I scratch at the tape over my lips and rip it off, pulling a little too hard, causing them to bruise. Ow! I flex my wrists and wipe the dripping blood on the sheets underneath me. Next challenge: getting my legs freed.
I look around the bland room, the only window is covered by sheer cream curtains which do little to block out the sunlight seeping into the room and onto the bed.
Fighting with the cuffs at my feet, I figure the only way I am to be freed is if I do some serious damage to them. Remembering that part of Saw, when the guy sawed off his foot to get free, my eyes quickly survey the room for an instrument of such sorts.
I’m desperate. Get yourself in a situation like this, when you’re facing your worst nightmare, and I’m sure sawing off a foot or two would count as a small price to pay.
I let out a crazed laugh and cover my face with my bloodied hands. Oh, God, I’m going crazy already. Inhaling deeply, I try to ward off more tears and a possible psychotic episode. With all I’ve been through by the hands of Rick alone, it’s enough to have a psychological breakdown.
When I’d seen Rick pull out that small stash of heroin, I’d begged for death. No way did I want that stuff in my body again. I’d worked too hard to get clean; worked too hard to ditch that demon.
I remember back when I was eighteen, fresh out of high school and slumming it in some back alley apartment dump with Rick, getting high off heroin. I was doped up, trading blowjobs for hits, strung out and on a first class ticket to being arrested or even dead.
“You’re just like Fiona,” Rachel had said when she came to rescue me one day.
Fiona, my birth mother, is now spending her days rotting in prison. The bitch is due out soon, but I couldn’t give a shit. She’d pimped me out as a child to feed her habit. I wasn’t going to become her. I wasn’t going to end my days like that. That shit had sobered me up immediately. I’d vowed to myself that I would never be like that woman and there I was…becoming her. I couldn’t have gotten out of that hell hole fast enough.
But the drug was like a demon beckoning me to it, and the devil himself, Rick, drew me back in league with that demon. If not for me shooting his privileged, rapist ass, who knows where I would have been then?
I close my eyes and a single tear runs down my cheek as the memory resurfaces. Oh, how I’ve tried to forget that night. How can I, when it is the reason I have created this new persona, this new life? That night is ever-present in my mind.
He’d lured me back in, telling me how he’d missed me and how he’d changed; how he knew what I wanted to remember the love I had for him; that we were meant to be. It had been a moment of weakness on my road to recovery at the time, and I ended up falling so hard off the horse that I didn’t even see the next turn of events coming.
It hadn’t been my first time, feeling Rick’s wrath. He’d go on these rampages, brought on by cocaine, that terrified the living shit out of me. He’d force me to perform sexual acts on other men for money, then kick my ass for actually doing them, and then we’d have mad, drug-induced sex that involved a lot of pain whether inflicted or received. I had been used to pain, needed it, even then; but that time…that time was different.
He’d knocked me around real good that night after I had taken my first hit of heroin. It had felt so good to have it sinking into my veins again, taking all my problems away on a cloud. The first slap took me by surprise; woke me the fuck up out of my high. My head rang from the jolt and pain of it. Then, he was dragging me to my feet and screaming at me for leaving him.
He’d punched me and my lip burst open, the metallic tinge of blood filling my taste buds. As I close my eyes and reminisce, I can still taste that blood – whether it is just from memory or from yesterday when Rick split my lip open, I am unsure.
I remember fighting back that day, something I’d never done before – scratching at him, putting in a few good hits – but he was too strong, too hopped up on coke to even feel the solid blows I was landing in his face and chest.
He threw me on the bed and before I could rage at him, he backhanded me, dizzying me just enough for him to restrain me with those same ropes he’d used on me in, what I’d thought was, a loving fashion.
Before I knew it, he was ripping through me, the burning, piercing sensation like sandpaper. By the time it was over, my tears had ebbed to numb hiccups, my vagina was ripped open…felt like I was torn from the inside out. What drove my madness, though, was the fact that he’d made me come. Some part of my brain had liked what he’d done. So when he loosed me from my binds and had gone to the bathroom/drug lab to clean up, I fished under the bed in his Louis Vuitton shoe box for the .44 caliber he kept there. With a blank face, but steely determination, I’d shot him as soon as he exited the bathroom.
Then ran like hell.
With all the crap I’d been through after that shitstorm kicked up, I thought I’d have ditched the habit and sobered up, but even in Philly, that demon had followed me.
For a few months I’d found myself strung out, looking haggard, wearing long sleeved blouses to cover the needle marks…for days…days without showering or cleaning myself up. It was a dark time, not being able to emerge from the darkness that Rick had plunged me into, that I had plunged myself into.
Seeing a fellow user OD and die in front of me was all the wakeup call I had needed. Well, that and Rachel kicking me out on my ass and bitch slapping me, then hugging me just a few weeks later when I’d returned for help. I was glad I had a support system in her. Don’t know how I would have gotten through my addiction and withdrawal without her. I know I would have died, if not for her; and now…I’m probably going to die anyway and there is nothing she can do about it.
Burying my face in my hands, I weep bitterly. I hadn’t felt so helpless in a long time. Wiping my face, the blood from my hands smearing it, I try to pull myself together. My courage and frustration – more of the latter – forcing me to pull on the flimsy metal frame that I was cuffed to, I jerk my ankle roughly causing the metal to dent. My eyes widen at the possibility that I can free myself without having to amputate anything. To my horror, though, I hear voices and see Rick and Ryan approach the room door.
Fuuucckkk!
“What the fuck?” Rick shouts when he bursts through the door, ducking the lamp I’d grabbed and thrown at him. He rushes over to me, the big, gruff-looking, Ryan hot on his heels. Ryan looks different, his skin pasty. He must be high already. Shit.
Trying to scratch at Rick, I start screaming, but Ryan’s hand clamps down on my mouth, squeezing until I have to shut up.
That hurts.
Rick grabs my hands and pulls them down in front of me, careful not to touch the lacerations.
How sweet, I say snarkily in my mind.
In no time, there is tape on my mouth again. Ryan stares at me and what I see in his eyes makes me gulp…hard.
I…am in trouble.
Before I can help myself, I’m eyeing the bulge in his pants. Yep, definitely in trouble.
Rick bandages my wrists, but I find it hard to tear my gaze away from Ryan. Fear curdles my body and I start to shake involuntarily. A metal clicking brings me back to reality and I see the same wicked, salacious gleam in Rick’s eyes. I try to raise my hands to hit him, but it’s then I realize that my hands have been secured to the cuffs above my head.
Yup, trouble.
“It’s finally time for the fun to begin, don’t you agree, Ryan?” Rick says.
Ryan leans in closer and inhales me, he is close enough for me to Mike Tyson his ass, but as quickly as the thought comes to fruition, he moves away quickly, like he senses my ill – but very much warranted – intent. The smile he gives me lets me know that he knows exactly what I’m thinking and the bastard gloats at the fact that I can’t do shit.
Ryan’s nose is crooked, an obvious sign of prior breakage. I so wish I could re-break it…or break his dick. Fucking bastard! I’m just glad he didn’t do any physical harm to Rachel; though I would have been happ
y to dish out a proper ass kicking to this prick.
Knowledge of this will kill my friend though. If not physically, emotionally. She will blame herself, no doubt, and I won’t be able to engulf her in my arms and assure her that it’s not. I can imagine how despondent she must feel at this moment knowing I’m missing. Tears escape me as I ponder what she must be going through and I close my eyes not wanting my two captors to see me in anguish. When I reopen them, I wish I hadn’t.
Ryan grabs his crotch and squeezes his erect cock, sending my body into tremors of repugnance.
God, I’m screwed…literally.
“We need to crank the party up a little bit. Increase the fun level.” Rick shifts to the bathroom and comes out with a medicine bag. I start writhing and whimpering, knowing exactly what is contained in that bag. How I wish he would keep it contained.
“Look what I’ve got, Delly,” he says, using the name he’d once used, the night he’d raped me.
I clamp my eyes shut, wishing I can block out his voice as well. I don’t want to see. At this point, I just want to die. I don’t want that stuff inside me, but I know there’s nothing I can do about it.
From somewhere – I don’t open my eyes to look – I hear music being turned up louder. I recognize the melodious voice of Miguel as Do You plays. My pulse quickens at the thought of what both men have planned for me. Sweat mists my skin in a nervous rush of heat. Violent shakes rock my body as I feel Rick’s breath on me. Hot, heavy, and wanting.
“Don’t worry. You’re going to start enjoying yourself soon.” A tear slips from my closed eyelid and I shudder as he licks it off.
“Even your tears are sweet,” he moans. “I can only imagine how sweet that cunt of yours tastes; but if memory serves me correctly, you do taste amazing.”
Then I feel the familiar tourniquet being wrapped tightly around my arm as Rick sings along happily that he likes drugs. I squeeze my eyes tighter, willing the nightmare to go away. In resistance, my body starts squirming from him, belatedly trying to escape the inevitable.
“Hold her,” Rick commands gruffly and Ryan is on me, holding me down.
I try to struggle, but it’s pointless. The big guy is exactly that…big, and so is his damn erection poking me in the gut! Under different circumstances, his obvious need for me would have been a turn on; but, now, under duress? I am a leaf shaking under this ferocious wind of danger.
Way to be poetic at such a dangerous time, Delilah! His perverted ass needs to get up off me ASAP.
Yeah, like that’s going to happen any time soon…
Euphoria! Oh…oh my.
My eyes flutter closed as I absorb the sensational, familiar, oh so sweet feeling. I buck upwards as the stuff rushes through my veins. Why did I quit again? My thoughts fade off and I am riding the high that’s been forced upon me, wanting to join in chorused singing as the song changes to Korn’s Coming Undone as it plays.
“Yes, chase the dragon baby,” I hear Rick croon. “Uncuff her…” That’s the last thing I hear Rick say before I feel Ryan’s hot, naked body on my ass, drilling into my pussy.
“Fuck, she’s tight,” he mumbles as he drives into me. I know I’m as dry as a warm day in the dessert, and under normal circumstances I’d have been crying out for pain; but that’s what heroin does. It makes you derive pleasure out of the most uncomfortable and painful situations.
He lunges into me at the hilt and holds it there. I feel his cock jolt inside me and I need more. Bracing against him, I grind my hips into him and he smacks my ass hard and loud. I know it’ll bruise. I know it will hurt once this drug wears off, but I find myself asking for more and he grants my pleas with even harsher slaps before pounding into me ruthlessly.
At my periphery, I see Rick coming toward me with his hard cock in hand, smoothing it firmly up and down. He brings it to my lips and commands me, in a rumble, to open and I do. Shoving it deep into my mouth, I lave at his length, moaning at being filled this way.
I have had many a threesome in my life and it is always such a heady experience. Two men bringing one woman pleasure is an arousing thought and an even more arousing visual experience. With heroin, however, it is much more potent.
In my heart of hearts, though, I am not enjoying this. It is the masking by the drug that is making me feel this way. Even heroin cannot increase the feelings of pleasure as it’s supposed to. Well, not to my body. Somehow my body knows, knows it isn’t Ben, and will not respond to the brutalization of my vagina, no matter how my brain is tricking me.
“Fuck,” Ryan curses. “Too tight.” He pulls out of me and replaces his throbbing member with his mouth. The warmth of his lips and his tongue coax me to come, but I don’t.
My body is no traitor. It belongs to Benjamin Adonis Hayes. Always will.
“Let me,” Rick grumbles as he pulls out of my mouth, my lips swollen from his savagery. My brain cannot form a protest as Rick sinks himself into me. I breathe out as he rocks against me and pitilessly picks up speed.
I take the brutalization, screaming and moaning in what my brain conceives as pleasure, but I can feel myself tearing, being so dry and unresponsive. Ryan shoves his cock into my mouth and I suck him hungrily. I can feel Rick’s finger digging into my flesh as he slams into me. A growl from him alerts me to his frustration and he drags himself away from me and pushes Ryan away.
Grabbing my chin roughly, he slaps me hard across the cheek and, as if by reflex, I spit in his face and smile. He kisses me roughly before he says to Ryan without taking his eyes off mine, “I think she needs some more of that snow.” My eyes widen with excitement. I do need more.
“Yes, Rick. Fucking give it to me,” I beg in a whimper.
“Yes, baby. I’m going to give it to you, in more ways than one. I know how you like it.”
And just like that…I’ve gone down the rabbit hole. Again.
PART ONE
Ben’s Torment
Chapter One
Sullivan Beal was the best thing to have happened to me in a very long time. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever met. Voluptuous and curvy, she was the first brunette I’d ever dated. She pleased me in every way, was more than I ever bargained for. Nothing like I’d ever dreamed of and all I could ever want.
But in one fell swoop, all that got ruined.
How could Sullivan do this?
I try, in vain, to sleep but can’t. All I’m seeing are her tears and I wish I could wipe them away, but I am so…mad at her. Tossing and turning in bed, I grunt in frustration at the events of earlier wishing that Sullivan wasn’t part of it, that she knew nothing. She’d be next to me right now and I’d have no problem sleeping. For years, I had had issues falling asleep and sleeping through a full night. Sullivan came into my life with that soft body of hers and made it so easy to drift away; but she had to fuck it all up. Fuck!
I hear my phone buzzing and take it up to find a text from Sullivan. Is she serious?
Please forgive me, Ben. I’m sorry. P.s. I’m home.
What do I care if she’s home? She should’ve crashed and died for all I care! God, that’s harsh, but fuck, she ripped me apart tonight.
I don’t give a fuck.
That should send my message loud and clear.
I could have handled it if she tried to hurt me, but to hurt my family? To be a part of what tore my family apart? That’s unforgivable.
My fucking bastard father, Roman Hayes, real estate titan, cheated on my mother with some blonde bimbo and my sweet Sullivan knew about it, about everything. Unforgivable.
I give up trying to sleep and I swing exhaustedly out of bed. It’s not that I’m tired, but the weight of Sullivan’s betrayal and her absence from my bed weighs heavily on me. I shake my head violently, needing to get her out of my thoughts. Even if she was the first woman, aside from my mother, that I’ve ever slept next to, comfortably, I need to get over it…over her. She’s destroyed my Mom.
My Mom. Sweet, beautiful Diana.
I
pad down the hall to the room I made her stay in for the night. Knocking on the door, I listen for her answer. All I hear are her cries when I burst in.
“Oh God, Ben,” she groans, burying her face in one of her hands and fanning me away with the other. “Go away.”
I hate to see my mother cry. The last time she cried was when her father died and that was five years ago. Seeing her cry now breaks my heart and incenses me the more.
What the fuck was my idiot father thinking? Worse, what was Sullivan thinking keeping it from me? I grind my teeth, clenching and unclenching my fists. Go ahead and hurt me, but hurt my family? My mother?
Call it an Oedipus complex that I haven’t quite grown out of, I don’t care, but my mother comes first.
But she can’t give you what you need like Sullivan can, a niggling thought arises and I bat it down as soon as it comes up. Fuck all of that, I curse inwardly, approaching my mother in heavy, tiresome strides.
“I don’t want you to see me like this,” she says, batting me away when I sit next to her.
“Mother, you know I hate seeing you cry,” I say softly, trying to ease her pain. “If I could have shielded you from all of that, I would’ve.”
“Ugh, what the hell was your father thinking?” Mom shouts, throwing her hands up in the air.
“He’s a coward, mom. He never deserved you,” I assure her. My father deserves to be alone for the rest of his life for hurting my mother the way he has.
“And with that bimbo! Surely, he has more taste than that,” Diana criticizes with disgust.
I laugh once because, honestly, that is all I can do not to sweat from my eyes. Yeah, I don’t cry. Crying is for women and pussies, I sniff to myself.
“How are you doing, son?” Mom asks me, resting a warm palm on my cheek. “It should be just as hard for you.”
“I’ll be fine, Mother,” I try to convince us both. Truth of the matter is, I’m not too sure about that.
Broken Love Page 2