“You ruined me…”
He kept hold of that thought. Those words kept him away from the fog of sensation.
Or the lack of thereof.
His cheeks and ears burned, tears falling as he remembered the humiliation. His neck felt so heavy and his nerves kept firing jolts through him, again and again.
After he had spilled himself all over Ira’s hand and the floor, the heaven he had tasted was quickly replaced with hell. The shock and horror of his own body betraying him, revealing the extent of his mutilation, almost made him throw up again.
He begged for her to touch him.
Begged for her to hurt him.
“You ruined me…”
He bit his bottom lip, breaking the skin again, chewing on the wound as he sobbed. His hands, freed from the shackles, moving to touch his side, feeling mottled scar tissue left. He had burnt charred marks all over his body from the electric shocks, deep primal welts on his chest and shoulder.
He sniffled, chuckling through his choking gasps, “I… I’ve been mauled by a lion. A lion who… who is the biggest bitch in the world.” His gasps and chuckles devolved into a laugh, hands moving to the floor. An airy laugh that heaved out of his maimed chest, his lungs working overtime to suck in breath, “Wh-what a fucking story this will be! When I get-get out of here…” His laughter slowed, eyes heavy, tears still dripping from sticky, clumped lashes, “If… if I get out of here.”
“Perfect. You are perfect… my precious Tristan.”
“Biggest, most psychotic bitch in the whole fucking world…” His brow furrowed and he run his nails against the floor, leaving shallow indents. He took in a heaving breath, trying to focus in on the anger from his humiliation, from her disfigurement of him.
Yet underneath that anger, that embarrassment, was a deep sorrow. A sinking feeling of despair brought forth from one simple thought.
“… Wasn’t I perfect before?”
… stop.
“Wasn’t I good enough?”
Stop.
His knuckles rapped onto the floor, doubt and panic overtaking his mind, his anger devolving into an old anxiety. The darkness of the cell, only a bit of light sneaking in from the narrow slit under the heavy doors, fed into the ravenous despair that filled his head, “Wasn’t I beautiful enough?” His knuckled kept tapping against the floor, skin scraping off. “Didn’t I please you enough?”
“All I want is you.”
Blood and peeled flesh trailed after his knuckles. The skin rubbed raw. The burn ran up from his fingers and sent sparks alight. Even this small amount of pain made him moan, eyes rolling back slightly, “Wasn’t hurt-hurting me enough?”
STOP.
He couldn’t stop.
How her skin felt when they first touched. Warm, kissed by the daylight. How her head pressed against his shoulder, just under his chin. Those curls coiling around him, wrapped around his fingers.
“Wasn’t my touch enough?”
His lips pressed against hers, soft at first, then deeper, his tongue caressing hers, her hand stroking his cheek before her fingers curled in his locks, pulling him close.
“My kisses… weren’t they enough?”
He turned to his stomach, his forehead pressed against the ground, his bleeding, raw knuckles pressed hard against as he pushed his weight up on them, “What more did you want from me?!”
“Everything.”
He panted, clenching his teeth and slamming his fists against the ground. “Fuck!” One fist slammed against the floor, the other following suit, bruising his hands. “FUCK!” He heard a pop from his fingers, crying out as the pain rocked up his arm.
“I need you.”
He bit down on his tongue, his arm vibrating with agony while ecstasy made his length twitch, his skin on fire. Blood and saliva dripped down to the ground, mixing with hot tears, “… didn’t I fuck you enough?”
STOP!
Her inner muscles greedily sucked his fingers, his hand coated with juices as he rubbed that swollen pearl just above her entrance with his thumb. Her toes curling as he urged her over the edge, her teeth biting down on her plump bottom lip. Her hand gripped the arm of the couch behind her, nails ripping through the leather.
The same nails she would use to make him scream.
He turned his head from side to side, smearing the blood and tear mix against his forehead. The hand he just broke crept down between his legs, his desire swelling. “Didn’t I make you cum enough…? Wasn’t my cock thick enough? Big enough?”
“You are truly perfect all around…”
He grunted, moaning as he wrapped his fingers around his length, feeling it throb. His back arched forehead, pressing his chest against the ground, “I wanted to give everything to you… make love to you as much as you wanted.” His hips jerked, the coarse ground scraping the skin from his chest and knees. “Fucked you until you couldn’t think! Why?! WHY WASN’T I ENOUGH?!” He couldn’t stop the need that took over his senses. The exhilaration before the fall.
His knuckles turned white as he gripped the baroque headboard. Her knees pressed against his sides, clenching with each intense thrust. Her back arched, her breasts presented to him as her head leaned back. He let go of the headboard, grasping the sheets as he mouthed and licked her those mounds, sucking one of her nipples greedily. She gripped his hair and nuzzled her head against his, her hard pants and moans encouraging him to go harder, faster…
Deeper.
“I want more of this… more of you! Tristan, I love you!”
The frustration and anguish that circled him and suffocated him. He bit down hard on his free hand, breaking skin, giving into the pain that made his cock jerk and throb in his grip. As the hot, metallic tasting fluid coated his tongue, his length dribbled onto the floor, the viscous liquid adding slick lubrication to his palm, “You don’t love me.”
“I love you.”
“You don’t love me!”
“I will never stop saying it.”
He could feel it. Thunderous waves pushing against the wreckage left of his boundaries. He shook his head, the pressure building as the waves crashed over him.
“YOU DON’T LOVE ME!”
Ira held up a man by his skull, her nails digging through muscle, into bone and then further. That body kicked and writhed, fighting till the very last second.
Till a horrible CRACK shattered throughout the room, his skull collapsed under the pressure of Wrath’s grasp.
The stiff, mutilated corpse hit Ira’s polished floors with a dull thud.
She killed anyone who tried to murder him.
Jeffries.
Daniel.
She killed them all.
“I will kill for you.”
He gasped, breathing hot against the raw, exposed flesh of his hand, eyes rolling back as everything he was holding back gushed forward, spilling onto the floor and coating his hurried palm.
“I will never let you go.”
He groaned, shaking as his hips jerked once more, his index and thumb squeezing the remains of his euphoria and shame. He rubbed his forehead against the floor, wanting to scrape off the skin. Even if pleasure and disgrace accompanied the pain, then at least he would ugly himself.
He was covered in scars already.
“You are… absolutely beautiful…”
“Shut up!” He sat up, his hands covering his ears, not caring whether blood or cum stained him, “Just shut up! Please! Stop…” He panted, his hands falling to his sides, “Stop… lying.”
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