Page 8 of His to Slash

And despite the fear, despite the pain, my body responded to him, betraying me once again as a dark, twisted pleasure began to build within me. My nails clawed at his shoulders, leaving furrows in his flesh as I fought against the inevitable, the rising tide of another orgasm that I knew was hurtling toward me with the force of a runaway train.

I was powerless to stop it, powerless to stop him as he fucked me with a relentless fury that obliterated all thought, all resistance. My body tightened, coiling like a spring as the pleasure crested, and then I was coming again, a scream torn from my throat as the world shattered around me.

With a feral cry, I wrenched the knife from Grayson's shoulder, my arm a blur as I plunged the blade into him again and again. His flesh gave way under the onslaught, blood welling up and spilling over my hands, hot and slick. But he didn't stop. He didn't even falter. Instead, his eyes rolled back in ecstasy, a guttural growl escaping from behind the mask with each stab. It was as if my defiance, my desperate attempt to fight back, only fueled his depravity.

The knife became an extension of my rage, my fear, my utter helplessness. But it was a futile gesture, like trying to extinguish a wildfire with a bottle of water. He liked the pain, I realized with horror. It wasn't a deterrent—it was an aphrodisiac.

He fucked me with a renewed vigor, each thrust more punishing than the last. A searing pain blossomed in my pelvis with every impact, a sharp, relentless agony that stole my breath and turned my vision white with pain. I could feel something tearing inside me, the fragile bones and tissues of my body no match for the brutal force of his assault.

And then it happened—a sickeningsnap. My body buckled, the world tilting precariously as I felt the break in my pelvis. The pain was all-consuming, a white-hot lance of agony that radiated from the core of me, leaving me gasping for air, tears streaming down my face.

But Grayson didn't stop. He was beyond reason, beyond humanity, his every action driven by a twisted, insatiable hunger. With a snarl, he released my throat and reached between us, his fingers slick with his own blood as he began to rub my clit with a feverish intensity.

I was beyond coherent thought, lost in a haze of pain and terror. My body, however, was a traitor, responding to his touch despite the agony that wracked me. My nerve endings were a jumbled mess of signals, pain, and pleasure indistinguishable from one another as my body succumbed.

I screamed until my voice was hoarse, sobs ripping from my throat as I begged him to stop, pleaded for mercy that wouldn't come. And then, impossibly, I felt the telltale clenching of my muscles, an orgasm tearing through me with the force of a storm. It was a cruel mockery, my body's ultimate betrayal, climaxing amidst the shattered remnants of my will.

With a final, savage thrust, Grayson found his own release, his seed spilling into me as he threw his head back and roared. His body shuddered against mine, his breath coming in ragged gasps behind the mask that hid his face—his true face—from the world.

I hung there, impaled upon him, a broken, sobbing mess, my lifeblood mingling with his on the ground below. The masked monster that was Grayson Hale had claimed me, body and soul, and there was nothing I could do but endure.

I lay there for hours, maybe even days, the cold seeping into my bones as my body shivered uncontrollably in the aftermath of Grayson's brutality. My pelvis was a shattered mess, the pain a relentless beast gnawing away at my sanity. Each breath was a battle, a reminder of the violence that had been wrought upon me.

I remember the taste of copper in my mouth, the metallic tang of the mixture of our blood mingling with the tears that streaked down my face. My throat was raw from screaming, and yet, no sound came out, my voice lost in the void that was my existence. I couldn't even crawl; the agony that shot through me with every slightest movement reduced me to nothing more than a pitiful creature, dragging myself across the floor with arms that felt like lead.

The world around me was a blur of pain and despair. I existed in a liminal space where time held no meaning, and my reality was confined to the four walls of my prison. I was trapped in a waking nightmare, haunted by the ghost of Grayson Hale, the specter of his mask forever etched into my mind.

In the rare moments of lucidity, I would try to piece together the remnants of my shattered self. I would reach for the slivers of strength that lay hidden beneath the wreckage of my body, but they were like mirages, dancing just out of reach, leaving me feeling more lost and hopeless than before.

The days bled into one another, an endless cycle of fevered dreams and cold, hard reality. I was convinced that I would never walk again, that I was destined to spend the rest of my days as a prisoner of my own broken body left to rot on the floor.

But even in the depths of my despair, a flicker of defiance refused to be extinguished. It was a small thing, a tiny ember glowing faintly in the darkness, but it was there—a reminder that I was still alive, that I still had a fighting chance.

nine

Every breath was a battle,every heartbeat a reminder of the violence inflicted upon me. The world had shrunk to the confines of my shattered body, and I was certain this hell would be eternal.

But as the hours ticked by, a horrifying realization crept into my consciousness. The pain... it was changing. Not disappearing, not even close, but there was a subtle shift that sent ice through my veins. It had been relentless, all-consuming, but now... now there were moments where it ebbed, just slightly.

I tried to rationalize it. Maybe I was just getting used to it. Maybe my brain was finally shutting down, protecting me from the full brunt of the agony. But deep down, I knew. Something was wrong. Something was different.

With trembling fingers, I reached down, brushing against my hip. I braced for the white-hot lance of pain, the feeling of bone grinding against bone. But it didn't come. Oh, it hurt – it hurt like hell – but it wasn't the mind-shattering agony I'd expected.

Terror gripped me. This wasn't normal. This wasn't how broken bodies healed.

Driven by a desperate need to understand, to confirm that I wasn't losing my mind, I attempted to roll onto my side. I bit down on my lip, tasting blood, waiting for the scream that would surely tear from my throat.

But it didn't come.

The movement sent waves of nausea through me, and the pain was still intense enough to bring tears to my eyes. But I had moved. I had rolled onto my side, and my pelvis hadn't felt like it was shattering all over again.

"No," I whispered, my voice a ragged whisper. "No, no, no."

This wasn't right. This wasn't possible. My mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. Was this Grayson's doing? Had he done something to me beyond the physical violence? The thought made bile rise in my throat.

As I lay there, trembling, a new sensation made itself known. Hunger. It gnawed at my insides, a primal need that couldn't be ignored. I glanced towards the pantry, suddenly aware of just how long I'd been lying here.

With agonizing slowness, I began to drag myself across the floor. Every movement sent jolts of pain through me, but it wasn't the crippling agony I'd expected. Inch by torturous inch, I made my way to the pantry, leaving a trail of blood, sweat, and the remains of Grayson's cum in my wake.

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