Wyatt’s lips pull down into a frown, going from gleeful to petulant because his toy is being taken from him.
“Fine. He’s all yours Owen,” he huffs, skulking to the bar to pour himself a drink.
Now the fun can begin.
Removing my coal-colored leather jacket, I place it on the back of the matching-colored couch with one hand, while using the other to grab my Nimravus Tanto aluminum-handled blade from its sheath.
I tsk. “Glen, you’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you?” Chuckling, I approach my prey. “How does it feel to be choking balls deep on my dick?” I tease.
Grunting protests cause a stirring in my groin as I begin to make shallow slices along his exposed ribs.
I’m not into men. I’m into screams and the feel of pain, with no gender discrimination— pain doesn’t care what your sex is. I’m going to need to fuck after this.
Leaning down so he can feel the bass of my voice rumble in his ear, I say, “I’m going to pull my dick from your mouth and you’re going to answer all of our questions. If you don’t, my fake cock will be filling another hole. Nod if you understand.”
The slow up and down shake of his head confirms his willingness to cooperate as Wyatt makes his way over from the bar.
Smiling at his surrender, I pat his cheek with my blood-covered blade before I speak, “Good boy.”
Wyatt removes the gag and Glen splutters, sucking precious air into his lungs.
His choked inhales trap me. I remember a time when my life was almost choked out of me. A time when I was at the mercy of people who wanted to try and ruin the Fraternitas. So, they decided to take its heirs. They only were able to get to two of us— Lev and me, but I was the only one taken.
I shudder at the memory and the feelings they invoke. Channeling that rage, I turn back to the outlet that I hope will help release my demons.
Seeing the storm in my eyes, Wes grabs my shoulder. “Don’t let the demons pull you under, brother.”
Meeting the worried espresso gaze, I give him a quick nod. “I’ve got this.”
Taking a quick cleansing breath, I mentally put my mask firmly back in place. Thoughts of that week of my life still cause my body to tense. A lot can happen to a ten-year-old boy when in captivity, even for only a week.
“Now Glen, what was your business with the Senator?” I ask, clearing my head of all distractions so I can inhale all of my prey’s fears.
This is where I am most alive. These moments of seeing the trembles of terror shake from their bodies and the taste of their pain is still the best meal I’ve ever had.
“Go fu-uck you-yourself,” Glen rasps. My smile grows.Glen really wants to play.
“Oh no, Glenny, it’s not me who’ll be getting fucked,” I croon, grabbing the dildo from Wyatt’s hold. “The question is, will it be with or without vaseline?”
He starts to thrash, ignoring the tearing at the flesh on his wrists, threatening to cut an artery and bleed out.We can’t have that.
“Wy, why don’t we remove the barbed wire? It seems Glen would rather die than be ass fucked,” I instruct while I grab the booty tape. As Wyatt works, I squat so my head is level with his hip, applying the strips to pull his anus into view.
“No lubrication for you. You’ve been a bad boy. Didn’t your Mommy ever teach you to watch your fucking mouth or at the very least be weary of the monsters under your bed?” I question, tilting my cold stare into his water-ridden blue eyes.
“Do I get a turn?” Wyatt asks, having finished removing the wire from Glen’s wrists, which are still bound by the leather straps of the cross.
“No Wy. Come have a seat and let Owen get answers,” Wes states from his perch on the couch. Wyatt tenses for a moment but complies, understanding that answers are more important than bickering.
Positioning the bulbous head at Glen’s entrance, I exclaim, “Remember to scream my name,” as I shove past any resistance his muscles would bring. The wail of his screams cause my dick, the real one, to pulse in my jeans, making me groan. The mixture of screams and my moans cause it to jerk against my thigh.
Pulling the dildo from his ass, I watch as crimson liquid covers the fake phallus. The sight of his blood has me reaching to grip the head of my dick and squeeze.
“Glen,” I grunt, “all you had to do was answer,” as I shove the dick to the base then grab my knife and slash the underside of his buttcheek.
His raspy voice croaks in response, “We-we met last month. T-to discuss his plans to run for President.”
I ease the force of my thrusts, but don’t slow the pace. Continuing to impale him, I glare up and wait for him to continue. He takes too long so I ram it back inside, relishing in his choked sobs. Pulling it out, allowing for just the tip to stay in, and shoving it back in.
