I reach out and run my fingers gently over her palms, mimicking the same motion I used to stroke my cock a few moments ago.
She screams out in terror.
“Shh, Jessa,” I say.
Her breath hitches again at the sound of her name on my lips.
“Who are you?” she screams again, tears pouring down her face.
“I am Knox.”
Standing just above her, she looks up and can finally see me.
“You—you’re the janitor.”
“That’s right,” I say to her, still stroking her beautiful, porcelain hands.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she pleads.
“Your performance tonight was exhilarating. Your best yet.”
I link our fingers together and the smooth velvet of her palm is exactly as I’d predicted. Her finger tips are soft but they bare slight calluses on them from the constant friction they get, gliding over the ivory keys.
“I’ll do whatever you want but, please, I’m begging you; please don’t kill me.”
I ignore her plea as I don’t want to lie to her, but I don’t want to tell her my plans either. Instead, I lean my head over her outstretched hands and run my face across them; the way a kitty might butt its head to their master’s hand when they want to show them affection.
She senses the aberrant behavior and I know she is thinking I am an unbalanced individual. She couldn’t be more incorrect. In this moment, with her cradling my head in her palms, I have never been more centered.
“Caress my face,” I command her.
Her only answer is a terrified sob.
“Or I will kill you right now,” I promise.
My breathing intensifies as she does what I ask. She curls her fingers, running them down my cheeks, over my eyes, down the bridge of my nose. I am lost in pleasure and therefore caught off guard as she takes my nose between her thumb and forefinger, squeezing it until I feel a pop.
She’s expecting outrage from me that never comes.
“I understand why you had to do that. You had to try to get away or else you will always feel regret.”
I dip my head and capture her index finger with my mouth. As the melody continues to play, I lick each of her fingers to the beat.
I am not sure when it happened, but I am so enthralled with the taste of her that I don’t realize she goes into a state of shock. My eyes shoot to the top of her head before peering over to look into her stare. She doesn’t move; doesn’t blink. She only lays there as flat and stiff as the board beneath her.
I return my gaze to her hands as I push my jeans down to my knees. I place my long, hard length in between her hands and force them to close around me as I begin to fuck her hands.
It isn’t going to be long; I’ve been waiting for this moment for a very long time. Just as I did in the theater, I move to the sound of her sweet melody. As the rhythm increases, so do I. At the peak of the crescendo, I come undone, spreading my cum on her skin; coating her hands. I revel in the sight of it.
I have one final lick of her fingers, wanting the taste of us both swirling over my tongue. When I’ve had my fill—though, if I’m being honest, I could never get enough—I pull my pants back up and straddle her body on top of the boards. I pat her cheek a few times, trying to bring her back from the state of shock that she is in, with no luck.
I place my hands over the length of her throat and begin to squeeze. She doesn’t fight me. She continues to lay there calmly as I squeeze her neck a little harder. Her breathing becomes labored and I see a tear es
cape from her eye. As it runs down the side of her face, I do something I’ve never done before.
I loosen my grip.
She lays still, staring at the ceiling, her body still stiff on the board beneath her. I climb down off of her and return to my chair.