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We went to the other man. Drake went about things much more mechanically than I did. The oil made the man cry out, and Drake had to unzip the guy’s pants before pulling his privates out. This man’s yells weren’t as cathartic as Branson’s had been for me. This guy was a sick psycho, but I didn’t know him. I hadn’t been hurt by him. There was no connection. Drake, however, had been damaged by him. His story hadn’t mentioned specifics, but the pain and anger I’d seen in his eyes had been enough for me to see what he’d gone through.
The guy kept begging Drake to stop, but he moved with a clinical precision that reminded me that he’d told us he worked in the medical field. Shit, was he a doctor? This had to go against whatever oaths they took, but then again, this tattooed guy had done things far worse.
When Drake snapped the band closed around the guy’s crotch, our victim threw his hooded head back and wailed. By the time we returned our tools on the table, both men writhed in agony. Branson was frantically rubbing his thighs together in what looked like a futile effort to work the band off his body. His genitals had gone from a deep violet to a strange grayish color. Damn, those rubber bands worked fast.
I wanted to stay and watch, but my cuff buzzed and a message appeared. Well done, Dahlia. I am impressed. You may return to your room.
The door to the viewing room clicked open, and Drake walked out. I followed him and closed the door behind us. Blessedly, whatever microphones were in the playroom were turned off. The sounds of their grunts and moans of agony vanished as soon as the door latched. Drake stood at the wall, holding himself up and breathing heavily.
My mind spun to what I’d done. The violence and rage. The lack of compassion or shame.
Another emotion was rumbling in my mind. One that made no sense. No matter how I’d tried to ignore the feeling, it wouldn’t go away. Did that make me crazy? As bad as the men in there? The familiar threads of panic and doubt wormed their way into my mind.
Drake studied me as he caught his breath. He must have noticed the warring emotions on my face.
“What’s up? Are you okay?” he asked.
“Umm, I’m not sure,” I answered and rubbed my legs together to try and ease the ache.
He dropped his hands and turned his body toward me. “I get it. That was rough. You want me to walk you back to your room?”
My eyes darted to the window, at the men still suffering there. Something had happened in my head. Something that was both terrible and wonderful. A shedding of fear, and pain and a blossoming of… something else. If the emotion had been a whisper yesterday, now it was wailing at me.
“It’s the adrenaline,” Drake said, taking my hand. Warm tingles ran up my arm from his touch. “Doing stuff like that, it makes you feel some pretty intense emotions. It’s okay.”
My gaze met his. “I feel powerful. For the first time ever. This place is awful, but… Even though Sam is controlling me, I still feel like I’m the one who’s in control.” I debated how much to tell him. “It… gets me hot. Really hot. I can’t explain it or rationalize it.”
Drake nodded, his breathing catching in his throat. “It does the same for me. It’s like I want to fuck anything that’s walking when I’m done. No one else has ever said they feel the same before. I thought I was a freak.”
I could see in his eyes he was serious. Another connection between us. His gaze moved to my lips for one heated moment.
Before I could stop myself, I rushed into Drake’s arms and pressed my lips onto his. It was my choice to kiss him. My decision.
My power.
He didn’t hesitate. His tongue pressed against my lips and into my mouth. I sucked greedily at it and ran my hands down his chest. My fingers slipped over the cotton of his sweatpants, going straight for what I needed.
His cock was rock hard already. He wanted me, and knowing the men were right there behind us slowly being tortured sent me over the edge into insatiable hunger. I tucked my hand under his waistband and grabbed his dick.
Drake groaned into my mouth as I stroked him, my movements jerky and uncontrolled. There was nothing sweet or beautiful about this. I needed it.
Drake’s hands slid under my shirt and across my breasts. I gasped at the touch of his skin. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had someone touch me like this. Every relationship, they’d taken what they’d wanted, and I’d given it. Now I was the one who was taking this time.
It was amazing.
I pulled my lips from his and whispered in his ear. “Make me come.”
Drake stared into my eyes and pushed his hand down my pants. In a second, his fingers slid into me. My eyes nearly rolled back in my head as he pushed his fingers in and out of me, fucking me with his hand. His palm gently slapped against my clit with every thrust.
I jerked at his dick, frantic to get him off. The feel of him in my hand, strong and warm, along with the knowledge that those sick fucks in there were slowly losing their own cocks, made me even hornier. I wanted to feel him come. I wanted to give him as good as I was getting.
And it was good. He knew where to press, how to use his fingers and palm for maximum effect.
We stared into each other’s eyes as our hands moved furiously under our clothes.
His free hand clutched at my ass, pulling my hips closer to his other hand. He curled his fingers inside me, furiously working my g-spot, and the pleasure almost made my knees go weak. It was all I could do to stay standing and not collapse to the floor.
A few moments later, Drake’s hips thrust against my hand. A deep, satisfied grunt erupted from his throat and an instant later his cock pulsed and throbbed in my hand as warm cum spurted out across my fingers.
