Page 13 of Killer Bones

“Here is the next step.” His hold on my wrists tightens. Horrified, I see he has bought the knife forward and poises it above my flattened left hand. He lowers the knife, pricks my skin, then drives it fully down. The tip punches into the back of my hand.

He hammers it home.

Through my hand.

And into the fucking table.

I screech at the pain, strive to pull away. Now I’m panicking.

6

Izzy

“Don’t move.” His voice is quiet, but it cuts through my panic, centers me despite my sobbing and the searing pain. He withdraws his cock, rams it back in. “Don’t move while I fuck you or it will saw through your hand.”

He’s holding my hand so I cannot budge it. The agony lessens, surges, pulses with my heartbeat.

“Don’t move, and you’ll be fine. I drove it between the bones.”

Drove. “It hurts.” I bite my lip, inhale sharply as fresh pain peaks.

“Of course it does, that’s why I stuck the knife in you, so you’d squeal and make sounds. To impress Montez. Make more of those sounds. I want to hear those.” He kisses my hair, and the rhythm of his fucking gets faster.

He wants me to cry out? To act? He smacks himself into my rear. The table moves. The knife handle quivers. Tears dribble down my face. “I can’t just do them.” I tense and whimper.

“That one was perfect.” He bangs in, grinds on me, does it again. My attention shifts from the knife to what he is doing to my insides. God. The shocks echo through my flesh.

One end of me is being screwed, while the other end, my hand, has that obscene piece of steel jutting from it. Yet, my gasps become louder, no longer merely from the hurt. Lust creeps in to whisper filthy things. I shudder. I’m mewling like a caught animal.

And they’re watching.

I’m being fucked in front of my enemies with a knife in me. It’s not normal. It’s not nice.

My body doesn’t give a fuck. Its betrayal chokes me, rides my mind, and makes me experience all the bad things in pornographic 3D. I’m his toy being used. And it is magnificent.

This evil seesaw whips me back and forth, from the knife’s blood and pain to the pleasure of the sex.

Sex wins, hands down.

My mouth opens wider. I’m panting. I part my thighs, needing more of what he is giving. His seed, his come, his cock.

The rhythmic in and out shunt, the spearing thrusts, the fullness as he ruts in me.

Lust rises, rises, a relentless, lewd tide. I squash shut my eyes.

The little table is rocked to the point of collapse, and it shrieks across the floor when the legs shift. Montez begins to clap in time to the thrusts.

“I like that! Love it! Andre, go fuck her mouth.”

Groaning, room vanishing, reappearing, with my eyelids fluttering up and down, I watch a man approach and stop. “I can’t, sir.” He points. “Her mouth…”

“Eh. Fine. Next time don’t nail her so her head is so far from the table edge, Noah.”

“I won’t.” He pauses in me to adjust his fingers in my hair and on my wrists.

I’m stuck there, levered half off the table, fully aware of how nasty their voyeurism is.

But I’m sweaty and panting, and no matter my horror at this public display, my pussy spasms, grabbing onto his cock.