All Part of the Game
Madison
My gut is gnarled, twisted, and coiled with equal parts dread and trepidation and…
Oh, Jesus. Why did I nod? Why did I nod?!
Static’s eyes gleam, his white irises glowing. Black-painted lips are stretched wide, showcasing two full rows of teeth that look like they could shred my flesh into tiny bits and pieces…
Tears pool. Drip. Splash as they fall somewhere below. Somewhere I can’t see because I’m fucking trapped. Strapped and pinned to a rusted, metal dolly. The straps are thick, and they feel like leather—not that it even freaking matters.
Jesus, I can’t think properly.
My head’s spinning. My dick is hot. So hot. And hard. I’m hard, and the clown from everyone’s nightmares knows it. He sees it, too. Feels it because he’s touching me.
He’s touching me… My head slams back against the metal with a ting that reverberates in my skull. His textured grip is insane. It burns. Stings, a little too, but the pressure…
My heart is banging against my sternum, knocking so loud I can hear it in my ears, rushing over the whistling of my breath in and out through my nostrils.
The pointed tip of his finger delves deeper, a long, drawn-out scratch from my glans, down my shaft. A path of searing heat that makes me buck.
Static cackles, and the sound shoots straight to my nape, where the hairs stand on end, and a chill slithers down my spine… where it spins around and pools at my groin, making me that much hotter.
I slam my eyes closed as my face burns more than ever before. In shame. Embarrassment for how my body is betraying me. How good it feels, even as my skin is crawling with the desire to just get the hell out.
But I can’t think. All I can do is feel. What he’s doing to me. How he’s touching me. That I like it. The ache of fear mingling with the taste of pulsing pleasure.
It’s all part of the game.
I can do this.
I can hold on.
“Mmm,” Static rumbles, a deep vibration directly against my chest. That damn axe of his digs into me. A dull ache deep in my tissue. Each hair fiber pricks on my head, standing straight out. I’m sure I look like I got jolted with electricity.
Because I did.
Static is his name, after all.
And he exudes the most potent, electrical charge I’ve ever felt in my life.
A line from his long fingers directly to my cock.
His hand works me over in fast, jerking motions, and my hips try to move of their own volition, trapped effectively by Static’s own devices.
His fingers are so long, I can feel them overlapping around me, his sharp fingertips scraping my bare flesh with every downward stroke. Hell, on the upstroke, too.
It burns and aches and stings and… oh… no.
Something hard bumps against my lips. My eyes snap open. The wooden handle of his axe is pressed against my mouth. The blade is pointed low, so the angle is weird. “Suck on my axe, darlin’.”
Gooseflesh takes over my entire body. Every inch of skin is alight with bumps. Sense of touch is heightened to the point of stinging bliss.
The pressure of the textured wood has my lips splitting for entry before I can think—because I can’t.
My brain left the room—hell, it left the state minutes ago. Hours ago? What time is it?
“Shit,” Static drawls, his accent thicker than ever as he draws the word out. I shudder as it presses deeper, making space inside the small cavity of my mouth. It slides over my teeth, my tongue. They make their own grooves in the wood.
Copper.
Potent metal lingers on my tongue.
I swallow it down, unable to hold back my whimper.
The red… the red was blood. I’m—I’ve—I’ve got someone’s blood in my mouth.
“That’s it, treat. That’s real nice.” His drawl confuses me while it’s muddled with his sinister tone. Sharp and wild.
I try to shake my head, to clear the fog that’s long since taken over, but I can’t move.
Shit, I forgot I can’t move.
I fight against the binds again. Static’s hand moves faster.
I slump as my balls tingle, tightening and throbbing. Saliva pools in my mouth, increasing by the second. I try to swallow it down, but it creeps out between my stretched lips, dripping down the wooden handle. Onto my chest, down my stomach.
Static’s hovering over me, towering. So tall and leery. I feel utterly and wholly consumed. Decimated and irrevocably discombobulated.
His white eyes snap up to my face. The sudden move makes me gasp, having that frightening gaze locked on me. It drops to my mouth, where the axe is still lodged very tight. My spit is warm but sticky. And it itches.
Static’s hand leaves my dick to swipe up a bubble forming near the corner of my mouth. His finger pricks my skin as he drags it across my face before sucking my spit into his mouth, wrapping his scarily long tongue around the digit.
I gasp, choking on the spit that flies into the back of my throat.
The axe clatters to the floor, drawing a shriek from my throat as the blade dings against the wood, sending a deep, jolting vibration into the air. One I feel in my bones.
The clown drops out of sight. I blink through the flashes, disoriented. My head throbs, my temples pounding to the beat of my heart—which is going absolutely haywire.
Hands on my pelvis make me jerk. My head drops. Static is below me and… and oh… Oh, Jesus…
He shoves forward and buries his white and black painted face into my damp boxers. I feel the rush of air as he inhales. It lasts a long time. His shoulders raise, chest nearly bumping into my legs from how full his lungs get.
“You smell delectable, darlin’. Wonder if you taste just as good, too.” His long fingers rip my boxers down my legs. The waistband is stretched tight, trapped around my upper thighs from the black strap crossed over both of my legs, a few inches above my knees.
My dick bobs in his face. The fog circulating the air is cool against my burning flesh. Static descends on me. The pulsing light makes each inch of movement appear distorted, frozen in time.
He moves. Flash. Leans forward. Flash. His tongue’s out. Flash. It’s on my dick. Flash.
Wet heat surrounds every inch of me. I gasp and cry out, hands fisting. Tugging, pulling against my restraints.
Sharp teeth scrape down my pathetically rock-hard erection. Nothing more than a tease, but I scream, regardless. At the threat, the pleasure.
Why does it feel so good…
What’s happening?
His throat closes around my head and squeezes the glans with a tight constriction that makes my brain flash like the freaking pulsing lights dousing the room in a drugging pull.
His hands drag up my thighs, scraping over my leg hair still standing on end, moving around my hips to my ass, where he digs in deep to the muscle there. Pointed fingertips score my flesh, adding a fresh sting to the ache his mouth has put in my dick.
The ache to come. To release the boiling adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream.
All of it—every ounce—has congregated to my balls, where it sits heavy and tight and painful. But so good and wrong and… I need it.
The muscles in my legs flex, and my fingers clench, nails biting into my palms until my skin separates with a fresh wave of stinging air. I flex them outward, scraping them over the metal bar, gathering what’s probably rust beneath the nails as I dig. Scrape. Bury.
Static’s spiked, black hair tunnels in and out of my warped vision as he moves over me, using his grip on my ass to pull himself closer. Deeper. His teeth are sharp with every swipe of his mouth.
They cut me, maim me, make me bleed. But then, his tongue is right there, wickedly long and wet, soothing the destruction of his fangs.
He pulls back. Air caresses my wet flesh, making me hiss at the loss of his warmth. My hips make a pathetic careening gesture, desperate for it again, even as my brain screams at me to stop.
That my very flesh is seconds away from being ripped off my body and devoured by the sinister clown with death in his eyes… or maybe it’s the desire for carnage.
But my dick doesn’t care. My body doesn’t either.
The fear… like he said… makes me hot.
Oh, Jesus, I’m pathetic.
I’m nothing more than a whimpering, pleading mess for a freaking clown to put my dick back into his mouth.
What the hell happened to this day? Am I even alive? Did I die minutes after walking inside Mayhem?
“You’re very much here, darlin’, and at my mercy, just how I want ya.”
Nope, okay. This is happening.
I’m just screwed in the head. Gone completely mental… It’s the psychological torture they stated in the waiver.
Static made me his victim, and I fell right into his hands… or his mouth. His very sharp mouth. That feels way too good…
He buries his face in my crotch. I can feel his nose dragging over my flesh, the sharp plumes of air as he pants against me, inhaling every inch he touches.
Oh… my God.
“Such a little treat,” he drawls, accent so thick and heavy. And then, his mouth is back on my cock, enveloping every inch with a heady swallow.
A swallow that is my ticket straight into hell, break lines cut, and gas pedal pinned to the floor.