I pull the blindfold down. “Luciano!” I smack him on the back. His laughter echoes through the halls of the bunker. “This is not a date. You go to the movies or dinner or the beach,” I say when he puts me down outside the room.
“That sounds boring. This is fun.” He grins at me. “I promise you’ll enjoy torturing someone.”
“You don’t know that.” I cross my arms in front of me. “I only killed my first person not that long ago.”
He pulls me closer to him and breathes in my ear, like he’s telling me a secret, “You have a demon inside you, just like me, and she is beggingto be released.” I try to pull away from his grip, but his hands are firm on my hips. “Let her out, Principessa. Let her come play with me.”
I tousle with the idea in my head for a couple of seconds. Is what he saying true? Could I really do this? So far I’ve been able to cope; the nightmares sucked first after my own torture experience, but they’ve practically disappeared now. And after I killed my first person, I cried it out and then haven’t really thought about it since. But am I ready for this?
Seeing my hesitation, Luca opens the door to the room, but I don’t see anyone in here. I step inside with Luca behind me, confusion settling over me. I turn to Luciano. “Where is he?” I demand, slightly annoyed.
Luciano releases a deep chuckle. “Calm down. I wanted you to be comfortable with the room first.”
“Oh…” That makes sense, considering what happened the last couple times I was here. I walk over to the table with various tools laid out. I run my fingers along them, unsure what half of them are used for.
I can feel Luciano’s presence right behind me before he even speaks. “Are you ready?”
“I’m not really dressed to torture someone.” I wave my hands over my outfit. “These are very expensive shoes and this is a new dress.”
He grabs a fistful of my dress and lifts it slightly along my thigh. His fingers graze my skin, sending shivers up my spine. “I’d love nothing more than to see you covered head to toe in someone’s blood in those shoes. That would be a fucking amazing sight to see.”
“Carlo!” he yells out. Carlo opens the door and walks Gio in. He’s been stripped down to just his underwear, fresh bruises marking his body.
Carlo chains his hands and feet to the wall so he’s unable to move. “I’ll be outside the door,” Carlo says to me, but Luciano waves him off as if to say I’ll be fine.
I watch as Luciano takes off his suit jacket and hangs it on the hook on the back of the door. Instead of rolling up his sleeves like I thought he would, he takes off his shirt. I don’t think I’ll ever get over this sight of seeing his muscular tattooed chest. He winks. Shit, I’ve just been caught red-handed checking him out.
I stand still as I watch him casually stroll over to Gio. “Serious question, Gio,” he says, staring at him straight on with his arms crossed in front of him. “If a man and a woman who are fucking go out together somewhere, would you call that a date?”
Gio’s lips twitch slightly. Is this a trick question? What’s he doing? Luciano starts pacing in front of him.
“I haven’t been on many dates before, so I looked it up. Google said dates should be fun.” He stops and punches Gio in the stomach. “Torture is fun, right?” Gio hunches over and lets out a wheezing breath. “It also said dates normally involve activities or games, and I have a whole table full of them.” He points to the table behind me. “It said you should bring flowers, which I have.” He points to the vase at the back of the table. I didn’t notice them before. Roses are my favorite! “And that you should have some drinks.” He walks to the other end of the table and pulls out a bucket from underneath, full of ice with a couple bottles of wine. He grabs two glasses and fills them before handing one to me. We clink them together.
He takes a drink from his glass and continues. “The date is supposed to be a fun experience that allows for conversation and a deeper connection, and what better way to form a deeper connection than torturing someone together?” I watch as his whole demeanor changes in front of me. His body now has a dangerous aura hanging aroundhim, his eyes are practically black, he stands taller with his shoulders more squared; this side of him looks fucking hot. I take another sip of wine and wait to see what he does next. Gio doesn’t speak and doesn’t move—not that he could even if he tried.
Luciano looks over to me. “Come here,” he demands. I slowly walk over to him, and he pulls me in front of him, wrapping his hands around my waist. “So Principessa, have I convinced you that this is a date?”
“I don’t know, Luci… we haven’t played any games yet,” I say. “What do you have in mind?” I egg him on, partly because I’m turned on by this side of him and now interested to see where this will lead.
“How about twenty-one questions? If we guess correctly, there will be a reward. If we guess incorrect, there will be a punishment.”
I look back at him with a quirked brow, wondering how he’ll involve torturing Gio into this game. “Okay, you ask me first.” I skull the remainder of my drink and go to pour another, needing a bit more liquid courage to help me through this fucked-up date. I can’t imagine what my dad would say to me if he saw how I was living now.
“How old was I when I moved into the mansion?” he asks me, walking over to the table.
“Oh, that’s easy.” I perk up. “You were thirteen.”
“Correct.” He walks back over to me with some ice cubes. He starts to trace one of the cubes down my skin, starting at my neck, then slowly moving down to my chest, circling the top of my tits. He lifts the hem of my dress, tracing the ice up my thigh until it’s millimeters from my pussy, before slipping it inside. The coldness sends a chill up my spine with an overwhelming sensation. I grab the edge of the table, waiting for my heat to melt the ice cubes. He grabs another handful of ice cubes and walks over to Gio. He pulls the front of his boxers open and drops the cubes in his boxers. Gio wriggles against the coldness.
“Your turn,” Luciano says to me.
“What’s my favorite color?” I ask him.
“Purple,” he says confidently.
“Wrong. It’s actually red,” I say, tugging at my red dress. He looks at me with disbelief, like he can’t believe he got the first question wrong. Punishment. I walk over to the table and pick up the whip. “Against the wall,” I tell him. He does as I command and walks to the wall, his back facing me. I pull back the whip and fling it across his back five times. He lets out a small groan on the fourth one. He loves this.
He turns back around when I’m done. “Since it’s your turn, you have to dish out the punishment. Ten whips,” he says, looking over at Gio. It’s one thing to whip someone for pleasure, but for torture hits different.
