Page 164 of Hell and High Water

With a grim nod, he lets me know he’s right there with me.

So we each take a knife and flank Hell on the bed, letting her sense our presence before dragging steel across her flesh. Neither of us intends to cause her too much pain, but we aren’t gentle.

Bright red welts trail the tips of the gleaming daggers, all the way up to the edge of her shorts. And then through them as we cut the fabric away.

Hell grits her teeth but remains perfectly still.

Next we tatter her shirt, leaving her only in her bra and panties. It takes me several moments to compose myself at the sight, clamping down on my urges and desires.

Years of training take over, sending back to that place of perfect calm.

Even so, I see Evan’s eyebrow quirk up as he glances down. A little smirk curls my mouth as I look right back at him.

No surprise. We’re both rock hard in our shorts.

“Now that you understand the nature of what we’re doing and how much you’ll have to endure, we need to establish some rules. A safe word, or safeguards, anyway. ”

“If this were real, there would be no safe word. Remember that,” Evan hums into her ear. The only indication of acknowledgement I see from her is a twitch of her head and the goosebumps pebbling her entire form.

“Since you can’t speak, we’ll need another way for you to tell us if you’ve had too much.”

“Three grunts, or three taps. Like this.” Evan makes the sound as he swats the back of her forearm in time with it. “Understood?”

Nothing.

I lash out suddenly with the switch, rapping the same pattern of three on her quivering ass cheek. The hits aren’t very hard, just enough to make her shake, to know she needs to respond.

“Mmhmm.” She nods. Then she repeats the sound, breathing hard.

“Are you ready? Or should we stop?”

Hellena’s posture says it all, her back straightening, her chin rising in defiance.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Your ass is ours, now, Hellena. No going back.”

And just like that, we’ve begun.

The first few minutes are a warm-up, testing her limits in the binding, stretching her to her limits. She pulls against us, against the straps, her muscles flexing beneath her smooth, silky soft skin.

Her workouts and sparring with Gavin have paid off. She’s strong. And flexible.

Not only that, but her stamina has also increased dramatically.

Half an hour slips by as we whip her, scrape her, rough her up, and taunt her. At some point, we stripped her bare, making her completely vulnerable.

Still, she holds out, never gives up. Even as her body shakes with exhaustion and the strain of focusing.

After every bout, we give her a short break, always erratic, unpredictable. And then we’re back at it with something new, something shocking. As much as the pain and physical exertion, we use anticipation to weaken her, wear her down.

The hour marker hits and she’s still going strong.

“Fucking impressive.”

“You taught her well.” Evan’s chest is rising and falling with his own efforts. Or maybe it’s just the fact that the past hour has made the two of us even more aroused.

As seriously as we both came into this, with every intention of preparing Hell, we can’t deny how hot the situation is. Hell’s curves are practically begging me to shift into a different type of torture.

---