I thread the needle, letting the suture dangle low, gliding the thread across her skin. Margarite sighs and shifts, the bindings at her wrists and ankles creaking as I set the needle aside, laying it on a sterile sheet of plastic from my briefcase.
“Tell me what you're doing right now,” Margarite oozes, her voice like needles against my skin. She says she wants to suck my dick, but am I safe in letting her? If her voice is this rough, how are her teeth going to feel? There's a chance I could walk out of here with a serious injury or even sans dick. I shiver as I flick my finger against the stainless steel surface of the Wartenberg wheel, watching it spin gently in front of my face. The tiny spikes catch the fading light from outside, like some sort of monstrous ferris wheel.
“I'm thinking about the violet wand kit I have, how dangerous it could be for you.” I take the wheel and run it along Margarite's skin. If this were an ordinary Wartenberg wheel, it wouldn't hurt in the slightest. The points would be dull, stimulating her nerves and drawing a strangely pleasant sensation along their path. In fact, the wheel was invented for the purpose of testing nerve reactions and sensitivity, and definitely not for what I've done with it. The points on this particular wheel are sharpened to fine points, like little knives, leaving dots of blood as I graze them across Margarite's sunburnt flesh. She giggles maniacally as I do this and once again I'm reminded how terribly badly I'd like to gag the bitch. “How you could die from an electrical jolt to the heart.” Margarite sucks in a whispered breath, joy evident in the simple sound. Make no mistake: Margarite wants to die. She simply doesn't want to do it herself, so she puts herself into situations where it's possible, even likely, to happen. I've had this niggling feeling for years that one day, she'd ask me to do it, to kill her. I'm not even certain that I could, and so far, she hasn't asked, but I always feel like it's on the tip of her tongue. Granted, the violet wand kit I have isn't very dangerous, but we pretend that it is, that the little wand with its glass tubes and champagne bubbles of electricity hurt. Yes, we take more risks than some, using it on Margarite's back, her arms, her nipples, but so far we haven't had a single incident. I'm very, very careful with my clients. Every once in a while the demon asks for more than it can reasonably handle.
“And then you're going to fuck me, aren't you, Lucas?” she asks, licking her lips with an audible slurping sound that makes my chest tight with irritation. I hate Clarice Braxton, yes, but not in the same way I hate Margarite. She makes me … uncomfortable … like a gazelle lying prone near a lioness that's just eaten. Yes, she might be sated for the moment being, but there is nothing on this earth stopping her from snapping my neck. “Until I'm nothing but a drooling, whimpering heap on the floor?”
I ignore Margarite's question, pressing the wheel into the side of her neck, her cheek, moving around to her lips and enjoying the slight blush of blood across her mouth. She locks her eyes on my still flaccid cock, staring hard, like she can make me stiff with the look of a serial killer gazing upon her victim.
“You're not a real man, are you, Lucas? Do you want to know why I held off on the fight today? Because I knew that if I tried, I would win, and I only like to fuck real men, Lucas. Men who can take me on, physically and mentally. You? You're nothing but a puff. A Goddamn, fucking cream puff. A pussy. A wimp.”
I slap Margarite across the face, hard, enjoying the crack of flesh on flesh. The beast cackles, the demons howl, but my cock stays soft. I grab my client's chin and turn her gaze back to me, ignoring the smirk on her bloodied lips.
“If you don't shut your mouth, Margarite, you won't get the chance to find out.”
“Oh, is that a challenge?” she asks as I rise to my feet and throw the wheel onto the floor. It skids across the concrete, spinning in a slight circle before hitting the damaged drywall. “Are you going to prove something to me with that stringy dick of yours? Maybe slap it against my wet pussy? I'm sure that'll feel nice, Lucas. Don't worry if you can't get it up.” Margarite starts to laugh again and my vision narrows to a single focus. I drop the chastity belt to the floor and wrap my hand around my cock, pumping furiously, begging my body to respond to my touch. The sound of Miss Simmons' voice makes me crazy inside, drawing my motions into a frenzy of anger and frustration, but it's only when I let my mind wander to other faces, that I'm able to get hard.
I snatch the knife from the ground, moving around in front of Margarite so she can see me full and gloriously erect. I spin the knife around between my fingers and kneel in front of her hungry gaze, making full eye contact, so she knows I'm serious.