Chapter 47

I pushed open the door to my workshop, the scent of metal and the hum of machinery greeted me like an old friend. The room was a sanctuary, a place where I was the master of my domain, where the chaos of the outside world faded into insignificance. Abbie’s father, a man who embodied the very essence of human filth, was bound to a chair in the center of the room, his eyes wide with terror.

“Apologies for the wait,” I said, my voice calm and collected. “There were… matters that required my attention. But rest assured, you have it now.”

I could see the fear in his eyes, the realization that he was at my mercy, and it sent a thrill through me. This was where I thrived, where I could channel my rage and frustration into something productive, something that served a greater purpose.

As I began to set up the torture session, the familiar rush of adrenaline coursed through my veins. The cameras were rolling, the live stream to the red rooms was active, and I could almost hear the collective breath of my followers as they waited in anticipation. I slipped on my gloves, each movement precise and deliberate, savoring the moment before the real work began.

But just as I was about to commence, the door to my workshop creaked open once more. I turned, ready to unleash my wrath on whoever dared to interrupt, but the words died in my throat.

Cora stood in the doorway, her eyes locked onto mine. There was a fierceness in her gaze, a determination that took me by surprise. She stepped forward, her presence commanding the room, and I found myself moving toward her, drawn by an invisible force.

Without a word, I pulled her into a heated kiss, our lips crashed together with an intensity that left us both breathless. She whispered against my lips, her voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart.

“I wanted to join you for this,” she said, and I felt a surge of possessive pride.

I searched her eyes, looking for any sign of hesitation or doubt, but all I saw was resolve. She meant it; she wanted this. She wanted to stand by my side, to be a part of this dark, twisted world that I’d created.

I took her hand, led her to the camera broadcasting the livestream, and presented her to the faceless masses that made up my following. “Meet my Queen,” I announced, my voice echoed through the room.

The chat erupted with a flurry of messages, the viewers expressing their shock and admiration. Cora stood tall beside me, unflinching under the weight of their gazes.

Together, we faced Abbie’s father, and a sense of anticipation washed over me, a vibrant energy that buzzed in the air. This wasn’t just another session; this was a statement, a declaration of our unity in this dark, twisted dance.

I squeezed Cora’s hand, and as I reached for my tools, I knew that this was only the beginning. Together, we would redefine what it meant to be the King and Queen of the red rooms.

I guided Cora’s hand, her fingertips grazed the cold steel of the knife. “You have to be precise,” I said, my voice a low murmur that seemed to resonate with the undercurrent of excitement in the room. She nodded, her eyes never left the blade as she mimicked my movements, tracing the sharp edge with the utmost care.

“Like this?” She asked, her tone both eager and hesitant. I couldn’t help but smirk, leaning in close enough to feel the warmth of her breath on my neck.

“Exactly like that,” I replied, my gaze wandering from the knife to the man bound to the chair before us. He squirmed, eyes wide with terror, and I felt a surge of satisfaction knowing that he understood the gravity of his situation.

Cora’s focus was unwavering, a testament to her strength and determination. I found myself captivated not only by her beauty but also by her unflinching resolve. Together, we were a vision of darkness and desire, our chemistry undeniable as we prepared to carry out our grisly task.

As she made the first cut, a thin line of crimson bloomed on the man’s skin. Cora’s breath hitched, but she didn’t falter, her hand steady as she followed my lead. I watched her, the way her lips parted slightly, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, and I couldn’t resist the pull between us.

“You’re a natural,” I told her, my voice filled with admiration and something darker, something more primal. “But remember, it’s not just about inflicting pain. It’s about control, about making it last.”

She nodded again, her eyes locked onto mine as she embraced the lesson. Cora’s next incision was deeper, more confident, and the man let out a guttural moan. A drop of blood trickled down his chest, following the contours of his trembling body. A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I took in the scene before me. Its raw, brutal beauty tore at my heart, filling me with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. It had been far too long since I had done this.

I leaned in, my lips brushed against her ear as I guided her through the process, detailing each step with an intoxicating mix of clinical detachment and lustful enthusiasm. Cora’s responses to my instructions were both sharp and languid, a dichotomy that mirrors the delicate dance between pain and pleasure.

“Good,” I whispered, my hand covering hers as we carved intricate patterns into the man’s flesh. “Now, show me how much you truly understand the art of pain.”

With those words, Cora transformed before my eyes. She took the lead, her movements fluid and sure as she wielded the knife with a disturbing elegance. It was clear that she was not just playing along; she was fully immersed in the experience, relishing the power and control she held over this man’s life.

Our bodies were close, our movements synchronized as we worked in tandem, the air thick with tension and desire. I could see the flush in Cora’s cheeks, the spark in her eyes, and I knew it was not just the thrill of the torture that had her so wound up. There was a connection between us that transcended the physical realm, a shared understanding that bound us together.

As the night wore on, we lost ourselves in the gory spectacle, each cut and slice brought us closer to the edge of ecstasy. Our actions were a dance—savage, rhythmic, and charged with an undeniable sexual energy.

By the time we were finished, the room resembled a scene straight out of hell, lit by the soft glow of computer screens and bathed in the coppery scent of blood. But amidst the chaos and carnage, there was a sense of unity and completion, a testament to our dark, passionate collaboration.

The live stream continued to broadcast, our audience silent, awed by the ferocious display of loyalty and love that had played out before their eyes. This was our world—raw, unfiltered, and utterly intoxicating. And as we stood there, covered in the evidence of our brutality, I realized that there was nowhere else I’d rather be, and no one else I’d rather have by my side. Together, we were invincible, a perfect pairing of darkness and light.