Page 71 of Their Cruel Love

Razor pauses. “Someone should go up there again andlook over the edge. It might be easier to access the room under the trapdoor that way.”

“Let’s see how this goes, Phoebe. When I say, roll over so I can bring the wire across your front.” He twists the wire, carefully adds a new thread from a new coil that I didn’t see him remove from the bag. That intensity of concentration makes him so attractive.

“Speaking of access…” Razor bites higher then pushes one finger inside me. Breathing halts and, eyes closing, I give a small shudder.

“Are you fucking her, Razor?” Marcus chuckles.

“Of course. Where were we? Confessing our research?”

“Roll over now.”

A command that will leave me face-up with my delicate bits bared to this sadist.

I wanted this, didn’t I?

A thrill trickles through me, ever downward, to where Razor has been messing with my pussy.

Thoughts of research fade.

I roll onto my back, and he shuffles his knees backward a few inches, the bed sinks, then he swabs my skin, laying a cold trail directly over the peaks of my breasts…which is scary. He lays the wire over my chest. The alcohol in the wipe has an acrid, cleansing smell. The wire hits one nipple and areola, perfectly on target. I hiss and go almost cross-eyed trying to see his hands and the barb as he makes it dent my skin even more, increasing the pain, increasing the tension on the wire.

Blood wells from two of the barb points that I can see.

Raising my hand to stop him is instinctive, except I’m sure he won’t let me, or he’ll cane me or worse. Unless I safeword. As usual, defiance is tempting, but with tendons popping up inmy clawed hand, I desist. I lower it not because I must but because I want to see this out.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and continues.

“Mmm.” I wince. A month ago…no, two months ago, I’d think myself insane for doing this.

These barbs don’t spike my skin, mostly, only if made to. Like fucking now. My mouth opens in disbelief and confusion as Razor begins licking at my pussy, his silky-smooth tongue brushes over, revolves around my nub.

Be calm.Exceptfuck, how can I be? I need to breathe through this, through everything they’re doing. Soft, measured breathing. Moving might yield more hurt.

My body chooses to disagree, arching toward Razor’s mouth, my heels press into the bed, hands grappling with the bed cover seeking an anchor. The barbs spike skin, and I hiss again at the stings, sighing, moaning at all the wondrous sensations—my back, my nipples and breasts, the bites on my inner thighs. The finger inside me, thrusting. Marcus eyes me and deviously pinches my nipple from below, making it bulge upward into the sharp barb. He’s watching me, watching…then he smiles. A mini-orgasm ripples through me, and I lose the world for blissed-out seconds.

Too quickly, it’s gone, leaving me unsatisfied and needing more. My body and clit somewhat subdued, I settle again, though Marcus gets me to lift my butt so he can feed wire beneath me. I feel myself beat and hum within to the tune of rushing blood and overwhelmed mind.

“I…” Another biting barb. I gasp then open and close my eyes. “You know about the USB. I’ve nothing to put it into…” Two, three fingers are pushed inside me, and I’m listening to my heart, seeing the insides of my eyelids. I feel myself squeezing onto those fingers.Inhale. Exhale.The wire bites. “We need a phone. We really need one.”

“Yeah, we do need one, and a switched-on network.” Marcus keeps working on me, crisscrossing my belly. “How can we turn on the cell tower? Ideas, Razor? Roll over so I can wrap you again.”

“It’s off?” Razor says.

“I asked the staff about it. Yes, it is.”

And slowly, methodically he builds a cage of wire around me as I roll and shift, lifting my legs, my arms, studying him as he knits it together. The small pains blend. They scratch and prod, hurting deviantly as wire is taken between my legs then drawn to the small of my back to be linked in some labyrinthian way with other strands. If he forgets how to undo this, I’m going to be in trouble.

Somehow, we keep discussing our situation in this house of ill-repute and even less reputable people. Though it’s mostly them not me. I’m okay with simply listening.

The barbs catch in the bed cover and have to be untangled with care and patience.

Who is saying what blurs because I’m not looking so much as feeling and being touched with my eyelids narrowed to slits, barely open enough to see a wayward ant wander by wriggling its antenna. It navigates the dips and hills of the cover and disappears stage left.

“I don’t know how to activate a cell tower network. And first we need to get a phone. You’d need fiberoptic cable to the island, and that linked to the tower. I think.”

“If we could google it, we would know. Oh the fucking irony. You said you nearly got married.”

“Yes.”

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