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Chapter Sixteen

Ren

I hold my nose as I watch the fucker slip out the door and into the darkness. Then my hands move to my pants, removing them and then my shoes. Walking naked into the kitchen, I grab a steak knife from the drawer. Tonight I’m carving... creating under the moonlight as he comes undone for me. I was hoping it would turn out this way, that he would willingly give me the chase... play into my hand. , And, oh how beautifully did he react. Always so willing, even though he hides behind resistance. On my way towards the door, I grab the beer on the table and finish it, letting him run as far as he can since he will only circle back to me .

And that makes this game so much better... so much more fun... because there’s no escape, and I win. I smile as I twirl the steak knife in my hand, picturing his face as I fuck him and carve him up, his pain and ecstasy blending into one beautiful color. My dick hardens between my legs, and fuck, I’ve never been this aroused by someone. So moved by someone... I don’t know if I want to keep him or break him. But I guess we will have to see if he survives me first.

Walking towards the door, I close my eyes, breathing in the cold air, welcoming the cool breeze that regulates my burning body, and listening to the woods that surround us, when a thought comes to my mind... one of those moments that sticks with you.

I run after the new maid—my new play toy—and her giggles fill the woods. Mom is away for business and won’t be back... but my blood freezes when I catch up to the woman. A knife protrudes from her chest when she turns around. Blood pours from her mouth.

“Ren,” she whispers, her hands trembling as they reach toward the knife. “Hel—“ she tries to speak, but I pull out the knife and bring it to her neck, my eyes never leaving the pair watching us.

The approval in them as I slash her throat open from ear to ear. Melanie or Marie—not sure if I remember her name correctly—collapses on the ground, gurgling on the blood. Choking. Her teary eyes remain on me, and I watch as the light fades from them. My eyes lock on the river of crimson flowing from her neck stilling, as her perfume overpowers the smell of dirt and blood.

“Good boy,” she says as she tussles my hair before me, pulling me towards her.

Instantly my dick reacts, and I hate how easy it’s become. It’s instant... it’s conditioned... I’m branded...

I come out of the trance as I fall on the ground, tripping on a dead branch. I notice I’m deep in the woods, and then I hear a branch snap from behind me. And just as I turn around, my face connects with a branch and I stagger back, falling on my ass as the steak knife cuts me as I fall.

And I laugh as my Thorn steps into view, “That was unexpected,” I say calmly .

But before I can rise, his foot is on my chest. And it’s invigorating... my dick reacts to his command, and I hate it.

“I hate you,” he sneers, and for me, being a man of control... I’m about to play my most risky hand. Burying the steak knife in the small pile of dead leaves and debris, I pray he doesn’t realize that I’m playing him. I want this. I wonder what he would do. “I hate you,” he repeats.

I smile as I taste the blood that’s streaming into my mouth from my nose. “You say that, but what will you do about it? Wanna know what I did with my sickness? Killed it. Killed it while it bore our abomination. I killed them both.”

Byron’s face shows pure, utter horror. He shakes his head. “What happened to you?” he asks, his voice firm, trying to hide his concern for me. But I should be the last person he should pity. I didn’t need it. Didn’t want it.

“Nothing. I was just born this way... or created. Still debating on that one. ”

Byron presses his foot on my throat, thinking he’s won, and I’ll let him taste his victory. Let him get to the high of his glory. “I’ll ask you again. What do you plan on doing?” Come on, Thorn. Learn a little bit.

Take. Take. Take.

And he contemplates fighting his moral compass... his desires, and I wonder which one will win—his head or his dick. I bet it’s the latter. There’s no denying the bulge between his legs. I see it, and I’m sure he feels it.

“Ahh,” he screams at the sky as his foot presses deeper. “How does it feel to not have any control?” he asks.

And that causes me to laugh.

I laugh so hard that I feel tears pricking the corners of my eyes. If he only knew. But even with what little I’ve said, he should be able to piece it together. Or maybe I’m giving him too much credit.

“What’s so funny?”

“You.”

That earns me a kick. And then another.

“How does it feel?” he asks again.

But all I can do is laugh.

I laugh because I never actually had control... that’s the ugly truth. For as long as I can remember, I was shackled to her... even now, I remain shackled to her... to my void... to my compulsion. I just pretend that I’m in control. I guess I am—in a way—of others’ lives. And I guess that’s why I do what I do. Because it’s the only thing I can control. How it ends.

I open my arms, as he looks down at me, chest moving up as he takes me in. “Why are you sick?” he chokes out a sob, touching his chest. “Why am I sick?” He looks like a wounded dog. “Why do I—“ he stops himself as his hand moves to his cock.

Causing my smile to widen.

“Maybe I’m your cure. Maybe I wasn’t infecting you but curing you,” I say, looking up at him as he continues to battle his morals and his needs.

Byron runs a hand over his head before kicking me one last time. “I should do to you what you’ve done to others.” His voice shakes as he lands another kick. “Me. You didn’t cure me. You infected me. ”

Then, whatever restraint kept him in place unleashes, and his hands move frenzied to release his cock from his pants. Grabbing a fistful of my hair, he doesn’t even look at me. “Open your filthy mouth so I can fuck it and make it my cum rag,” he growls.

He doesn’t wait for me to follow his command, his dick pushes into my mouth, and I look up at him and feel something.

Proud .

Tears sting my eyes as he pushes into my mouth, my lips stretching over his thick length, and using my hair, he moves my head. Not looking at me, his eyes look up at the sky, but I look at him. And my heart feels like it grows inside, because I was right about him, and nothing is more beautiful than him at this moment. The shame, the desire, the need, pain, and disgust all blend to form the perfect picture that my hands twitch to create, but I bite back the urge and let him fuck my mouth.

His hips move into my face with such force as he hate-fucks my throat, causing me to gag and cough around his dick. I never thought I would ever be in the position where I let another man choke me with his cock, but what can I say—sometimes you gotta lose some. And if I’m being honest, I’m actually enjoying this... enjoying Byron. My hand moves up his leg as he goes deeper, up his v-cut, and I moan. I fucking moan, and so does he.

Then he looks down, and I feel small dots of rain but it’s not raining. It’s Byron’s tears which makes the moment sweeter. Using my hand, I cup his balls, softly massaging them as I let him get his way with my throat.

“I fucking hate you,” he groans out.

“Sure you do,” I coo around his length before pulling away, licking the precum that had escaped from his slit. “But your dick loves me.”

Once again, he tightens his hold on my hair and slams his dick in my mouth. This time I have no room to breathe. I choke on my spit, on the lack of air. My hand moves to the ground, searching for my ace, as he holds his cock in my throat.

“Fucking—“ he pushes deeper, still holding my head in place. “Choke.”

Ropes of warm cum invade my mouth, and this is a first for me. My hand encloses around the handle of the steak knife, and just as he’s about to pull out, I bite down—stabbing the knife into his upper leg. Not deep enough to kill or truly hurt him, but to show him that I’ve been in control. Not him.

I look up to see him looking at the knife in his leg. Pulling back, I place a soft kiss on the tip of his dick before twisting the knife in his hip, causing him to scream out in pain.

“How did it feel, Byron? How did it feel to taste control...”

Byron falls to his knees when I pull out the knife and stand, placing the blade on his throat, and slicing just enough to make it burn.

“You look so beautiful when you shatter. Truly.”

Using my free hand, I rip off his shirt. Then, on his chest, I begin to carve… a thorn, right in the middle.

Mine .

The knife doesn’t do justice to my work, the lines jagged due to the dullness. But he takes it like a trooper.

“You know, I thought I would have to stop creating now that I’m kind of a fugitive—but this is fun,” I say, spreading the blood across his chest.

Both of us are on our knees, but only one has submitted.

“Thank you for being my muse, inspiration, and canvas,” I say, as I finish the only thorn that sticks out of the thin stem I carved into his chest.

“My Thorn,” I whisper, before leaning in, using my tongue to clean off the blood on his chest, and my hand moves down to his hardened cock.

“You enjoy our game so much, but no more fun for you. Now it’s my turn,” I say before standing, my thumb moving to his lips as my other hand strokes my cock. Blood covering my pierced member.

“See this?” I show him the ladder under my cock. “I did them for you. So you can enjoy it. Mouth or ass?” I ask, giving him a choice—but I didn’t care about his answer. He took too long, so ass it is.

“Get on all fours, pet. Lay down and let your owner claim you.”

He fights it, but I slap him. Grabbing the knife again, I place it on his throat. I don’t actually need him on all fours. Positioning myself behind him, I spit into my free hand while my other hand remains on the knife that sits against his neck.

Using as much spit as I can, I lube up my cock, then spit some more on my fingers and massage it around his tight hole. His body shivers against mine.

I don’t go hard. I take my time, letting him sit in his shame under the stars. I make love to him. Corrupting him, I press into his back, my nose running along his skin... poisoning him. Forcing his will to bend to mine. Slowly, I push harder against him, my knife still on his neck as I kiss the length of his neck. He moans softly, and I do too. We are both here. Present. Enjoying it. And I feel something strange—something that makes this too much. Gritting my teeth, I pick up my pace and fuck him harder.

“Fu—“ he begins to say, but the pain quiets him. I feel the warmth of blood on my hand, so I drop the knife, afraid I’ll kill him. I push his face into the dirt and fuck him until there’s nothing left but cum and shame.