises, and in this dim light his skin looked pale and fragile, a great contrast to the bright, youthful tan shade that it had during his regular school days.

The Headmaster looked back up into Jore’s eyes, and his cold lips parted in a small, fake smile. “I see nothing but your beauty, pet,” the Master said, and leaned down to kiss Jore’s cheek. Jore’s eyes closed and he let out a weak cry of defeat. Mr. Nairicks hummed softly, almost mockingly, in return, and moved to trail cold kisses down the side of Jore’s neck. Jore leaned his head back reflexively, and then cried out as his Master took advantage of this opening and bit down on the side of his neck. His canines were sharp, and Jore’s mind instantly recalled vivid nightmares of vampires he had had as a small child. Jore tried to stay still, tried to ignore the pain, but as the Headmaster’s teeth tightened their grip and broke his skin, his mind raced with terror. He screamed, thrashing on the bed, but Mr. Nairicks’ hands were there immediately, and they pressed down on Jore’s wounded torso, pushing him into the mattress and forcing him to be still as he sucked life out of him.

After a few moments, the Headmaster’s teeth finally pulled away, and Jore heard himself sob and take a few shaky breaths. He hurt so much, he could hardly breathe. He felt as his Master’s tongue licked the blood away, and then he brought his head back up to look at Jore’s face. Jore couldn’t stop his eyes from opening. In the dim light, he saw his Master smile terribly.

The Headmaster looked down at Jore, smiling. It was wonderful; he could still taste the boy’s blood on his tongue. It was sweet, as he had imagined. And seeing the fear in Jordan’s eyes had been almost too much for him. Luckily, it wasn’t over… he still had more pain to inflict on the boy. And there was still more innocence for the taking…

Jore wished that he knew what his captor was thinking. He wished he could prepare himself for the next terrible act that was to be done upon him… but Jore’s Master wasn’t about to tell him his plans. All Jore knew was that he was going to have to live through more pain. But he didn’t know if he could accomplish that.

Mr. Nairicks released the pressure of his hands on Jore’s torso gently, and Jore winced, but didn’t whimper. The Headmaster stood up, and then stepped away from the bed. Jore watched him move away, but soon he could only see shadow. He heard the ruffle of cloth, and the soft click of metal, perhaps from a belt.

Jore stiffened.
No. No, no, no… Not this. Not this, please, anything but this, Jore pleaded to the darkness in his mind. But his thoughts faded away… and only silence answered him. He started trembling, unable to control his fear, and he shut his eyes tightly as the Headmaster approached him again. He felt the mattress beside him tilt as the Master put his weight on it. Jore bit his lip to keep from whimpering in fear as he felt Mr. Nairicks’ body cover his. Now the both of them were naked… and Jore could feel everything against his skin. His breathing hitched, and he turned his head to the side, mentally fighting the feelings in his body that he couldn’t control.

“Please, no… don’t… Master…” Jore heard himself whisper. He had no options… all he could do now was beg.
Jore gasped as Mr. Nairicks kissed his partially healed neck softly, then whispered emotionlessly, “Do not deny me, pet.”

Jore whimpered pitifully as the Headmaster kissed his chest, and nibbled the bruised skin around his bandaged wound. Mr. Nairicks hands held Jore’s hips down as he neared his groin, and then he gave Jore’s member a few soft kisses. Jore gasped and his body trembled even more. This was so wrong, and he felt so much pain and violation… but his body wasn’t listening to the pain of his mind. He couldn’t stop his natural reactions, and when the Headmaster’s tongue slid along his inner thigh, he cried out into the darkness.

Mr. Nairicks heard Jore. The boy was giving in, and he would submit; he had no choice in the matter, now.

The Headmaster moved a hand to Jore’s partially open mouth and slipped two of his cold fingers into the warmth. Jore whimpered softly but complied to his Master’s wishes, closing his lips around the fingers and sucking on them slightly. The Headmaster moved his fingers in further, and felt Jore recoil at first, but then he felt that soft, wet tongue on his fingertips, and smiled in satisfaction as Jore massaged them. After a few more moments, he took his hand away from Jore’s mouth, and moved it down to the boy’s groin. Jore didn’t realize what his Master was doing until he felt those two wet fingers brush over his anus.

“Wait… n-no, don’t!” Jore begged frantically, but he was helpless. He shuddered and gasped as he felt the fingers slide into him, Mr. Nairicks’ sharp nails making the awkward action even more painful.

“Relax, pet,” the Headmaster commanded softly, moving his fingers in and out of Jore’s opening. Jore gritted his teeth and tried not to whimper as his Master continued to finger him.
After a minute or so, Mr. Nairicks’ fingers were finally removed, but Jore knew enough to predict what was coming next. His Master moved his cold hands down to take hold of Jore’s ankles, and then brought them up, positioning himself so that Jore’s legs were over his shoulders. The Headmaster then moved forward slightly, and Jore whimpered in fear as he felt the tip of his Master’s shaft against his opening.

Mr. Nairicks let Jore writhe in uncertainty for a moment before he leaned over Jore and then pushed his hips forward, sliding the tip of his shaft into the boy.
Jore gasped and whimpered, his toes curling with the painful, strange sensation. “No… s-stop… please…please—ahh!” Jore cried out in pain as the Headmaster slid into him further, and his opening was stretched even more.

“Mmmhh, pet, you’re very tight,” Mr. Nairicks breathed. Jore gasped and trembled as he was filled even more, inch by inch until all of his Master was inside him. Jore’s whole body was aching with the pain, and felt nothing else, the power of it darkening the corners of his mind in shadowy bursts of agony as the headmaster pulled back and then thrust in again. And again. And again… and Jore felt hot tears sliding down his face.

Mr. Nairicks went slowly at first, and then when he saw the boy’s reaction to his movements, he couldn’t contain himself. He moved faster, relishing in the hot tightness that surrounded him. He gazed down at the expression of agony on the boy’s face, and the sound of his whimpers was like glorious music to his ears. He had to have more. He had to be inside Jordan’s mind and body fully.

The Headmaster moved one of his hands to Jore’s member, and began stroking it, just the way he knew would cause Jore to cry out in pleasure. He moved his hand just as he had before, when the boy had submitted to him and called him Master in his completion. Mr. Nairicks wanted that submission again. He wanted to see the look on the boy’s face as he caused Jore to finish in his hand, and then the pain as his Master emptied his seed into him.

Jore gasped as he felt the Headmaster’s expert hand on him. He hurt like he never had before, and now there was a new pain. He was hardening quickly at his Master’s touch, and even the pain of Mr. Nairicks’ continued thrusts couldn’t compare to this agony. He bit his lip, trying to fight it, but it was just too much… Jore cried out and convulsed, his head being thrown from side to side as he succumbed to this new assault. The rush of feeling, the pain, the pleasure, the terrible strangeness… all of it seemed to gather within him, and then was echoed by the powerful, steady voice of his Master.

“I won’t let you finish until you tell me you want it,” Mr. Nairicks said, his voice perfectly steady.

Jore whimpered, suddenly realizing what was happening in his head, and feeling more awful than ever before. He hated his body for betraying him, hated the way the Headmaster manipulated him so horribly, hated the agony and all of the feeling… hated it all so much that soon he had no hate left to cultivate. He shuddered, his gasping breaths governed by the rhythm of his Master’s thrusts. He swallowed, then choked out, “P-please… Master…”

Mr. Nairicks’ fingers squeezed Jore’s shaft tightly, and Jore bit his lip to hold back a cry from the fresh, sharp pain. He tried to block out the reality, block out his ‘responsibility’, block out his Master, block out the darkness.

But it wasn’t going to go away. Jore gave in and cried out despite himself as the Headmaster pushed hard against the pleasure center inside him, sending an even stronger wave of pain through him. Jore had to say it. He had to… it was the only way to stop this… and he hurt so much…
“M-master…” he gasped, and then said shakily, “P-please… I… I w-want it…”
“What do you want?”
Jore bit his lip, tasting blood in his mouth again, but he hardly felt the pain it caused next to all of this. “I… I want to… to come…”
“Louder,” Mr. Nairicks commanded, leaning in close so that the word brushed Jore’s ear.
“I want… to come…” Jore said slightly louder than before, the words tasting much sharper and more painful than the blood in his mouth.

Mr. Nairicks inhaled a sharp breath and tensed as he forced himself deep inside Jore’s broken body, and then released himself just as he caused Jore to reach his completion. Jore screamed with pain and relief, and his back arched as he finished. The Headmaster just watched the writhing form below him silently as he filled the boy with his seed.


Jore shuddered as the initially strong feeling of his completion faded, and then gasped as he felt the Headmaster pull out of him. Mr. Nairicks moved back and Jore’s legs slipped off his shoulders limply.

Jore’s breathing steadied after a few minutes, and before he slipped into unconsciousness, he heard the Headmaster’s voice by his ear.

“Thank you, my pet.”


* * *


The whole time, Jore had known the truth. He had known, without a doubt, from that first incident in the office, that the Headmaster’s awful attraction to him had merged with his psychotic, abusive nature… and the only outlet for his madness was Jore, who was playing the part of the sacrificial lamb.

And still, Jore was skeptical about the idea that, even now that Mr. Nairicks was done tormenting him, he wouldn’t be the last student at the school who would be hurt this much by the Headmaster. Jore wondered if any other student had ever felt that dagger as he had, or had tasted his own blood in his mouth, or had been toyed with and violated so horribly. He now knew that Mr. Nairicks was homosexual, or maybe bisexual. But as far as Jore knew, he was the only gay student in this school.
And then that thought lead him to think of what Mr. Nairicks might have done to female students in the past. Jore felt a powerfully fresh wave of disgust and hatred for the Headmaster slam into his mind.

No child should ever have to fear helplessness, pain or torture of any kind from an adult; whether it be their parents, relatives, or the Headmaster at their school.

And so Jore swore in the deepest part of his heart: whatever the consequences or risks, he would make the Headmaster pay.


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