Like Father, Like Son - 22

Declan dropped the woman onto the dirt floor of the mineshaft and quickly undressed, telling Nicky to do the same. Carefully folding his clothes, Declan placed them on one of the crates against the rock wall. Nicky followed suit. Then Declan walked back to the woman.  

Ignoring the moans that said she was regaining consciousness he tore off her clothes. There was no lust in his eyes as he did so, just raging hatred.

Nicky shuddered at the look on his face even as he wished Declan would move faster. He wanted to begin the game.

Once the woman lay naked at his feet, Declan pointed to the crates. Nicky understood what he needed, went to get the length of rope coiled there and tossed it to his lover. Declan bound the woman’s wrists tightly with half of it before throwing the tail end over a hook embedded in the rafter above him. He pulled and the woman’s body rose until she hung limply in front of him, her toes inches above the ground.

Declan slapped her face to bring her fully awake. She screamed, her eyes lighting on his face and then the knife he now held in one hand. His smile was vicious as he pressed the tip between her breasts, drawing it down slowly to her navel, a trail of blood following in its wake. He turned, beckoning for Nicky to come closer.

“You turn, your first blood,” Declan said, handing the knife to Nicky.

For a brief moment Nicky hesitated. The fear rolling off the woman was almost palpable. He dropped his eyes down. Her ribs stood out in stark relief. Taking a deep breath he pulled the knife’s blade between two of them, just under her breasts, and then between the matching pair on the other side. Her screams echoed through the shaft and he reveled at the sound of them.

It took half an hour before she died. After the initial cuts, Declan taught Nicky the uses of the other tools, how they could cause extreme pain without death following. Finally her tortured cries became low moans then whimpers. She died, her head dropping forward, her blonde hair falling against her mutilated chest, slowly turning red with her blood.

Nicky watched as she took her last, shuddering breath before turning to Declan. “That was…Damn, babe.”

Declan smiled, moving to him. His hands roamed Nicky’s blood-spattered body, stroking up his engorged shaft. Nicky growled low as he put his arms around Declan’s neck, rubbing against him almost frantically while covering his lips with his own. They fell to the blood covered dirt and like two rutting animals made love until both of them were sated.

“What a rush,” Nicky murmured when he could finally form words again. “Is it always like this?”

Smiling, Declan traced one bloodstained finger over his lips. “Better sometimes, sometimes not so much so. Now,” he eased himself up, reaching down for Nicky’s hand, “we should clean up and head back.”