“Thank you,” Ares says, and I’m not sure if he’s talking to me, but when I feel the cool slide of leather around my wrists, pinning them together and locking into place, I realize the words were meant for someone else. Someone who handed him these cuffs. Was it Pollyanna, with her perky little tits that she probably loves to shove in my Sir’s face? Is she smiling like a maniac now that I’ve been forced to show my body to these men? Is she touching Ares? Is he touching her while I sit here shaking on this table, awaiting my next instructions?
“Turn to the right and swing your legs up onto the table.”
I do as he asks, though I’m clumsy and my leg almost falls, sending me toppling. Ares catches me before I can pitch forward. His warm, steady hands slide up my calves and move me so that I’m stretched out.
He shifts. I feel the stirring of the breeze beside me, and I imagine he’s looking down on me with those cold, dark eyes. His palm settles behind my head. “Lie back, Pet.”
I exhale a deep, shaking breath, and lean into his touch. Sir will protect me. He has to. I’m his. I repeat the words over and over in my head.
“Good girl,” he coos, lifting the hem of my dress up my body. The slide of silk teases my flesh, pebbling my nipples as he pulls it over my torso and head. “Now, bend your knees and open those pretty thighs for me.”
I hesitate, remembering the room full of people. Oh god. Please don’t make me do this. Please, please. I beg silently, because I don’t dare make a sound.
His voice is stern and ghostly as he whispers in my ear. “Don’t make me fucking tell you again.”
My knees shake as I spread them. But I try not to show him, show them, how afraid I am.
“Wider.” The command is followed by the harsh swat of leather against the inside of my thigh.
I gasp, and attempt to close my legs against the pain, but I’m swatted again. A cry escapes me this time. “I said open your fucking legs. You open them, and you keep them open wide.”
“Yes, Sir,” I repeat immediately, but then I’m swatted again and tears sting the backs of my eyes.
“Did I ask you to speak, whore?”
I shake my head.
“Speak.”
“No, Sir. Sorry, Sir.”
His hand clamps down hard on my breast, his fingers pinching the nipple mercilessly. I cry, but he doesn’t let up. My knees squeeze together, and I’m struck again. The sharp bite of a leather flogger.
“You’re displeasing me, Pet. And what did I say would happen if you displeased me?”
I don’t answer; I just cry.
“Fucking answer me!” he roars.
“I—you said I’d be punished tenfold.”
“Yes, I did. Now open your fucking legs, and keep them open.”
My breathing is loud in the silence of the room. It’s too loud, it unsettles me, and it sounds like a roar when I’m sure it’s quiet as a whisper. I open my legs for him, hating that I’m scared senseless, but I’m also wet, because though his lash may have hurt, it also felt good. He made me this way. Trained me to expect pain with pleasure and pleasure with pain, as if the two can’t be separated. Just like my feelings for my Sir. I both love and hate him, especially now.
“Wider,” Ares demands, lashing me on either thigh. I widen my legs as far as they’ll go. “Good.”
I’m struck three times right over my pussy, and it smarts so bad that I tense up. I try to close my legs.
“Don’t you dare fucking close your legs.”
I keep them open, but I writhe as if I could ease the burn.
“Keep still.”
I do as he commands. I go as still as my body will allow. I take deep, even breaths and imagine it’s just the two of us, I’m lying on the floor of my cage, and Sir is working me over because it pleases him, not because he’s been coerced into it by a slow Southerner. Who is Texas to my Sir? Why did he agree to this when he clearly didn’t want to?
Ares’ hand drops between my legs and strokes my slick flesh. He delves inside my pussy and fucks me hard with two fingers. My pulse quickens. Any faster and my heart will explode. “You’re so wet for me, Pet. That greedy little cunt of yours loves my flogger, doesn’t it?”
I nod, even as tears streak down my cheeks underneath the mask. My stomach muscles clench, the orgasm curling around my pelvis, burning the soles of my feet and building to a point where I’m rocking my hips up to his hand, silently begging him with my body to go faster, harder, to use me and make me come in front of all these sick, sick men.
But he pushes me back down with his free hand and withdraws his fingers from my pussy. A beat later they’re roughly shoved inside my mouth, and he orders me to suck.
I taste myself on his hands, sweet, acidic, and primal. He fucks my mouth with his fingers the way he did my pussy, and I have to fight the urge to gag.
“Do you like the taste of your cunt, little one? Do you like to lick clean the cream that came from having that hot little snatch beaten?”
I try to nod, but it forces his fingers in deeper.
“That’s it, my greedy little whore. Suck.”
I work his fingers like I would his cock. He groans. A beat later I hear the unmistakable sound of a fly being unfastened, and his fingers leave my mouth. The soft kiss of flesh at my lips tells me he plans to replace his fingers with his cock. Like a good little whore, I open. He drives in mercilessly, but all too soon slides out again. Warm hands wrap under my arms, dragging me up the table so he can tilt my head back. He’s done this before, of course, usually on my bed, and sometimes in the bathroom against the tub. The position opens my throat, gives him better access to fuck me without mercy. I swallow hard and steel my nerves. It’s going to hurt. It always does, but I don’t mind taking the pain for him.
Strong fingers encircle the smooth column of my throat, squeezing ever so slightly into my flesh. Sir slaps my cheek with his cock, and I open my mouth. He shoves inside, right to the very back. I can barely breathe.
“Easy, little one.” His words are a gruff whisper, meant for only me. I relish the strain and need in his tone of voice. “Breathe in through your nose, the way I taught you. If you choke on my cock, your ass will be so red you won’t sit for a month.”
I breathe slowly, in and out through my nose as he thrusts in time with my breath. It gets easier, and before long I’m taking more of him, and then he pulls out abruptly, suddenly, and I take the opportunity to gulp in air.
He zips up his fly, and I frown as he moves away. He’s at the end of the table now. I feel his touch on my legs, splaying me open. He repositions me so that my feet are pressed together, sole to sole, my legs butterflied. Something sharp clamps my folds, one side and then the other. Pain, white-hot and searing. My whole pussy clenches. The throbbing becomes a kind of torture all of its own. In the stillness, delicate chains rattle. I cock my head, wondering what he’s doing. I don’t wonder long because the cold bite of metal against my hot flesh slides up my body. Sir slips a clamp on each nipple.
I cry out, and shake my head, but with soothing tones, and gentle stroking along my torso, he shushes me. I’m too afraid to make another sound. He tugs on the little chain and I feel it in my pussy, but also in my nipples and my core too. I whimper, unable to help it. This earns me a sharp slap to the breast. It causes a ripple effect. My breast swings, my nipples pull taut against the clamp, and my pussy jerks with the sensation. I moan. I don’t mean to. I don’t want to give these animals anything to fuel the fantasies in their sick heads, but there’s a reason I don’t shy away from Ares’ touch anymore. Because it always brings pleasure with pain, and I’ve come to crave them both like a drug.
“It’s okay, Pet. You can cry out if you want to.” He rolls the pad of his finger over my clit. I jerk and shudder against him, but he’s careful not to touch me for long. “You can’t hide your excitement from me. You like the idea of all of these gentlemen sitting here, staring at your tight little cunt, wishing they could punish it and make it their
own, don’t you?”
His words make me close my legs, but I’m struck with the flogger again. Twice on each leg, until I open them. A sob escapes me.
“Keep your fucking legs open, Pet. I will not tell you again. Next time, I’ll beat your cunt so hard you won’t close them again for a long time.”
“S-sorry, Sir.”
“No talking.” He lashes me again. “The only sounds I want coming from your filthy fucking whore mouth are your moans of ecstasy. Do you understand me?”
I snap my mouth closed, swallow hard, and nod.
“Good girl,” he coos, and then touches me again. Even the barest hint of a caress is too much with my flesh so swollen, and the sound that comes from my throat is pitiful: a moan, a plea, animal and broken. He circles my entrance and shoves two fingers deep inside. I clench around him, desperately trying to milk him for more. “Jesus, such a greedy little cunt.”
He fucks me so hard the only sound in the room is the squelching from my body, and the vicious thud, thud, thud of his thighs against the table. I’m so close to coming, but I know I’ll be punished if I do so without his permission. My mind enters that void space, the one where nothing matters but the pleasure and the pain, and the promise of more of both.
My legs shake uncontrollably. My hips slam against the table with each thrust of his fingers. Blood whooshes in my ears, and all I can feel is the pounding of his hands in time with my heartbeat.
Hard flesh pushes against my lips. He slaps me with his cock when I don’t open immediately. I didn’t hear him move. I’m drunk on pleasure, drunk on pain, and the building need to come. Finally, I part my lips and take him into my mouth deeply. He pushes as far in as my throat will allow, so I’m filled with him, my gag reflex going into overdrive as he grinds the base of his cock against my face. I can’t breathe. I’m going to suffocate.
He’s never gone quite this far before. Sure, he’s always trying to make me gag on it so he can punish me, but this feels more menacing, wrong. I whimper, but the pressure intensifies. He drives in and out a few more times, rough, ungraceful thrusts. His fingers continue to fuck my pussy, hard and unrelenting. My orgasm has peaked and vanished several times, leaving me lost at the edge of the precipice, unable to tumble over into ecstasy. Something feels very wrong, and I don’t understand it, because my Sir is telling me to breathe, he’s stroking my thighs and striking my pussy with the flogger, and filling my mouth. Only his voice comes from the other end of the table. I panic. I choke. The man thrusting into my mouth lets out a groan. The timbre is the same as my Sir’s, but it lacks the music and the deep, growling command of my Dominant.
“Breathe, Pet. He’s almost done.”
I sob, gagging on the appendage in my mouth. I try and shake my head, but Hermes’ hands hold me still as he fucks my mouth. Hot semen spills down my throat, and I have no choice but to swallow.
I want to be sick. I want to scream at the injustice of it, but Ares pinches my clit and I come instead. It’s as unwelcome and involuntary as the oral sex I just performed, but as his brother slides his cock from my mouth and slaps my cheek with it, I come, screaming and sobbing, and begging for more.
It’s the worst kind of betrayal, and I can’t stop crying.
“Such a pretty little mouth,” Hermes says with a ragged exhale.
And then Ares is beside me, his hands soothing my sweat-soaked flesh. I’m torn between wanting to pull away and longing to reach for him. It’s so unfair that I should seek comfort from the man who just destroyed me, who allowed his brother to use me, and these animals to watch.
He strokes my shoulders and whispers, “Shh, Pet, it’s okay. I’m here.”
I sob. I want to scream, to cry and shout, but I have no words. I’m sure I’m not allowed to voice them even if I did.
Ares pulls the clamps off my nipples and rubs the aching flesh with the flat of his hand. They throb as the blood rushes back to them, and the pain is exquisite and raw. And then I almost black out when he leans over and removes the clamps from my labia. Just like with my nipples, he rubs my pussy. It’s not sexual—it’s as if he’s soothing the flesh, helping the blood to flow again.
I should be floating. I should be tossed on his ocean, bitterly tired but sated. Instead, it feels as if my organs have been removed and my insides have been replaced with worms. My body is not my own. I suppose it never really was. Isn’t that what he’s been trying to teach me all along? That I belong to him, and he’ll do with me as he pleases? I bury my head against his chest and cry.
“Well, I don’t know about you, gentlemen, but I need me a stiff drink and a hard fuck after that,” Texas booms, his voice shattering my nerves. “Head on into the parlor and grab yourselves a whiskey and a woman. Or a man, if that’s your thing, Captain.”
Ares pulls the blindfold from my eyes, but keeps my mask firmly in place, even though it’s soaked with tears.
“Very nice, Master Muerte,” Texas says, stopping behind Ares. “If you’re ever looking for a buyer for your little Pet, you know where to find me.”
Sir’s arms stiffen. He straightens. “She’s not for sale.”
The other man chuckles. “Surely, you’re mistaken. Everything has a price.”
“Not her.”
“My brother drives a hard bargain, but he’s rather temperamental with this slave.” Hermes’ voice chills me to the bone. If I had a sharp implement, I’d spear him right through with it. “Why don’t we have a drink and discuss a few things while he sees to her aftercare?”
“Please, Sir.” I clutch tightly to Ares, risking another beating by talking without permission. “Please don’t let him sell me.”
“Shh, Pet. No one is going to own you but me.”
I swallow hard, wincing at the pain in my abused throat. My body shakes as he unfastens the restraints on my wrists and scoops me into his arms. I resist the urge to pull away from him, to rant, rave, and hurt him the way he hurts me, but I’m terrified of the outcome. Will he give me to Texas if I misbehave? Will he sell me to one of these other men, or share me with them like a common whore the way he shared me with his brother? It’s too horrible a thought, so I shove it down, lest I give it too much weight.
I tremble violently in his arms, and a male slave, naked but for a leather harness that trusses up his hard dick and balls with a steel cock ring, approaches us. His head is covered with jet black curls, and he has one of the prettiest faces I’ve ever seen on a man. A man no older than twenty-two or three, at a guess. He’s young and innocent, with a distinct middle-eastern flair. His carnality is palpable, and those blue–grey eyes are soft with affection as he watches my Sir. “Allow me to show you to your room, Sir.”
Ares’ breath hitches. It’s infinitesimal. I never would have noticed from a few feet away, but held in his arms, pressed up against his chest? I feel it. I hear it, but I don’t understand what it means. “Thank you, Israel.”
Israel gestures for us to go first, through the wide oak doors and up a sweeping staircase. From there, he leads us to a door at the end of a long hall, but he doesn’t step in front of Ares. He remains slightly behind, to the right of Ares’ shoulder. At the door, Israel inserts a keycard into the slot, and holds it open, allowing us to enter.
A decadent wrought-iron four-poster bed takes up most of the room. A great wooden beam runs across the exposed ceiling. There are cuffs and chains hanging from both the bed and the wood. A rich mahogany armoire sits in the corner beside a leather chair of the same color.
Ares lays me out on the bed, but despite the rage festering inside me, I cling to him when he tries to let go.
“Can I offer Sir anything else?”
“No, Israel. You may leave.”
“Yes, Sir,” he whispers, as if it were a caress. Jealousy twists my gut, but I wait until the door closes behind him before sneering at my Master. “Did you train him too?”
There’s too much anger, too much attitude, and I tense for the blow I know is coming. Sure enough,
Ares’ palm comes down on my side, where my hip meets my thigh. I hear the slap before I feel the burn, and when my wrung-out senses process the pain, it smarts like hell. I grit my teeth, hating the way my pussy clenches with every slap, bite or caress.
“Do I need to put you over my knee again, Pet?” Ares tears off his button-up and throws it on the floor, his muscles bunching with every movement.
“Fuck you!” I rip the mask off my face and throw it at him. “How could you let him do that to me?”
“What did you say?” he hisses through his teeth.
I shriek. I scurry back across the bed, clutching to the iron posts because my legs are noodles, and I know they won’t carry my weight. “Fuck you!”
“I don’t like your tone, little one.” Grabbing my ankle, he yanks me toward him. I hold tight to the bedposts, but he pulls me down the coverlet with ease. The brocade scratches my bare ass and back, and I let out a yelp though it’s through frustration more than any real pain. “You’re mine, and I’ll give you to whomever I see fit to use and abuse, every fuck-hole you have.”
“You’re a pig! I’m going to get out of here, and I’m going to fucking kill you.” I fight beneath him, lashing out with my hands, striking his chest and arms, and finally his face. He stills, his murderous gaze promising retribution.
“You dare raise a hand to me?”
“I hate you!” I spit, striking the hard flesh of his chest with my nails.
“Right now, Pet, the feeling is more than fucking mutual, and you don’t want to see what I do to women I hate.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
He chuckles darkly. It makes all the hairs on my body stand on end. “Then you’re stupid.”
His mouth comes down on my breast, and he bites so hard I see pain—colored like burnished amber, glowing hot, and oh, so real. I will not cry. I refuse to cry. He’d enjoy that too much.
In the Land of Gods and Monsters, Part One Page 10