Page 13 of Cruel Delights
Through his silken flesh. Straight into the hardened tissue. So deep, my teeth sink down and blood fills my mouth.
The man hasn’t stopped screaming. Loud, obscene, sonorous with torment.
I’ve bit his dick off—or as close to biting it off as possible. He’s so shocked, so frozen and encapsulated in abject pain, that he hasn’t let go of my hair. He hasn’t even moved. He’s stuck screaming out to no one but the sea of spectators in the audience.
Finally, I’m free. I pull myself off him and fall backward onto my ass. The man collapses. The security guards rush toward me, likely to apprehend me. Punish me somehow.
I don’t want to find out.
As they launch at me, I anticipate them and roll to my right. My body tumbles across the stage ’til I’m able to get back on my feet. Ditching my heels, I take off barefoot. Not toward the door we came through, but a different door.
The emergency exit door that’s glowing from the right side of the stage. My only chance at freedom. Chaos is breaking out behind me. I don’t glance over my shoulder to check. The cacophony of sound tells me all I need to know.
Between shocked gasps and murmurs from the audience, the angry growls of the security guards, and the pained screams from the guy whose dick I bit off, I’ve left a huge mess.
But I couldn’t care less. I keep running. I shove the emergency exit doors open and tear off into the night.
4Kaden
Moth to a Flame - The Weeknd & Swedish House Mafia
“Well,” says Mr. Vanderson, grinning broadly, “that was quite the show, wasn’t it? A bit gorier than usual, butveryentertaining.”
His wife purses her lips and pulls her shawl tighter about her shoulders. “They’ve certainly gone for shock value.”
“That couldn’t have been real,” says Talia Weinberg. She blinks around the table with big cow eyes and long lashes. “Klein didn’t really get his…appendagebitten off, did he?”
From where he’s seated, Nolan snorts sipping his whiskey sour. “No, Talia, the gallon of blood he lost was simulated. It was ketchup.”
“Really—”
“No, really, you twit.” Nolan shakes his head and swills the rest of his drink. Ignoring the hurt flickering onto Talia’s face, he turns to everyone else at the table. “I spoke with him a few minutes ago. He’s got to have forty stitches on his schlong just tomaybeget it reattached the right way.”
Mr. Vanderson strokes his grizzled, grayed beard. “I do wonder… getting your Johnson bitten off like that? What will it be like in the aftermath? Will it ever function?”
“Harold,” hisses his wife.
“What, June? I’m simply wondering. As all men at the table are.”
Several men nod their heads. One or two’s faces turn green with nausea. Nolan interjects again.
“You know it won’t be. I’d be surprised if he ever gets a hard-on again. His dick is forever broken thanks to that bitch.”
“Who was she, anyhow?” asks Mr. Newton, pushing his glasses up his round nose. “I’ve never seen her at the Market here or the Mill in Northam. She’s certainly never been to any of the prior shows.”
Mrs. Vanderson’s expression goes tart. “She was one ofyourkind. Wouldn’t you know?”
When her husband shoots her a pointed look, she falls silent. However, her tart countenance remains. Mr. Newton gives nothing away. He sits, cool and levelheaded, picking up his Scotch to nurse in hand.
“This might surprise you, June,” he says. “But, no, we don’t all know each other. And it would do you well to refrain from your prejudice. It speeds up the aging process.”
“Well!” she gasps, tossing her dinner napkin.
The table erupts into dramatics. Mrs. Vanderson cries out for an apology. Mr. Vanderson tries his best to shush and sedate her. Mr. Newton stands his ground and goes on to remind Mrs. Vanderson about her husband’s many affairs. Talia and Nolan break out into an argument about the sky being blue… or some other juvenile topic.
Isit and watch from my seat at the end of the table.
Two shows in one night. Both uninteresting. Both a chore as I sit and wait them out.