“Not even a pound?”
“Probably not worth losing them then, huh?” he asks as the sharp edge grazes my scrotum.
“Ah, Cassius, that burns.”
“Shut up.” His eyes follow the length of my cock to the tip where it leaks onto my navel. It pulses and drips obscenely. Does my dick not understand we’re in peril? Or maybe it does. Cassius—or the demon currently possessing him—observes me with cool detachment and says in a dull, flat tone, “Roll over.”
I do so quickly, presenting my ass as an offering with my arms still stretched and bound. “Please don’t hurt me,” I say again, along with a prayer to God.
“Such a beautiful body,” Cassius murmurs. He pinches my nipple so that it bleeds some more, then touches his finger to the rim of my anus. “This won’t be enough lubricant to fuck you,” he says with a disappointed sigh and reaches for the actual lube. “Not without immense pain.”
At least he’s no longer holding the knife. It lies on the bed beside me, the fine point shadowed with my blood.
“I used to dissect small animals,” Cassius says as two gloved fingers now push inside, scissoring to stretch me with practiced efficiency. The impersonal feel of leather instead of skin is weirdly erotic. Like a kinky medical exam or a cold preparation for something more sinister.
“Why would you do that?” I ask, wanting to keep him talking. His silence is far more unsettling than his fantasies.
“I liked to see what they looked like on the inside. Sometimes I’d find eggs or a tiny zygote, as was the case with a squirrel I once autopsied. They were dead already in case you’re wondering. I’m not a monster.”
“I don’t think that,” I’m quick to assure him, but I wonder if he’s being completely honest with me.
“When I have you like this, touching you, probing you, it makes me wonder what you might look like on the inside. Do you think your organs and tissues are as beautiful as your skin?”
“Probably not,” I say, still vibrating with fear. And why is my dick still so hard? There must be something wrong with me.
“But I can’t have my cake and eat it too,” he says, sounding disappointed. “Am I scaring you yet?”
“Yes. One hundred percent.” He finally grabs my dick with his gloved hand and yanks. The texture of the leather feels rough, almost studded, so that it hurts a little even as I push into his fist for more friction.
“Do you believe we’re bonded by our pain?” He bites the nape of my neck, then kisses the place where he bit me. “By our trauma?”
“Yes?” I nod, hoping that’s the right answer.
“I think so too. I think that to truly love something, you must ruin it, if only a little, to make it your own. Your skin is so soft, precious. So warm and alive. No other man has done this to you, have they?”
“No, definitely not.”
“And are you as soft as you look?”
“Softer,” I assure him.
“This isn’t soft at all,” he says and slaps my dick. “But here.” He grabs my scrotum and yanks. I hiss through my teeth at the sharp, stinging pain. “If you take it like a good little bitch, I won’t have to hurt you.”
“I will. I promise.”
“I thought so.”
He parts my cheeks with both hands and shoves his wet dick up against my throbbing hole. It feels anonymous, like a stranger cornering me in a dark room, forcing me against the wall and driving in without any negotiation. His fat cockhead pushes inside until it’s breached the ring. I expect him to pause there, but he only pushes forward, escalating the pressure, invading my body like a battering ram. “Even sweeter than I imagined,” he murmurs, and I can only sigh with relief at the momentary reprieve. “What do you have to say to me, cunt?”
“Tha-thank you?”
“You’re welcome.”
Cassius adjusts his angle, then starts building his momentum until he’s fucking into me with ruthless force. He must have discarded the mask too because I catch the shadow of his profile when I turn my head. His gaze is fixed on where his gloved hand rests against the small of my back as he lays into me.
“So smooth,” he grunts, slamming into me again. “A perfect doll for fucking.”
“Yes,” I agree, not needing to fake it because the sensation of getting railed by him is as familiar as it is overwhelming. I dig into the bed with my knees and accept his rough treatment. Rape? Not quite. But I suspect he wants it to feel like it. He doesn’t call me by name or touch me except where his hands grip my hips for traction and his cock punches into me. I can’t get off because of the way he has me positioned, but I’m not going to stop him. I focus on his movements, looking for clues as to where this will go next. His rhythm becomes more focused, almost robotic. His cock swells, his hips stutter, and then the warmth of his semen rushes into me, filling every crack and crevice until it soaks into my bones. This was not about pleasure—not mine at least—but about domination. Ownership. Cassius finally collapses onto my back, sandwiching my hard dick between my stomach and the mattress.
