27. Sniper #3
She noticed. Of course she noticed. She pulled off with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting her lower lip to the head of my cock, and she looked up at me—finally, directly at me—and smiled.
“Still trying to fight it,” she said, breathless but not winded. “That’s cute.”
I said nothing. My jaw was clenched so tight my molars ached.
She went back down. This time she changed the rhythm—faster, sloppier, her tongue flat and wide, the suction almost aggressive.
She used her free hand to cup my balls, rolling them with a gentleness that was somehow worse than cruelty.
I felt the pressure building at the base of my spine, the sick inevitability of biology, and I thought about the desert, about the cold air on the ride up the mountain, about the way Jasmine laughed when she thought no one was listening.
It didn’t work.
Emma pulled off again, panting, a flush spreading down her neck. “Still fighting it,” she said, her voice husky. “That’s what I like about you.”
She kept her eyes locked on mine as she ran her tongue along my shaft, her gaze holding a challenge I refused to accept. My body betrayed me with every pulse of blood, but my mind stayed clear, working every detail, every weakness in her technique that might become useful later.
“I want you to watch the camera when you come,” she whispered, her breath hot against my skin. “I want her to see your face.”
I turned my head away from her, focusing instead on the overhead track where the meat hooks hung motionless. The fluorescent light flickered once, twice—a pattern I’d been noting for hours. Every seventh minute, the ballast stuttered, a rhythm as reliable as a heartbeat in this dead room.
Emma’s mouth returned to my cock, her technique changing again. She took me deeper, her throat opening to accommodate me, the sensation almost overwhelming. I felt the pressure building, my body’s betrayal inevitable despite my resistance.
“Fuck you,” I said through clenched teeth, not to her but to myself, to the weakness in my own biology.
She moaned around me, the vibration sending another wave of unwanted pleasure through my body. I counted the hooks—six of them, evenly spaced, the second one slightly higher than the rest. The steel cable running through the track was frayed at the far end, a weakness I filed away for later use.
When I finally came, it was despite everything I’d done to prevent it.
My body jerked against the restraints, chains clanking loudly in the silent room.
I kept my eyes fixed on the ceiling, refusing to give Emma the satisfaction of my gaze, even as she swallowed, her throat working in long, deliberate motions.
She pulled away slowly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. A small smile played at her lips as she looked at the camera.
“Did you enjoy the show, Jasmine?” she called out, her voice carrying in the sterile room. “I know what you thought I was going to do.” She chuckled and wagged her finger at the camera.
She straddled my limp cock and smirked at me, no longer looking at the camera. As soon as she felt me go hard again, she grabbed the knife.
The blade caught the overhead light, a sharp white gleam that carved a line across my vision. Emma held it steady, point hovering just above my sternum, her weight still settled on my hips. The cold steel kissed my skin, and I felt my body go rigid, every nerve ending screaming at the contact.
“You know what I realized?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Adam always wanted to break you physically. But that’s not where the real break happens.”
The knife traced a slow path down my chest, following the line of my sternum.
Not cutting—not yet—just the promise of it, the threat made tangible.
My heart hammered against my ribs, and I fought to keep my breathing even.
The pain in my wrists had faded to a dull roar, secondary now to the immediate danger of the blade.
“It’s not about the body,” Emma continued, her eyes never leaving mine. “It’s about the mind. About taking something you love and making you watch while I destroy it.”
The knife pressed harder, dimpling the skin above my heart. A thin line of blood welled up and traced a hot path down my ribs. I didn’t flinch. Couldn’t afford to.
“Jasmine’s watching,” Emma said, shifting her weight to better balance the blade. “She’s seeing everything. Every time you moaned, every time your hips pushed up into my mouth. She saw you come.”
I stared at the ceiling, at the water stains in the concrete. Old ones, new ones. The pattern of rust around the bolt holding my right cuff.
“You think she’ll still want you after this?” Emma asked, voice dropping to something almost intimate. “After watching another woman ride you? After seeing you hard for me?”
“Jasmine knows me,” I said, the words coming out raw but steady.
She moved back and forth on my cock, rocking her hips, almost letting me out before driving down, impaling herself. I watched her raise the knife. My body reacted to her tight cunt around me, and I came.
Then the knife came.