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“Not talking?”
I think he squats because his voice is right next to me and I can hear the sound of his breathing.
He traces my breasts and pinches my nipples hard. I bite back a cry. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
“Your new master’s busy, but he said I can play within reason. Nothing sexual beyond touching. So I thought we could talk instead.”
Plastic rubs against plastic as I recognize the unmistakable sound of a cap being taken off a bottle.
“Water?”
I don’t answer, don’t respond. Brutus holds it to my lips and I refuse to drink, even though it almost kills me not to. I concentrate instead on how numb my ass is.
“No?” He upends the bottle spilling it over me, and it drips between my thighs to the floor. “Can’t wait for your cunt to get wet for me. Then again… I don’t really care.”
A surge of violent hate rips into me, and I almost swing my head to smash his, but I don’t.
What I do need, however, is to pee. The guard took me yesterday… or was that this morning? And I don’t know if he watched, but I think I’ll wait for him. At least with his touches, it’s more about grazing the forbidden rather than this stomach-turning, almost loving touch Brutus gives before he inflicts pain.
He’ll definitely watch and get off on it.
I try to find the happy place in my head, but it’s getting smaller and smaller. To me it’s soft, fluffy white bed linens, clouds, warm fur to snuggle against.
Thoughts of Orion just made me want to cry when I used him as comfort before, so now I save those thoughts of him for when I’m alone, when things are cold and dark and empty inside. Orion appears, like a giant, a warrior god, and he’s cutting swathes of monsters down to get me out.
That’s why thinking of him makes me want to cry.
He’s not here and…
I’m vaguely aware I’m splintering, floating off into different directions, losing myself in the maelstrom of thoughts that cascade through me.
A shoe connects with my ribs and I gasp at the sudden burst of pain that follows. Then he does it again, the pain ricocheting over the top of the first spurt of agony. “Stay here with me, Dakota, and listen up. It’s nothing sexual now. But I’m getting my go. You’ll be spending a night getting broken in by your new master, and then I get to hammer it all home. Funny, eh?”
A wave of nausea rocks me, nausea that has nothing to do with the boot to the ribs or sitting chained up for so long.
“You fucked that Carter guy. Which is fine, but you ran off with him. Not so fine, cunt. So we’re teaching you a lesson. Your master’ll fuck you senseless, then give you to me, and then we’ll parade you on the auctioneer’s stage. He’ll be selling you to the highest bidder. You’ll enjoy the pleasure of being slave to whoever buys you for that week. So be ready for a lot of abuse. And then… this is the best bit, your master’ll take you back and keep you until he’s done, then you’ll be kept naked as a slave to any Collector’s whims. Be ready for films, photo shoots, trains, gang bangs. We’re going to stretch that ass and cunt. As I said… free use.”
I don’t say a word, but I can feel the tears spill and I choke down a sob as my throat closes up.
“Still nothing. Silent is good, screaming is better. But you’ll remain down here until we’re ready for you. Hopefully your guard won’t go too far. He’s got a real sadistic streak when he’s allowed to let loose. I’d hate to be you if he forgets himself.”
Then he kicks me again, harder this time, and I almost vomit. But somehow, I keep the burn of the bile down.
When he leaves, I wait, channeling blankness. Plain sheets, printer paper. A white nothing. I’m trying not to stir myself into a frenzy.
But it’s hard because every sound makes my skin prick like I’m being stabbed with burning knife tips.
Something in me snaps after the guard comes back and takes me to the bathroom, After he tries to cop a real feel, I bite him. When I try to run, my legs don’t respond. They cramp and I tumble hard to the cement floor, scraping my shins and palms—he left my hands uncuffed so I could take care of my business.
Before I can get up, he grabs me by the hair and punches me in the face. Pain explodes everywhere, white-hot and ringing, making my ears numb. Then he throws me down and rubs my clit so hard I make a sound of pain, trying to curl in on myself.
But he won’t let me. He picks me up and throws me into the wall, and then he follows, his bootsteps heavy.
The man kicks me. Ribs, breasts, pussy, thighs, stomach, he keeps doing it until someone—Brutus—stops him.
“Enough. Hurt, don’t damage. What’s wrong with you?”
“Sorry, she tried to bite me.”
