Page 40 of Torment

He drew another line on my chest with the scalpel, grunting with satisfaction as blood beaded in the wake of the blade. My nerves sang, tight as violin strings, and I let out a moan of approval, masking it as a groan of agony. My body was floating, pleasure merging with pain as adrenaline surged through me.

I thought I would hate this, but I loved it. It wasn’t like the time Mason carved a letter into my skin, eyes filled with black hatred, and I no longer had terrible memories of cult members cutting my arms in the forefront of my mind. This was different, because Mason was fucking me while he cut me, forcing the pain to blend with pleasure. All I could feel was heat and desire, and all I could think of was him and his body, stretching me wider with each thrust, taking me higher and higher with every bit of pain he inflicted on me. Every act of hatred.

He was sick, but I was too.

He dragged the scalpel across my skin again, sliding it down to my stomach as he withdrew his cock and thrust back in. I moaned with bliss, wishing I could scream from the unbearable need. He was the only man who had ever been able to pleasure me with so much pain, igniting all the raw need in me. Deep down, I knew he was the only one who could. Every part of me was his to claim, his to manipulate. His to mark.

“You fucking love this, don’t you?” he muttered, pounding into me harder and harder. “You actually want it.”

I was close to coming already, my body vibrating, desperate for sweet release. I knew better than to admit it, though. I forced myself to keep my climax at bay as I choked out my response. “No.”

“Bullshit. You were a slut for pain back then, and you’re a slut for pain now,” he ground out, jaw tightly set as he fucked me. “Let’s see just how much of a whore you are.”

He pulled out of me and let my legs drop. Then he spun me around on the chains so I was facing away. I heard him spit on his hand, and then he probed between my legs, thrusting two fingers into my ass like he did earlier. I screamed as he replaced the fingers with his cock instead, forcing his way in and stretching me agonizingly wide.

“You always liked having your ass fucked, didn’t you?” he muttered. “See how much you like it now that I’m not going easy on you.”

He started to fuck me with a rhythm my body couldn’t keep up with, his furious thrusts making me jerk on the chains as my breasts slammed up on the wall, grazing the delicate skin against the stone. Mason groaned with each movement, each rusty cry that tore from my throat, and he didn’t relent. Pressure burned my throat as I tried my best to breathe through it all. The feeling of him inside me, splitting me a little wider with each movement, brought stinging tears to my eyes.

I slammed harder into the wall as he sank inside me in a thrust so brutal it made me wonder if I was bleeding around his cock. The manacles on my wrists chafed my skin, making it burn, and every muscle in my body screamed with pain. Mason didn’t relent. He fucked me harder, deeper, taking me to new heights I wasn’t sure I’d recover from.

“I know what you’re doing,” he hissed. “You don’t want to come. You don’t want me to know how fucked up I made you. You don’t want me to know you still love this.”

“No…” I gasped, though I wasn’t convincing anyone, least of all myself.

I let out a sob as Mason pressed the very tip of the scalpel against my neck and moved his other hand to my front, probing between my thighs. “Come on, Jolie,” he said, his voice a malicious rasp. “Give in. Show me how fucked up you are.”

I gritted my teeth as he tapped at the crucial spot which rendered me boneless, my head bowing forward as biology finally won over. Light exploded at every nerve ending, my mind emptying blissfully, so drenched in pleasure I forgot everything.

“I knew it. I fucking knew it,” Mason grunted as my muscles pulsed around him. He kept fucking me roughly as I screamed, using my body as if it were nothing more than a toy.

The climax was a momentary grasp at freedom, but the second the pleasure began to fade, my blood ran cold again. I might have won the battle by refusing to let this experience be the forced violation that Mason wanted it to be, but I still felt defeated all the same. Now he knew I was so fucked up and broken that I could come with his cock in my ass and a blade at my throat, my skin sticky with trickling blood from where he’d cut me open again and again.

If he could do all that to me and still make me come, what wouldn’t he do to torture me from this moment on? How sick would he get? How much pain would I endure before it overwhelmed any and all pleasure?

What if he finally decided to kill me, and I still loved him and craved him inside me up until my very last breath?

I wasn’t just sick. I was beyond help.

Mason threw the bloody scalpel aside and slapped me on the ass, forcing another ragged gasp from my throat. “One more week,” he said, spinning me back around on the chain. “That’s all I’m giving you.”

“For what?” I asked. I already knew. I just wanted to hear his voice, as much as it messed me up and made me want to cry with despairing, bone-wracking sobs.

“Answers,” he replied, eyes gleaming with dark malice. “I’ve been patient, but I’ve had enough. You have one week to start giving me information. Or…” He drew a hand across his throat.

I lowered my gaze to the floor as he undid my wrists from their metal restraints. I knew this day would come eventually—the day he decided he was tired of waiting for me to talk.

My life now had an official expiration date, and time was running out fast.

---