Chapter 3 #2
I mean, I’d be worried if a pretty boy with a manic smile waved a machete in my face, too.
Okay, maybe I wouldn’t be, but he definitely should be.
Sylas raises the machete above his head, ready to swing. My adrenaline spikes through me as I eagerly await his next move.
But then Jasper grabs his arm, shaking his head, and I sigh in disappointment.
Now is not the time to be a party pooper.
Sylas steps back, and Wesley takes his place.
A cigarette hangs from his mouth, like always. I watch as he plucks it from his lips and brings it to Mr. Robinson’s face. Wesley presses the lit end against his cheek. I wait for the scream, but Mr. Robinson only makes a face of pain. There’s not a sound loud enough for me to hear.
“Come on,” I grumble. “I’ve seen you three at work. I know you have it in you. Don’t drag it out. Make the fucker pay! Chop off his dick, slice open his throat, stab him in the heart… something, anything!” I shout before sighing with annoyance.
I’m being a bit impatient, I know, but I’ve been daydreaming about this asshole getting his comeuppance. Sure, I’d have loved to have been the one to do it, but I’m happy to allow these guys to do it for me.
One of my favorite pastimes is watching these three at work. They’re like fucking gods; the power to extinguish someone’s life is always at the tips of their fingers.
Normally, it’s a blood bath, and because I can’t hear what they’re saying, it’s getting boring.
Just as I think that, Jasper raises his hand and points a pistol at Mr. Robinson. The sound of a loud bang makes me jolt in surprise. My heart races as blood-curdling screams waft through the speakers of my laptop.
“Holy fuck,” I moan as he keeps screaming and screaming. “That’s more like it.”
From the looks of it, Jasper shot him in the thigh.
Wesley takes Jasper’s place and crouches in front of Mr. Robinson, cocking his head to the side. Wesley’s lips start moving, and I whine in frustration at not being able to hear what he’s saying.
He continues to talk, raising his hand with what looks like some kind of knife, before slamming it down into Mr. Robinson’s leg.
He does this over and over again, and his lips move as he continues to talk.
With each scream, my pulse pounds faster and faster. My body breaks into a sweat, and arousal creeps its way into my every bone, and works its way down to my core.
Growing slick, I press my thighs together, trying to ease the ache between my legs.
Biting my lower lip, my breathing picks up.
I watch with fascination as they take turns torturing Mr. Robinson.
The screams become louder, more broken and hopeless as he begs and begs for mercy. It’s unfortunate that mercy won’t be coming for him.
My body relaxes, and I melt into the pillows, placing the laptop on the bed next to me. Unable to take it any longer, I slide my hand under the waistband of my sleep shorts and find my pussy wet with need.
I moan when my fingers brush over my swollen clit. My knees fall open, and I adjust myself so that I can move my fingers freely, gliding them through my messy folds.
Sylas tosses his head back and laughs as blood flies through the air, hitting him in the face. He is a man unhinged, and I’ve never been more turned on in my life.
I whimper, thrusting two fingers inside me. Working myself over, I keep my eyes locked on the screen, hyper-focused on every single thing that is happening.
With every swing of Sylas' machete, every stab of Wesley’s knife, and every bang of Jasper’s gun, my thumb circles my clit as my fingers move in and out of me.
I’m so damn turned on, so worked up, it’s not even funny. It’s fucked up, totally sick in the head for me to be so excited by this fucked up, gruesome act. But I couldn’t care less.
The playlist is ongoing in the background, and Wet Like by Ashnikko and Cobrah starts to play. I laugh at how perfectly this song describes how I’m feeling right now.
The screams mingle with the music perfectly, creating the best soundtrack for this moment.
With every brush of my fingers, I push myself closer and closer to the edge. The release I’m craving is just out of reach.
More blood fills the screen as the screaming starts to die down.
My hand is shaking, muscles straining to keep moving, frantically chasing my orgasm.
I need it more than my next breath, need to cum, to relieve the pressure ready to burst. I want to shatter with the appreciation of what these three are doing in my honor.
Nothing is more attractive than your men brutally murdering someone for you, and you won’t convince me otherwise.
The coil of need inside of me winds tighter and tighter. Snapping my thighs shut tightly, I trap my hand and begin to grind myself against the heel of my palm, working my fingers in and out of me, coating them in my juices.
I slide my free hand under my shirt, grasping my breast and giving it a squeeze. Moaning, I pull at my nipples, pushing myself closer and closer to the edge. It’s right there, so fucking close.
Sylas moves to stand behind Mr. Robinson and grabs a handful of the man's hair. He yanks his head back as Sylas’ lips curl into one of the most sadistic smiles I have ever seen. Then Sylas swiftly swipes the blade of the machete across Mr. Robinson’s throat.
Blood pours from the gash, ending the man’s life.
That image is what shoves me over the edge.
My eyes squeeze shut as I bite down hard on my lip.
My orgasm crashes over me, causing my body to lock up as I frantically grind against my hand, and euphoria fills my veins.
Wave after wave of pleasure consumes me, adding to the ecstasy that is my climax.
I’ve hardly had the chance to calm my breathing when my bedroom door opens.
“Nola, honey, I’m doing a load of laundry, do you have any—”
Pulling my hand out of my shirt, I quickly slam my laptop closed as I turn horror-filled eyes to my now-traumatized mother.
“Get out!” I shout.
“I’m so sorry, honey!” My mom’s hand covers her eyes as she backs out of my room and closes the door behind her. “You know, it’s perfectly normal to enjoy pornography, sweetie. Just maybe lock your door next time, okay?”
“Oh my god!” I groan, closing my eyes as I die of humiliation.
Pulling my hand free from my shorts, I stare at the sticky mess on my fingers and sigh.
Can’t a girl masturbate to a video of her boyfriends mutilating a man in peace?