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My sister had cried too. “Pliers. Now.”
A few seconds later, Drake handed me the tool, and I grabbed Quinten’s hand. Payton’s story about his ex-boyfriend gave me inspiration. Drake came up behind me, pressing his body into my back, and reached around to take my hand in his. The warm hardness of his chest sent a zing of pleasure through me as we both took the pliers and I dug the edge under one of Quinten’s fingernails, clamped the jaws down on it, and together we yanked the tool upward. The nail tore off the bed with a meaty pop.
A wet sound erupted from beneath him. The smell of shit hit me like a slap in the face as he lost control of his bowels. Quinten writhed in agony as brown sludge oozed out of him onto the table he lay on. I wrinkled my nose at the odor.
Leaning back into Drake, we moved to the next nail. I basked in Quinten’s bellows and cries of pain as we tore out every nail in his hands and feet. Blood dripped from the table. The smell of it, the sound of Quinten’s yells, and the pressure and heat of Drake’s body had me more turned on than I’d ever been in my life. A deep and terrified part of my mind knew it was awful and unnatural, but I didn’t care. This was fun. A catharsis that was like nothing I’d ever experienced.
Drake’s cuff buzzed again, and after reading the message, he took my hand and placed a tiny pair of medical scissors in them. “He wants you to cut off his eyelids.”
Closing my fingers around the scissors, I said, “Gladly.”
Quinten gibbered as I inched his upper lid between my fingers. The blades bit through the skin. A long scream tore out of him, like music in the air. Drake held his head still with vice-like fingers. I was careful not to stab his eyeballs. I wanted him to see everything as it happened. Once I was done, I tossed the tiny flaps of skin onto his chest. Blood was oozing down from the wounds turning Quinten’s eyes red.
Drake’s eyes met mine, the heat in then fanning the fire burning in my groin.
It was time to end this. I had something I wanted more than Quinten’s suffering now.
A quick look in the chest, and I found what I wanted. A long thin metal rod, about an inch thick and three feet long. It was probably supposed to be used for hitting, but I had a better idea. Standing, I walked over to the table, now covered in blood, piss and shit. Drake stood beside it, ready for my instruction. He’d been sent to walk me through this, but I’d needed almost no help doling out justice.
I pointed to the filet knife again. “Give me that.”
Drake handed it over, and after laying the metal rod down, I grabbed Quinten’s cock and balls, and in one swift motion severed them. Blood sprayed, coating my hand and sleeve. Quinten wheezed, his face crimson, and his back arched, the restraining straps digging deep in his flesh.
I smiled at Drake, then strolled the length of the table until I stood by Quinten’s head, still holding the spongy handful of flesh.
My lips against the scum’s ear, I whispered in my sweetest voice, “Do you want to die?”
After a moment’s hesitation, he croaked out, in a barely human, pleading voice. “Kill me, please god, make it end. Make it end.” He drew out the last word until it became a keening wail.
I shoved the severed genitals into his mouth, and slammed the handle of the knife down onto his lips and teeth, over and over again. The teeth shattered, the lips split apart, and he gagged and choked on his own cock.
Before he could suffocate, I moved back down the table, grabbed the steel rod, and shoved it into his anus, jamming it in deep. The metal slipped in my blood-covered hands, but I squeezed tighter and clenched my teeth in determination as I continued pushing it deeper into him. Quinten continued to choke and writhe, but I could hear him trying to wail in pain as I stabbed the rod deep into his ass. Finally, something gave way inside him, and the rod slipped nearly a foot into his guts.
Quinten seized, his body jerking and spasming as blood, shit, and other liquids streamed out of his asshole around the steel rod. Releasing the pole, I stood and watched for the next several seconds as he twitched and finally came to rest, his chest no longer rising and falling. Dead.
I sucked in ragged gasps, and the haze of anger and rage lifted somewhat. What I’d done settled over me, and I prepared myself for the shame and horror to descend across my soul. Surprisingly, all I felt was a sense of work well done. Like going home after a long and grueling, but ultimately successful, shift at work. Even as I stared at his destroyed and broken body, there was nothing but happiness inside me.
Glancing down, my fingers, palms, and wrists were streaked with gore and blood, but other than the smear of blood across my stomach, the rest of my body was surprisingly free of anything. Drake took me by the hand, not being squeamish about the residue of Quinten on my fingers. He clasped my hand in his and led me from the room to the viewing room on the other side of the door. There was a bathroom there that I’d never noticed before, the door almost hidden in the lines of the wall. He brought me in and helped me wash my hands.
Letting him take care of me, I watched in silence as he soaped and washed my fingers, wrists, and lower forearms. He rinsed them, and then did it again, scrubbing his hands as well until both of us were pink and clean again. Staring at the drain as he turned the sink off, I watched as a faint pink swirl of blood tinged water spun down the drain and vanished. The last remnants of my old life, the old person I had been, had been washed away.
Spinning, I shoved my hands into Drake’s chest and pressed him into the wall behind us. His eyes snapped wide in surprise, but I was sinking to my knees in front of him, yanking his sweatpants down before he could do anything. His cock was already semi-hard when I grabbed it and shoved it into my mouth. A breath of shock burst out of his mouth as I sucked at the head and stroked his shaft.
“Holy shit.” He moaned. “Dahlia, oh God.”
I’d never been so turned on in my life. It was like the anger and rage of a few moments before hadn’t vanished, instead, they’d morphed into desire and sexual need.
Pulling my lips away, I looked at Drake as I stroked him. “Fuck me, Drake. Fuck me hard and make it good. I need it. Do you understand?” I wasn’t asking. I was commanding.
Drake grabbed me, pulled me to my feet, spun me around, and pulled my pants down. A second later, I gasped and put my hands on the wall to steady myself as his tongue slid into me. Thrusting my hips back to give him better access, I sighed and rested my head on the mirror above the sink. A finger slipped into my pussy. I moaned and began grinding my ass against his face. His tongue slid to my asshole, circled maddeningly around it, then probed into it, all while his finger slid in and out of me. I was already close to coming, and everything he did seemed perfect.
Gritting my teeth, preparing for the orgasm that was getting close, I said, “Make me come and then give me that dick. Fuck me and do it hard.”
Obeying my orders, his finger flexed down, pressing into my G-spot, and between that and his tongue in my ass, an earth-shattering orgasm surged through me, making my knees go weak. I had to grab the sink to hold myself up as my body shuddered beneath his touch.
I was still trying to get my bearings when the hard thick head of his cock pressed against my pussy. He paused, right at the entrance, hands on my hips, ready to slam into me. Breath barely trickled into my throat as it constricted in anticipation.
“Do you want this?” Drake whispered, still not entering me.
