Page 6 of Run

“Why do you care about a nobody piece of ass?” He asks, his eyes flittering between my gaze and the sleeping Lily.

The question is valid. Never before have I cared, and never before have I stopped a session between two people I’ve never given a thought about, nor met. But that magnetic pull to the beautiful redhead is a mystery that I would rather divulge in instead of figuring it out. To give it too much thought would mean diving into my own mind. It’s a dark and scary place, even for me, and I would rather not plunge into the abyss just yet.

“I don’t need to explain myself to a piece of shit like you.” I say, forcing him to look at me and only me with a hard grip on his face, concaving his cheeks in under my fingers until they squeeze against his teeth. “This isn’t the first time you’ve disobeyed the law in here. But it will be the last.”

“No. H…H…I promise it…” He stutters, spittle dribbling out through his squished lips.

“Sorry mate. My mind has been made up.” I sigh in return.

I was really hoping to get my dick wet tonight, to have it covered in spit and cum, but getting my hands dirty will have to suffice. It’s still a pleasure, just not the one I envisioned when I slipped on my suit tonight to the approval of my four-legged girl. Blood can feel just as perfect when it’s warm and fresh, and maybe, just maybe if I smear some of it on my cock, I’ll get the sexual satisfaction I so crave.

The array of torturous devices and implements hanging so perfectly on the racks just don’t appeal to me. But the discarded cane rolling around on the floor is calling to me, to use it on him more violently than he used it on her. It would be beautifully symbolic for the last reception of pain in his life to be delivered by the instrument of his crime.

It's still warm from the heat of his hand as I pick it up, and slide my palm up and down it’s smooth, skinny surface. The material bends in my grip and makes a loud whoosh as I whip it through the air, watching his eyebrows rise, and his face flush.

“No H. Please. No.” He begs, trying to crane his neck to keep his eyes on me as I step behind him. “God H. No…” He continues as I yank down his jeans and tear them off him, removing his boxers and shoes with them in one hard pull, leaving him naked, with no protection from my hands, or the eyes of the crowd gathering outside at the window.

Chapter Four

The first crack of the cane against his bare ass rings out loudly as his hands ball into fists and his body shakes. He screams, his voice reverberating through the room like we’re in a canyon, bouncing around, making me hungrier for more. Gasps and curses filter in through the glass from the audience in the hall. People point and touch the window with their fingers, in awe that “H” is at work.

Samantha stands stoic as I peer out at her and the members surrounding her. They look at her in silent questioning, asking her with their glances if she’s going to stop me. She won’t. She knows better than to disturb me when I do my thing.

A long, thin, angry, red welt raises on the guy’s skin almost immediately, puckering it, then breaking open. Bright red blood seeps from the wound, and I reach down and smear my hand across it, spreading the crimson fluid on his pale ass. It’s a taste of things to come.

The air whistles as I bring the cane down three more times. First across his backside, then up higher on his waist, and finally up on his lower back. He tenses, his head flying back, his mouth open, screaming out in pain. It’s beautiful, the agony on his face, the drool running freely from his lips, and the blood pouring from the lines I make, but it’s not enough.

Nothing besides death will be enough to show this piece of shit that he can’t just do what he wants. He can’t argue with me, and he sure as fuck can’t let the members here know that I will allow anyone to speak back to me, even though they didn’t hear his words or see his actions that brought all this about. That would be showing weakness on my part, and I don’t do weakness, only raw power.

Not out of anger, H.

As I bring my hand down again, searing the cane across his back, slicing him open again, I remind myself that violence should never come from anger. Delivering pain and taking lives should come from methodical work that is meant to be enjoyed, and I’m going to enjoy spilling the rest of his blood.

Before he bleeds out on the hardwood floor though, he needs to realize how horrid his actions against the delicate flower Lily were. He needs to feel her pain, her agony. He needs his will removed from him, to suffer at the hand of a man more powerful than him, in the most degrading way. The audience gathered watching will see it, just as I watched him with her, and it makes me grin a sadistic little smirk as I grab the sawhorse, and turn it, so that he faces the window. The group of members will be able to see the terror in his eyes as he suffers, then dies.

More bloody lines break open on his skin as I methodically cane him over and over again, in the same pattern he left on Lily. His scars will match hers, only she’ll have to live with them for years to come, and he won’t.

“You scream so nicely.” I whisper into his ear, bending down so my lips graze the shell of it.

I can smell the fear in him, and it’s almost as pretty as the scent of the little flower on the couch that stirs at the sounds of his wailing cries.

“Please H…don’t do this.” He weeps, nuzzling his head against my cheek, seeking for a connection to stop me from what he knows is coming.

“Shhh.” I shush him, petting his hair almost lovingly. “Don’t fight it, it’ll only make it harder for you.”

“Please…”

His wailing cries that died to weeps, now come as wracking sobs. His body struggles again, and his feet kick out behind him, trying in haste to find a target on my shins. It’s useless, the fight, and he knows it, but who would he be to go down without a fight? Poor sack of shit though, doesn’t realize that the more he tries to stop it, the rougher and viler I will be. I mean, he’s putting on a good show already for the people gathered watching, I may as well enhance it a little bit more for their viewing pleasure, and mine too.

I like the sight of blood and love the sound of pained screams. It turns me on to watch death reach its dark grip out for the ones under my hands, and I’m happy, almost gleeful, that he didn’t take my advice.

Harder for you it is then, my friend.

Straightening myself back out, I adjust my sport coat and open the single button below the lapels. I’m going to need the extra movement for what my deranged brain is coming up with as I peer down at his bare naked, bloody ass, and the cane in my hand.

The whistling sound the cane makes on another swing downwards startles him, and he freezes, his cries stopping in his throat just a hair’s breadth before the wooden rod connects with his already angry flesh. With the wet smacking of my weapon, his voice returns, loudly screaming out unintelligible noises, cracking with the force in which it escapes his agape mouth.

He's so loud that I miss the sound of the cane breaking and the feel of half of it landing on the floor at my feet. Raising my hand to swing it again, I’m humored to see it as a short piece in my grasp. Useless is what others would think of it, but as I tilt my head and examine the jagged end, useless is not what I call it.

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