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Why couldn’t I just have offered to suck his dick? Or taken it up the ass like a champ?
No. I decide to piss off The Executioner to such an extent that he takes me off the St. Andrews Cross…just so he can fuck me up better.
I never thought a bare foot could cause so much damage. How are his toes not broken yet? I’m pretty sure a few of my ribs are. I can’t see through both eyes anymore. And then there’s the matter of my balls…
Should have frozen some sperm, because I doubt I’lleverhave kids after this.
There’s puke on the floor, driven from my stomach by the intense pain when he took the whip to my poor dick. Blood from various cuts coat my body.
The Executioner follows me across the floor as I try to leopard crawl away from him, the agony too great for me to stand.
And here I thought the gunshot wound would kill me.
Hold up…I’ve been down this logic loop before.
I shove up a hand, letting out a frantic, “Wait!”
The Executioner laughs, and kicks me in the ribs again.
“Sure Red wants me dead?” I yell. “Are you very, very sure?”
I manage to crawl another foot without anything slamming into me. I hazard a look over my shoulder, grimacing through the pain as the motion pulls at various cuts, bruises, and a neck that feels as if it has whiplash.
The Executioner stands a yard away, hands in fists at his side, a semi bobbing between his legs as he glares down at me.
He’s taken off his hood, which I don’t think is a good sign. His face is slightly pudgy, some veins across his nose and cheeks signaling to me that he likes his scotch neat and plentiful.
“I’m sure you don’t want to piss off Red.”
The man grabs his cock, but he just holds it, anger still twisting his face.
Yeah, fuck that. I’m not letting this guy anywhere near my asshole.
I roll onto my back, hoping the more submissive stance will get him to calm the fuck down without thinking he can rush over and mount me. I lift my hands in surrender, making my voice as calm and smooth as possible.
“Let’s rewind. I said some things I’m not proud of, and you punished me for it.” Although he could have left at least one of my fucking ribs intact. “What’s your name?”
The man sneers at me. “Fuck off.”
“No, seriously. I’m Gideon. Gideon Fyre.”
The Executioner’s lips smooth out a little. “Dave.”
I almost laugh, but thank God just the thought of how much pain that would cause stops me. “I’m sorry things got to this point, Dave. I mean, I’m not a masochist, so I wasn’t exactly enjoying the lashes, but I do admire your technique.”
I can’t believe I’m trying to butter up a fucking psycho.
“I’m guessing you’ve been doing this a while.”
Dave gives the tiniest of shrugs, and then strokes his cock almost absentmindedly. “A decade or so.”
“Wow.” I lift my eyebrows. “Look, it shows.” I struggle into a painful sit, letting my hands dangle over my knees as I stare up at him. “I think you broke some ribs.”
“You’ll live,” he scoffs.
“Oh, I know I will. Question is, will you?” I sweep out with my leg, gritting my teeth through the agony as my bruised, cut skin goes taut. There’s a shock when my leg slams into the side of Dave’s, but I hit him in the perfect spot, bringing him crashing down.
The impact leaves him reeling just long enough that I can yank the whip out of his hand. I wrap it around his throat and slam my foot between his shoulders, leaning back with all my weight. He arches off the floor, fingers tugging uselessly at the whip, arms flailing but unable to reach me.
