Page 23 of Their Cruel Love

Razor arrives and locks her hands in those handcuffs. “They’re padded with leather,” he points out.

“Uh-huh.” I straighten. Still. She is new to this. My urge to be safe overrides my need to mindfuck her and make her scream. “Don’t wrench your hands about too much in these, Phoebe.”

I rest my hand on her back as Razor rips the costume at the waist, leaving shreds hanging but her ass completely bared. Her legs still have smaller pieces of the body stocking attached and I have to appreciate how Razor pullsthose off—with his teeth as he moves down her, biting those legs.

She squeaks and wriggles, then actually shrieks at a harder bite. I keep her pinned, feeling her muscles move under my hand.

What a rush, and we’ve barely begun.

“Fuck, man.” I inhale. “You primitive.”

He stands beside me. “Clover clamps. Where? You can spank her or cane her or whatever. This punishment needs to be good. Am I right?”

We lock eyes for several seconds, while she’s beneath us, panting, recovering. I know what he is thinking—can I be safe punishing her? Will this be enough for me? I study her rear then pinch her ass, marking her there same as Razor did early. Both will leave a bruise. I increase the pressure.

When she shrieks and kicks her heels, I release the skin then put my hand between her legs to find her cunt entrance. Once two of my fingers are thrust knuckle-deep in her, I note how she’s quietened, and her eyes are half-closed and eyelids fluttering. Her arousal spills. Her pussy is so damn wet and ready.

“I told you, Razor. I’m good.”

The bastard raises his eyebrows.

“I am safe to play with her.”

“You’d better be.”

I fuck Phoebe twice with those fingers then lean in and say to her. “That doesn’t mean this will be easy. You did some bad, bad things, girl. We’re going to fuck with this pretty head of yours as well as your ass, your pussy, and this adorable mouth.”

I jam my fingers deeper, and she whimpers. “Her pussy is clamping down on my fingers so hard, Razor. I might need a winch to get them out.”

He chuckles.

My revenge, I’ve realized, is a whole other ball game. For now, I’m happy just being my usual sadistic fucking self, and I’m no longer sure I ever lost my desire to keep her as mine, my girl, my fucktoy, my pinata if she so wants to be, in every possible way.

My girl I can wake up to in the morning.

Crap.

I extract fingers and wipe them on her back then sit down on the bed, still pinning her. I put my wet hand to her mouth. “Clean me.” Her pupils are dilated pools of blackness, and my heart begins to fucking ache as her tongue comes out and she starts to lick and suck her own juices from my fingers, delicately.

She’s small. I’m big. It’s delightful to manhandle her when she’s lapping up my dominance and her arousal like this.

I want more. Don’t I? I’m not built to just be an angry asshole. It weakens a man, makes him less.

I eye Razor as he wanders back to the cabinet for those clover clamps, a cane, and several things I can’t quite see. I’m contemplating if a deeper, more meaningful relationship with her could ever be possible. So much has happened. And Razor looks terribly keen. I don’t fancy fighting him for her.

I’m also a little afraid to reveal who I am.

11

Marcus/ Brutus

Razor returns with an arsenal of fucktoy weapons. Though he deposits some on the floor where she cannot see them, he places a large black dildo on the bed next to Phoebe’s face. Her grimace is instantaneous.

“Safeword,” he adds, perching on the bed on the other side of her. “You can have one tonight. Most here operate without them once they know their subs. Yellnoall you like, and we’re going to ignore it. Saydonkey, and we stop. Got that?” He takes her hair and levers her head higher, directs her his way.

“Yes.”

I slap her nearest ass cheek. Her gasp is loud. Razorwatches her face.

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