Rushing to the bed, I grab the veil pinned in her hair and yank her back. She starts screaming as I drag her down to the floor and wrap the long length of tulle around her neck. She flails, trying to hit me, but the veil blocks her view, and she is unsuccessful.
“Help, help!” she screams, but instead of anyone bursting into the room to rescue her, the sounds of gunshots can be heard, and her screaming is drowned out by the sounds of the wedding guests screaming in terror. The raid has started.
I hold on tight, constricting her air, and she finally stops shouting and her struggles cease as she passes out. I release the veil before hurrying over to check on Tristan.
His pupils are dilated, his breathing is thready, and he moans as he shoves his hand down his pants to relieve the ache in his cock. “I hurt,” he mutters. “I didn’t want her to touch me, Tori. I wanted it to be one of you,” he sobs, his distress making me even fucking madder.
“Oh, I know, baby.” I push his hair back from his face as I stroke a comforting hand through it. “Here, I’ll get you some water.” I grab the glass beside the bed and hurry into the bathroom. I toss the contents down the drain and rinse it thoroughly before filling it with fresh water, then I rush back to him and help him sit up to take a sip.
“Here, just lie back and get some rest while I take out the trash,” I encourage him, and he closes his eyes and leans back on the pillow I propped behind him.
I place the glass on the bedside table and look around the room. There’s a solid wood chair sitting under a desk, which will be perfect for what I have in mind.
I pull it out and then go into Tristan’s closet and search for something I can use to restrain Stacey.
“Hmm, my boy is kinky,” I murmur with appreciation when I find a box stuffed full of sexual restraints and toys. I take out the handcuffs and a set of leather straps for her legs.
Returning to the bedroom, I drag her limp body over to the chair before lifting her into it. She sags forward, so I pin her with my body and cuff her hands behind her back. Next, I use the straps to bind her feet to the legs of the chair. I step back and admire my handiwork before slapping her across the face. She rouses with a shout and starts thrashing around when she realizes she’s restrained, but the chair is good quality wood and heavy as fuck. She isn’t going anywhere. She’s hissing and spitting when she finally looks up and sees me standing there, watching her, flicking my knife in and out patiently.
“Oh fuck,” she stammers before raising her voice. “Help, help!” she shouts, but the gunfire and screams that we heard before have faded, and I’m going to guess there isn’t anyone left who cares to hear her scream.
“So here’s the thing, Stacey,” I start pleasantly. “I don’t like it when other people touch my things.” I think about it for a moment. “Actually, scratch that. I don’t like it when people I don’t want to fuck touch my things.”
“He isn’t yours, you whore,” she spits out defiantly. “He’s mine, my husband, and I have every right to do whatever I want to him.”
“Uh-uh-uh…” I waggle the knife in her face, and she pales and flinches back.
“Consent is sexy. Didn’t you know that? And Tristan” —I point the knife in his direction, his gaze is still a little unfocused— “didn’t consent. Just like I didn’t consent when you drugged me too.”
“Please, he’s begging for it, just like you were when I fucked you,” Stacey taunts, not knowing when to quit.
“Yeah, you see, drugging someone and then fucking them is not consent, and now you are going to pay for your filthy fucking ways,” I finish with a growl.
Stacey finally starts to realize she’s in trouble. She shakes her head. “No, please don’t. I won’t touch him again, I promise.”
“Too late.” I take my knife and slide it gently over her naked torso. She tries to flinch away from it but can’t move. “Now, I can’t actually cut your fingers off like I want to because this knife is no good for cutting through bone, and I don’t have any of my usual tools here, so instead, I’m going to teach you a lesson another way.”
I start carving into her skin, whistling as I go, trying to drown out the sounds of her screams, but if I’m honest, they are music to my ears and the perfect accompaniment to work to. Blood trails down her body in long, red rivers, and I feel my nipples pebble and my core throb. I can’t help the moan that escapes my mouth, and I hear Stacey whisper, “You’re sick. You’re a monster.”
“Yes, Stacey, I am. You thought you could play with the big guns, and now you are reaping what you sow.”
Her whimpers slowly die off, and when I stand back to study my handiwork, she has passed out.
“Well, you’re no fun,” I grumble and look around the room. Over on his desk, Tristan has a bong with a lighter sitting next to it. “Ahh.”
I pick it up and press the button. It’s a blowtorch style, and I giggle with sick satisfaction. I cross back to Stacey and perch on her lap, grabbing a handful of hair and tipping her head back. I press the button on the lighter, and the whooshing sound offlame fills the room. I hold it next to one of her eyes, and it isn’t long before they pop open. I use my hand to keep it open when she starts screaming and bucking as the water inside her eyeball starts to bubble and boil and blister. The smell makes me wrinkle my nose, and I eventually get bored when she passes out again, so I climb off her lap and toss the lighter on the desk.
Hmm, what else can I do to her? I study her clinically, searching the room again for something else I can use. Maybe I could use the bong and violate her like she violated me, but that just seems wrong.
“Holy shit.” A voice behind me has me spinning and reaching for my knife, but I relax when I find Sage standing there. He approaches me carefully, his gun hand relaxed by his side, taking in what I carved into Stacey’s chest.
“Thou shalt not covet. Tasteful and artistic,” he praises me, and I shrug.
“I was feeling whimsical. Oh, hey, can I use that?” I ask him, pointing to the gun.
He shrugs and hands it over, swapping me for my knife. “It might have a couple of rounds left. How’s our boy?” he asks, moving over to run his hands over Tristan to check if he’s injured. Tristan moans and grabs Sage, pulling him down for a kiss.
“Horny,” I reply dryly, “but unscathed.”
