“Get her the fuck off that thing right the fuck now you little shit.”
Flustered and with shaking hands, he started to undo the straps on her ankles and I rushed over to catch her. Her eyes finally focused on me, and tears of relief came into her eyes. She couldn’t stand, so I lowered her to the floor and removed the clamps and rubber bands. As blood rushed into those areas, she screamed wordlessly through the ring gag, which I then removed. She curled up into my lap, and I tore the butterfly off her.
“I’m sorry,” Quentin said, “It’s not my fault. She said I could. And she came A LOT. See, the horse is covered in it.”
A glance at the horse showed this to be true. Dark lines were traced down the wooden sides, and a puddle of her juices and what appeared to be urine was pooled under the thing. Not that that made it any better. I looked back at Quentin.
“She said she was a fucktoy,” Quentin stammered defensively, “that I should treat her like a toy. That’s all I did. She agreed! It’s not my fault! She liked it!”
All at once I saw red. I laid Megan down on the mattress and despite my gentleness, she winced in pain. The next thing I was aware of was that I had Quentin pinned to the wall with both hands sinking into the folding flesh of his neck. He was turning as red as Megan’s tits were, and he clawed uselessly at my hands but we was as weak as I was murderous.
Megan saved him by bringing me back to reality. Looking back, I think I might have killed him if she hadn’t.
“Mike,” she said weakly, “Don’t. Mike, please, let’s just go.”
I knew she was right. They’d put me away forever for this. The whole thing would come out. What kind of jury would sympathize with a man who sent his woman out for **** and then killed a man for taking up the task? I gave one more hard squeeze of his esophagus to satisfy myself before slamming him into the wall to release him.
Quentin fell to the ground sputtering and ****. My eyes turned to the camera equipment, and I could see that he’d been recording all of this, although thankfully my attempt to strangle him was out of frame. The camera was wired to the computer, so the device itself meant nothing to me. I walked over to it, turned it off and approached the computer.
“Don’t :::cough:: don’t touch that.”
I ignored him, but was surprised at the sudden possessive anger in his voice as I approached the desktop. I could see why – it was a beast. I can’t imagine how much he’d spent on it. Part of me wanted to brutally destroy it in ****, and part of me worried that there might be consequences to that act.
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