Page 6 of Razors & Ruin

I whimper, unable to deny it.

Idolike it. I like the way he takes control, the way he makes me feel small and vulnerable. And sick as it is, I love the pain; it makes me feel alive.

He spanks me again, and I cry out, my body writhing beneath him. I can feel his cock pressing against my thigh, hard and insistent. He wants me, and the knowledge makes me even more desperate.

“Like that, do you?” He toys again, his voice a seductive rumble against my ear. He presses two fingers deep inside me once more as his other hand resumes its torment - a slap, a squeeze, and another sharp spank.

Over and over again, he paints my backside with red hues of mounting desire. Each sting sharpens my senses; the rough texture of his pants against my knees, the chilling air brushing over my inflamed skin creating tiny goosebumps across my body, intensifying this perverse concoction of pleasure and pain.

Sweeney withdraws his fingers, and I gasp at the emptiness left behind. He doesn’t leave me neglected for long; he slides his fingers over my sensitive pussy lips, and I buck my hips, trying to feel more.

He slips one finger into my aching hole, and I squeeze my internal muscles, trying to hit all the spots that are desperate for sensation.

“You need my big cock in here,” he says. “Nothing else would do the trick, and you knew it. That’s why you waited.”

“No,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over my heart pounding.

Sweeney chuckles and presses another finger into me, stretching me in ways I’d only dreamed of. His touch is intoxicating, his attentions overwhelming. I’ve never felt so alive or so aroused, and a feral groan escapes my lips, surprising both of us.

This is wrong. I should try harder to fight back, but his grip is too tight, his strength overpowering mine. He chuckles, enjoying my struggle. The sound sends a shiver down my spine, but it’s not entirely unpleasant.

“You’re a tight little thing, aren’t you, treacle?” Sweeney says. His rough fingers dig deeper into my flesh, stretching and invading me without permission, the callouses on his skin catching on my most sensitive areas.

“Go to Hell,” I gasp, the words torn from my lips as he hits deep, sending electricity coursing through my body. He growls in response and thrusts his fingers deeper still, the rough pad of his thumb pressing against my clit, sending jolts of pleasure through my core even as I try to push him away.

“Where the fuck do you think I came from in the first place?” he asks. “I’m made of some bad shit, little girl. You wouldn’t have it any other way. Admit it.”

He’s relentless, his fingers curling and probing in an almost painful way. But there’s something about the roughness, the lack of tenderness, that makes it all the more arousing. My body responds despite myself, my hips bucking against his hand, and the sensation starts to peak.

Sweeney’s breath is hot against my neck as he leans in, his teeth grazing my earlobe. “You like that, don’t you?” he whispers, his voice low and dangerous. “Say it, and I’ll let you come.”

I try to deny it, to push him away, but my body betrays me. I can feel myself growing wetter, my muscles clenching around his fingers even as he slows down.

“I like it,” I gasp. “I’ll say whatever you want. But don’t stop.”

“Alright, treacle,” he says. “Let’s hear those sweet moans.”

His fingers move faster now, harder, and my orgasm ramps up, a surge of pleasure that threatens to overwhelm me. With a final, brutal thrust, he sends me over the edge, and I cry out, my body convulsing as the pleasure washes over me.

Sweeney doesn’t stop, though. He keeps going, his fingers still moving inside me as I ride out the waves of my release.

When it’s over, I collapse against him, my body spent and trembling. Sweeney pulls his fingers out, a satisfied smirk on his face. “Good girl,” he says, patting my head like a pet.

I should be disgusted, outraged. But instead, I feel a strange sense of satisfaction. I’ve never experienced anything like that before, and I want more.

3

Sweeney

Nellie.

A wild beauty with a lascivious hunger growing within her. An appetite for attention, an unquenchable thirst for validation. A desire that seeks to be sated by none other than me.

Her expressive doe eyes are a pool of desperation and raw need, pleading and daring me simultaneously. It’s a sight I find increasingly delightful, and a wicked grin tugs at my lips as I watch her squirm under the weight of my gaze, a heady blend of fear and anticipation coursing through her veins.

I wonder what it would take to break her spirit. I can pantomime affection if it gets me what I want. Or maybe she needs the exquisite pain only I can provide?

“I’m not done with you,” I murmur into her ear, my grip on her still firm. She trembles in my grasp as I lift her effortlessly, pressing her lithe body against the cold stone wall.

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