Once I have Megan’s shirt and panties removed, I attempt to pry open her fingers so I can dump the razor on the bedside table. Her grip is so rigid, if I weren’t afraid of having my eyes gouged out in the middle of the night, I’d leave it in her hand.
“Megan, it’s Dexter, open your hand.”
My veins double their thickness when her hand pops open without delay.
Smirking at her submissiveness, I pluck the knife from her palm, dump it with her clothes, then jog to the other side of the bed to dive beneath the sheets. Dissatisfied that I’m on one side of the bed while Megan is on the other, I drag her to my side by her elbow. She releases a frustrated groan. My body hears it in a completely different light.
“Sleep,” I instruct her when my cock bracing against her curvy ass rouses her more than our three mile hike through the woods. “You need your rest. You have a big day on Sunday.”
The hum she releases thickens my cock, but she does as instructed.
Her training is going well.
* * *
Three hours passand I’m still awake. It isn’t Lucy’s final plea for clemency ringing in my ear that has prevented sleep, nor is it the throb in my lower back. It is the ache in my cock. Megan’s hair is overdue for a wash, so her fruity scent can’t override the delicious smell of her cunt.
It’s teasing me, taunting me, begging to be consumed.
If I trusted myself, I wouldn’t hold back.
I don’t trust myself.
Rightfully so. That’s like asking me to claim someone’s life but not watch their soul fade from their eyes. It isnevergoing to happen.
I want to put my tongue on every inch of her before smearing her virginal blood on the walls of her pussy with my cock. My cock roars to life just at the thought of her staring up at me as I claim her as she’s never been claimed. I might even give her a taste, make her lick her blood from my cock.
She’d do it. She’s a good girl who would always put my needs before her own. If I told her to jump, she would always ask how high.
It is a pity I can’t do the same for her. There is only one game master. In this game, it is neither Megan or me. It is my father.
Realizing I’m never going to sleep with a raging boner, I slip out of bed. I could tiptoe into the bathroom to rub one out like a true psychotic, but all the inspiration I need to take care of my dilemma is right in front of me.
I’d be a fool not to take advantage of the situation.
After wrapping my hand around the base of my cock, I lower my eyes to Megan’s pert nipple. It is budded and hard, as if aware of the scandalous situation occurring. I do a long stroke, sending a zap of pleasure down my back for a change instead of the constant throb of pain.
Pressing my thumb against the vein feeding my cock, I quicken my pace. My eyes scan Megan’s naked body as crazily as my hand pumps my shaft. I imagine her lying before me, her hazel eyes shining up at me, her mouth open and ready to catch my spawn. She’d be wet—absolutely saturated with need. I’d gather up her excitement with my tongue, flicking and biting the tight bundle of nerves between her thighs with the reverence of a starved man. When she comes, she’d call my name. It would be a husky and raw cry, her throat clutched by the throes of ecstasy.
I can hear it now, her quickening breaths, her frantic gulps. It’s as if she’s kneeling before me, waiting for my cum to slide down her throat. She would struggle to swallow everything I offer her, but she wouldn’t spill a drop—she’d consume every last one. She’s a good girl like that. She follows instructions well.
“Don’t you, my little pet?”
As the urge to come overwhelms me, I close my eyes and flop my head back. My active imagination continues inspiring my pursuit to release. Shockingly, not one of my visuals include my mother. This beauty’s hair is lighter, more mousy-brown than a dark storm cloud. Her eyes are flecked with gold and green, and her body is so compact, I can palm her entire breast with just one hand. She’s a pretty little thing, a doll who likes her coffee as sweet as mine and her lifestyle just as dangerous. She would let me kill without regret. She may even encourage it.
The visual of Megan’s approving eyes when she handed me the razor to end Lucy’s life pushes sperm up my shaft. I continually pump my hand, not caring where my spawn lands. They can have my DNA; it won’t pin me to anything. I’m cautious like that. I didn’t wipe every inch of Lucy’s mouth, body and cunt with bleach for no reason. Only Megan makes me heedless. Only she compels me to swap the pieces on the chessboard for a more stacked deck. Just the thought of mixing things up has my strokes quickening.
I nearly come for the second time. The only reason I don’t is because Megan isn’t the only one who should be reserving energy. My dad invited me to his stables. That means only one thing: he wants me to hunt Megan with him. He doesn’t hunt for an hour or two. He likes to draw out the game, easily making it a three-day expedition.
When my cock goes limp in my hand, my eyes pop open to survey the damage. There isn’t any. Not an ounce of my spawn is splattered across the bed. It’s pooled in a puddle in the middle of the bundled-up shirt Megan is holding under my half-masted cock. She caught my sperm as rapidly as the sadistic thoughts streaming from her eyes snagged my attention weeks ago.
“Did you like that?” I ask before I can stop my words. “Did you enjoy watching me stroke my cock?”
She nods without shame, her eyes widening with lust.
Her pretty hazel eyes aren’t the only things gleaming uncontrollably. Her pussy lips are drenched, and her widely spread thighs ensure I can’t mistake the cause of the seductive scent filtering in the air.
“Lie back,” I demand, my voice rough with ecstasy.
