Page 67 of Their Cruel Love
My turn. Again.
She looks completely messed up, as if we’ve dragged her through the gutter.
I love doing this to her, as well as watching her take it and get pleasure from it, and that last part is maybe the best of all.
The way she’s ducked her head into my chest, along withthe weight of her in my arms and her ample curves, my heart is ready to burst too. The role of protector versus that of her sadist conflicts so utterly. And yet, and yet, there is warmth in this, a satisfaction that can never be rivalled.
This and that. Sometimes you can have your cake and eat it too.
My dick is straining to get out of my pants and may end up permanently bent.
“Where are you going?” she finally has the courage to ask.
“To where I can chain you and do what I want with you, before I fuck you, princess. I’m not fucking you in the doorway. I’m going to savor this.”
“Princess?” She seems to find that title hilarious.
“So am I.” Razor has caught up and has my bag. “You wanted this?” He raises it.
“Yes. It has the barbed wire in it.”
“What? No!” She starts to squirm in my arms.
“Stop that. You’re not getting away. Besides, it’s not normal barbed wire. You’ll see. Do not fucking kick me.” I heft her higher, set her on her feet, and get busy untying her hands then retying them at the front. I remove the anal hook, drop it aside it into a plastic bag. By threading the rope through a chain link, I easily haul her hands higher, then knot the rope in place. “There.”
Her head is slightly bowed, and she regards me through the long hair that’s fallen over her brow. Her pink tongue curls out, strokes along the seam of her lips. Above her head, her hands move as she finds a place to tuck her fingers into rope and chain.
Her areolas stand out, reddened where the clamps have pressed, and there is the faint triangle leading to her pussy,with the slightest hint of the split of her cunt… I draw a shaky breath. “Mag-fuckin-nificent.”
“That’s not a word.” But Razor is also appreciating our displayed and chained girl.
I take a few steps back, admiring our prize, then look around the room. Even though we’ve been here for ten, fifteen minutes, the creepy eyes are still on us more than any other throuple or couple, or whatever combo people are arranged in. And some of them are indulging in some unusual kinks. The female dressed as a red latex doll, with the bare backside, tits, and mouth-hole, being swapped between two men and another woman? That’s not rare, but it’s striking.
Yet we are the commonest focus—us three. That has to mean something.
Razor shakes the coil of flexible wire at me. It has fewer nasty barbs than the real stuff used for fences. I had made especially for this—for decorating a woman and making her squeak and fear me. Making them orgasm while wrapped up in barbs is quite a sight. “Thanks.” Absentmindedly I take it from him.
“What’s wrong?”
“This place. Them.”
A man is approaching, and he’s tall, suited, and official-looking. I don’t recall him.
“Razor and Marcus Thompson?”
“Yes,” we answer as one.
He holds out his hand, and we shake. It’s such a normal gesture for a situation like this, and it makes me edgy.
“You missed the auction,” he says. Which is when I notice Bastion, the dude who MCed the dinner, going up to Phoebe. He’s leaning in and saying something to her.
“We did. Things came up.”
“Well. Things aren’t allowed to come up. You signed up to participate, and there will be consequences if it happens again.” This man could roleplay a butler…and if Bastion touches a hair on Phoebe, I will fucking deck him.
“We did not sign anything that compels us,” Razor butts in.
Bastion has walked away. Good. My eyes have been swiveling as if on stalks. “Our dicks came up. That was the delay reason. Are you disallowing that here?” I doubt that bit of rudeness will shock him.