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And then he licks along one of the already sensitive cuts in my skin. Hot pleasure shoots straight through me and directly to my clit, and I can’t stop the moan escaping my lips this time.
His voice, filled with sadistic amusement, cuts through the air moments later. He must have repositioned his mask though, as it’s modulated again. "Tell me, Little Darling, what burning question do you have for me? I'm all ears while I mark your beautiful body."
Despite the haze of arousal and pain, I manage to find my voice. "What... What made you start killing?"
His movements pause for a moment; I could feel the knife hovering just above my skin. I can sense the heaviness of his gaze, contemplating his response. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and filled with dark amusement.
"Ah, my Little Darling, you're hoping for a specific event, aren't you? Some grand catalyst that sent us down the path of murder. But you see, it wasn't that simple. It wasn't a single moment or a single event that led us here," he says.
He braces himself against the wall again, his body once again close to mine and his mask brushing against the shell of my ear, and I feel a moment of respite. His words linger in the air as he continues to speak, his voice filled with a mixture of bitterness and melancholy.
“Have you heard of that question, the one that all criminal psychologists and profilers ponder. Are monsters born like that or are they a result of their environment? What I can tell you is that childhood trauma can shape a person, mold them into something unrecognizable. It can plant the seeds of darkness deep within their soul.”
His words bear the burden of his past experiences, and I can sense the layers of pain hidden beneath his carefully crafted facade.
“The things we saw and experienced growing up were the stuff of nightmares. It breeds resentment, anger, and a desire for retribution. It forged a darkness within us that we couldn't escape."
"But it wasn't just our individual experiences," he continues, his voice laced with a hint of sorrow. "It was the collective failures, the systemic shortcomings that pushed us further down this path. The failure of those who were meant to protect and serve, the law enforcement that turned a blind eye or sometimes even contributed to the suffering of the innocent."
I feel a pang of understanding deep within me, the recognition that the world can be a cruel and unforgiving place, capable of breeding monsters in the wake of broken promises. He rubs his mask more solidly against the side of my head before he continues, as though seeking comfort.
"We are not monsters created overnight. No, Little Darling, it was a gradual descent, fueled by a culmination of events, scars, and the festering wounds of our past. We were broken by a broken world, driven to seek our own justice."
The weight of his words hangs in the air, a heavy realization that we are both products of a society that failed us. The memories and events of my childhood are what put me on the path to becoming an FBI agent.
"But enough about the past, my Little Darling," he says, his voice returning to a low, seductive murmur. “There is just one more mark I need to make on your pretty body.”
He moves back from me and the blade finds its mark again, slicing through the flesh of my other ass cheek with a calculated precision. Pain mingles with pleasure, and I can't help but wonder how far down this dark path we have both ventured.
“Now you will think of both of us whenever you sit down.”
For fuck’s sake. How could I not every time I moved until any part of me healed from this? I could tell the cuts they made weren’t too deep, but they still wouldn’t heal overnight.
I hear when he returns the knife to its sheath in his pants, recognizing the sound from when Dare did the same thing. Then his gloved hands are tracing patterns along the skin on my back. The feel of the leather gloves sliding along my skin is erotic, mixing with the throb of the wounds when his fingers find them. The combination of sensations—his gloved touch, the ache of my wounds, and the lingering pleasure from earlier—becomes an overwhelming storm that consumes my senses.
As his hands continue their exploration, they venture around my body to cup my breasts. His touch is firm yet gentle, his fingers kneading the flesh, teasing and tormenting my hardened nipples.
But he doesn't stop there. His hand travels further down, finding its way between my legs, where my clit throbs with need. The blood on his gloves acts as a slick lubricant, intensifying the sensations as he rubs and circles it with precision.
My body betrays me, my hips involuntarily grinding against his hand, seeking more of the delicious friction. Each stroke and touch brings me closer to the edge, the pleasure building within me.
He whispers in my ear, his voice laced with sadistic delight, "Oh, my Little Darling, you're so responsive, so eager to be pleasured. Does the pain enhance the pleasure for you? Does the feel of blood on my hands excite you?"
His words ignite a fire within me, fueling the intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure that courses through my veins. I can't deny the dark desire that thrives within me, the twisted need that hungers for more.
His hands move again, becoming a dance between his gloved hands and my willing body. His touch alternates between my back, my breasts, and my throbbing clit, the pleasure building each time. Each time he brings me close to the edge, he withdraws, denying me the release I so desperately crave.
A desperate moan escapes my lips, a plea for more, for the sweet release that hovers just out of reach. I'm on the edge, teetering on the precipice, consumed by a maddening mixture of pleasure and frustration.
He revels in my torment, his touch unrelenting. His gloved fingers dance over my body, setting every nerve ending ablaze with desire. The cycle repeats, his hands traversing the path from my back to my breasts and then down to my pulsating clit, edging me closer and closer with each pass.
I'm trembling, my body aching with need, my mind consumed by a desperate hunger for release. I'm beyond begging, my pleas falling from my lips in desperate whispers.
"Please," I whimper, my voice filled with a mixture of desperation and longing. "Please, let me cum. I need it, I can't take it anymore."
He chuckles darkly, his voice dripping with sadistic satisfaction. "You beg so sweetly, Little Darling, as if your every word is a melody just for my ears," he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin. "But I'm not quite finished with you yet."
With that, he moves his hands again. Instead of starting the dance again he grabs my waist, pulling me toward him and spinning my body before slamming my back against the wall.
