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Chapter 22

“Done,” he whispered. “Sticky as hell. Such a mess. But what a good party. Maybe next time you can help me.”

Following his sexual act with himself, he cleaned up his guy-glue with paper towels and a spray bottle of disinfectant. The room smelled like cock-juice and Pine-Sol.

Then he told me, “I’m taking a shower. Don’t think about getting free. The knots I made at your wrists and ankles are pretty tight.”

* * * *

I listened to a shower’s spray for the next ten minutes, Kane humming something from an animated Disney movie as he washed himself clean. Of course, he was right about the knots at my wrists and ankles. They were secure, tight against my flesh, leaving me as his prisoner inside his cabin and under his malicious care.