Page 150 of Rage

My body starts to let go of its unnatural tension, and I look back up at the sky in anticipation. Through the buzzing in my ears, I hear the boom of thunder, the glass beakers and test tubes shaking on the tables around me.

Before another bolt of lightning can hit, Samantha is upon me, her fingers frantically setting me free. She unbuckles all the straps—the ones on my ankles and knees, the one holding my head, the ones around my wrists and arms—until I can sit up.Quickly, I move away from the metal table before either one of us can get electrocuted again.

Samantha has lines between her eyebrows, her pink lips turned downward. She’s concerned and anxious. Her hands drag over me, checking to make sure I’m okay. We’ve touched so many times, but I can feel the hesitation in her movements now. She understands her touching isn’t innocent for me. Does she know I have a well of desire only for her?

I dip my head lower and give her a small smile. I love smiling at Samantha—her eyes drink it in. My hand cups her face, trying to assure her I’m fine. Pain is life; this is nothing. Her neck moves with a thick swallow, and she steps back with a red face, her hands suddenly too shy to touch me. She hasn’t forgotten what I did to her. Does she understand what I still wish to do to her? She must. What other reason could make me beg for a cock?

With that thought, I look down at what she added. Like the rest of me, it’s not unmarred human flesh. There’s smooth stitching around the base. She was careful like she has been with every part of me—taking her time to do it right. For a moment, I marvel at that, that my entire being was delicately, intricately, tediously crafted by Samantha’s hands.

My cock has been pierced seven times from base to tip—thick metal bars in a ladder and smooth, round bolts on each end to keep them in place. Down the middle is a wavy scar with soft thread. It’s as much of creation as the rest of me, pieces put together to create something larger and more aggressive. No other cock could represent me better.

I was never a normal person—certainly not in my past lives and definitely not in this one. I’ve come to a better understanding of myself as I remember the men I used to be, helped me shape my perception of who I am now.

Samantha watches me nervously, so I smile at her, showing her my pleasure for what she has done for me. My hands go to her face again, cupping it in my massive hands.

I am not the professor my dear Samantha murdered in cold blood.

“Can you feel anything?” she asks. I shake my head. I’m still numb in the new organ.

I am not the serial killer who hung for sinister crimes.

“It might take time,” she assures me, and I nod, petting her hair down. The lightning made it stand on end.

I am both of those men and neither all at once. I am more. I am Samantha’s abomination in so many more ways than I first imagined because it’s inside as well as out.

The storm surrounding our island is as strong as ever, and I smile wider at her. She won’t be leaving anytime soon. She’s trapped here like I am.

I never realized just how much of Samantha’s attention I normally capture until I’m not anymore. She’s distracted, often staring out the window, as if she can’t wait to leave. She bites the skin around her nails anxiously as she watches waves crashing into her boat.

This wasn’t how it was before. Normally, she hated to go. While here, she spent all her time examining me, observing me, cataloging me. I was her entire focus, and she dragged out every second she could. She hated to leave, hated responsibilities calling from the other shore.

I think about destroying her precious boat. I could rip it to pieces with my bare hands. Then, there would be no competingfor her attention. All she would have would be me, the same way that all I have is her.

During her time away, when the last storm kept her from me, I remembered a lot. I was not good men, so what did that make me now? The only thing that brought me from those dark thoughts was my commitment to Samantha. I would be whatever Samantha Hawthorn wanted me to be…as much as I could. I promised myself to rein in the darkness that lurks in my body. It’s easy when she’s here with me. It’s hard when she’s gone.

Right now, I can’t tell if she’s here or there. I walk over and touch her shoulder. She startles, as if she forgot I even existed in the room with her.

“Sorry, Casper. Let’s go ahead and see how your surgery went.” She peels herself away from the window, giving one last longing look towards her damn boat. Oddly, it’s the very first time I wonder what exactly is on the other shore. People, obviously. Lots and lots of people. Her university too. I can figure that out from the few memories of Professor Bram I have.

Perhaps she has a family, a life, a partner. Perhaps I’m not her everything. Perhaps I’m just a curiosity she’s losing interest in.

But all these concerning thoughts leave me after I strip down and feel her warm fingers brush my skin. I lean back on the upright examination table and enjoy the pleasure of her touch. Samantha thoroughly strokes every stitch before pressing her wooden stethoscope to my chest.

“Open, please,” she asks. I’ve only just learned to smile, but it comes naturally when she talks to me like a person now. I crack open my mouth to let her see my tongue. “You did an exceptional job…” She trails off. I wish I could implore her to say what’s on her mind, to ask the questions I see troubling her. When I closemy mouth, she shakes away her conflicted thoughts and steps back, looking lower on my body.

“I need to examine this,” she says, eyeing me. I nod slowly, trying to not look eager. I know she’s not being intentionally sexual, but it certainly feels that way when her precise hands cup me in her palm, as if weighing the full package.

Her fingers then begin to delicately trace the sutures. She leans forward, closely eyeing each metal bar and bolt she pierced it with. My eyes linger on her mouth’s distance from me, and I remember tasting her. The desire I have for her to taste me is intense. Her eyes flick up to me as she stands taller.

“I need to try manual stimulation.” Samantha grabs some lubricant she coats her hand with, and then her fingers curl around my shaft. I swallow thickly, my body growing tense.

“Has it grown engorged at all?” I shake my head. “Stiffened?” she asks while beginning to tug on my cock. I inhale sharply, my eyes widening. I can feel something coming alive, nerves awakening at her touch. It’s ten times more pleasurable than when she examined the seam I used to have.

“Casper?” She asks. “Has it stiffened at all yet?” I shake my head, looking down as she strokes me up and down. “Have you tried doing this?” she asks, and I shake my head again. I hadn’t touched it beyond curious handling. I hadn’t…done this.

“I’m going to do this for a few minutes, see if your new part starts to react.” She means to kill me. I’m still flaccid, but that’s no indication of the sensations running through me. Samantha looks at me in her hand as she moves it up and down. I’m finding it hard to relax. I’m straining on the upright examining table, begging my body to keep still so she won’t stop. I wish she strapped me down, because it takes all my effort to stay where I am, watching and feeling as she touches me, trying to will an erection from me.

My head falls back, and I close my eyes. A groan rumbles from my mouth.

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