I crawl out of bed and throw the blanket off so I can march over to my precious mirrors and gaze at my reflection. The cuts she left on my skin are like scratches that spell out her name.
She marked me.
She actually marked me.
This perfect skin is blemished by her incessant need to punish those who disobey.
And all I can do is smile.
Laughter erupts from deep within, and I twirl around to admire my newly acquired scars. They’re like tattoos but fiercer, and they make me feel invincible. God, is this what it’s like to be her favorite?
Well, maybe second favorite, considering there’s also Xavier.
My package twitches, and I groan with a mixture of pain and pleasure. My head immediately tilts down toward the cage stuck around my shaft.
I forgot that was there.
A sudden shriek from down the hallway makes me jolt up and down, and I swiftly grab a bathrobe from my closet to put iton. Mere seconds later, someone bursts through my door, and I shriek.
“What is this?”
Xavier stands in my doorway, completely nude, pointing at his junk like a chihuahua just took a bite out of it and is still hanging on.
“What?” I mutter.
“That thing won’t come off!” He keeps jerking the cage, but of course it’s no use. “HELP!”
I march over to him and slam my hand in front of his mouth. “Stop screaming.” He bites my finger, and I pull back, hissing in pain. “Have you gone insane?”
“I will if you don’t fucking tell me what I need to do,” he says, completely out of it.
“Are you still asleep or something?” I grab both of his shoulders. “Calm down. It’s fine.”
“What do you meanit’s fine? There is a metal cage stuck to my dick!”
“It’s a chastity belt.”
“AWHAT?”
I lean in to whisper, “She wants us to be celibate. For her.”
His eyes finally connect with mine, and I can practically see the lights spring on somewhere in that disheveled brain of his. The lack of sleep must’ve done a number on him.
“We belong to her, remember? She told us yesterday when she played with us and …” I shrug. “You know, forced us into submission to punish us for killing and getting rid of Bob.”
“Right …” he mutters, and I can see the little gears in his brain turning and twisting. “I remember now.”
“Great. Then you can stop panicking.”
He snorts. “Stop panicking, he says. Like it’s not absolutely crazy that we’ve bound ourselves to a serial killer.”
“Should’ve thought of that before you started stalking her.” I grab a new bathrobe from my closet and throw it at him. “Put this on. You can’t walk around like that, or people will talk.”
“How are we supposed to … you know … get this thing off?” he asks, slipping into the bathrobe.
“Wedon’t. She does. With a key.”
Panic seeps into his eyes. “So what, we don’t pee until she releases us?”
