Beautiful.
More fingers fall. The severed digits scattered across the platform like obscene confetti. Blood pools beneath him, black in the jungle shadows, and I stroke myself once, twice, unable to resist.
The helicopter noise has faded. Or maybe I've stopped hearing it. The world has narrowed to this platform, this body, this righteous act of destruction.
"Time for castration."
I release the wrist restraints and roll him onto his back. His face is gray, shock setting in, but his eyes are still aware. Still terrified.
Good. I want him conscious for this part.
His cock is shriveled, his balls contracted. Fear has made them small.
The blade presses against the base of his scrotum.
"??????????."Please.
I cut.
The sound he makes isn't human. It's something primal, something that comes from the deepest part of the brainstem where language doesn't exist. His body convulses so violently the blood fountains from his groin, arterial spray painting my chest and stomach crimson.
My hand finds my cock again. I'm stroking in earnest now, slicked with his blood, and it's wrong, so fucking wrong, but I can't stop.
Don't want to stop.
This is who I am.
His screaming has dissolved into wet gurgling. I've nicked the femoral artery—he'll bleed out within minutes if I don't cauterize. I could save him. Prolong this.
I choose not to.
Instead, I watch his eyes dim as I jerk myself faster, harder, my balls drawing tight against my body. His mouth moves soundlessly. Prayers, maybe. Curses. It doesn't matter.
His last breath rattles out just as my orgasm hits—a violent, full-body shudder that tears a groan from my throat. I come across his chest, across the ruin I've made of him, rope after rope of come mixing with his cooling blood.
The release empties me.
I kneel there, panting, my softening cock still in my blood-slicked hand, staring at what I've created.
Justice.
This is justice.
The jungle gradually reasserts itself. Bird calls. Insect hum. The distant thrum of a helicopter that seems to be circling rather than landing.
And behind me, barely audible over the ambient noise?—
Crying.
Chapter 16
Scarletta
Blood.
There's blood on his chest. On his hands. On his?—
Don't look at that. Don't look at that. Don't look at?—
