Page 86 of Turn That River Red

She doesn’t, my perfect human. She even keeps her hands overhead.

I slide my hand into my pocket to pull out my switchblade and snap it open, the blade gleaming in the moonlight. Mercy’s eyes widen. Her fear spikes. God, I’ll never get tired of that.

“I promised I wouldn’t hurt you,” I tell her, sliding the blade between her panties and her skin. “But I also promised to fuck you.”

“You can just take them off!”

“Don’t sass me.” I jerk the knife up, slicing the fabric in half. Mercy moans, and I slice open the other side of her panties, revealing her wet pussy to the warm night air. Then I flip the knife and slide the cool metal handle up against her folds.

Mercy gasps and jerks beneath me. “Is that?—”

“It’s the handle.” I move it in a slow circle, making her moan and squirm. “And you need to hold still. I don’t want you cutting yourself.”

Then I slide the handle inside her and draw my hand away to admire the slim silver blade jutting out of her perfect cunt.

“Did you—” She tries to sit up, but I gently press her back down, shaking my head.

“I told you not to move.” Then I stand up so I can admire her fully—her gorgeous spread legs, her trembling chest. She watches me, eyes wide with fright and lust, as I slowly unbuckle my fly and pull out my cock. I wish I’d brought some rope with me, something to tie her down. But I hadn’t remotely expected her to want to fuck me again.

We’ll just have to make do with the threat of punishment.

“You’ll stay exactly as you are,” I order, lazily stroking my cock as I talk. “If you move in a way I tell you not to, you’ll be punished, do you understand?”

“P-punished how?” Her fear and excitement twist around us.

I trail my eyes over her body, lingering on the knife bladebetween her legs. God, that’s an image I’m going to remember for a long, long time. My dick jumps against my palm.

“I won’t let you come, for one,” I tell her. “And I’ll probably do worse. Now open that pretty mouth of yours.”

She does as I ask, showing me her pink tongue.

“I love it when you obey.” I straddle her chest, positioning my cockhead in line with her waiting mouth. Her tongue laps at the precum already beading up there, and I wrap her hair in my hands and pull her head up so I can slide my cock over her tongue. “Now, listen carefully, humanita. You’re going to be my fucktoy. Do exactly as I say, and you can come. Disobey…”

Her eyes widen above my cock.

“Well, like I said—I’ll punish you.”

I thrust myself into her mouth, making her moan. She squirms beneath me, but I slap her cheek lightly in warning. “Don’t move,” I remind her. “You have a knife in your cunt.”

Mercy groans and flutters her eyes closed. I start to fuck her mouth, dropping my head back, rolling my hips against her face. I’m sure she expected me to fuck her pussy, the two of us locked in a missionary position and surrounded by the dead. But I want her to never forget what I am. I want her to know I’m not going to hold back with her. That I’m not going to change.

I thrust a little harder, and Mercy, bless her, drags her mouth even further open, like she’s desperate to accommodate me. I can feel her body rippling beneath me, hips rocking, and I chuckle as I fuck her sweet mouth. “Don’t forget what’s inside you, Mercy.”

She makes a muffled noise, her eyes rolling back.

“You like how it feels, humanita?” I hold her in place by the hair, still fucking her throat, which is impossibly wet. Impossibly warm. “My dick in your mouth and my knife your pussy?”

The way she shudders against me is all the answer I need.

“That’s what I thought.” I drop her head and lean forwardso I’m on all fours as I slide my cock in and out of her mouth. Mercy moans around me, and the vibrations are incredible, a seismic rippling that nearly pushes me to the edge.

But then she jerks and makes a kind of yelping sound in the back of her throat. I smell her blood.

With a groan, I pull my cock out of her mouth, her spit trailing after it. “Mercy, Mercy,” I chide, crawling forward so my dick trails along her face. “Did you cut yourself?”

“No,” she says, somewhat defensively.

“No,sir.” I miss that, her calling me sir. “And you’re lying.”

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