Toys 3: The Toychest
#3 of The Toys
Sorry for the delay. Here is the third installment to the "Toys" series. I hope you like it.
The Toychest
By Wolf Bane
Bane leaned back on his bed, setting the knife and the valve down next to the respective stories that went with them. He glanced over at the old wooden toy chest, it's lid slightly open as though the toys inside were begging him to come over and play with them.
Earlier that evening he recieved a strange email, a large package was waiting for him at the campus mail center. Nobody had ever sent anything to the campus for him. There was no need to. It had to be a joke, he planned to go down there and tell them how they made a mistake and sent the email to the wrong person. Instead he was sent back with a rather large, fairly heavy crate that caused nothing but trouble as he wheeled it back to his room with the help of one of the staff members.
Now that "joke" or "screwup" was sitting in the middle of his room, packing peanuts scattered around the edges and an open wooden toy chest inside it. It was within the chest that Bane had found the knife and valve as well as the two handwritten stories that went along with them. With all the odds and ends that had been thrown inside, including stacks of papers most likely containing the same types of stories as the two he had just finished, it had been hard to tell where he was supposed to begin.
Thank the stars there had been a single tri-folded note laminated to the outside of the box. Bane had long since sliced the upper edge and pulled out the trapped contensts. Unlike the stories, the note inside had been addressed to him,
"Dear Bane," it started in a hand writing he didn't recognize, "You won't remember me, but I will always remember the time we shared together. I apologize for being so cryptic but you will have to trust me that it's better this way. I want you to have my toys as an early birthday present. I know you don't remember but there was always a couple things we agreed on. Since it was still unknown what more than half of this stuff does after every use you will want to write down your experiences, kind of like a journal so that any future users will know how they work. And sweetie, please be careful. I can't stress this enough something in there might actually be dangerous. I already know how you would reply to that, 'Don't worry, I know how to take care of myself.' You always were independant and willing to experiment with the unknown and that's one of the main reasons I made this decision. Maybe we will meet up again someday. Take care my love." At the very bottom of the letter was an added note, "P.S. When writing about experiences, do not use any real names."
The letter had no name associated with it. It had to have been written for some other guy named Blane though. This Blane had never been with anyone in his life, not many people even knew he was gay. He rolled his eyes and opened the treasure chest, seeing a random assortment of everything imaginable, but it didnt look like any of them were toys. It was over the next couple of hours that he spent reading over the accounts that had been about the knife and the valve, not believe that much of any of it could have actually happened. I mean seriously, who would ever believe in a knife that could cut without harming it's victim? And on top of that the nerves would no longer be connected and couldn't possible send impulses to the synapses to cause the viewer to still feel it. Blasphemous.
Although there have been stranger things. For instance when someone loses a hand they might still feel pain as though it's clenched too tightly. Even stranger than that this pain can be reduced by introducing a mirror and having the amputee clench and unclench their remaining wrist. Maybe there was a way to trick the mind into thinking that a person is still feeling something they cut off.
Blane really wanted to convince himself that the accounts he had just read were real. Something about the thought of having that kind of power had him stuck there with a raging hardon and three questions weighing heavily on his mind. Should he read more and find out what other things do? Should he try the knife out on himself and prove the story a lie? Or should he just paw his raging hard-on and forget about everything for tonight?
As much as he badly wanted release, the young wolf knew he would get much more pleasure by drawing it out a little longer. So that reduced the choices to either reading another story or trying the knife. And there was just something about that knife that ate at him, his body and mind craved to find out.
To be on the safe side, he put the letter away in one of his dresser drawers where his roommate wouldnt be able to find it. He replaced the valve and the two stories in the chest and lifted the entire thing out of the box before easily sliding it under his bed. He knew and respected Damion, his roommate, enough to know he wouldn't go snooping under the bed for any reason. After he finished preparing, and grabbing a first aid kit just in case, he sat on the edge of the bed with the knife poised above the tip of his left pinky finger. Butterflies fluttered around in his stomach and he could taste a bit of acid come up the back of his throat. He laughed at the peculiar thought of removing part of his own finger on the words of some lunatic who couldn't even send the package to the right person.
He sighed heavily. If he was going to do this he would have to do it quickly. In his minds eye he saw blood flowing out of the removed tip and felt the phantom pain he thought could only be felt if you had already lost your hand.
"I was cutting up some vegetables and accidentally cut my finger off. It happens all the time, they would be daft not to believe it..." He tried to convince himself and before he could tell his hand otherwise, the knife fell down on the unprotected appendage. He winced as he felt the cool of the blade and convinced himself that he felt an unbearable pain in his finger. He felt a tear stream down his face, not wanting to bring himself to look at the damage done, but knowing that he needed to stop the bleeding as fast as possible. He dropped the knife from his right hand and grabbed for the first aid kit, and the gauze he had laid out. He quickly shoved the piece of gauze against the diced pinky and went back with both hands, knowing he would have to tape it down before calling a paramedic. However as he reached for the tape, something he would need both hands to cut, he realized that the gauze was not turning the shade of ruby red he expected it to.
The young wolf blinked twice as the phantom pain subsided. He removed the gauze to find the smooth pinky not bleeding. Had it not been for two simple facts he would have convinced himself that the pinky had always been like this. The two things proving otherwise were the size, it was definitely smaller than his other pinky, and the fact that it no longer had a fingernail attached to it. Not to mention that when he looked down at the bed he found the rest of his finger lying there also as though it had never been a part of him.
He leaned over and grabbed the removed tip, jolting as he realized he could still feel it. He squeezed it and laughed over the unique sensation. The clanking of a key going into the door warned Bane that Damion was back. He cursed his luck, threw his pinky and the knife into the back of his dresser drawer with the letter and jumped under his covers to hide his erection. The next thirty minutes were going to be hell. He had to lie there and pretend to be taking a nap to keep his roommate from thinking anything was up; pun intended.
He turned his back to the room, wishing his boner would go away so that he would no longer be horny. Damion walked over and quietly used the bathroom, which was located on his side of the room. This was going to be a very long night.