Page 53 of The Way We Rot
“It would mean so much to me if you would cry,” I told her, stroking her cheek with my blood-stained fingers. But I sighed and settled back into the chair, pulling out the iron poker I’d had resting in the furnace all this time. It was ready, red hot and angry.
Her entire hand jolted with every press of the iron rod onto her ravaged flesh, searing it closed and unable to fester with bacteria. Nine times I did it, needing to reheat the iron twice to complete the job. Her muscles twitched and shook, but her head remained stationary. Still stuck in her own private hell. I couldn’t keep the wicked smile off my face. Her screams would be sweet, but it was easy enough to imagine what was going on inside her sick mind.
By the time I was finished, the stink of cooking flesh heavy in the air, her breathing was more erratic, her head able to tip to the side, her mouth dropping open half an inch. I smirked.
Yes, I was going to drag this out for as long as possible. Let it be the death of both of us.
I left her to continue waking as I packed everything away, saving the tools I’d rested on her stomach for later. They were meant to frighten her, to let her know what was coming.
As she moved her arm, the uninjured one, across her body, I heaved her up and dragged her to her next home. The box was fun, but too enclosed. I couldn’t see her all tucked up in there.
She was a heap of limbs on the floor as I gathered the ropes I needed. This had been learned in a late-night video on the internet, and I had all the tools ready. While she came to in tiny increments, I set everything up.
First, I wrapped the rope over her wrists. Then new ones around her shoulders, wrapping them tightly under her armpits. The next set of ropes went around her knees, and the last was around her head.
That one had taken some thinking, how to pull it off, making it so I could move her head however I wanted, take away every single inch of her autonomy. I couldn’t drill into her skull and have her live. Not yet, anyway.
I’d come up with a head brace. It wasn’t elegant, was fuck ugly, but her eyes were blinking and her jaw working as I tugged it over her head and squeezed it shut, a thick silver bar around her forehead, metal prongs digging into her skull. I attached it to the last of the rope.
“Adrian…” she groaned my name as I walked away to the pulley and yanked. As I pulled, wrapping the loose rope around a cog, her body contorted and lifted. This was the main rope, the one for her head that would keep her suspended. For a few minutes, while I sorted out the rest of them, she would be held only by her head, and it would fucking hurt, those prongs digging right into her cranium.
And like a dying pig on a carousel, she thrashed. She swung and flailed, coming back to life just in time. I grinned wide and satisfied, my cock heavy behindmy zipper. She was such a sight, naked, contained, blood-coated. Angry.
“Fuck you!” she screeched when I moved to the next ropes, giving her some weight bearing under her arms too, relieving some of the pressure. “Thishurts.”
She glared at me as I fixed her arms and knees, leaving her in a sitting position, suspended in the air. But there was a glint, always was, an edge of insouciance.
She was still naked, and it exposed her pussy to me, her bruised thighs and round ass as she swung in a circle caused by her fidgeting and flailing.
God, smugness fought with self-preservation, watching her on this stage, the one Jake and I used to find such innocent joy in, suffering so damn much. This was his beautiful show.
I walked up to Penny, stopped her swinging by gripping her legs, and looked her in the eye. She wasn’t suspended high above the ground, but she could go all the way to the rafters if I wanted. Probably not up to code, but I didn’t really give a fuck if the rope snapped and she smashed to the stage.
“Fuck you,” she repeated. “My arm fucking hurts.” She attempted to gesture to her right arm, the onefull of weeping holes, but only managed to move a fraction, rope resisting her strength.
My little puppet, ripe for manipulating, for bending to my will. I stepped between her legs and grabbed her pussy, rough and probing, enjoying the way her eyes widened and her nostrils flared.
She’d sliced Jake’s dick off in her attack, and for a moment, I imagined grabbing a knife, slicing through her pussy, right through the labia, slipping the blade through her clit.
Making her eat it. Stare at it. Die with her mangled flesh beside her head. My nostrils flared.
“Don’t think I want to put my cock inside your filthy body again, little killer.” I squeezed her whole pussy in my fist, tugging and digging my fingers into the soft flesh until she finally relented and cried out, angry and shrieking. I had no way of keeping her from bleeding out if I cut her so deeply, so this vicious pain would have to do.
I squeezed harder.
“Stop!” she screamed, trying to swing herself away. I only held tighter, dismissing the erection behind my zipper as I twisted my hand, wanting to feel it rip, forher skin to shred from her body in one violent, bloody tear. “Adrian, please!”
I let go, stepped away, ignoring the disgust wracking me because I was hard, noting the way her eyes dropped. She was breathless, sweat dripping between her tits, running through blood splatter down her stomach.
“Fuck you,” she said with an unwanted sob, still prone for me. Blood dripped onto the floor from between her legs, so I checked my hand.
Some of my fingers were coated in red, having breached her skin. With my eyes on hers, I brought each one up to my lips and licked them clean. The metallic taste of her pain making my balls throb.
“Once again, little killer, you will never feel pleasure again.”
Penny only stared.
Twenty-Four
