Page 81 of Deviant Illusions

“Will you disobey me again?” Helene asks without any emotion, the sadistic cunt.

She pulls her hand back, dragging Kane with her, and I shout, “Leave him alone, you stupid bitch!”

Kane’s back tenses and he stands taller at the sound of my voice, whereas Helene smiles. Anna is a senseless void that continues to stare at the air directly in front of her. The old bitch doesn’t look away from me as she tightens her hold on the whip, while the staircase rattles beneath my feet as I rush down the steps.

I slip when she pulls her arm back. Kane plants his feet, lifts his chin, and holds his breath as the whip fluidly moves through the air, only to strike him.

“STOP!” I scream, stumbling down the last few steps, falling against his back.

The whip strikes the back of my fingers and I whimper into him. They feel like they’re broken and burn while he already has lashes on his skin. He abruptly turns, giving her his back, then grabs my wrists to push me up the stairs.

Helene drags the whip across the dirty floor, making lines through the dust as she offers, “You may take his place.”

My lips part, ready to say yes but Kane grits, “Fucking do it. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Tears well in my eyes as he looks down at me, his fingers unyielding and keeping me trapped by his body. So much so that I can’t even see his evil cunt of a grandmother as he pulls my arms further apart so that my hands are on each side of the railing of the spiral staircase while Helene uses more force. The whip is faster, louder, the air parting before the crack of the leather tears into Kane’s back.

“Let me go,” I say, my voice full of resolve as I twist my hands.

He just shakes his head despite the sweat beading at his hairline, his face turning red as he bites back the scream building in his chest. He slowly shakes his head again as I continuefighting to free myself, wincing at every strike and holding my wrists so tightly that I’m going to have bruises as soon as he lets go.

I hide against his chest, resting my cheek directly over his heart, feeling every single jolt against his body and he limply rests his lips on my crown.

“Hold my wrists,” he whispers, “my pretty girl.”

Screwing my eyes shut, I thread my fingers through his and flinch as I count the cracks of the whip in my head.

One.

Kane shakes against me.

Two.

I can feel the edge of his nose pressing flat against my skull.

Three.

The tremors get worse.

Four.

He softly whimpers.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

My own tears slip out as I begin shaking.

Eleven.

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