Page 174 of Property of Necro
Rage explodes out of the broken man, echoing through the trees as he rips himself from our bubble. “Stop lying, whore! Stop your fuckin’ lying!” He points his knife at me with such hatred, nostrils flaring, face red. Anger fills the gap between us.
Hell no.
We are not doing this.
Not after the strip club. Not after he built me a shed and a coop.
“Fuck me on your crucifix, Coffin. Do it,” I provoke, pushing off the tree. “Do. It.” Lifting the hem of my dress, I flash him my pussy. “Do. It.”
Grumbling to himself, Coffin marches over and throws me over his shoulder like a rag doll. “You want to be fucked. You’ll be fucked,” his dead voice declares as he trudges through the forest to his barn, where he sets me down on his workshop table, walks over to the corner of the room, and rips a coffin from the stack he’s built. It slams to the floor with a chilling echo before he drags it to the middle of the barn.
Plucking me off the table, he gently sets me inside the wooden box. “Lie down,” he growls, and I tremble, equal parts anxious and excited that he’s no longer himself, he’s other, but I still obey. For him. For us. This needs to happen.
He won’t hurt me.
Even in his manic episode, he didn’t kill me when he could have.
Coffin returns with a smooth wooden cross with a brass Jesus nailed to the center. The bottom is rounded and shaped more like a dildo. Kneeling beside the coffin, he shoves my dress up to my belly and forces me to rest my parted legs on the rim of the box. He rubs the base of the cross against my pussy lips. A low growl emanates from his chest, and his eyes widen like a feral animal when he reaches my center and slams it inside. Back arching in pleasured pain, I grip the smooth edge of the coffin and cry out.
“Whore. Whore. Whore,” he rumbles, fucking me slowly, staring at my pussy. Mesmerized. In and out, in and out, he plunges the crucifix and licks his lips. “I can smell you.” Audibly inhaling, Coffin stills his creation, produces his knife, and carves throughthe C for what seems like the hundredth time. Blood rushes to the surface, and he pulls a small vial out of his pocket and presses it to my wound.
Toes flexing, I hiss but remain still, not wanting to interrupt whatever he’s doing.
“My trophy,” Coffin whispers, corking it once it’s full. Then he slips it into a leather necklace, tightens a knot around the vial, and secures it around his neck.
He’s wearing my blood as a trophy. That’s what he was talking about.
My. Blood.
Runnin’next to Rot, I check my phone again to make sure my camera feed is correct. Yep. He took her to the barn.
“What the fuck?” Rot huffs as we approach the open doors and find Sola lying in a coffin, legs perched on the sides as Coffin…
“Oh,” Sola moans, and my cock gets instantly hard.
“Whore. Pretty whore. My whore.”
Rot looks at me with wide eyes.
Manic,I sign.
He nods.
High emotions are a trigger for Coffin. They alwayshave been and probably always will be. The violence comes out, and he goes crazy. At least we know he won’t kill her. The insane part of his psyche loves Sola enough to know she’s ours.
Careful not to spook him or cause further distress, Rot and I approach one at a time. He on one side, and I on the other, like a well-oiled machine.
Don’t interrupt,Rot signs.
I hadn’t planned on it.
If Sola isn’t screaming for help, she has this under control.
When I get a solid view of them, Coffin looks up from where he’s screwing her with one of his crucifixes. There’s now a vial of blood around his neck. He’s panting… Ah. He’s got his pants down, and he’s jacking himself off as he fucks her on the makeshift dildo.
You having fun, brother? I sign.
He snaps his teeth at me and growls.
