I dip two fingers into the cooling cum smeared on his skin and push them between his teeth, forcing him to taste what hewas too late to avoid.
Now he’s fully awake.
And we can really begin.
He gags on my fingers, vomiting the moment I pull them free.
I step back just in time to avoid the splash.
Fucking disgusting.
Tom sobs, his pleas falling on deaf ears as I watch him through the hollow gaze of my mask.
“What do you want?” he yells, panic rising in his throat as silence stretches between us.
“You touched what’s mine,” I say, my voice calm, deliberate. No need to hide it—he’s not leaving here alive. “Now you pay the price.”
“What are you talking about?” he whimpers, snot trailing from his nose as he breaks apart in front of me.
I don’t answer. Instead, I walk—slow, purposeful—towards my table of tools. He watches, weak and wide-eyed, as I run my fingers over the gleaming metal.
I choose the serrated knife. His gaze locks on it.
I grin.
Then I laugh, sharp and cold, remembering he can’t see the thrill on my face beneath the mask.
Silent as a shadow, I return to him.
“You touched her with this arm,” I murmur, unclasping the restraint around his right wrist. He swings at me—desperate, sloppy. Useless.
I’m too far gone now.
“I’ll start here.”
The first shallow cut beads red. My cock stirs, straining against my jeans once more.
His screams are beautiful—each one an aria, rising with every drag of the blade. When I reach bone, he passes out.
Pathetic.
I grab the smelling salts again, wafting them beneath his nose until he jerks awake, sobbing, raw.
Then I continue.
Slowly, methodically.
A machete would be faster. But I have time. And I want to savour this.
5
My Poor Angel
Eli's Search History: how many calories in a packet of hobnobs?
Emily
WalkingintoworkonMonday, I’m immediately tackled by our receptionist, Kayla. Her tear-streaked face blinks up at me as she throws her arms around my shoulders.