He lay there. Perspiration from the hot night trickling down his chest and sides. The moonlight peering through the dusty window. How had he gotten here? This all felt so wrong...yet. The other feeling was so hard to name.
Surrender? No. He had never surrendered to anybody. Not now, not ever.
Abandon? No. Abandon felt good.
Fear? No, fear left a lump in the throat and a chill on the skin. He looked down, he was nude. Reaching down to cover his nakedness startled him. His wrists handcuffed above his head clanked loudly when he pulled against them. A light shone out from under the door. Someone else here. Not alone. The door creaked open, his eyes blurred momentarily in the painfully bright light. The door closed. Shapes shifted in front of his eyes. The bed sagged. Someone sat down by his side.
Curiosity? Perhaps a little bit but the other feeling was darker, more sinister than that. A hand caressed his abs and he shivered. His eyes would not focus on this other being. It was as though he would not let himself see who it was beholding him in this state. How unusual. The hand moved across his chest awakening forgotten feelings deep down inside. Feelings that welled and surged and pounded in his head. The hand vanished and the fingers glanced across his lips. He opened his mouth and caught one, sucked it in and licked the tip. The woman gasped, the hand pulled away. "Come back." He called aware that she sat by his side. The shapes still danced before his eyes. Gentle pressure on his mouth. He recognized the touch of a woman's lips and kissed back. He closed his eyes and felt the brush of his eyelashes on her face. Damn she was close! Concentrating he could feel the warmth of her body hovering over his muscular chest. She pulled away, he opened his eyes. He blushed as he felt her eyes over his body, so bare, so exposed. He moved his hips and legs in turn to cover himself with shadows yet the instant he did, her hot hand grasped his thigh and pulled him back. His breathing sped up. She moved her hand towards his hips. "Who are you?" he gasped throwing his head back as contact was made with that part of his that wanted her most. He thrashed wildly, it had been a long time and the build up of frustration was forcing him down into a chasm from which there was no return. A sharp pain opened his chest, probably a fingernail he reasoned. Her wandering hand left him alone for a brief moment, letting him catch his breath. What was that sound? Like shaking a snow globe. His skin around the cut burnt in the night air. He fingers found the cut once. He bucked, as terrible pain shot through him then was gone. He gasped in both pleasure and pain. As he bucked he had entered her. Dammit, she was doing this on purpose. She raised the razor in the moonlight. Still deep within her he struggled and writhed. The razor came down pain flashed before his eyes causing him to buck again. Blood replaced the sweat in thin riverlets down his chest and sides. That sound again, her hand touched the cut, like fire it burnt then stopped suddenly. The smell. Salt! She was rubbing salt into his wounds. Why? Did she think he'd stop for some reason? He'd had a few drinks at the bar and then ended up here, had he picked up a psycho? The moonlight cut through the window and hit her face side on. He struggled to get away. "You! But you're ...her." She cut him again and he thrust madly into the air. Anything to prevent more salt but still the wound burned and still he thrashed. She started to cry out. No it wasn't who he'd thought. She would never be that sick, that twisted, that sadistic. And that definitely wasn't her voice but it did ring a few alarm bells. "Who are you?" he grunted bucking like a rodeo bull. Well aware that he couldn't stop she reached over and turned on the light. "NO! NO! NO!" He cried out. Freezing mid-thrust. "You're younger than my daughter, you're one of her friends. For god's sake, you went to the same school as my niece and you're one of her friends. How could you let me do this?" The razor sailed down again, slicing dangerously close to his nipple, she leant down to lick the blood then rubbed salt through it with her thumb. Pain racked his body but he did not move. She glared at him, dug her fingernails into the cut and tore. He yelped in pain and thrust. The salt fell and he bucked. "This is so wrong! No one will ever forgive me."
Guilt! That was the feeling so heavy in his heart.
Guilt. A part of him had known all along who she was. Again and again she slashed madly at his chest and abdomen forcing him higher with every cut. Blood spray covered them both but each cut drover her further into her frenzy. She screamed as she made the final cut and he exploded inside her.

Salty tears ran from his eyes. She climbed off him and lay beside him for a little while. Her warmth was comforting. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this," she whispered in his ear. Fresh tears filled his eyes. "Don't cry, you'll spoil the moment." She sat up and unlocked the handcuffs. He let his arms fall, making no effort to control them. She sat next to him still teasing his body with her fingers and this time he did not resist. She had not long since knocked the salt shaker over in a fit of passion and it glistened on the floor under the light. She picked up a pinch and threw it over her shoulder. She slid her undergarments, then her trousers on and laced her boots while sitting beside him. She tucked the razor blade into her bra and kissed him once on the lips, a gentle kiss much like the first one. She stood and made her way to the door. He pulled himself up to a sitting position and covered himself with the sheet, he felt so dirty, so used. So weak... he hadn't been able to resist a young woman. He watched her silhouette turn and disappear down the corridor .
"farewell, my big red machine."