No longer could he resist. Cuffs were not needed, a belt tethering ankles to the cold metal table was enough. As much as he struggled, Clive was powerless. Powerless to phantom itches, and to him. He loved it.
Clanking, clinking, scraping, scratching echoed. The noises bounced off the walls, attempting desperately to escape the basement and find someone’s ears, to no avail. They simply taunted their maker and sung to their audience. His audience.
This was not part of the agreement, but none of it had been. Heiden never specified just what was to be included, Clive simply assumed. There was no contract. There were no rules. Heiden didn’t have to ask if Clive was okay, so he didn’t this time. He just set up the camera and started recording. Heiden didn’t have to keep this private, so he didn’t this time. He just set the stream to public and let the people roll in.
After one last check-up, making sure the camera captured the entire scene and its audio, Heiden stepped into the frame and turned to Clive, “Ready?”
“No! No, Heiden- Heiden, please!” the blond begged, frantically waving freshly healed stumps in a pathetic plea. His pleading was returned with a laugh and soon after, the scratching of a blade against blade. The telltale sound of sharpening that Clive had become accustomed to. The sound that preceded something he craved, unlike now.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Heiden hummed, placing down the sharpening blade clumsily and with a clang. On his way to approach Clive, he checked the laptop connected to the camera. Millions of messages flooded in by the minute, a majority scarily positive, encouraging and inspiring him.
> @HolyCruel: Hurry UP
>
> @Like.Mike: give him what he deserves
>
> @belray: GIVE HIM MORE STUMPS
>
> @edward_wright_66: I love to watch him struggle.
>
> @richardout: this is taking too long
>
> @FuzzySparkle: hes sooo cute~
>
> @footman87: Send me his toes my number is XXX-XXX-XXX
With preciseness honed through years of studying, Heiden plunged the knife into Clive’s ankle, throwing them into the live-stream with a quick start. A hitched breath muted the scream both the doctor and his audience craved.
“C’mon, Bärchen, let us hear you,” Heiden’s voice was sweet as if his commands were simply kind suggestions. Suggestions that you could say no to - and Clive did. Shaking his head feverishly, he beat his biceps against the table in refusal, all while keeping his lips tightly shut. Wrong answer it seemed. With a quick twist of his wrist, Heiden turned the knife. A gross squelching and scraping came of the action prompting a shuddering whine from Clive.
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“That’s better.”
The knife was pulled unceremoniously from his flesh, spraying blood on pale skin, forced a shout to erupt from him. Audio peaked as the screech reached the microphone, tempting viewers to lower their volumes; apart from those with a devout following to other’s pain, as well as those without free hands.
The blood on the blade dripped into messy puddles that bid goodbye to the cleanliness of the studio beforehand. The growing disorder provoked something deep within Heiden that many could spot below his waistline.
Ungloved fingers traced the wound, blood seeped under untrimmed nails, dirting Heiden’s hands. That was clearly of no importance to the doctor as, moments following, he plunged his digits into the gash. They wiggled as though searching. Each individual finger on its own mission to find its target. Whimpers turned to cries once it was found.
“STOP!” Clive rasped, vocal cords straining against the pain, “Stop, please- PLEASE!”
His perpetrator was undeterred by his pleas and his newfound fans savoured each new octave he reached. As well as that, they were not quiet about it. The doctor was more than aware of this and skimmed the chatbox for their lovely suggestion until one caught his eye.
> @INTORA: Listen to him scream
>
> @LillyBety: how much to rent him!!
>
> @ulnaryota: PULL IT OUT
>
> @redthumb: youre work is sloppy
>
>
The fingers that wormed around in flesh suddenly tightened around bone. Layers of muscle, fat, skin pushed out of the way to make way for a fist. With a strength unbeknownst to many, Heiden yanked. The force was not enough to break bone but more than enough to displace it. The joint cracked, the tibia dislodged. The outside skin stretched to accommodate the change, creating the ugly image of distortion. The camera captured a reality many only saw through the magic of special effects and, unlike the masses would predict, its watchers rejoiced.
> @sourz0mbie: !!!!!!
>
> @BRADjay: send it to me?
>
> @Jos3phL: how much
>
> @stevejohnson8: how much to spend some time w this lil twink
>
> @89honda: AUCTION IT
Eyes trained on the screen, a sinister smirk found its way onto Heiden’s face. He could provide entertainment by doing what he loved and get paid for it? Now that was an offer he couldn’t resist.
With one hand holding the bone, the other reached to the table of tools. His fingers hovered over cheese wire and a hacksaw before ultimately deciding on the latter.
“One of you lucky viewers will receive the tibia of my Schatz’, ein sehr glücklicher Betrachter in der Tat.”
Slowly, the saw lowered, closer and closer to the bone. Adrenaline thrummed through Clive’s veins, keeping him awake and staring at the ever inching blade. Through the laceration, his muscles could be seen tightening, relaxing, then tightening again with each panicked gasp. For so long he could not tear his eyes away, they had been locked on the gore, giving him a sight frightful enough to scare away the threat of passing out. As the serrated edge reached blood coated bone though, his eyes shut tight, unable to bear the spectacle of carnage on his anatomy. Darkness enveloped him, leaving the rest of his senses to handle the situation.
The hacksaw dragged back and forth, tearing offshoot muscles that intruded in its path. It drove in deeper and deeper, severing nerves. With each wiry nerve that it cleaved, Clive let out a sharp holler accompanied by a shudder. There was no energy in him to refuse, he could not kick. Each exhale that left his lips carried ardour, leaving him still and lifeless. His hyperventilating forced his consciousness to fade faster than he desired. It faded, faded, faded, faded faded faded faded until it was gone. His body comatose allowed Heiden was free to do all he wished with it. A toy for him. A toy for him and his audience.