“No, no, no, no…” she pleaded to the ceiling, her head rocking back and forth on the mattress as she unconsciously contracted her limbs against the ropes again.
“And you were chosen because you were what we needed.”
“NO!” Her shout was raw, breaking her voice, but he only tilted his head as he watched her. There was a moment where she became aware of his vantage point, her thighs trying to pull together to meet, but the bed was too wide for that. Her shaved cunt was on display for him, and for everyone watching on the cameras.
Which is what they paid for.
“Do you want to know what is going to happen to you?” he taunted her with the question, and her next groan halted in her chest as she licked her lips. Fear almost tangible in the air between them.
“Are… are you going to rape me?” The delicious trepidation in her question had his cock twitching.
“Not yet,” he answered, and she dropped back to the bed, a choked sob escaping her as she wrestled with the ropes that gave her no more room than his brother had allowed her. It was a pretty sight, and part of him hoped Marcus had signed into the feed on his drive North so he could enjoy the fruits of his labors.
“Let me go, please, I swear—”
“You won’t tell anyone? Go to the police? Etcetera, etcetera?” Anthony felt a smile on his lips as he leaned forward, her head lifting to meet his gaze. “Haven’t you realized you’re not going anywhere? That you won’t be able to tell anyone anything?”
“FUCK YOU!” she screamed, and her back arched off the bed as she did, her breasts angled towards the cameras in the ceiling.
“Later. There’s more to discuss first, Beth.” It was irritating to use her name, things didn’t have names, but he needed her attention. And it would take time to truly make her a thing, but he would. He always did.
“You can’t do this! You can’t — you…” She trailed off as the panic overtook her again. People were so fragile, their minds so narrow in their capacity to absorb concepts they didn’t want to. The girl was property now, nothing more than a body, and it was his job to break her mind just enough that she was pliable. Like making dough, he would knead her into the proper shape, beat her if necessary, all so she could rise to her new purpose.
“It’s already done. The sooner you accept your place, the better it will be for you. Though I must admit, I enjoy the slaves who fight.”
“NO!” she screamed again, and he felt the vibrations of the air down to his core, wrapping around his spine to make him shiver with the closest thing to delight he was capable. The girl was better than he had hoped, and he pushed himself out of the chair to stand at his full height. He was a tall man. Over six feet. And to a slender girl tied spread-eagle on a strange mattress, he knew it felt like twenty when he loomed over her. It was all about perspective. He worked out, wore suits, kept up appearances — all to maintain the image — but he knew that as aesthetically pleasing as he might be, there was no way to hide the creature under the surface.
At some point he had just ceased trying to appear human.
Others like him, and he had met many, worked hard to hide what they were, to suppress their urges to do the worst to other people. The money coming in every month from their little operation was proof enough of that, but as he stood beside the bed and looked into her face, he could tell that she wanted comfort. Wanted him to hide his true self for just a moment. Provide a glimpse of some humanity in the man standing over her, something to kindle hope, give her the glimmer of a light at the end of the tunnel.
That old, childish lie of ‘everything is going to be okay’.
It wouldn’t be. Not for her, anyway. Anthony would quite enjoy the things he was going to do to her.
“Are you afraid?” he asked, his voice as steady and calm as it always was.
“What?!” she screeched, but he doubted even she was so stupid as to misunderstand a question that simple.
Regardless, she was afraid. He could see it in her. She broadcasted her fear at top volume, muscles jumping, palms sweating, bound hands clenching and unclenching... but he wanted to hear it. “Are you afraid?” he asked again, maintaining the cold edge in his tone.
“I— yes...” she finally whispered the word, a hushed and broken sound that made his cock strain against his zipper.
“Describe it for me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Tell me what the fear feels like.” His first touch to the skin along her ribs made her jerk, pulse jumping at her throat, face turned away like she could avoid him. Eventually she would realize how pointless it was, and so he enjoyed it while he could. Soaked in her panic, watched the hope dim just a little inside her as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Just describe it.”
He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt fear. There had been plenty of times when he was aware of danger, more than once that he’d felt physical pain and known more was coming. But there was no surging heartbeat beyond the requirements of his body, no flash of something more in the vacuum inside him.
But she was feeling it, real fear, and he wanted to know what it felt like.
Moving his hand to her stomach he spread out his fingers, almost covering her taut abdomen as her muscles spasmed. “I’m waiting.”
“It feels like fear, what the FUCK do you want from me?” she shouted the question, the vibrations of her voice coming up through his fingertips just before he dug them into her skin. A whine of pain, her face contorting with it, but this was just the beginning. She would learn new levels of pain and realize that the way he pressed his nails into her skin was gentle. An introduction, a graceful easing in.
“Let me help. Is your heart racing?” As he asked, he relaxed his hand and moved it upward, between her breasts to graze her throat. The rapid pounding of her blood just under her skin was answer enough, but he wanted her to voice it. “Speak.”
“Yes.” Another weak-voiced concession from her soft lips.
He tightened his grip on her throat ever so slightly, just enough to threaten the airway. “And are you breathing faster?” he prompted.
The girl swallowed, the swell of it pressing against his palm. “I don’t want to die,” she whispered, tears brimming at the edges of her eyes, and he smiled.
It was his smile that pushed her into the first sob. Marcus had always told him there was something wrong with his smile — he could never do it right. But it had barely been ten minutes and they had already had so many firsts. A scream, a touch, half-moon marks embedded in her stomach, and then a sob. She was rushing things, making it difficult to savor each of them separately.
And look, now the first tears.
He ran his thumb up her cheek, catching one before he lifted his hand from her skin. Wide eyes watched him, pupils dilating as her autonomic nervous system kicked her into fight or flight. The slick moisture made his fingers rub together smoothly, and for a flash he wondered if her cunt were just as slick.
Could she be as excited by their interaction as he was?
It was unlikely, but Marcus usually chose well. The pain would summon a reaction from her and he couldn’t wait to find out what it was.
“It’s good that you don’t want to die. A strong survival instinct will help you to make smart choices.” Anthony wiped his hand on his pants, clearing her tears away. “And killing you would be such a waste.”
“You won’t kill me?”
He couldn’t help but smile again. “What fun would that be?”
“Oh God!” Another wail, and the tears were back as she pulled at the rope, ripping at her skin in her panic. Anthony watched her for a moment, imagining what that fear must feel like. Taste like. Was it coppery like blood? Bitter like a lemon?
Or was it as sweet for her as it was for him? Lush and rich like a sinful dessert.
The girl had done such a poor job of describing it and, if it would work, he would cut her open just to see the fear. To feel it like she did, if just for a moment. But… that wasn’t po
ssible. There was no way to experience what she felt, he could only see his side of the equation, and at least he could enjoy this.
“Oh my God, this can’t be happening,” she whined.
“Do you think your God is listening?” Anthony tilted an ear towards the ceiling as if he were waiting to hear an answer from the heavens. “Do you think he will save you?”
Her body shook, she was biting back the sobs that made her ribs quake. From somewhere inside her she summoned the strength to meet his eyes and he respected the effort it took. “What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice cracking again.
“Everything.” Reaching out he stroked her cheek, and then caught her chin when she tried to turn away, fingers digging into the bone as he made her face him. “And I will have it.”
Three
Beth
This had to be a nightmare.
Things like this didn’t happen in real life.
Beth closed her eyes as the man finally released her chin, and she tucked it against her chest, trying to wipe away his touch — as useless as the effort was. She knew he was still standing beside the bed, in a tailored suit that probably cost more than the rent for her shitty apartment in Santa Rosa. She could tell from the elegantly sterile room, and from the man standing over her, that he had enough money to do whatever he had planned.
Another sob threatened to choke her airway, but his eyes glinted whenever she cried. He clearly enjoyed it, and that meant she needed to stop.
Her head was just too damn fuzzy, her mouth too dry, and it was making it hard to think. The ropes around her wrists and ankles, combined with whatever was around her neck, only made it worse. She wished this could be a nightmare, that when she opened her eyes she’d be home. Safe and sound. Laughing about her ridiculous nightmare as she took the stopper out of a bottle of wine and poured until she forgot his cold blue eyes.
But it wasn’t a nightmare.
She knew that.
Which was why opening her eyes and finding him there wasn’t a surprise, but it did make something ache deep inside. He stared at her like a bug under glass, held down with pins instead of ropes. There was something off about him, more than just the fact that he’d taken her.
He didn’t feel… real, although his touch definitely had. It made her skin crawl, made her want to pull away even though the restraints made that impossible.
What do you want from me?
Everything.
The word echoed inside her like a funeral dirge. He’d implied that he wouldn’t kill her because it wasn’t fun, but when he was done with her she wondered if she wouldn’t wish for death.
“You can let me go.” She found enough of a voice to speak the words softly, as if she were speaking to a wild animal, but the way he looked at her answered her plea before he’d even spoken.
“That would be a waste of effort,” he replied. Almost robotic. That strange, cold tone remaining in his voice even as he stood and walked away from her towards a doorway that she guessed to be a bathroom. The sound of running water confirmed it, and she desperately pulled at the ropes again, even though her skin tingled and burned as she struggled.
He returned to her with a glass and the sandpaper scratch of her throat urged her to lift her head so he could press it against her lips. “Drink,” he commanded.
All of her panicked breathing had dried her mouth. The first wash of clean water on her tongue almost made her choke, but she managed to swallow. Again, and again, feeling the cool rush hitting her empty stomach, waking up the hunger she’d ignored in her terror.
Dinner.
She had missed dinner because she had never made it home after work — but when had he taken her? Turning her head away from the glass, she swallowed and tried to focus on her blurry memories. The evening hadn’t felt any different from a normal one. She had walked towards her car, parked in the public lot like it always was, and then… nothing.
Nothing except waking up in this godforsaken bed, with the devil sitting at the foot.
Only now the devil was holding a half-full glass of water, staring down at her like some science experiment.
“Who are you?” she asked, speaking easier now that her mouth wasn’t a desert.
“Your current Master. You should try out the word, get used to it.”
“No.” Beth felt her nails pricking her palms as she balled them into fists again, but her answer only seemed to entertain him.
He placed the water glass on the bedside table before he walked to a long poster on the wall across from the bed. Resting a hand near the second line, he pointed at it: You will address me as Master. Everyone else as Sir or Ma’am.
As hard as it was to focus, she tried to read the long list, but the first one drew her attention and kept it. It was as sterile as he seemed to be, and just as terrifying.
You are not your own. You are property.
“I’m not property,” she argued.
“You are. You just haven’t accepted it yet, but I will help you understand.” That odd curve of his lips happened again, something she might call a smile on anyone else — but not on him. When he did it, it wasn’t a smile, it was something more sinister. Like an animal baring teeth before it tore your throat out.
“I don’t want to understand. I want to go home!” Beth tried to make her voice strong, to make it as decisive and calm and collected as his, but there was still a tremor when she said the word home. A flash of her mom, her dad, her sister and brother and their families. Her two-year-old nephew. It weakened her, made her shudder, and so she tried to push them away as his fingers drummed against the poster.
There were weapons, tools, on the walls on either side of the list, and she knew without asking that they were meant for her.
She wanted to be brave as he lifted his hand from the phrases, taking a few steps before plucking a long metal thing from the wall. Two prongs loomed at the end, and when he wrapped his hands around the base a loud, electric snap crackled through the room.
Fuck no.
“I prefer to give you the rules up front, then you’ll know exactly why you’re being punished if you disobey one.” Casually, he walked towards her, resting the terrifying thing on the bed beside her leg. Shrugging out of the suit jacket, he dropped it into his chair and then worked at the cuffs of his dress shirt. Unbutton, roll-up sleeve. Repeat.
Never breaking eye contact as he prepared to hurt her.
“Please don’t do this.” There was no strength in her voice as he picked up the tool and the bright flash from its tip was accompanied by another loud crackle of electricity. Her body jerked involuntarily, terror rolling through her.
A cattle prod. That’s a fucking cattle prod.
The name of it registered, even though the knowledge was useless.
“You can keep begging.” He trailed the twin prongs at the tip down her thigh and she whined, waiting for the pain. “But read the first rule aloud.”
Lifting her head once more she stared at the stark black letters, but her mouth wouldn’t form them. I’m not property. I’m a person.
This can’t be happening.
Sudden, blinding pain zapped her thigh, the pop of the cattle prod firing almost lost in her involuntary yelp. It had been quick, sharp torment, and now the muscle was sore beneath it, the skin tingling. The man sighed, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked her over before he met her gaze. “I do not enjoy repeating myself, that is another lesson you can learn from this. Now, read.”
The cattle prod touched the inside of her other thigh and Beth jumped. “You— you are n-not your own, you are property.”
“Good. Now read it in the first person, not the second. I want to hear you acknowledge the words.” He tilted his head towards the wall, prompting her unnecessarily. “Go on, slave. I am not…”
Clenching her jaw, Beth bit back the tears as he called her slave again. What had she done to deserve this? Why had he picked her? This was—
The sharp stab of electricity on
the delicate skin of her inner thigh forced a scream. It ripped out of her, straining her throat, her legs trying to close. To protect herself.
Impossible.
The fucking metal prongs slid higher on her inner thigh and panic owned her completely as she shouted out the words he wanted. “I’m not my own! I’m property! THERE! Just stop, please don’t.”
“Was that so hard?” he asked, a smile that was not a smile on his lips. When she only glared at him, he dug the points of the prod into her skin, pressing until they hurt all on their own, his cold smile never faltering. “Second rule.”
Beth swallowed, looking at the poster again. “I can’t do this, I can’t be a slave, I swear this—”
Somewhere, someone was screaming. It wasn’t until the too-loud sputter of electricity stopped that she realized it was her. She’d never heard her own voice like that. It sounded like someone dying, and he watched her with fascination as she gasped for air. Eyes never wavering, not even a hint of temper, just a serene enjoyment of her suffering. “By all means, continue disobeying me. If you pass out from the pain, I’ll just wake you up so we can finish.”
He’s insane.
She was tied down to a bed in front of an insane man holding a fucking cattle prod. Skin burning, muscles twitching, she wrapped her hands around the ropes like they could help her. “I will address you as…”
“Yes?” The cattle prod moved to her hip, just on the inside of the bone. Normally, she was terribly ticklish there. Even the brush of a finger could have her collapsing into giggles, but nothing happened. Fear and pain made the idea of laughing impossible.
“I will address you as Master.” Never. “Everyone else as Sir or Ma’am…” She swallowed as the words sunk in. “Are there really others here?” Others like him? Just the idea had her stomach turning as he moved the metal tips in tiny circles on her skin.
“Not right now,” he answered, and then his eyes slid down her body, landing between her thighs. “Keep going.”
“I will kneel in all rooms, and again whenever you enter.” Licking her lips, she twitched with the urge to deny every word leaving her lips. I’m just reading, I’m not agreeing. These are all lies. Lies, lies, lies.
Breaking Beth Page 2