Breaking Beth

by Bene, Jennifer

  The glinting glass from the cameras caught the light, but they had faded into the background of her mind. If she thought too much about them, she would worry again about how comfortable she had grown in her nakedness — so she didn’t.

  She refused to think about them and the faceless monsters behind them.

  Refused to look at the spotless room, at the pristine linens that were free of the reddish stains she’d left on them. Instead, she focused on her wrists. The bruises, the dark spots where she had rubbed the skin raw against rope and leather, the places where she had bled in pinprick dots. Her ankles matched. Her knees and shins were mottled with bruises. Those were things he couldn’t erase. Couldn’t clean up.

  How much can you take before you snap?

  His voice again. A question he had asked her the day before, just before he’d spread the bar between her legs a little wider, forcing her pussy against the thin beam of wood she straddled. Pelvic bone crushing sensitive flesh as her body weight rested on it, arms bound behind her back, toes aching as she tried to lift herself the tiniest amount. It had hurt, and then hurt worse. There always seemed to be worse.

  Pain. Always more pain.

  The torment on the wood had been in this room, as had so many other terrible things. Soft bed or not, he planned to give her more of the same. Every single day.

  She had no idea how much time had passed since he had taken her. How many days. No clocks, no windows, no daylight, no night. Just the lights, on or off. Just the erratic meals, or hollow hunger. Just time spent alone, or time with him.

  How much can you take before you snap?

  How much can you take?

  How much?

  She didn’t know. The questions spiraled inside her, edged like sharp knives, piercing her with tiny nicks. Death by a thousand cuts. She didn’t know how much more of this she could take, how many more hours, days… but she wasn’t broken yet. Wouldn’t stop fighting until she couldn’t anymore.

  To stop fighting, to give in, that would be the worst thing of all — and she wouldn’t do it.

  * * *

  The bed shifted, her arm tugged out from under the pillow, and Beth groaned as she fought to stay asleep. In sleep there had been an endless peace, like sinking to the bottom of a warm, dark pool. Serene and quiet. But she felt strong fingers press her wrist against something, and then the crackling rip of Velcro tore her eyes open.

  A dark shape above her, backlit by the light from the bathroom, but when he lifted his head… he looked wrong. Shoulders too broad, hair too short.

  “You’re awake. Good.”

  No. His voice was wrong too. Panic flared to life inside her, finding new fuel as he pressed a knee to the bed to lean forward and wrap a black strip around her thigh. “Stop,” she half-demanded, half-begged the stranger above her.

  Because that’s what he was, a stranger. A new threat.

  She tried to raise her hands but found that one was tethered to the thigh closest to him by a matching black strip. Her confusion allowed him to stretch the Velcro and attach it to her thigh. “NO!” she shouted, desperate, sitting up to rip at the slick fabric around her other wrist, but he pulled her hand away, grip too strong to fight.

  Had he sold her already? Was this it?

  “Please, don’t…” she begged as he forced her arm to her thigh, joining it to the wide strap by the attached cuff, leaving her defenseless. No matter how she twisted her hands, she couldn’t break free, couldn’t bend her fingers enough to get a grip on the Velcro to pull it open.

  The man walked away from her, towards the door, and for a moment she thought he might leave — but then the lights came on. Vicious, too bright. She flinched away from them, dropped back on the bed, clenching her eyes tight.

  “Beth.” It was the surprising use of her name that made her look at him again. Stunned by the sound of it, because there had been so many degrading names spoken by the other one in the days he’d had her, but never her name. Only once, that first night, in this bed.

  “Please…” She didn’t even know why she whispered it, why the word escaped her lips so soft and pathetic. It was ridiculous to think he would help her, he had just tethered her wrists to her thighs, but she still looked up at him with foolish hope.

  “Do you know who I am?” he asked. Attractive like the other one, but more warm. More human. There was a subtle smile on his lips, a curve to his mouth that rang true as his eyes roamed over her skin.

  She shook her head slowly, hoping to delay whatever was coming next.

  “Interesting.” He pulled off his jacket and tossed it onto the chair in the corner. Then his shirt followed, and she held her breath. Carved abs, a sculpted chest, broad shoulders and strong arms. The flicker of attraction to his body was short-lived, because he stepped forward to brush his fingers over the strap holding her right wrist down. “You haven’t submitted.”

  Her body jolted, fire filling her mind with purpose. “I won’t.”

  A chuckle rumbled up from his chest. “You will.”

  “No,” she hissed.

  “Are you sure?” he asked as he slid his hand under her head, threading his fingers through her hair until he slowly formed a fist. Sparks of pain lit up across her scalp as he used his grip to pull her into a sitting position.

  She felt like a doll. Poseable and vacant, arms trapped at her sides. But she had already made up her mind — one monster or another — she wasn’t giving in. “I’m sure,” she answered, prepared for pain, but his fist in her hair only leaned her forward a little further… and then he climbed onto the bed behind her.

  His knees rose up on either side as he settled against the headboard, and then he pulled her back against his firm chest. Hot skin on skin. It was the first time she’d felt it here. The other one always kept his clothes on, only unzipping his pants when he wanted to use her, but this one had his bare chest to her back, and… it was strangely comforting.

  Which was wrong.

  Nothing about this was okay.

  “Don’t hurt me,” she mumbled. Almost a question, almost a plea.

  “Don’t make me hurt you, Beth. You have so many decisions to make, so many options…” His strong hands brushed up her arms, squeezing occasionally as if he were casually massaging her.

  “About what?” she whispered, shuddering as his hands slid to the front of her shoulders, pressing her back to his front.

  The man’s lips were against her ear when he answered, the barest hint of scruff on his cheek scratching her skin. “About what happens to you next.”

  Fear trickled down her spine, ice-cold despite his body heat — and he was so warm. Even his voice was filled with heat, hunger as his hands slid lower, tracing the outsides of her breasts before moving to her arms to follow them down. Then, he started the path over.

  Squeezing, brushing, tickling when his touch grew too light.

  Finally, she swallowed and made herself speak. “What happens next?”

  “Up to you.”

  “I want to leave.”

  He laughed quietly, his chest shaking behind her, the low sound of his voice against her neck. “That is not one of the options.”

  Jerking at the sleek, soft cuffs attached to her thighs, she spat, “Then what are my fucking options?”

  His fingers tightened painfully on one nipple, twisting hard as the shocking pain of it made her back arch against him, useless cries escaping between clenched teeth. When he finally let go, she was panting, fists clenched tight — and then he pressed a kiss to her neck. Brushing her hair out of the way, he did it again, and again. Licking, teasing nips of his teeth along the side of her throat as his thumb rubbed soothing circles over her tortured bud. “Don’t make me hurt you. Be respectful and I can make it so much easier.”

  Beth was stiff, tense, trapped against his body, and her muscles locked even further when he wound an arm under hers and slipped his hand between her thighs. “Don’t…” she pleaded, but quickly bit her lip, hoping to avoid mo
re pain.

  “Tell me the truth…” His fingers delved lower, parting her lips to seek out her clit, teasing with delicate touches. “Has he ever made you come?”

  “No.” Shaking her head, she leaned away when he started to trail kisses from her shoulder up her throat again. It was too intimate, too gentle, too much like an actual lover.

  Well, except for the cuffs, and the poster of rules hanging directly across from them like a fucking taunt from the other one.

  Tell me the rules.

  His voice was back in her head, but this one had his fingers moving with sinister precision over the bundle of nerves between her legs. Rubbing in small circles. Her hips twitched and she flinched, forcing her eyes shut like she could block out the sensations as easily as she could the sight of the damn poster.

  It was impossible.

  Impossible that anything could feel good in this nightmare, and impossible to ignore the wetness he gathered with one sinful sweep of his middle finger over her entrance.

  Tracing her damnation back up to her clit, he used her own wetness to ease his movements. As he settled into an easy pattern, two fingers moving incessantly, he spoke softly. “I said you have options, Beth, would you like to know what they are?”

  Something brittle inside her was spider-webbing with cracks. Each flicker of sensation from his touch was confirmation that she wasn’t damaged beyond repair, that she could still feel — and yet it was somehow worse than anything the other one had done. “I don’t care,” she answered, clenching her jaw and breathing deep to push back the low thrum.

  “I think you do.” The pressure of his fingers increased, tempo building with it, and she pressed back into his chest on instinct trying to escape. It was his quiet laugh that froze her once more. “This feels nice, doesn’t it? Don’t you want me to keep going?”

  He kissed her neck again and she jerked away, but he grabbed her hair in his free hand and wrenched her head to the other side.

  “Beth, you’re not behaving.” It was a warning, coupled with the sharper nip of his teeth against her bared shoulder, but she wasn’t going to submit just because he had heat pooling between her thighs and tremors of pleasure battling it out with the fear already buzzing in her veins.

  “I’m not obedient, or didn’t your buddy mention that?”

  “He is not my friend.” His fist tightened in her hair, sparks of pain radiating across her scalp as he increased the fervor of his fingers on her clit.

  Fuck, why does it feel good? It shouldn’t feel good.

  “He is my partner in this enterprise, but it doesn’t matter. I can make you be obedient. I can make you do so many things… wouldn’t it be easier if you just gave in?” Nibbling on her neck, he focused on her clit with confident swirls of his fingers, her wetness growing, inner walls clenching around nothing. “You can choose to obey me, and I will make you feel good. Choose to submit, to be a good girl. Everything will be easier for you… I promise.”

  “I don’t want to,” she whispered, voice breaking. Straining against the urge to slip into what he offered, to submerge herself in the waves of pleasure between her thighs, the devious touch that had her hips subtly rocking.

  “You know what disobedience brings you, Beth.” Lips to her ear, his other arm wrapped around her waist to pull her tighter against him, erection pressed into her spine. “Don’t make me hurt you,” he whispered quietly, just for her.

  So much emotion in his voice, in him.

  The other one was solid ice, animated stone, an empty shell.

  This one was full color. There was hunger in him, warmth in his body and his touch. He was good at this, her body relaxing despite her best efforts to stay apart. To stay strong. To ignore the potential for delirium that he teased from her.

  “Ask for permission before you come, Beth.” Those words jarred her, made her whimper, struggle, but he held her tight to his body.

  “I won’t come.” I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

  What would it mean to orgasm here? In this place? Would it feel like an orgasm anywhere else? Would it be a momentary gasp of freedom?

  Or would it drive her further into this hell… leave her emptier than when he’d begun, than when the other one had raped her the first night.

  “I don’t want this,” she said softly, but his laughter came again, shaking against her back as he slid one finger inside. The invasion made tears prick her eyes, wrists pulling uselessly at the cuffs that didn’t hurt but were no less effective.

  “Are you sore?” he asked, sliding a second finger inside to stretch her, waking up the ache his partner had left behind in the early hours of the morning. “I know he likes to fuck you hard, that’s the only way he knows… but I can make you like it, enjoy it.”

  “Please don’t—”

  “Open your legs. Now.” The anger in his voice made her open her eyes, only to see his wrist trapped between her thighs. When she hesitated, he reached forward and pulled one knee to the side while he used his feet to pull hers wide. “Every time you try to close your legs that’s another belt stroke. Understand?”

  “No!”

  His grip tightened on the skin above her knee, two fingers thrusting hard. “I will take my belt to your ass, your thighs, so that you remember that closing your legs to me, or my partner, is unacceptable. Does that make things clear?”

  “Please… just stop…” she begged, legs shaking as he slid her wetness back to her clit and focused on it for an excruciatingly long minute of forced pleasure. Warmth and lust moving through her body like a heady buzz. Muting the fear in her nerves, quelling the panic in her veins, until all that existed was the steady thrum of his touch. Each swirl over her clit another confusing crack in the brittle barrier she’d formed against reality.

  “Am I clear?” he asked again, slipping his fingers inside her, curving his fingers to stroke her g-spot and make her body jolt forward, legs jerking inward. “That counts.”

  “Please don’t make me—” She couldn’t say it aloud. Don’t make me do this. Don’t make me come. Don’t make me enjoy this for even a moment. Stop, stop, stop…

  Laughter. Real, low, male laughter behind her that made the tears roll down her cheeks as his arm tightened across her ribs, holding her against his chest even as she struggled to writhe. Hips wanton and desperate to meet the next sinful sweep of his fingers. To feel something nice, something good, no matter the price.

  She opened her eyes to see his hand moving, digits buried inside her. Unwelcome, yet bringing her the only comfort she’d received here.

  Threats and pleasure.

  “Do you want me to make you like it? Is that what you need, Beth?” His voice was a purr, directly against her ear, and it fed down her spine like a rumble. Vibrating the space between her thighs as he stroked expertly, teasing her to the edge as she struggled to keep her legs apart. To fight back the orgasm.

  I can’t do this. I won’t do this. I won’t enjoy this.

  “No.”

  “You’re so wet. Has he ever made you wet like this?” The sound of him thrusting his fingers in and out of her made her flinch. Soaked, squelching sounds that made her shudder in shame and embarrassing pleasure.

  Beth drew her lip between her teeth and bit down hard, feeling the burning ache spread across her jaw as she fought it. Fought against her own body as it betrayed her, spilling liquid heat down to the bedding beneath her, cloaking his fingers in her dripping duplicity. There was a new tension tightening like a knot at the bottom of her spine, wrapping taut, coiling with each new slip of his touch inside her. Cracking the brittle barrier further every time he slid free to torment her clit with a new wave of pleasure. Forcing her body to respond, react.

  “Just call me Master and you can come, Beth.” His voice against her ear was harried. He was breathing harder, aroused, tainted with lust and need — things his rigid partner was not capable of — but humanity didn’t make him good. It just made his requests all the more monstrous.

&
nbsp; He knew exactly what he was devouring.

  “No,” she refused again. Holding onto the only power they’d left her. They could take what they wanted, they had made that painfully clear, but this? Her permission? Her submission? Her agreement?

  That she would never give.

  “You better ask permission then, or I’m really going to hurt you.” His fingers started to move in earnest, aggressive thrusts, strong strokes inside that pressed her g-spot and made her body buckle no matter how much she fought.

  “I won’t come,” she swore.

  “Yes, you will.” And then he did his best to bend her to his will, to break her, playing her body with an expertise that had her whining, whimpering — and, fuck, she was even moaning softly — as her foolish body collapsed under the onslaught of pleasure. The teasing of nerves. Delirious lightning crackled over her skin, plaguing her veins with an urge to dive into oblivion… escape.

  Why did it have to feel this good? This tempting?

  She wanted to believe this tingling ferocity was the same as the electric shocks in the cement room where his partner had chained her down. Wanted to equate the two in her mind so she could push the ecstasy away, remove herself from it, destroy it.

  But it wasn’t the same.

  It was a new torture, and as much as she wanted to pretend it wasn’t affecting her, she could feel the sweat on her skin, the delirious buzz that had her breaths shortening — and his lips on her throat were not helping.

  Too personal. Too real.

  Too not like the man he called his partner.

  Creeping like implacable vines over all of her barriers, tearing them to pieces, holding the shreds of her sanity so she wouldn’t feel them hit the earth, so she couldn’t scream at the void of what used to be her pride.