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But I looked at her and shrank. I couldn’t do this.
Never give up. Never give in.
If I died, I’d leave her alone, at the mercy of Gregor and his client. To be gang raped by however many men he decided would do the job. To be hurt also – he’d wanted me to do that too.
The speaker buzzed as if they were about to say more. Decide. I dropped to one knee beside her and roughly undid the neck strap of her bag to show them I meant business, that I was doing as they’d asked.
“What are you doing, Pieter?” said Gregor.
“I’m taking off the fucking bag! You want me to get it up when she looks like a rag doll?” I looked over at the dark-tinted window. With the lights on high, I couldn’t see who was behind it. “I need my women to look like they’re human. Besides, blow jobs from sacks aren’t my kink.”
His laughter echoed a little. “You are brave if you wish a blow job from her, today. Keep going.”
I was an evil man, but I wasn’t this evil. I couldn’t rape her without trying to comfort her. I slipped the bag off and watched the rest of her hair spill over her back. If I was quiet, maybe they’d not pick up my words.
“Hey.” I smoothed my palm up her back to her nape, sadly admiring the flow of light as her hair shifted under my touch. She was exquisite, like a butterfly trapped in a jar about to be chloroformed and pinned down with needles.
Was it to be me, or them?
Some days you had to be bad to be good.
I pretended to gather her hair into my fist. In truth, I held her hair loosely, but I dragged her head back.
Pretty eyes, gray-green, and her face shone with the tracks of tears. “I’m so sorry this is happening.”
I bent down closer until our faces were inches apart. I brushed her forehead with a light kiss. I wasn’t a gentle man, normally, but I could fake it.
“You have to be brave. I’m Pieter. You know me. I’m going to do what they ask me to because if I don’t, they’ll get other men to do it. Understand, me, bokkie?”
I waited for her reaction, prayed I could get through to her that I didn’t want to hurt her, that I was still on her side.
“Yes.” Her answer was so soft. More tears slipped down her cheeks. “Thank you.”
My heart broke more than a little then.
How I needed to kill somebody.
I shook her head with my fist. “I have to pretend to be hard on you. Trust me. I’m going to...” Not fuck, don’t say that to her you domkop. “To make love to you. No matter what I say or do, remember, I care.”
That was the best I could do, the most delay I could risk. Dying now would be a mistake that she would regret, not me. I’d be gone from this earth.
I pushed her face into the floor, stopping a fraction short of her hitting it with her forehead.
“Keep your fokken head down!” I stepped back as I unzipped my pants then nudge-kicked her thighs apart. “Open those legs.”
She yelped as my toe dug a little too deep into the back of one thigh.
Every movement was calculated to look violent but stop short of hurting her too much. Yet I couldn’t fake it totally or they’d know.
Thank god I had an erection, or close to it. Disgust vied with the necessity of this act. I had to do it. I grabbed my cock and massaged up and down, never more aware of needing to perform in my life than now.
Forget them. Forget they were watching.
Impossible. No, doable. Look at her. I concentrated on her, on the soft curves of her body. The swell of her breasts. Luckily my cock wasn’t governed by my rage. I soon had a hard-on good enough to at least enter her.
Fok. They wanted pain. I stared at her there, on hands and knees, tense as hell, sobbing with each breath, and with her wrists chained to the floor. I steeled myself to hurt her. They probably expected me to grab one of the whips off the wall. My ex had liked pain and I’d given it to her when she asked for it and not just because I was a kindly husband. I can do this.
Every time I went to make myself go to the wall, I froze up. I shook my head.
