Page 64 of Their Cruel Love

A higher floor looks down on us on three sides. Beyond that mezzanine floor, gold-framed porthole windows pull in the late afternoon light. The lower walls feature metal installations of sea life, whales, octopuses, and fish. The timber floor is blond, and lumpy blue sofas cluster on it like reefs at sea. The luxurious fittings clash with the shiny chains that hang from the two-story-high ceiling. They end at just the right height for doing sadistic things to people.

The stage at the rear is unoccupied. If they had an auction, perhaps it is done? I hope so. The idea of a ‘slave’ auction makes me wonder how they decide who gets to own the slaves.

Shredded and discarded clothes lie on the floor, along with rope, cuffs, looping chains, and various metal and timber devices. Some of those would be at home in a medieval dungeon.

Hands that have been tying knots are frozen in the act, hands cease to push heads into laps or fasten cuffs. The greedy eyes, the leering smiles, the way some have ceased to fuck with, flog, or toy with their partners. I feel like a butterfly caught in a jar. As if to underline this, I notice a man at the back, with his head locked inside a box. He’s in mid-fuck with his ‘owner’.

A few yards away, two women stand with their hands attached to chains above their heads. One is being whipped. The other must belong to my old friend Simon, who lowers a monstrous pink dildo and stares at me.

I sway, disorientated, my calmness blown. I’m horribly vulnerable. My bare feet rest on the cool floor, and everythinghere is wickedly strange, deviant, and not right. I need to shrink down to nothing to avoid those eyes.

Marcus comes to stand before me, partly blocking my view. He looks down. “That can come off first. Razor, hold her.” An arm about my neck locks me to the man behind me.

With no further warning, the clamp on my clit is removed, and I’m swearing, cursing at Marcus in Latin, for all I know, and trying to double over. The application of the clamp was bad, and this is equally so.

Then Razor frees me and comes to my front, offers the rope to Marcus. “My turn. I’ve held her for you enough.”

While Marcus grumbles about that, I’m considering my chances if I run. Zero, unless… I pretend to trip, and then Idotrip, courtesy of it being difficult to balance with my hands locked at my back. They both lunge to catch me.

“Free my hands?” At my back I raise my arms the small distance I can, to emphasize what I’m talking about.

Both of them look amused. It was worth a try.

“What do you want to do with her?” Marcus takes the rope then walks behind me. “Strip her?” He wraps his arms about me and takes hold of both my breasts, squeezing enough to make me gasp and to feel those clamps ten times more as the pressure builds.

They throb in his grasp; he increases the force. I close my eyes, suppressing a whine.

“I want to do so many things to you,” he rasps out the threat, above my ear, then bites my upper neck. In a way, the collar guards me from his teeth.

The longer he hangs on with his teeth, marking my neck, the more difficult it becomes to remain silent.

“No. Leave her like that.”

My poor abused clit feels the brush of skin as someone’shand arrives at my pussy, lifting me onto my toes. I don’t open my eyes, preferring the black, but I jerk as that hand worms between my parted thighs. He enters me with at least two fingers. It must be Razor. They’re thrust in, making a wet noise that is obvious and due to my own zealous lubrication.

Fuck, but it’s hard to resent that.

Gravity anchors me onto that hand, and I press at the floor with my toes, teetering, trying to get away while Marcus chuckles.

As the fingers are withdrawn then speared in, I jerk again, whimpering as Marcus wraps a hand across my face and over my eyes, pulling my head back against him. My own moisture leaks past those violating digits as they plunge inside.

“A very wet cunt. I wonder why?” Razor says lazily. His body radiates heat, and I’m burning like a piece of well-buttered toast, trapped between the two of them.

When I’m allowed to, when Marcus moves his fingers, I open my eyes to see Razor and his dedication to his task. My eyelids flutter, and I’m gagging from need, still pushing at that faraway floor, as he repeats his thrusts while studying me.

“Oh, you do like this. Being fucked in public.”

Shocked, I shake my head, but he only bends to kiss me from my navel to my clit, then paints my belly with his wet fingers.

By then I’m panting uncontrollably.

My clit and pussy are happily pulsing, reminding me of what he has done.

Razor is searching in Marcus’ bag for something, and I have a fair idea as to what this will be. What he just did was mortifying, but?—

His hand emerges holding a curved hook as long as myforearm, with a bulb at one end, where the sharp and nasty bit would be if this were a fishhook.

While I watch him fasten a cord to the eyelet at the other end, Marcus smooths his palm down my belly then covers my pussy. With his fingers in a V, to either side of my clit, he slides them past it and along my slit, teasing me, slowly.

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