been moving her hips steadily back and forth—here, in this very public place. Her face flushed and she looked down, not wanting to meet his gaze or the eyes of anyone around her. The sun had long ago set, and the pale moon glowed down, turning the tower to a dark silhouette.
“Come on,” he said. “Ceremony’s over.”
He led them through the thinning crowd away from the tower. Each step, each sway of her hips, sent urgent little flashes through her body. So absorbed was she in her own discomfort and in the task of walking without letting the spikes poke her that she didn’t even notice the direction in which they were traveling. Her clit throbbed; when he took her hand and urged her to speed up, each footstep sent sharp twinges straight to her most sensitive place.
The buildings around them changed. They seemed to be getting well away from the tourist areas, into a grimmer industrial neighborhood. The streets grew darker, and she grew more aware of her surroundings. “Anthony?” she asked nervously. “Are we going the right way?”
He said nothing, but urged her onward. Her apprehension grew and she clung tightly to his hand. “Where are we going?”
He slowed, eyes scanning both sides of the street. He spied a dark opening between two tall brick buildings. “There,” he said.
He seized her by the hair and dragged her into a narrow alleyway, hemmed in on both sides by dank, rough brickwork. She cried out in pain and surprise, struggling to break free. He tightened his grip and dragged her farther into the alley, where he slammed her roughly against the damp brick wall.
“What are you doing? Let go of me!”
“I am horny. You are my sex slave. I am using you,” he said. His fingers caught the neck of her dress. He yanked it down over her shoulder, exposing her bra.
She kicked and fought wildly against him. Her hands sought to push him away. “Let go of me!” she cried.
One hand dipped into his pocket, and came out with the knife, a long chiseled blade folded back into a black handle. He unfolded it and laid the blade flat against the sweep of her collarbone. “Hush.”
Her breath caught in her chest; her protest died stillborn on her lips. She froze, immobile as a statue.
He slid the knife slowly along her skin, as gentle as a lover’s caress. The cold steel blade slipped beneath the strap of her bra. The barest hint of motion, and it sliced effortlessly through the narrow strap. The bra slipped away with a whisper of sound; her bare skin shone in the dim light.
His hand folded around her breast. He shoved her hard against the wall; hard, uneven brick pressed into her back. His hand squeezed and twisted roughly. She cried out. “It hurts!”
Instantly, the tip of the knife came up to her lips. “Shh,” he said. The blade caressed her lips softly. His fingers tightened hard on her breast, making her shudder and moan. “You want it, little whore. Your body is begging for it. It’s not your fault; the cream I put on you is doing this to you. When the numbing agent wears off, the other ingredients take over. That’s why you can’t stay still, and that’s why you need something inside you. You need to be fucked, little whore. Just relax and let it happen.”
She looked into the dark, still pools of his eyes. “No…please…”
“There is nothing you can do to prevent it,” he said. “You are a sex slave.” The tip of the knife traced her lips. “Kiss it.”
“No, please…don’t!”
His hand squeezed her breast roughly, fingers digging in hard. She gasped.
“I won’t tell you again. Kiss it.”
She closed her eyes. Slowly, her lips parted. The tip of her tongue touched the flat of the blade. A strange, erotic thrill shot through her. He’s making me do this, she thought, I have no choice, it’s not my fault…
Her lips parted wider. Her tongue caressed the blade, and soft, moist lips closed around it. She moaned, her breath fogging bright metal.
“Good.” He drew the
“Come on,” he said. “Ceremony’s over.”
He led them through the thinning crowd away from the tower. Each step, each sway of her hips, sent urgent little flashes through her body. So absorbed was she in her own discomfort and in the task of walking without letting the spikes poke her that she didn’t even notice the direction in which they were traveling. Her clit throbbed; when he took her hand and urged her to speed up, each footstep sent sharp twinges straight to her most sensitive place.
The buildings around them changed. They seemed to be getting well away from the tourist areas, into a grimmer industrial neighborhood. The streets grew darker, and she grew more aware of her surroundings. “Anthony?” she asked nervously. “Are we going the right way?”
He said nothing, but urged her onward. Her apprehension grew and she clung tightly to his hand. “Where are we going?”
He slowed, eyes scanning both sides of the street. He spied a dark opening between two tall brick buildings. “There,” he said.
He seized her by the hair and dragged her into a narrow alleyway, hemmed in on both sides by dank, rough brickwork. She cried out in pain and surprise, struggling to break free. He tightened his grip and dragged her farther into the alley, where he slammed her roughly against the damp brick wall.
“What are you doing? Let go of me!”
“I am horny. You are my sex slave. I am using you,” he said. His fingers caught the neck of her dress. He yanked it down over her shoulder, exposing her bra.
She kicked and fought wildly against him. Her hands sought to push him away. “Let go of me!” she cried.
One hand dipped into his pocket, and came out with the knife, a long chiseled blade folded back into a black handle. He unfolded it and laid the blade flat against the sweep of her collarbone. “Hush.”
Her breath caught in her chest; her protest died stillborn on her lips. She froze, immobile as a statue.
He slid the knife slowly along her skin, as gentle as a lover’s caress. The cold steel blade slipped beneath the strap of her bra. The barest hint of motion, and it sliced effortlessly through the narrow strap. The bra slipped away with a whisper of sound; her bare skin shone in the dim light.
His hand folded around her breast. He shoved her hard against the wall; hard, uneven brick pressed into her back. His hand squeezed and twisted roughly. She cried out. “It hurts!”
Instantly, the tip of the knife came up to her lips. “Shh,” he said. The blade caressed her lips softly. His fingers tightened hard on her breast, making her shudder and moan. “You want it, little whore. Your body is begging for it. It’s not your fault; the cream I put on you is doing this to you. When the numbing agent wears off, the other ingredients take over. That’s why you can’t stay still, and that’s why you need something inside you. You need to be fucked, little whore. Just relax and let it happen.”
She looked into the dark, still pools of his eyes. “No…please…”
“There is nothing you can do to prevent it,” he said. “You are a sex slave.” The tip of the knife traced her lips. “Kiss it.”
“No, please…don’t!”
His hand squeezed her breast roughly, fingers digging in hard. She gasped.
“I won’t tell you again. Kiss it.”
She closed her eyes. Slowly, her lips parted. The tip of her tongue touched the flat of the blade. A strange, erotic thrill shot through her. He’s making me do this, she thought, I have no choice, it’s not my fault…
Her lips parted wider. Her tongue caressed the blade, and soft, moist lips closed around it. She moaned, her breath fogging bright metal.
“Good.” He drew the
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