The Note on the Nightstand

I had to relax every muscle in my body as much as I possibly could. The moment I focused on the place where the dildo was buried and tensed even a little, the vibration seemed to swell until it filled my entire awareness, an illusion so vivid that another thirty minutes of this would leave me collapsed from dehydration. So I fought to let go, to go limp no matter what.

Both arms were stretched out and bound to the iron bar so tightly I could not move them an inch, and my neck screamed from the way my head had been twisted hard to the side, but I had to endure it. Every accidental clench brought a deep, buzzing surge that dragged me toward a climax so sharp my mind went blank.

Then, the instant I finally managed to go completely slack—after the paradoxical effort of tensing just to force the release—the dildo shifted a fraction outward. The moment I noticed that tiny movement, my fogged brain stuttered back into something like working order.

"Nngh...!"

I had already come so many times that the pleasure was tipping over into pure pain. The raw, grinding thrust of it with almost no slickness left was unbearable; I clenched my lower belly hard and thrashed the only free part of me—my loosely bound legs—trying desperately to shove the climax-that-felt-like-agony back down.

"Hyaah...! Ughk...!"

Only mindless sounds spilled from my mouth. I still could not understand why any of this was happening to me, and the tears I had already cried poured out again in a fresh flood. The thought of how stupid ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I must look right now, the simple wish to finish work at the company and go home to an ordinary evening, made the tears keep sliding down. No actual sobs came out. And then, like an idiot, I came again.

"Khuh...!"

What made this orgasm different was the way my walls clamped down as if they had decided to crush the dildo outright. My lower belly twisted and knotted; I let out a broken cry and arched my hips high off the mattress before they crashed back down.

A person cannot fully control their own muscles. No matter how hard I tried to relax, my vaginal walls locked around the foreign object with savage strength, twisting my insides until I could have sworn my organs were coiling together. Paradoxically the dildo only seated itself more firmly, and the low buzzing vibration traveled straight up through my bones.

"Hyaah, hyaaa...! U-Unnie...!"

In the end I gave up. I stopped struggling and simply started screaming for my senior. There was no pleasure left—only pain—so I used the one free thing I still had: my mouth.

"Unnie...! Unnie..!"

What began as loud shouting slid into raw screams, then into the high, wordless keening that only a woman’s throat can make, pitch rising and falling in a language older than speech.

I thought I was going to die. Pain kept crashing over me and I could not even stroke the place that hurt, could not curl into a ball. All I could do was pray for time to pass faster.

"Fuck...! Fuuuck...!"

The raw curses finally tore free. Considering the situation I was in, they had arrived almost late.

And then, unbidden, the memory of the sound-absorbing panels covering every wall rose in my mind.

"...Ah."

The instant I understood there was no hope, my brain finally accepted the fact and switched over to self-protection. My eyes rolled higher and higher until—

Darkness.

Comfort.

Ease.

Strange, gentle feelings washed through me and my heart unclenched; then the eyes that had been staring up as if they could see my own brain slid back down. I saw the pillow and blanket soaked dark with moisture, the itchy strands of hair stuck to my face.

Why? Why had I woken again?

I was still trying to force myself back under when a hand that felt strangely hot settled on my shoulder.

"Heeyeon. Sleep well? Aha, looks like you cried a whole lot."

The voice at my ear made me realize my senior was sitting right beside me. I tried to bolt upright and was stopped short by the restraints, rattling against them.

"U-uh, l-let me go."

"Hm? What was that?"

"L-let me, let meee...! Fuck...! I said let me gooo...!"

"..."

Hearing that, she slid her arm under my neck—exactly the hold I had seen in UFC matches.

"Aaaah...! Let me...! N-no, take it out, take it out. Please? Take it out...!"

I kicked my legs uselessly. They were the only part of me that could still move.

"Heeyeon."

"U-ughk...!"

Just as I expected, the arm around my throat tightened. The harder I strained, the closer her mouth came to my ear.

"Shouldn’t you be reflecting right now? In a situation like this?"

"Ghk, kh, khuh..!"

My head spun. Opening my eyes grew harder and harder; no matter how I fought, the lids kept sinking.

"This is the punishment you’re getting because you did something wrong, isn’t it? Hmm?"

I thrashed. I twisted my shoulders hard enough that my body rocked a little left and right. The soft press of her breasts against my back felt strangely comforting, and my eyes drifted shut again.

"Haa, fine, well, since you’re pretty. I’ll take it as you earning your looks."

That voice floated through the last scraps of consciousness. Whether she had actually ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠said it, I would never know.

"Khuh...!"

My eyes snapped open. By now the blackouts had become familiar, yet when I surfaced I had no sense of how much time had passed or what had been done to my body. I stared blankly at the ceiling, then rolled my eyes around the room.

Thankfully there was no sign of my senior. A long, shaky sigh left me. The moment the breath was out, a vicious ache flared—somewhere below my lower belly, deeper than the belly itself.

"Ugh..."

I looked down with a small sound. My lower abdomen had gone past red into a dark crimson almost black, and kiss marks bloomed all over the insides of my thighs. I understood at once what she had done while I was unconscious, and the mood I had thought could not sink any lower plummeted into the basement.

Maybe it was a mercy. If I had been awake to watch her suck on my thighs, if I had taken the beating that left my belly that color while fully conscious, the feeling would have been far worse.

"...Hic."

Even though my arms were free I had left them flopped stupidly to either side. When I finally forced myself upright the pull in my lower belly dragged that sound out of me. Strangely, every restraint had been removed.

So I stretched my arms and legs as far as they would go, then bent them as far as they would ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bend. Joints cracked one after another and blood seemed to start circulating again. I spent a long time just working the stiffness out, then staggered to my feet.

Clutching my sore belly I climbed off the bed and felt the clammy filth coating my whole body—sweat, and the sheets soaked with it. The pillow was stamped with clear tear-and-spit marks; even fully awake I did not want to rest my head there again.

My bare soles met the cold floor. The fact that the restraints were gone probably meant I was allowed to move. She was not the type to scold me for something she herself had undone, so I wandered the room. Every wall was covered in soundproof panels; it felt more like a recording studio than a place someone lived, and there was nothing worth looking at.

Just in case, I went to the door and turned the knob. It rattled a fraction and stopped dead. I sighed once more and returned to the bed, perching carefully on the cleanest edge. Nothing below the waist felt free of pain, so I braced hard with my arms and lowered myself the way a hemorrhoid patient might.

"...?"

That was when I noticed the paper on the nightstand—something that had not been there before. I picked it up and found a letter-like note written in handwriting. Beneath it sat a familiar stack of documents from the company.

Sleeping soundly? I still could not tell whether I had been asleep or simply unconscious. Judging by the pain in my belly and between my legs, unconscious seemed more likely.

"Crazy bitch..."

I muttered it under my breath, tiny in case anyone might hear, yet a small, satisfying smile still tugged at my mouth.

That was what the letter said. In one corner was a little sketch of a woman lying with her eyes closed—drawn of me, maybe—with several letter Z’s floating above her to show she was asleep. To me it looked exactly like a dead woman.

Hm.

I flicked the letter off the bed. The paper fluttered and did not travel far. More important were the papers beneath it—the ones I was supposed to solve—so I reached out and gathered them up.

When I unfolded the stack I found lines of questions written entirely by hand, page after page. The final five sheets were blank. Wondering what on earth this was supposed to be, I started reading.

Questions like that. Even the phrasing carried the faint flavor of my senior’s speech.

...Is she actually a crazy bitch? This.

A highlighter sat on the nightstand. It was so blunt that no matter how hard I stabbed with it, I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠doubted it could hurt a single person.