by Box Set
The ache in my neck had become a throbbing knot, so I lifted my cheek from the polished floor, turning and placing my opposite cheek against the cool surface beneath me. My arms had long since become numb as my hands were secured tightly behind my back with Viršininkas’ belt. Dressed in a minuscule black leather skirt, garters, and stockings with a red satin bustier, I looked the perfect submissive they forced me to be. Beneath the skirt, I was naked, my exposed flesh on display for anyone who might be standing behind me, and they were. Although I couldn’t see them, I could picture the covetous hunger in their greedy eyes, so sick and twisted in their belief that women were placed on this earth merely for the entertainment of their species.
We weren’t. We had feelings and emotions, however, they had been crushed under these men’s callous hands and insidious natures. Now my dreams were full of blood, their blood, as they writhed at my feet screaming in agony, begging for a mercy I’d never give them. I no longer harbored such useless emotions as kindness and compassion, my soul was drowned in rage, my heart a dried out husk consumed by hate.
The sharp sting of a slap to my behind ripped me away from thoughts of revenge, reminding me I was still a captive and my body was theirs to play with.
“Beauty.”
The pet name was not whispered with affection. Viršininkas didn’t do affection. He did discipline and punishment. He knew how to inflict pain, not love. There was a time, before my captivity, when I had been another girl, one of innocence. I couldn’t really remember that time, though. Every now and again an image would creep into my mind, that of a young teenage girl, beautiful, graceful, perhaps even a little sad, but my mind had become so twisted I wasn’t even sure if that girl was real or not. My memories were muddled, and sometimes I think I conjured pictures in my mind to steal me away from the nightmare I was living. The name of that girl who existed before me had been one of the first things Viršininkas took away. Then he took her innocence, and she was destroyed, in her place, stood me, exquisitely broken Beauty.
Long fingers slipped around my throat and squeezed, choking the air from my lungs. You would think having been choked hundreds of times would make it easier to bear, but it didn’t. It still made me feel vulnerable and reminded me that my life was at his mercy, and he could take it so easily. Most days I wished he would. The other days I just wished it were me strangling the life from him.
“If your mind keeps wandering, I will put you up on that stage for every man in this room to fuck.”
His hand clenched tighter, bruising my larynx before disappearing. Blinking back tears and drawing a deep breath, I tried to block out the ballroom’s centerpiece: a woman being used, over and over. She was positioned on all fours, a whip lashing her skin as an imposing man in a black mask prepared to fuck her. She was trying so hard to look rapturous, as if she were enjoying this debasement, screaming out her pleasure at the right moments, moaning with each thrust. But I saw beyond the lies. In her dark, almond shaped eyes all I saw was pure, stark fear. Did I mirror that look? What did these men see when they watched me sullied and abused? Did they see vile loathing or subservient willingness? Perhaps I was better at hiding the revulsion behind my blue eyes. While I hated the victim I was forced to be, I didn’t want to be that girl in the middle of the room even more. At least my degradation was taking place on the outer regions of the ballroom, my humiliation for only but a few. My gaze shifted to take in the man kneeling beside me. He was threatening to share me in the middle of this awful room, but the hands that roamed my buttocks and the fingers that slipped into my unwelcoming body told me he was sharing me regardless. It wasn’t uncommon, Viršininkas liked to see me used by his friends, and there was little he didn’t allow, often leaving me bloodied and bruised. His pinched lips relaxed as my eyes found his. He wasn’t handsome. His eyes were sunken deep in their sockets beneath a heavy brow, his nose was large and hooked, and his cheekbones were sharp and pronounced. He wore a finely trimmed goatee that emphasized a pointed chin. The darkness in his eyes and the hatred in his soul reminded me of something evil. I had no idea what his name was. He had only ever been Viršininkas, which I’d learned meant master in Lithuanian, to me. When I first met this evil man, I’d called him sir. He liked that. One night, in defiance, I’d called him an ugly fucking bastard. He did not like that. The pain he bestowed upon me for such a slight was a memory I would never forget. I hated him. No, hate was too insipid a word. I loathed this man with every inch of my used and abused body.
“That’s a good beauty,” he crooned.
Teeth, stained yellow from years of smoking, smiled at me as I winced. Something had been shoved deep into my pussy. It was too cold and smooth to be a cock, so I assumed it was a dildo or something alike.
“Do you know how splendid you look right now?”
Anyone who could find splendor in my current degradation had to be sick, and Viršininkas was the sickest of them all. The ways in which he had took liberties with my body over the years had stained my soul so dark I knew there was no light left to be found, not even in death. If there had been any goodness inside me before my life with Viršininkas, it been beaten and raped out of me until it was gone. The girl left behind didn’t have good thoughts, she wasn’t kind, in fact, maybe she was a little bit evil, too. My dreams were filled with the want for blood. His blood. Their blood.
The long fingers that had moments ago been wrapped around my throat cupped my breast. I didn’t flinch, a reaction long since beaten out of me. Viršininkas pinched my nipple too hard to be considered teasing or sexual, a punishment for allowing my mind to wander. My cheek rubbed on the ballroom floor as my body rocked in motion with the object thrusting in and out of my pussy.
“Pone.”
A sharp familiar voice hissed from somewhere behind my master. It was Matis, Viršininkas’ personal assistant and best friend, a man with just as much sadistic hate in him, if not more. He disliked me immensely, the feeling was mutual. When Viršininkas allowed Matis to fuck me, he did it in a way that emphasised his hatred, often using a blade to cut into my flesh. The first time I’d been cut in such a way, Viršininkas ranted and raved for days, angry at Matis for marring my skin. The second time Matis took me, Viršininkas tried to be more patient, watching the gore-like show Matis provided for him. It wasn’t long before Viršininkas found the same kind of erotic magnetism in the blood that dripped from my body as I was brutally fucked. He allowed Matis to cut me from then onwards, shallow cuts that wouldn’t scar. After three years, I was covered in fine white lines, the markings like a map of my continued abuse.
“Pone,” he snapped again when Viršininkas continued to play with my breasts, ignoring him. Pone was Lithuanian for “sir,” the only other Lithuanian word I had learned during my captivity.
Viršininkas’ hands left me, and he glanced over his shoulder to look at Matis.
“There are men with guns surrounding the mansion. We must leave. Now.”
The hands on my body stilled, and Viršininkas was quick to stand, yanking me up by my elbow, my shoulders screaming in protest. Whatever had been probing my pussy slipped free, and I relaxed the moment my body was empty of its presence. With my skirt still bunched around my hips, I was unceremoniously dragged along the fringes of the ballroom as a commotion from the opposite side caught my attention.
“Everyone, stay where you are,” came the order from an accent that sounded oddly familiar. American?
Viršininkas and Matis slowed their gait but didn’t stop, they continued to edge around the room as it became silent.
“If you move before we state otherwise, we’ll shoot. Girls get your fucking clothes on.”
The belt securing my wrists was promptly removed, and I breathed a sigh of relief as my arms swung forward, pain shooting down to my fingertips as blood returned to the extremities.
“Pull down your damn skirt,” Viršininkas hissed in my ear.
With numb hands, I fumbled to grasp the fabric around my waist but managed to shove the l
eather down over my nakedness. A group of men flooded the room, all of them dressed in head to toe black clothing, with hulking black boots, and heavy looking dark vests adorned with a red letter ‘Z’ on their chests. Rifles and guns were drawn with purpose. Hope flooded my body with the sweet taste of freedom, the emotion like a shot of pure adrenaline. Before a smile could find my lips, though, I was dragged from the room. Stumbling on my spiked heels, I caught myself before I could fall and was propelled forward by Matis’ hand on the middle of my back. Viršininkas led us down a narrow, dimly lit corridor. Reality slapped me sharply across the face: Viršininkas was fleeing, he feared the men behind us, the men with guns. Were they police? Soldiers? Could they have been there for me? The thought stopped me dead in my tracks. Matis’ hard, bulky body rammed into me, and I staggered forward a few paces.
“Move,” he snapped.
My body remained frozen, though, and as the shock quickly wore away, determination filled its place. The chance at freedom had me turning toward the men with guns, catching Matis by surprise, and it took little more than an unexpected shove to move him aside. Wobbling precariously on the heels I’d been forced to wear, I took a few running steps forward before a hard body slammed me into the wall.
“Wrong way, Beauty,” Matis growled in my ear, shoving me back in the direction we’d been running.
The thought of freedom burned like fire in my veins, and I fought to free myself of Matis’ bear-like hands.
“No,” I growled. It had been a long time since that word had fallen from my lips. Saying it seemed to release something inside me, a flame I thought long ago extinguished.
Fight.
And fight I did. With flaying hands, I lashed out, scratching, punching, and slapping Matis. When he simply restrained my hands and picked me up, I used my feet, kicking with all the strength I could muster. I knew the moment one of my heels had found its mark. Matis dropped me with a pained snarl. Before I could make use of being free from his grip, I caught a glimpse of a hammer-like fist coming at my face seconds before it connected with such force that I flew backwards against the hard ground. For the first time, in a long time, I fought to stay conscious, but as Matis heaved me over his shoulder, I lost that fight, much like I’d lost all the others I’d battled in this hell.
2
BEAUTY
The pounding in my head dragged me to consciousness. Trying to roll to one side, my cheek burned with pain, and I winced. Through a foggy haze, I tried to force my eyes open, but it was a battle my mind and body weren’t going to win right away. I lay awkwardly on one side, my legs pulled to my chest, the cold bite of concrete beneath my cheek. When I tried to stretch out, my foot hit something hard and icy, something familiar, something that sent my heart into a reckless beat. Blinking away the fog, I was greeted with darkness. An inky gloom so obscure I couldn’t see my hand as I raised it to push away the hair that fell into my eyes. It was a familiar darkness, accompanied with a familiar stench. Old blood. My blood. I was in the cage—one meant for a medium-sized dog—that sat in the basement below my master’s home. His dungeon was a cold, large room with the walls, floors, and ceiling of concrete. Shiny, steel instruments like scalpels, scissors, and saws lined cabinet tops, and chains hung from the ceiling, innocuous and waiting to be used. At a moment’s notice, I could be manacled and restrained. Whips, ropes, hand cuffs, and other such paraphernalia hung from their appropriate places, the only comfort a small leather sofa against one wall. It was truly a room of torture. The walls and roof of my cage were made of solid steel bars, with a small padlocked opening at one end. It had been many months since I’d been locked down here, my behavior worthy of time upstairs. Up there, I had the luxury of space. Even though I was still captive, the house was much larger than the space below its ground level floor. The floors were carpeted which eased the pain on my knees, and I was allowed to use a bathroom with a door for privacy. Mind you, the door didn’t lock. In Viršininkas private quarters, I had my very own thick rug and soft blanket for bedding, positioned on the floor right beside his luxurious king-size bed. He rarely even chained me while I slept anymore. I was obedient. There was fight left in me, but it was useless fighting when I didn’t have a hope in hell of freeing myself. Down here, there were no luxuries: no bathrooms, no sound, no light. Just the cage and the echoes of my screams which bounced off the walls when Viršininkas punished me. It was in this room a young girl’s innocence was destroyed, where her dreams had been whipped right out of her. Purity had bled onto the cold floor, a virgin’s blood. This was the dungeon where that girl died, reborn as nothing more than a vessel for men’s pleasure. Beauty.
Silence was my only company as I lay in the cramped space. I wondered how long I’d be caged this time. Sometimes it was just a few, scant hours, other times it could be days of lying in my own waste, my body numb, my eyes playing tricks on me, showing me shadows in the darkness, images that over time had helped push me further into madness. In those dark moments, I would see the girl who was destroyed down here, her face little more than a ghostly apparition. On occasions she would even talk to me, whispering words and telling me stories of her life before Viršininkas.
“She would sneak me cookies before bed. Do you remember her?” the girl would ask. But I had no memories of the woman. No memories at all, for Beauty was born in this frigid cell, and there were no recollections from before that moment. But I wanted stories like the ones the girl would tell me, so I allowed my mind to conjure images of an old woman, Spanish, with her dark hair split with greys coiled into a bun. Heavy lines aged her soft face. Laugh lines crowded her eyes, because she laughed a lot.
Blinding light washed away the image of that smiling Spanish woman, and with it the pitch-black I hated so much. I squinted against the brightness. I didn’t close my eyes, though, that light was something I hungered for. I wanted it even as it stabbed at my sensitive corneas. The heavy steel door behind me whispered open, and the air in the room felt like it chilled even further as Viršininkas entered. Even though I couldn’t see him, I knew he was there. His sick, silent presence was so thick in the air I could almost taste the evil that clung to him. The click of shoes struck the hard floor, getting closer and closer to my cage, and all too soon he stood before me. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, his hands were shoved carelessly in his trouser pockets, a nasty smirk on his hawk-like face.
“Beauty, you’ve been a bad, bad girl.”
His accented voice whispered across my skin, sending goose-pimples over my flesh. For a moment, panic coiled tight around my neck, constricting my airway. Breathing deep, I forced my legs to remain steady and reminded myself that I had been at their mercy for years now, there was nothing they could do that I hadn’t already survived. A second set of pounding footsteps entered the room, and over Viršininkas shoulder, I found Matis strolling closer. One corner of his mouth was pulled into a smug grin, his chin lowered and eyes narrowed. When he lifted up a sharp blade to tap against a red scratch on his cheek, I knew exactly why he looked so self-righteous. I’d fought Matis, I’d hurt Matis, so he would be the one to dole out my punishment. Even though fear threatened to make my limbs tremble, I felt no remorse for my attempt to flee. When help had been so close, I couldn’t do anything but fight for my freedom. What I did regret was not putting more than a fine scratch across Matis’ cheek. In my mind, I imagined that scratch deeper, sliced into his face, splitting his flesh apart and draining the blood from his body.
Viršininkas used a key to open the padlock, and one large hand with long, bony fingers reached in and dragged my ankle toward the cage door. Sliding along the concrete floor, I wiggled out of the cage. Regardless of the horror that awaited me outside its steel bars, I would endure it over the confined space any day. My body spasmed as I stretched to my full height, and I swayed on my feet as I turned to face Viršininkas. I ignored the discomfort, Viršininkas disliked it immensely when I complained, and to be honest, I didn’t want him to see that his punish
ment affected me. Ice, that’s what I was. Frozen heart, frozen emotions, and any signs of pain were locked down deep inside my heart and soul.
Viršininkas glanced over my shoulder and gave Matis one short nod. My hair was abruptly pulled back, my neck pulled taut as my scalp burned with pain. While unconscious, I had been stripped bare, and Matis took advantage of that as he placed the blade of his knife against one nipple, digging it into my flesh, not deep enough to draw blood, but enough to tell me I was in for a world of agony. My heart beat frantically, and a part of me hoped this was it, the moment the beating organ gave out and released me from this life of torture.
“Time to bleed, bitch,” Matis purred as he withdrew the knife and used my hair to drag me across the room.
Cuffs with cold, steel chains attached were quickly locked around my wrists and hooked into a pulley hanging from the ceiling. With the push of a button, Viršininkas grinned as my arms rose over my head, and I was lifted off the ground, only the tips of my toes brushing the floor. Matis stood before me, slowly stripping out of his suit, layer by layer, tossing the fabric aside without care and never once letting go of his favorite blade. He wasn’t as thin as my master, his body was coiled with muscle. His age was undistinguishable with his salt and pepper hair and strong physique. A dusting of hair covered his chest, thinning as it dipped lower to a thin trail leading to his heavy, erect cock.
Once naked, he stepped forward and ran the silver steel down my chest, between my breasts, over the flat contours of my stomach, before stilling at the juncture between my thighs. Fear stole my voice as my mouth parted, and tears threatened to spill over my lashes. He’d never cut me down there, but it had been a long time since I’d fought back against either of these men, they were beyond angry. As the knife began to rub between my lips, I realized the blade had been turned around and it was the handle that assaulted me. With more force, Matis began to rub faster and faster, and I couldn’t help the flinch as he laughed before plunging it inside me. Unable to hold it back, my voice was found again on a scream ripped from deep inside my chest as the large handle probed me relentlessly. Visions of the last three years flashed through my mind, and any link to the girl I’d once been were gone, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell that still felt too damn much, too much pain, too much anger. As quickly as the onslaught began, it ended, with Matis withdrawing the knife and pressing the blade against my cheek.