Page 28 of Ghost Ribbon

“What is this?” Ilya asked, tilting his head like a curious puppy.

“Your new experiment,” I replied. “Have your way with him. Make it last.”

Ilya’s face lit up like a child on Christmas morning. He bounced from one foot to the other in an almost comical little dance, hands clapping together rapidly. “Really? For me? Oh, you beautiful bastard!” He crouched down beside Brad, poking the broken leg with a finger and eliciting a cry.

Brad tried to crawl away but Ilya simply stepped on his hand, grinding his boot down until the jock screamed again.

I leaned against the wall, watching with detached interest as Ilya began his work. He was in his element, a vicious little devil with a genius for pain. He dragged out his favorite set of tools. “Let us see how long you can stay conscious,” Ilya chirped happily. “I have been dying to test this new acid mix. It eats through skin so slowly. Like a thousand little ants chewing from the inside.”

He demonstrated on Brad’s exposed arm, dripping a careful amount of the clear liquid onto the skin. The acid began to burn, bubbling and eating away at layers of flesh. Brad wasn’t having a good time. Ilya clapped again, bouncing excitedly. “Yes!”

Ilya picked up a needle, heating it over a small flame until it glowed. “This one goes under the nails. Or maybe in the eyes? Decisions, decisions.” He settled for sliding several heated needles slowly under the fingernails of Brad’s unbroken hand, twisting them gently while describing exactly how the nerves were frying. The screams were animalistic.

Brad would suffer for days, maybe weeks if Ilya got really creative.

My little star was safe from this particular insect now.

Chapter 8 - Marco

I stood in front of the mirror in my bathroom. I would normally have been disgusted by now. But tonight, it wasn’t my face I was staring at.

It was the marks.

His mouth had been on me. Alexei had overwritten Brad’s violence with his own.

I was ashamed, but my cock twitched in my pants anyway, growing half-hard just from looking at the evidence of his mouth on my skin. I hated myself for it.

I raised a hand anyway. My fingers brushed lightly over the darkest mark right below my jaw. A soft whimper escaped me before I could swallow it. My hand trembled as I traced lower, following the trail he had left.

I couldn’t stop.

My palm slid slowly down from my neck, over my collarbone, then lower across my chest. My breath grew heavier, unwanted heat warring in my gut until my fingers brushed over the growing bulge in my pants.

I rubbed myself through the fabric. The friction felt good, too good. I pressed harder, palming my cock while staring at the dark bruises on my neck. This was wrong. He had hurt me. He had marked me without permission. And here I was, getting hard from it.

I was getting fully hard now. I shoved my pants down just enough to free myself, my erection springing out into the cool air. I wrapped my hand around it, my eyes staying locked on my neck in the mirror.

I started stroking, twisting my wrist on the upstroke the way that always made it worse. Precum dripped over my fingers. My free hand moved back up to my neck, fingers pressing hard into one of the fresh bruises. The pain bloomed. My hips snapped forward as I fucked my fist, chasing the feeling while the marks stared back at me.

My legs trembled. I leaned closer to the mirror, breath fogging the glass. My balls drew up tight before I felt my release spill over my hand.

But once it was over, the high crashed hard.

I looked up at my own face in the mirror and once again felt disgusting.

What was I doing?

I yanked my hand away from my cock like it had burned me. I quickly turned on the faucet, washing my hands aggressively under the scalding water, trying to scrub away the evidence of what I had done. Soap. More soap. I scrubbed until my skin stung. But the disgust stayed. It lived under my ribs now, I couldn’t even look at myself anymore.

I turned off the light and retreated to my bed, curling up under the covers with my knees drawn tight to my chest.

***

I woke up at 3:17 a.m. The pain was back and it wrapped around my chest. It always came at night, but that was good, because I couldn’t let my parents know. They already worried so much. If they heard me now, they would come running, and I couldn’t bear adding more weight to their shoulders. I pushed myself up.

The room tilted. My legs were weak as I swung them over the side of the bed. I paused, gripping the edge of the mattress until the dizziness eased just a little.

I moved, one hand trailing along the wall for balance. The stack of pills sat on the corner of my desk in a small plastic container, the emergency ones Mom insisted I keep close. My hands shook as I opened it, the pills rattling loudly. I counted them out carefully, swallowing them dry one by one. They tasted bitter on my tongue, but I forced them down anyway.