Page 52 of Their Cruel Love

“Fuck,” I mutter, somewhat raggedly. “I forgot those.” I wince, because now I feel them. My nipples were being twisted and tortured, and I let that fade into the background. I push out my tongue and lick at him, lazily.

When I’m finally allowed upright, the clamps are plucked off, and I stagger into Marcus. I think it’s him. Then he says something like, “Good girl,” and I lean on him until he holds me.

“Don’t take the blindfold off, please? Not until we?—”

“Sure. I’ll carry you out. Let’s go, Razor.” He easily picks me up with his arms beneath me, then starts walking. I’m still handcuffed but I guess that can wait.

Does it make any difference that I cannot see the crowd who might have watched me being fucked? I think so.

Maybe another day I will look and watch others, after being exposed like this. Maybe. I don’t have to. After all, there are three of us, and I’m certain Marcus and Razor enjoyed themselves. Smiling at that thought, I wait until I hear the dining room doors shut.

By brushing the blindfold against Marcus’ shirt, I nudge it partly off my eyes then peer up at him. “Tell me the truth. Did you like what we just did?”

“What? Are you delirious? Did you hear what she just asked?”

“I did.” Razor has removed his buttoned shirt and slung over his shoulder. The dark make-up around his eyes has run. He definitely could be a fallen angel, or a stunt man for that role. I’m still admiring the shift of muscles on hisstomach and the metal in his pierced nipples, when he reaches over, grabs some of my hair and says, in a lovely, deep, threatening voice, “This one needs spanking for daring to say that.”

Marcus chuckles. “I agree. Soon as we get to the room.”

“Or here? Here is good. I’m using my belt.”

“Heyyy.I disagree, you two. No. Absolutely not!”

But Razor is already unbuckling his leather belt, and I’m wondering what this will feel like and how long they will suffer my loud objections.

Which is how I end up temporarily gagged while being punished with a belt in the middle of the hallway. I’m still handcuffed and on my knees with my head down, for my back has a shoe pressed to it by one of the men then the other as they take turns. A staff member goes by and slows to watch before continuing, and so does a couple that emerges from the dining room.

I watch them pass but I’m too enthralled with what Razor and Marcus are doing to care. The belt strikes are harsh and painful but the aftermath of each one leaves my skin humming.

They leave me lying on my side afterward, spaced out and weirdly happy.

“You came fast in her ass,” Razor says. “Also, want room service? You missed the steak meal.”

“I was jerking off while I used the vibe on her and ate her out. Besides, who wouldn’t come fast, in there.” He points a thumb my way. I stick out my tongue, determined not to lose my rebellious streak.

He walks to me and whacks my ass, one more time, then gets out a handcuff key.

“And yes, room service. They’d better have it. Are yougoing to behave for us?” Marcus stares down at me where I’m lying cuffed, my face smooshed to floor.

“As much as I can be?”

“Ha. It’ll do. I need an excuse to punish you anyway.” He unlocks the cuffs and helps me up, tucks me under his arm, kisses me on the top of my head. “Let’s go, dumpling.”

I eyeroll at thedumplinglabel. If he keeps using that I will be thumping him.

Razor gives me an odd look, then joins us. He sneaks his fingers into mine then he turns, halting our procession. He cups my face with both hands and kisses me until I’m sighing and kissing him back, using tongue.

“You’re happy?” he asks. “With everything?” He reaches behind me and gently touches my rear where the belt must have left wheals.

I nod and go up on tiptoes to give him another small kiss. Then the three of us keep walking as if that was nothing.

It was definitely something.

I’m filthy dirty, sore, and half naked, but definitely feeling the glow of profound happiness. And what an unusual day this has been. For me, anyway, if not for them. I snuggle my head into Marcus’ side and adjust where my fingers lie within Razor’s hand.

Marcus scrounges up room service, though it’s basically leftovers from the feast we just attended. I’m guessing the kitchen staff and other employees are somewhat limited here.

When they wheel in the trolley with his scotch fillet and dessert, I’m reminded of my own lack of dessert. And champagne.

---