Page 25 of Killer Bones

The pain lances in, and I gasp, my muscles flinch. The sharp inhalation comes first then a second later the erotic hit arrives, and my clit reacts. I flick out my tongue, touch my lip.

“I like this. Remember?”

He chuckles.

I’m bound and being made to take this. I don’t like this, I fucking love it. Only, I can’t quite see the needle. A little frustrated, I let my head tap back into the wall. He has me on display, breasts out, tied up, and to me being a voyeur of my own torture is the best of all.

I pant, concentrating on that burst of pain and replaying how this man did it to me.

“Yes, but I’m not about to cut off your fingers. Or stab you.” He clicks his tongue at what he sees, sounds torn. “Besides, I like doing it too. It’s crazy how I can do that, watch you, maybe make you scream, and still…like it.” He widens his stance, then bends at the waist and licks me above the needle, circling my nipple. “Absolutely nothing big to fuck you with though.” He sighs.

I stare at his cock, frown.

“No.” A new syringe is in his hand, and he stabs my other breast, pushes it until the needle emerges, lets it hang there. “Matching tits.”

I stifle a squeak.

“Let’s hope the antibiotics work, yeah? Now. List what can you do for me? If…”

“If?”

He sighs, his forehead wrinkles with what I guess is concern. “If I can keep you alive.”

I’m glad he’s worrying over me and disappointed. Despair niggles at me. He isn’t sure he can keep me alive, but…he wants to. That’s good. It is. Before, I was litter, a throwaway, a thing Montez wanted killed.

Didn’t I tell him all of what I might do for him, when he fucked me before Montez?

I’m thinking too much.

Then he arm-bars my throat, reaches between my spread thighs and wriggles two fingers into my pussy. He works at me there while he leans an elbow on the wall and half-strangles me. Narrow-eyed, thoughtful.

This is him not fucking me? I stare back at him, quivering, grunting at the worst and harshest efforts of those not-fucking fingers.

Needles, bondage, fingers in me, the lack of ability to do anything to stop him, and he’s a killer? I shut my eyes and consider joining a religion.

I hear myself sigh and grunt, part my thighs further, feel him kiss and bite my arm while he pumps into me. He paints my leg with wetness then plunges back in, his arm holds me against the wall, the belt shakes and tinkles from the rhythm.

“Ohhh, fuck,” I choke out, bang my head on the wall again. I’m lost in the wilderness.

“How about I let you come if you tell me something fucking worth it? Go.”

My breathing is no longer under my control. He begins to draw widening circles inside my pussy, then stuffs another finger in.

“Worthwhile?” I repeat, whimpering.

“So easily stirred.” My pussy makes wet sounds as he drives them in, pulls them out. My thighs are straining, my feet move apart, and I’m arching.

I draw a slightly strangled inhalation, resist swearing at him. “I can help you… I can plan how to get those you need to kill. I can lure them.”

“Keep going.” His fingers are jammed in as he kneels to bite and lick a track down one leg to my knee.

I mutter a string of fucks.

“Where were we?”

He stops. Hands, mouth, teeth still. Though he stays on the floor, arm between my legs.

“Why do you write killers.”