Flawed

by Francette Phal

  “I’m going to fuck your pretty little mouth and you’re going to drink my cum like it’s rainwater.” There’s no prep time, not even a second for me to take a breath as he pulls my face to meet his cock. He plunges into my mouth, abandons his hold on my jaw for a better grip of my hair. He’s my puppeteer as he moves my head to the punishing rhythm of his hips.

  In and out.

  In and out.

  In and out.

  My face smashes repeatedly into his groin. It’s years of practice that keep down the water that I just drank. But it doesn’t stop me from choking on the long, thick cock brutally stabbing the back of my throat. Clear strings of saliva coat his cock as it trickles down my chin, following the same path the water had taken just minutes earlier. I can feel when he’s about to come. His balls draw up so tight that I can feel the hot, furrowed skin brushing along my lower lip. I brace myself for it as best as I can as he holds my face to his groin. He’s buried so deep inside my mouth that I can feel his pubic hair tickling my nose. I can barely breathe but I deeply draw in the scent of him—clean, male musk that has an almost drugging effect on me. I hear his harsh release of a breath and then spurts of hot liquid hit the back of my throat, coating the inside of my mouth with his essence until he’s all I can taste and smell. I drink him exactly how he wants me to. His cum is another form of hydration.

  He doesn’t loosen his grip until every last drop has slithered down my throat. When he does finally slacken his hold, it’s not by much, as he leans down and says, “I can make you live off my cock and cum.” He has my face in his hand again as his thumb languidly skates along my wet, bruised lips. When he leans down, it’s to bring his nose to my open mouth to sniff deeply. “I can make it your food and your water so that your breath smells like this all the time.” He licks my mouth and then whispers, “This is how you should taste like, Lacey, like my cock, like my cum…like you,” before releasing me completely.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lacey

  It’s a little while later before he finally allows me to eat. But like everything else so far, I have absolutely no control on how it is done. I don’t know if he doesn’t trust me enough to allow me to feed myself with the silver fork he brings to my mouth, but he’s probably right in not letting me have it. I would more than likely stab him and make a run for it. I chew on the pasta he brings to my mouth, savoring the taste of its creamy sauce as each bite brings back my energy. “I’ll take you home tonight.” He startles me when he speaks. I turn my face up to look at him, not sure that I heard him correctly.

  “What?” I ask dumbly, needing him to repeat himself. But the frown that draws his brows together brings me to a pause and I immediately know I just did something I probably shouldn’t have. Shit. “I’m…”

  “I don’t like repeating myself,” he states mildly, but the hard glint in his eyes belies the quietness of his voice. “When you are with me, I will only give you instructions once. If you fail to hear what I tell you, I will hurt you. Am I understood?”

  He talks like his voice is on permanent whisper and it’s my fault if I can’t hear what he says? What the fuck is this guy’s deal? I should’ve told him right then to happily go fuck himself, but instead, I simply reply quietly by whispering, “Yes.” It’s said through clenched teeth. It’s hard and bitter and I think I almost choke on it. ‘Fuck you’ would’ve definitely tasted sweeter. But I can’t take another torture session.

  “Like I told you before, you have a choice in this. I will give you time to think on what it is you want to do. Run, hide if you want, but know that I will find you, and there will be no mercy for either of you. Whatever you choose to do, I will collect what I am owed.”

  “That’s not a choice.” Bitterness coats my voice as I glare at him. “It’s either I subject myself to your fucked up game or my brother dies. That’s not a fucking choice! You don’t play with people’s lives like that, you sick piece of shit!” The anger that’s been building for so long beneath the surface of my broken skin erupts in white-hot rage as I lunge at him, throwing my entire body and the substantial weight of my emotions on him.

  It does absolutely nothing.

  I don’t even have the small satisfaction of landing a punch or kick or even a scratch or bite him when he outmaneuvers me. He’s swift and effortless in subduing me. He slams me onto the ottoman he’d just occupied. He has me bent in half, the side of my face and the top half of my body is pressed into the warm leather of the seat, while my lower half hangs completely off the ottoman with my ass elevated high. I have only my locked legs for support, but even then, I have to widen my stance further to keep myself from teetering. He has my arms twisted behind me at the center of my back, crossed, my hands touching the opposite elbow.

  He maintains a firm, bruising grip on my forearms even while I continue to struggle. “Yes,” I hear him hiss as he tugs on the fucking belt that’s still strapped around my neck and I’m instantly in danger of losing oxygen. The leather strap is long enough for him to loop around my forearms and secure them in place, putting me further in the red. He retains his bruising grip even with the added restraint of the belt. There is still fight in me, I don’t know where it comes from but it refuses to give up so I twist and turn, try to pull my arms apart so that it loosens the belt. I even kick out blindingly behind me, hoping that it’ll catch him in the balls or something. “Yes...” I hear the harsh murmur of the word again as he leans into me from behind, positions his hard, thick cock between the crack of my ass. The impression of his hard length through the fabric of his trousers is appallingly sexy.

  “Yes, fight me…” An open palm smack comes across my ass cheek and I’m unprepared for the flare of toe-curling pleasure that rips through me when the pain dulls. Fuck. He does it again, a hard, teeth-rattling smack that compounds the pain from the marks he’d caused before with a new, fresh burn that has my eyes widening. My reaction is even stronger than the last when the pain morphs into something else, something terrifyingly potent. The eroticism of it is heat against my pussy and I melt. “Lacey,” he says my name and it sounds like sex. He shifts slightly and then I feel him. The heaviness of his thick cock bobs against my ass. My wetness becomes a slick pool. “Every time you fight me, I want to rip into you…I want to reach inside you and tear you apart,” he growls softly. He trusts the belt will be enough to keep me still when he finally releases my forearms.

  He spreads my ass cheeks with that hand and with the other he grips his cock and strokes it against my pulsating core. It’s carnal, basic, and visceral, the animalistic need that overtakes me, an out of body possession that has me pushing back against him, wanting, needing, and craving his cock inside me. I’m begging for it like I’m in heat, and for the first time since this started, he satisfies my need to soul-shattering perfection. He’s been in my ass but having him in my pussy is indescribable. He’s so thick that I’m full of him. Every slick inch of me is filled with him, and my walls clench around him like he belongs there. He sets a punishing pace. Slow and gentle are not words he recognizes or even knows as he takes me. He keeps to his ruthlessness, his brutal thrusts drive in so deep that it hurts, but my body and mind are so fucked that they derive only pleasure from it.

  He pounds into me like he hates me, like I’m his worst enemy, his fingers digging into my hips as he yanks me back to meet each and every one of his violent thrusts. My eyes are clenched shut, every gasping breath I take doesn’t bring enough air in my lungs to satisfy me, but I tell myself to keep breathing, otherwise, I’ll faint. I moan on a long breath when he angles a bit to the right and strikes against the sweet spot deep inside me. Light, an explosion of white light, shatters behind my eyelids when he hits it again and again and again, sending ripples of pleasure through my core.

  So good.

  So good.

  God, it’s so fucking good.

  I come all around him. Mind-blowing, body-tingling orgasms tear through me and I cover his cock with my juices. And as
it slides down my legs in an uninterrupted path, he pulls out from inside me and I feel the hot spurts of his release splash on my ass. My legs buckle and my knees hit the floor before I can brace myself for the fall. I’m sure it hurts, but I don’t feel anything. There’s only the body-blanketing haze that has turned everything in me into mush. The fog is short-lived as reality crashes down all around me. It’s ugly and unfiltered, like being put under the slide of a microscope, beneath the glaring heat of the bulb and the zoom of the lens. All the hideousness is magnified, lays exposed, and the veil of hypocrisy is all but transparent. That ephemeral second of potent lust is gone just as quickly as it came and I’m left shivering from the absence of it. The disgrace, the shame, is made even worse when he unties the belt from my forearms and yanks me to my feet.

  I suddenly can’t bear his touch. It sickens me. Makes my skin crawl. But I don’t have the energy to push him away. My need to fight has been bled from me. Dirty is too simple a word to describe how disgusting I feel both on the inside and outside. I look at him, cock tucked back into his pants, not even a hint of sweat, put together from head to bare feet. There is no concrete evidence of what just happened except for the open button on his trousers. The bastard doesn’t even have a hair out of place. Meanwhile, I stand in front of him covered in humiliation and dripping with both our bodily fluids. It’s another play at control. Another way for him to further exercise his dominance over me.

  “You should be thanking me, Lacey.” My eyes snap up to his face when he speaks. He sounds…disappointed. I flinch when he reaches up to my face, but he goes for my hair instead. His head is tilted slightly to the side, like he’s trying to figure something out, but it’s his hand in my hair, sifting through my curls, caressing each tendril like he’s trying to commit it to memory that disturbs me the most.

  “Thanking you for what?” I spit, unable to hide the acid in my voice.

  He looks at me and the corner of his mouth curls. “For appealing to your martyr complex. You see, giving you the option of choosing between yourself and your brother presents you with the opportunity to once again put him first. Family always comes first. That’s who you are. That’s how you think. I know you, Lacey, I see how your mind works. I know the choices you’re going to make before you even make them. How? Because you’ve convinced yourself that this is what you need to function. Another sacrifice for you to make, all for the sake of your leeching brother and mother. Don’t you see?” he asks sharply, impatiently, like this is something he needs me to know. “I’m giving you the chance to play the brave little savior again.” Our gazes lock. “Make the sacrifice, Lacey, and we can both reap the rewards.” His voice is so quiet, so light, that the kiss is like a brush of air against my lips. Goose bumps explode across the surface of my skin even while a cold shiver tiptoes down my spine. I’m trembling, my heart is racing too fast from a horrible cocktail of need and fear.

  “You won’t go after my brother?” I need to be clear on the matter. If I’m going to give myself to this man, to this monster who delights in creating my pain and then feeding from it, then I need to be sure that Dante is going to be safe. Me for him. “I need to know you won’t go after my brother.”

  “Not if I have you.”

  Resolve stiffens my spine, I don’t allow myself to think twice when I say, “Then you have me.” This is probably one of the toughest things I’ve ever done in my life so far, but I’m strong, he might be able to break my body, use me until I bleed, but he won’t break my will. I’ll get through this.

  “There will be no turning back,” he cautions, but what choice do I have?

  “I know,” I reply unflinchingly. “I can take whatever you’re going to do to me.”

  He smiles now, fully, but it’s not a warm smile. There’s nothing inviting or kind about the twist on those lips. It’s everything eerie and sinister. He draws me into his dark, engulfing orbit by my jaw and murmurs, “Brave, stupid little girl, you can’t even begin to imagine all the things I’m going to do to you.”

  ***

  The cold, crisp winter air hits me all at once and I stop in my tracks. I lift my face to the rush of wind and inhale deeply. My nostrils flare as the cold air cuts a direct path into my lungs, temporarily replacing hot air with the bitter cold. It hurts, but I relish it. Outside. The word bounces around my head like a Ping-Pong ball. I’m actually outside! Just like he said. He’s letting me go. I never thought I would be this happy being in the cold. A bubble of crazed giddiness wants to escape my mouth but I keep it down. I keep it to myself. Happiness, a small hint of it swirls around my insides at the thought of this freedom. However temporary it might be. He’s letting me go home. I don’t ask why. I don’t care why as long as I get to be free of him for a while. I don’t do anything or say anything that will make him change his mind. The second I made the choice, he’d brought me to the bathroom and watched as I cleaned myself beneath the scorching sprays of the shower. There had been no privacy as he’d stood there, arms folded across his chest as his incisive gaze had taken it all in while I nervously cleaned myself.

  He’d dressed me in the clothes I’d been wearing when he took me from my bed. Flannel pajama bottoms, a large, worn out T-shirt of Dante’s, one of his many hand-me-downs, and my black socks. I noticed he didn’t return my panties. Just before we left, I silently watched as he replaced the belt with something far more fitting for my new role in his life. An actual leash. It was fancy, with its soft, leather neck cuff and handle, but it was a leash all the same, and the short length of the heavy chain that linked us provided him with very close control of my movements. He also made sure to bind my wrists together, in front of me this time, with a rope he tied in a series of intricate knots. And if that wasn’t enough to stop any of my ideas of escape, he’d blindfolded me for good measure so that I couldn’t see where I was and where we were going. I only had his lead to follow, and he’d guided me to where he wanted me to go.

  The abrupt tug of the chain brings my attention back and I resume my shuffling steps behind him. With my vision gone, I allow my ears to help decipher what’s going on around me. It’s quiet, but I hear the occasional swoosh of passing cars. We’re definitely not in the city. The suburbs, maybe? My lack of shoes makes walking more than a little uncomfortable. The socks do very little to protect my feet from the biting cold. Every step I take seems to suck warmth from the soles of my feet back into the ground. The discomfort doesn’t last for much longer as I hear the echoing beep of a car alarm. “Watch your head,” I hear him say, it’s the first thing he’s said to me in a while, before he guides me inside the interior of the car. I feel him, I smell him, as he reaches across my body to grab the seat belt and fastens it into place. And then, without prompting, he gives me back my sight.

  The soft material of the blindfold slides smoothly down my cheeks like tears and falls down to my lap. “Don’t make me regret this, Lacey,” he warns softly, and I don’t relax until he’s gone and the door closes with a gentle boom. I’m in the passenger’s seat, and in the short time it takes him to walk around to the driver’s side, my eyes dart around quickly, taking in my surroundings as best as I can. We’re in a garage, but it’s not the sort you would find in a residential neighborhood. Instead, it appears to be underground. It’s a dimly lit industrial-like infrastructure, with wide, large concrete beams bisecting the ceiling. There are painted white lines on the ground designated for other cars to park here, but aside from his, the lot is utterly empty. I know as much now as I did when I was blindfolded. Still nothing. Nonetheless, I’m grateful that I can at least see again. When he folds his long body into the driver’s seat, I stiffen. The interior of the car isn’t small and up until a second ago I was seated comfortably. But his sudden presence within the confined space robs me of that small comfort. He keeps me suspended in this perpetual limbo of sickening distress that is heightened every time his shoulder brushes up against mine as he shifts gears.

  “Two days,” he says after some time,
the tone of his voice cuts through the thickness of silence like a sharpened blade.

  “Two…” I catch myself before fully repeating what he just said, remembering all too clearly his censure from the last time. “I don’t understand,” I say quietly, instead, daring to chance a look in his direction.

  The look he gives me in return is impassivity at its best, but beyond the pale blue and flinty gray of his eyes, I see it. It’s fleeting, and if I’d blinked just then, I would’ve missed it completely. But I catch it. His approval. The simple thought that I actually did something to warrant that small reaction fills me with perplexing happiness. I avert my eyes instantly, even while conflict takes up residence in my chest. Why do I care whether or not I have his approval? Why would I even want it in the first place when all he’s shown me so far is agony?

  “I’ve kept you for two days.” I blink. Two days. I’ve been gone for two days. God, Dante must be going crazy wondering what happened to me. And Tyler…I’m suddenly looking around me frantically. I’m aware it probably isn’t even here, but I ask for it anyway. “My...my phone…?”

  “What you’ve experienced in the vault is only a taste of what will come.” My question goes completely unanswered. “You’ve chosen to belong to me, and in the following twenty-five sessions, that is exactly what you will be. Mine. Your body and its three holes belong to me. This means that you will not touch or fuck anyone else until I am done with you. I will strongly advise you not to break this rule.” The threat is palpable, searing, almost like he’s reached across the space between us to burn me with it. “You will drop everything and come when I call you. No questions, no excuses.” He hops on the interstate ramp and shifts gears to accelerate as we hit the highway. I’m looking out the window, seeing nothing but blurred darkness dotted by flashing lights. Numbness comes slowly, like a thick fog to settle over me.