Page 45

CHARLOTTE

Song- DREAMS, SKUM, MEISYM.

D rago’s words echo in my ears. Can you handle pleasure?

As I pick up the toy, my body shivers in anticipation of my turn for the guard to add the lube.

As Richard walks over, I hold it up as he adds the clear liquid.

He leans in, the scent of his cologne filling my senses, and my body instantly tenses. Are those specks of amber in his eyes?

“Bigger end goes inside you, the other end is a suction, put that over your clit,” he whispers.

I frown. Why the hell is he helping me?

And his accent, it seems…less now? I pull back and look into his eyes.

Nerves and shame rock through me. As I open my legs and pull my panties open, my handler quickly turns his head away.

With trembling hands, I continue to pull the toy open, and a gasp involuntarily leaves my lips as I feel the cool object slipping inside.

I stop fighting the feelings swirling around in my body.

This is a game. This is not real. A means to an end. Just like everything in my life.

Breathing out through my nose, I insert it fully and relax, adjusting to it being inside of me. After completing that step, I carefully adjust the suction end to my clitoris.

I don’t feel anything yet, not a tingle, not a vibration, nothing.

As I squirmed in my seat, trying to get comfortable, a sudden twinge of pain in my cheeks makes me flinch.

A hard wooden seat with a spanked ass is a test in itself.

With a huff, I pick up the picture and study it. Easy.

Two D’s connected at the line and a couple of swirls.

My tattoos are far more intricate. I place the paper back down and put on my blindfold, picking up the blade before my vision goes dark.

“You were meant to wait for me to do the blindfold and hand you the knife,” a low voice grumbles in my ear.

I stiffen. Shit.

“I’m sorry.”

He grunts, and my stomach drops. Like any war, you need allies. Richard doesn’t seem to hate me, in fact, he’s helping me.

While I wait, with my left index finger, I practice on my right thigh the shape of the tattoo on my skin.

They never specified how large. An inch should do it.

About the same size as these guard’s cocks, most likely.

A few minutes pass, and I hear my guy clear his throat in front of me and then his heavy footsteps.

I wish the girl next to me would stop hyperventilating. I want to assess my surroundings, not listen to her gasp for air.

“I-I can’t,” she whimpers.

“Can I start?” I say loud enough for my guard.

“No. We wait,” he grunts back.

“You can do it,” her guard tells her under his breath, and she starts to sob.

“I don’t like blood. I’ll pass out,” she whines, and I tighten my grip on the handle of my blade.

I want this over with.

“The knife is sharp enough you won’t feel it too bad. And you have a blindfold on, you won’t see it,” I tell her, trying to hide the irritation in my voice.

“But, if it looks ugly, I’ll never be able to post it on my social media. I’ll lose so many followers.”

I choke, a rattling cough seizing my throat and stealing my breath.

Is she serious?

“How do you plan on posting from the grave?” I say coolly.

My guard chuckles and shivers run down my spine.

She’s the girl I want to be up against in the final. If I can get her there, this will be an easy win.

“Do it small,” I whisper.

The room falls back into silence, and I steady my breathing to calm down.

“You have five minutes. Starting now,” the distorted voice commands.

I jump in my seat as my toy comes to life. The low vibrations make me squirm painfully on my seat. I swear my lack of sight is heightening everything.

“Oh, shit.” I almost jump out of my seat as the suction part on my clit turns on.

I can feel it heating every part of my body.

My hands shake as everything quickly bubbles up inside of me.

“Remember the rules,” Richard tells me, and it’s like an icy bucket of water has been tossed over me.

I can’t come.

But how the hell do I stop?

Clenching my thighs, the pleasure intensifies, a deeper, more electric current surging through me.

I want to scream until my lungs burn and rip my hair out in clumps.

Squeezing my eyes shut, all I see is Jimmy. The pleasure building, that was the only time I’ve ever felt this sensation wash over me.

Shaking my head, I jab the tip of the blade into my thigh. The pain is distracting me from everything else.

A warm, fuzzy feeling washes over me as I tune into the stinging.

Even as my pussy throbs around the toy, I make my first line in my thigh.

Carefully. Delicately. But deep enough to really feel it.

As I finish it up on one side and remove the blade, I let out a moan and heat rushes to my cheeks.

Everything is more intense. Almost unbearable as my body begs for release.

I quickly get to work on the second side, finishing on the straight line in the middle. Lightening the pressure on the blade, I add the swirl details inside of the letters.

“I’m done,” I pant the words out.

As I do, it turns up again. Tossing my blade to the side, I put my hands on the edge of the table and squeeze, gritting my teeth.

I can hear the blood whooshing in my ears. It’s as if a million jolts of electricity are being injected into me.

I can feel everything.

With every tap of my feet on the ground, I fight to control the powerful rush of pleasure. The pain in my wound is so faint, it’s almost nonexistent. Just a dull throb beneath the surface. Pleasure, forceful and consuming, sweeps through me, igniting a fire within.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I see fireworks of color explode in the darkness behind my eyelids.

“No,” I whisper.

And it cuts out, right on the verge of orgasm.

Exhausted, I let my head fall onto the wooden table, the rough grain scratching my skin, while a flurry of tingling erupts across my body.

I feel weak and on the edge of exploding.

“Sit up. Blindfold off.” I hear him over the ringing in my ears and reluctantly drag my body up.

Squinting as the bright lights hit my eyes as the blindfold is removed, I look down through one eye at my handiwork.

The blood, a crimson stream, drips down my thigh. I lick my finger, tasting the coppery tang as I smear the blood away.

“Not bad,” I praise myself.

Clean lines. The swirls are not my best work, but I’d like to see how anyone could perform under those circumstances.

I pause as screams rip through the room, and I look to my left.

Panic girl is pale as hell looking at the mess she’s created on her thigh.

“You haven’t finished,” her guard says with annoyance.

The guard, a towering figure with hands clasped tightly in front of him, looms over her, and I feel a nervous lump form in my throat.

“I can’t do it anymore. Please. No more. It looks atrocious, and it hurts so bad.”

I lean over discreetly and take a look.

God damn.

It’s just a bunch of scattered lines and she cut deep too.

A heaving sob racks her body and tears stream down her face.

“The blood. Make it stop,” she wails frantically.

I can see the annoyance in the guards’ eyes. He glances at me, and I look away.

Frantically wiping the blood from her skin, she smears it, making a bigger mess as she watches it drip from her hands.

Too deep. Too messy. I shake my head.

“Contestant four, your time in the games has ended, and your fate is sealed. Please follow your guard out of the room,” the robotic voice tells us, and the other girls gasp.

I don’t flinch. I just watch.

I’m more pissed off that she didn’t make it through. The other three girls are tougher than her.

And these games aren’t easy. My weakness is the pleasure, for the rest of them it’s the pain.

Depending on the next rooms, I could be screwed.

The guard slips her blindfold back on and I look away as she’s taken through the door back into the first room.

Clever, killing them in the ice room.

It’s not long before the gunshot rings out. You can feel the fear in this room. It’s palpable.

“Congratulations. Please stay seated. Our doctor will fix you up now. Please enjoy some light refreshments before the next game. You’ll need the energy.”

A cold dread grips my stomach as the guard returns, the clinking of the bottles and rustling of the protein bar wrappers echoing in the silence.

This new guard, though shorter than mine, is powerfully built. His black uniform and mask adds to his imposing presence. His muscular figure fills out the long-sleeved black shirt, the material clinging tightly, revealing the definition of his muscles.

As I take the bar, I look up at him, his face a mask of indifference.

His uniquely pale gray eyes held a distant, almost vacant stare, revealing little of what was within. I’ve felt this unease before.

“How do I know it’s not poisoned?” I ask, arching my brow.

He rolls his eyes, his body language shifting as he leans in, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“Drugging would be a simple escape for you.” I swear there’s a twinge of Irish as he speaks. Almost as if he’s hiding it beneath the American accent.

He dishes out the rest of the bottles and snacks before returning to me with sterilizer fluid and a cloth. My mind races—did I hear Irish?

Do I recognize those eyes? Or are these games fucking with my head? All this thinking about Jimmy could be playing tricks on me.

“It might sting a bit.” I can hear the menace in his tone as I shrug, pushing back my chair.

The Irish twang is no longer there.

“Go ahead,” I tell him, keeping my voice neutral.

I swear he laughs as I let out a hiss of air.

“Told you.”

I keep my face straight. I don’t flinch, I just stay seated and let him do what he needs to do.

“Nice cuts. Very precise.”

Grabbing my water, I drink the entire bottle in one go.

Three more rooms to go, I guess…

Or, one room closer to my endgame.