Chapter 63 Kane
KANE
My beautiful Delilah is in front of me. I look up like the heavens are there. If life has taught me anything, it’s that God doesn’t exist and things can always be worse. The lights in the room dim, turning the edges of the mirror see-through, revealing a masked audience above us.
“He’s testing you,” Asher says as he walks around the room.
None of the masks are the mirrored one Rowan would wear. Instead, they wear Venetian masks, exposing the bottom portion of their face. The men in suits, the women in gowns, each and every fucking one of them has a champagne flute in their hand.
My knees turn weak as I reverently walk to my wife, trailing my fingers up her legs until I’m standing between her thighs.
Small goosebumps erupt under the wake of my touch—she knows it’s me.
This thing between us is deeper than an emotion or history.
It’s fucking biochemical. Our DNA recognizes each other.
It’s only us, even when those above us in life—in this room—try to break us apart.
“She’s probably full of all the cum she’s been taking since you left.”
“Fuck off,” I whisper as Asher walks around the perimeter of the room.
“Or she made them use a condom. Let’s be honest, the little slut wouldn’t care about that, since the constant changes of cock would leave rubber burns on her cunt.”
I drop down to my knees, pulling her lips apart as he stands behind me. “See. Nothing other than perfection.”
Fuck. I’ve missed her. I want to hold her, kiss her cheeks, her forehead, feel her arms around me as we slowly sway. All I have are her thighs beside my ears and her cunt in front of me, so I remove the gas mask as I lightly trace the new scars on her calf.
“This is your reward,” Asher says, curling his fingers over my shoulder. “Rowan knows you’re one of them. He’s letting you have her again, welcoming you back.” Increasing the pressure on my shoulder, he pushes me forward as he lowers to his haunches. “Taste her again. You know you want to.”
“Everyone’s watching.”
“Show them she belongs to you, to us.” His lips are right by my ear as he pushes me forward another inch, so my nose is a hair’s width away from her clit. “Do you even remember how she tastes? It’s been three years for you, longer for me, but I can’t forget when you first push—”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“No. She would always moan when I pushed my tongue inside her. Or she loved two fingers in her pussy and a thumb in her ass while I was sucking on her clit.”
He’s lying. He has to be. Delilah said I was the only who could fuck her ass. It was mine—is mine—like she is.
Turning my head, I look him in the eye as I slowly lick through her cunt. Mine. Not his, Delilah is fucking mine. He doesn’t know shit about her, no one does. She’s mine to fuck, mine to fucking give away if I choose. Mine down to the core of her being.
Asher holds the back of my head as he continues taunting me. “How does the pussy I had first taste?”
I bite her clit, hard.
She moans, tensing her thighs in the restraints.
I push my face closer to escape his hand, burying my tongue inside her. Her moans are louder, just like he fucking said. I punish her for giving the information away when all of my memories are tied up in her.
“Hurt her,” he urges. “She’s been here, getting fucked in a box, taking that memory away from you too.”
I shake my head as the audience above us continues watching.
They can’t see my face with the balaclava and the mesh insert doesn’t allow them to see my eyes as I look up.
Their features are hidden too but there’s a couple standing close to the wall, whispering to each other. One of them shrugs, whispering faster.
Asher tracks their movements as he explains, “You have to hurt her. They’re paying for pain, not for you to tongue fuck a riddled whore.”
I kiss her thigh in apology for his words and my eyes close when her muscles shake, but the smallest giggle echoes inside of the box.
“See?” I look up at my unageing twin. “She knows it’s me.”
“Well done. The slut remembers her customers.” He slowly claps. “Now hurt her or they’ll take you away again.” Stepping closer to me, he whispers, “Or does she need to be rotting for your pathetic little cock to work?”
I shove three fingers into her as I stand, uncaring about making her comfortable or everyone watching me.
Asher’s right. I can’t get hard. I want to, the urge is there, but my body doesn’t work without the pills anymore.
Even if I manage it by some miracle, I still won’t be able to come, so I add another finger as I spit on her cunt.
I hope she remembers we’re playing a game.
Her thighs tremble at the intrusion but she’s fucking soaked. It’s not the same as it used to be as though there’s a deeper block than the mirrored box she’s trapped in. I need her to know it’s me without putting her at risk.
Pulling my fingers free, I slap between her thighs. She screams out in pain and the fuckers above us laugh. They can hear us. I can’t even talk to her.
“The blacklights,” Asher suggests while I work a fourth finger into her cunt. “Use her. Write on her so she can see it when she walks out of here. Look around. There’s no other door, so she’ll walk under the same lights.”
I don’t have a knife to use blood as my medium, so I write my apology on her clit as I lower my zipper. Four fingers in her cunt, my thumb on her clit, yet I’m still not fucking hard.
Asher laughs, the fucker. “If she didn’t kill me, I’d step in to fill your shoes. Or pussy, but it’s the same thing between us, isn’t it?”
I beg for anything—precum, a fucking pitiful bead to squeeze out as I stroke my length. There’s fucking nothing, forcing me to do the only thing I can as I close my eyes, aiming at her thigh.
“Relaxing thoughts, reflection. Think of a waterfall.”
I screw my eyes shut even tighter.
“Or a stream.”
The small trickle starts, forcing me to open my eyes so I can write my name on her skin. The liquid drips onto the mirrored floor, splashing up onto my boots, but I manage to write four letters with my piss, so she’ll know it’s me.
K A N E
I fuck her with my fingers. Harder. Faster. Needing her cum to be able to add more messages to her body when the stream ends. Stepping closer to her, I use the tip of my glistening dick to draw a heart on her other thigh.
“Cute,” Asher scoffs as I tuck my dick away. “She’s going to cherish your dirty heart.”
His sarcasm is unnecessary when I’m using the only tool at my disposal, for fuck’s sake.
There’s no visible opening on the box for me to pull her out.
The small notch she’s poking through isn’t big enough to drag her out without hurting her.
I don’t even know what’s inside. It could fucking kill her if her neck is chained.
Delilah, my beautiful wife, is right in front of me yet she’s still not with me. It’s like I’m locked in a cell all over again, memorizing letters I want to send to her if I’m ever allowed to have a pen.
I play her body for my own selfish need, curl my fingers up, forcing her to come. Her screams echo through the box but they’re followed by the audience laughing.
Using my soaked fingers, I massage around her ass before slowly pushing three fingers of my other hand into her stretched cunt.
I spit down despite her body providing everything we need, then rub my spit into her clit.
The screams get louder as I push a finger into her ass, adding another to her cunt.
Remember it’s me, pretty girl. Remember how you’d beg me to fuck your ass. I was so scared of hurting you I laid flat on my back, waiting for you to move. Remember I love you. Remember me so I have someone to tell me who I was when this is all over.
And please remember I loved you innocently, selfishly, without limits or restriction before I became this.