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Her body tightens as I circle her clit fast, and her body becomes glued to mine.

“Do you think you deserve to be fucked?” I ask in a lower, taunting manner. The man beside us is frustrated, but he’s yet to even know what’s circling my mind.

“Y-yes.” Her voice is rough, and when I retrieve my finger from her pussy, her body sags.

“Undress, slowly, I want to see every aching part of you,” I say, and she releases herself from me.

I step in front of the man—the fuck am I going to let him see her naked? Not a fucking chance. I rip off two pieces of duct tape before forcing his eyes closed and taping them down.

She teases me in long, aching strides, pulling her top over her head, throwing it beside her on the floor. I lick my lips; fuck, her tits are to dream of... She’s teasing me even more, wrapping her fingers around her left bra strap, slowly and delicately moving it down her arm fuck me, this is torture. You asked for it.

“Please, Emma, take it off.” She mocks me, still taking her time.

“I don’t mind if you undress and play with yourself.” I don’t waste a single second before I unzip my jeans, throwing them off next with my boxers, and my cock springs out. I rub my hand up and down my shaft. She takes her bra off, her boobs jiggling up and down, and then she comes onto her knees for me, her pants still on—fuck, she’s knows just how to get me worked up.

“I never said stop,” I say, worked up, but she didn’t care because she darts her tongue out licking up my shaft before stacking her hands on top of each other. She works them in an up-and-down motion and twists them. From time to time, a scattered moan escapes me, and my eyes close.

“F-fuck yes, right there, keep going,” I say through a jagged breath

“Fuck me, Max, I’m giving you full consent to do whatever the fuck you want with me.” My eyes shot back open. I’m no stranger to tying her up, spanking, but full consent and control? Fuck yes.

“You sure, baby? Tap my leg twice, and I will stop,” I reassure her before she’s back on her feet. I pull her pants down, ripping off her lacy panties.

I stand behind her, our bag next to me as I take the leftover tape, capturing her wrists behind her back.

Then I rip a piece of duct tape off and place it over her mouth. I look again in the bag; she packed all sorts of shit like a fucking clip. I take it and place it on her nipple, her body reacting in the most insulting way. I shouldn’t like this, but I could cum just from looking at her. I move away from Emma and instead, go over to the man. I rip the duct tape off his eyes and stand in front of him, so he doesn’t get a look at her hourglass figure. Fuck no, that’s for me.

I take the pliers again. This time I put it on his nose and clamp it shut tightly before I twist it right then left and repeat it seven times. Blood pours from it, then I rummage for the knife. I stab it into his throat, thrusting in and out, then into his stomach. It only took him three seconds to die—what a pussy. He was unconscious prior to this, but that’s not the point, he’s still a pussy to me. I throw the knife to the floor gathering up as much blood as I can before going back to Emma. I smear the word WHORE on her stomach. I stand back—so fucking beautiful.

CHAPTER 10

EMMA

Agrizzly bear is railing me over a dead body, whilst using the dead man’s blood. I should scream, I shouldn’t be rolling my hips backward, hoping the bear’s dick is inside of me longer and deeper. My vision tunnels and a headache blares at the back of my eyes. I close them and then reopen, only to still feel the bear thrusting his dick inside me, but I’m not alone this time—a clown is floating around. They can’t see me. I don’t know if it’s real, or if it’s in my head, so I close my eyes again, making them stay shut a while longer, just for me to open my eyes and realize that the bear is no longer inside me.

“Fuck, I thought you were a bear.” Max squeezes my hips and stops mid-thrust before placing his right hand on my lower back. He takes his other hand, curling my hair around his fist, pulling my neck backward.

“You thought there was a bear fucking you?” he asks again, like he’s waiting for confirmation of my past words. “Fuck, you sure we didn’t get a bad batch of molly?” I roll my eyes and attempt to shrug my shoulders, but I ultimately fail. How the fuck would I know what a bad batch looks like? It’s not like I met with our dealer and asked him fifty questions. No one in their right mind would question their dealer. The only positive outcome of meeting him was that he now takes apple pay. Would you believe it? My dealer who I have been getting all sorts of drugs for years, now accepts apply pay.

The cheeky bastard.

Maybe this is me finally realizing I should stop buying drugs, or maybe I need rehab, because somewhere along the line my life tipped sideways, and I stopped noticing how far I’d fallen until moments like this forced me to feel every inch of it.

Max thrusts back into me, the rope sawing against my skin, rough enough to leave a raw, stinging heat behind with every movement. The duct tape is losing its stickiness where my struggling has dampened it, peeling at the edges, but it still clings well enough to remind me how trapped I am. That doesn’t stop me from rolling my hips back, chasing something sharp enough to blot out the ugly throb of panic building under my ribs, only for Max to lock both hands around my hips and hold me still with a grip that feels less like restraint and more like ownership.

His right hand drags up my lower back, slow, unhurried, almost thoughtful, and that somehow makes it worse. His palm settles in the center of my spine, warm and heavy, and I go rigid under it, like my body knows before I do that he’s about to put me exactly where he wants me. Then he climbs over me, all weight and heat and pressure, pressing me down so hard against my backbone that my breath catches halfway in my chest. I can feel the shape of every point where he pins me, the cruel certainty of it, the way there’s nowhere for me to go.

His voice isn’t close, but I still hear every syllable like it’s been fed straight into my head, low and steady and impossible to ignore. It slides through me colder than it should, raising a shiver that has nothing to do with the air. And the worst part— I’d rather bite my own tongue off than admit—is how my body keeps answering him anyway, treacherous and humiliating, as if fear and need have started to taste too much alike for me to tell where one ends and the other begins.

“Sweet little whore, rolling your hips on my cock even when you gave me full control.” He growls, thrusting into me deeper and harder.

I want to speak, but even when my breath hits the inside of the tape, all that comes out is a half-ass muffle.

“Em, there’s a reason I put tape across your mouth, so stop trying to get it off, or I might just have to sew your mouth shut for the rest of your life.”

The words struck me with the force of something meant to wound, low and vicious, curling through the dark like a threat that had been waiting for the right moment to breathe. They settled under my skin almost instantly, not because they were loud, but because they were deliberate. Measured. Certain. He said them like he already knew exactly where they would land, exactly what they would stir up in me, and that certainty was what made them unbearable. It felt as though he had reached inside me without touching me at all and closed a hand around every fragile, hidden thing I had tried to keep out of reach.

Heat flooded my face, hot and humiliating, but it was changed almost immediately by something colder. A thin, creeping dread slid down the length of my spine and settled deep in my chest, heavy as stone. My pulse turned strange inside me—too fast, too loud, each beat thick and unsteady, as if my own body were beginning to betray me from the inside out. The air in the room felt wrong, dense and stale, pressing against my skin with a weight that made every breath feel borrowed.