Can't Use Festering Bloody Finger Novels & Stories

And I just watched. Watched and wondered what her skin would feel like under my fingers, how hard her nipples could become, what taste her pussy had.“Or maybe I should go straight to your pussy, and fuck it so hard I make it bleed?” I cupped her cunt with my hand and squeezed it. Feeling the wetness soaking through my gloves. “Pathetic little puppy.” I slapped the skin above her clit, making her gasp, “Already wet.”I removed my glove, too desperate to feel her without the material. I knew I was making a huge mistake, but still, I couldn’t stop myself.

He mutters under his breath and walks back to his room. I peel off the oversize jacket and make my way into the small kitchen to prepare dinner. But, it is so hard to concentrate when all that I see in my mind’s eye is the James mother. I don’t know what kind of state I would find my pack when I get back, and now all my effort are proving futile. Sudden pain brings me back to the present. I look down at my hand to see blood flowing out of my index finger. “Fuck.” I hiss, hurriedly dipping my hand into a bowl of water. The content of the bowl turns red immediately. My stomach churns when I see the exposed bone of my finger. I sigh, another scar.

His finger slipped into my hole and I cried out, the pain made me struggle, wanting to escape from his embrace but it was difficult. Xavier held my waist, his finger continued turning inside my hole, and his eyes were dark. I closed my eyes, tears rolling down my face as I felt the finger moving inside me... The pain from being penetrated roughly by his finger wasn't that intense, and soon, I was able to feel the pleasure, but my heart bled. I couldn't bear to face Xavier. I couldn't bear to see his expression, and my body's reaction made me feel even more bitter. I hated it... I should hate his touch... I was supposed to hate the way he touched me. But...

Her touch is soft, practiced. “Anywhere else?” she asks. I lift my right hand. She takes it, examining the bruises. “This looks like it hurts,” she says. “Like a bitch,” I mutter, trying to lighten the mood. She doesn’t laugh. “Sorry that happened,” she murmurs. “I hate that I can’t do more to stop it.” I wince as she tends to my fingers. The relief is instant, but fleeting. “You won’t be able to use this hand properly for a while,” she says, then adds more quietly, “Have you heard of the Dance of the Dead?”

Frank saw us looking at each other, and immediately started to tease me. “ Like me? She’s like a sister” I spoke. “ A sister? You don’t even share the same blood?”. He spoke back. “ Blood? “ He giggled , “ bro! You don‘t share the same blood, don‘t be silly?”. He pressed his hand on my forehead and smiled. “ Yeah! You’re the silly one “ I said, playfully removing his hand from touching my hair. What a stupid and overly weird thing to say; Lilla and I practically grew up in the same House, it‘s evident that she too sees me as her brother, even though we don‘t share the same blood.

"The sympathetic curse. The binding is transferring the injury directly to him. We need to act fast or the hand is lost completely." I winced as the pain grew more intense, the blackness creeping further up my finger. "The finger is rotting. The skin is black and dead. The binding is making it real. Elio's severed finger is killing mine piece by piece." Mira examined my hand with quick, practiced movements. "The necrosis is advancing fast. The ring on his finger is triggering the curse. We need to cut the connection. Emergency intervention now. I need a blade and clean cloth."

Eight years of this ag‌o‌ny, and the blood‌ moon al⁠ways made i‍t‍ worse. ​I cou​ld feel myself slipping bones shiftin⁠g painf​ul‍ly,‍ claws t‌hre‍ateni​ng⁠ to bur⁠st through my fingertips.​ Ano‌ther night o‍f destruct‍ion. Ano⁠ther night o​f barel⁠y holding on. ​Then I smelled it‍.

His broad back slammed into the alloy wall. A dull, heavy impact echoed through the chamber. He raised his claws and locked them around his own throat. A rough, broken sound forced its way out of his chest. Then his hand dropped violently downward. He was trying to break his own infected fingers. “If you’re planning to leave a finger on my Persian carpet,” Vivienne’s voice turned hoarse, “I’m deducting the cleaning f*e from your food budget. Double.” Cold. Controlled. Final. The pressure in the room snapped.

I have to use strong cleaning products to try and get rid of all the blood stains. As I dig the scrub brush into the floor, trying to break up the blood stains, I feel a stinging pain in my finger that makes me flinch back. I stop scrubbing and examine my hand. I bite my lip to keep from crying when I see my nail has completely fallen off. I’m literally falling apart. If I continue to live like this there won’t be anything left of me. “Who the fuck told you to stop working?” Growls a voice behind me as my hair gets yanked back making me whimper. “I’m talking to you!” He shouts.