Page 57 of Watching You
I can feel his terror, and it makes me happy. I yank a knife from my pocket—the one I’ve been waiting to use tonight—and begin slicing through his pissed pants. Pathetic. I chuckle darkly when his muffled screams become music to my ears, vibrating through the thin fabric of his bondage.
Blood drips down his exposed flesh as I make sure to cut deep enough to scar him. Not that it will matter; he’ll be dead soon anyway. The blood drips down his body, making my heart pound harder. My cock thickens in my pants.
“This is for touching what’s mine,” I snarl, slicing through his damp underwear. The fabric rips away, exposing his limp cock, a pathetic shell of what once was.
I can’t help the sinister chuckle that escapes me. I grasp his member roughly, feeling it shudder inresponse. “I’d say you’ll miss this, but you won’t be touching anyone ever again,” I taunt, my voice low and laden with malice, as I pull his balls taut, delighting in his choked cries.
His muffled whimpers echo through the field, but everyone else is engulfed in their own holiday revelry. The lights on the goalposts flash eerily around us, adding to my sense of power, a king amid a desolate court.
“You shouldn’t have touched her,” I growl, narrowing my eyes, my voice an icy promise. “Only I can touch her.”
“It’s gonna hurt. A lot,” I laugh darkly, relishing in the influence of pain I hold over him.
The knife comes down on him again, carving through flesh, a symphony of pain that spikes my adrenaline further. His body jolts at the sensation, but the screams morph into choked gasps, visions of thrill carving through every moment as I slice through another layer of flesh.
“Aaaaaaaaaggggghhhh!”
Blood seeps through the fabric as the cold steel cuts through his most sensitive areas. I watch in delight as flesh splits open, a gush of blood pouring from the wound. In this moment, I feel unstoppable—this is justice. He is now a plaything, and I am the master of his fate.
Blair will never have to be scared of anyone. Not ever. I’m making sure of that. Ol’ Micah has made a name for himself on campus, and plenty of women are terrified of him, but it’s time for him to learn the cost of his actions.
I keep them in my hands, pulling them away from his body. Tendons and muscles snap, the knife coming down again, slicing through the last bits of skin holding them to his body. It’s oddly satisfying seeing him like this, vulnerable and completely at my mercy. Not that he’ll be getting any mercy from me.
“You won’t need these where you’re going,” I promise, revealing his severed parts before his face. I want him to remember every painful moment of this night, even as blood spills down his legs.
He can’t see me smirk under my mask, but he can hear it. I don’t want him to die before I want him to, so I drop the mask and grab his chin, forcing him to look me in the eyes.
He pukes behind the gag.
I can’t have that. Not now. I put the knife to his throat, the tip penetrating the skin. “Don’t you make a sound when I take this off!” I warn him, eyes narrowing. Tears, snot, and drool drips from his pale face, but he nods slowly.
“That’s a good little boy.” I smack his face with his own severed cock, then pull the gag from his mouth.
Before he has a chance to speak, I shove his small dick and balls into his mouth, grabbing his jaw to force it closed, relishing the gurgling noises wringing from him.
He chokes, trying to spit them out, but I don’t let him.
“No, no, no,” I tsk, forcing his mouth shut. “You’re going to hold that little thing in your mouth.” I wrap the gag back around his head to ensure he keeps his fuckingdick where it belongs. Maybe just this once, he’ll be the one to swallow.
He cries like the pathetic wretch he is, but it only fuels my resolve.
We’re on the football field, dim light casting long shadows, but I can make out the large pole that towers above us. That’s exactly where Micah will die. It’s sort of poetic, after all. Making the last goal before I’m drafted into the NFL.
“Let’s get you to the goal, shall we?” I drag him by the rope, the gag muffling his agonized cries. He tries to resist, but I’m stronger, and he’s weakening by the second.
The pole is tall and imposing, looming over the two of us. Excitement buzzes through my veins, a cocktail of anxiety and strange satisfaction swirling within me.
I grab the back of his head and shove him against the pole. “Hold this,” I order, jamming him against the pole and tying his hands tightly around it. Not that it matters. He’s lost too much blood to put up a fight.
I pull a marker from my pocket, the cold plastic feeling solid in my grip. I scrawl on his chest, “Rapist,” adding an arrow pointing down—my own twisted exclamation mark. I wipe the bloodied knife across his shirt, trying to clean the sullied blade. Micah looks around feebly, desperately hoping for salvation, but there’s no one here. No one is stupid enough to be this far out in a corn maze alone on Halloween night.
Tonight, he is nothing more than an example, a grotesque, vivid testament to the cost of his actions. Andwhen I’m done with him, when his life drains and his soul reaches beyond the clutches of his mutilated body, it will all have been worth it.
“Stop squirming, you’re gonna fall,” I warn him, pushing the noose over his head. He stares at me, fear radiating from his eyes.
His legs give out, and he drops to the ground, but I pick him up without concern, throwing him over my shoulder, a marionette for my cruel artistry. His muffled pleas go straight to my cock, further igniting the fire of fury and lust within me.
“Don’t worry, I’ll help you up,” I whisper with a cruel grin plastered on my face, the thrill of power intoxicating.
