Fragmentation

by Rachel Haimowitz

  Mat fought with everything in him to quash the urge to hurt this fucker. The drug must finally have been wearing off; the pain didn’t seem any less, but he was starting to think clearer, so it must’ve been.

  “And to be clear, if anything does happen to me while you and I are alone, I’ve left explicit instructions for what should happen to Douglas. I’m sure the guards will be more than happy to carry out my demands, don’t you agree?” A musing pause, and then, “I hear fucking a mouth with no teeth is an exquisite pleasure.”

  The image of that swallowed up everything else. “No. Please.”

  Nikolai’s hand fisted his hair, yanking Mat’s head until they were eye to eye. “Then never attempt to harm me again.” He dropped Mat’s head, wiped his hand on the pocket square again. Settled on his knees beside Mat and unzipped his pants. Pulled his soft cock out through the gap. “Why don’t you show me how sorry you are. This is a skill you and I will need to spend much time developing, anyway.”

  Mat forced his teeth to unclench and waited for Nikolai to fuck his throat. But he didn’t. Didn’t even close the gap between them. Just sat there, waiting, cock as flaccid and uninterested in the proceedings as Nikolai seemed to be.

  “I’m not those animals at the auction house,” Nikolai said. “I won’t ever force you. You must come to this of your own volition, but do remember what I said about choices and consequences.”

  Dougie.

  “And no, except to ensure my own safety, I’ll not hold your brother to ransom against your actions. They are your choices. And so the consequences must be yours as well. Now, do you choose to pleasure me? Or do you choose the consequences of disobedience?”

  Consequences. Dougie. Nothing but this man’s word that Dougie was safe.

  This man’s word . . . and whatever protection Mat could buy him with his own body. He was no good to Dougie if he couldn’t stand. And if he were being perfectly honest, he didn’t think he could face another six hours of such abject misery again. At least not so soon on the heels of the last, not while the pain—though fading fast now—was still so excruciating he wanted to cry.

  So though it shamed him in ways that being taken by force never had, he dragged himself the few inches to Nikolai’s lap, propped himself on his elbows, and sucked the man’s cock into his mouth.

  “Have you done this before?” Nikolai asked, brushing a hand over the top of Mat’s head.

  He nodded carefully, thrusting his tongue, trying to tease Nikolai’s cock to life. It thickened in his mouth, grew to prod at his gag reflex. Suck it, he told himself. Suck it. It’s not that bad.

  It wasn’t, really. At least Nikolai was as fastidiously clean and trimmed down here as he seemed to be everywhere else.

  “Are you gay, Mathias?”

  Another nod. He sucked. Sucked and bobbed his head, like he’d always done, except without the passion and attraction he used to feel (would never feel again?). It felt . . . mechanical. Like learning dance steps.

  “Interesting. You don’t suck cock like a gay man. Maybe that’s because you don’t like me.”

  You think?

  “You’re going to have to improve your technique. The hate must stay in your eyes, but your body needs to be as willing and capable as your brother’s will be, you understand?”

  You’re making me rape my own mouth, and you want more enthusiasm?

  As for the rest of it . . . He wouldn’t think about Dougie sucking cock. Anybody’s cock, but especially not this man’s. He forced himself to relax his throat. Take another inch. Another. His mouth was so fucking dry.

  “Don’t just lie there, use your hands.”

  The joints of his fingers were still filled with glass. He squeezed his eyes shut lest he clench his teeth when he wrapped a hand around the base of Nikolai’s cock and pumped in time with his sucking.

  “That’s good, Mathias. Add a little twist—yes. Very nice. You can feel out your master’s desire for a little anal play, as well, by sliding your other hand behind his sac. But don’t bother with me. I don’t like being penetrated by my lessers. You may, however, cup my balls. Eventually I’d like to have you suck me off while your brother licks my balls and ass. Or maybe the other way round?” He finally gasped. Finally a crack in his façade.

  He’s getting off on the thought of making us service him together.

  “Your brother’s not gay, is he?”

  He pulled off Nikolai’s cock with a wet pop. Shook his head. Tried to build up more spit in his mouth, but only half succeeded. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until now; his body had had more pressing concerns.

  Nikolai palmed the back of Mat’s head and nudged gently. Mat took him in his mouth again.

  “No, I suppose he wouldn’t be. I doubt the odds of that happening are very high. No matter, anyway. Sexual preference is only relevant for the owner, not the owned. He’ll learn to love cock. My cock. Every cock. He can be molded.” Another little gasp, a cut-off moan. “So can you. You’d like not to think so, but look how far you’ve come already.”

  Like you wouldn’t have, too, if you’d been raped and tortured nonstop for weeks.

  “Oh, but I am better than you. You’re a beast. To be caged and controlled and trained. Tamed. Conquered. And you’d best never forget that.”

  Mat pulled off his cock again. It was the only way to stop himself from hurting the fucker. “If it weren’t for Dougie,” he growled, “I—”

  “Would’ve bitten my cock off, yes? Well. We shall simply have to work on that. Tell me, Mathias, what do you fear?”

  Losing him again. Failing him again.

  “Bees,” he said.

  Nikolai actually chuckled. Took his cock in his hand and slapped at Mat’s cheek with it: Open up, bitch. Mat did. “I’d imagine,” Nikolai sighed, eyes fluttering briefly closed as Mat sucked hard and swiped his tongue around the crown, hoping to end this faster, “that this stings much worse.”

  Mat didn’t even have to look up to know that Nikolai was holding another auto-injector. His aching stomach surged, nausea threatening. The urge to plead, beg, was instant and powerful. He couldn’t go through that again, not yet. Couldn’t.

  He sucked harder, swallowed Nikolai all the way down his throat, moaned out his desperation. Please. I’m good. I’m so good. I’ll swallow your cum. But Nikolai just pulled free, jaw set. Determined. Resolved. Unbeholden to his pleasure.

  “Don’t ever try to harm me again,” he said, raising his arm. “Don’t ever try to harm any of your betters again. And while we’re at it, do not make a mockery of my important work with your cheek.”

  His arm came down, and the injector with it. Mat only had time to shout “Wait, no!” before it slammed into his hip and lit a horrible new fire under his skin. Every capillary burned. The agony spread like water through a sponge, unimpeded, inexorable, excruciating.

  As he writhed on the floor, Nikolai took hold of his spit-slick cock in one hand and Mat’s chin in the other, and jerked himself to completion over Mat’s grimacing face. Cum—slow moving, sticky—dripped into one nostril. Mat couldn’t muster the will to wipe it away, no matter how pervasive the stink of his rapist’s spunk. Moving hurt so much, everything hurt so much, he just couldn’t.

  “I’m going to go check on your brother, now. You and I shall try again when I get back, shall we?”

  Nikolai stood, patted Mat’s cum-smeared cheek. Fuck you, Mat wanted to say, and Water, and Please kill me, but all that came out was a pitiful wheeze, a high-pitched moan. The glass shards and acid had spread to his toes, his shoulders, the backs of his eyeballs, even his scalp. He wanted to tear it off with his bare hands.

  “I do hope your brother will be more cooperative,” Nikolai called from the doorway. When had he gotten over there? “See you in six hours.”

  Mat never heard the door close. Just looked up to find Nikolai gone and himself locked in this hellish prison again. Whether he meant the room or his body, he couldn’t have said.

>   Dougie woke sprawled out in a huge, luxurious bed. And immediately wished he could go back to sleep again, except he was so hungry. And thirsty, too. And had no idea where he was, if he was safe, how he’d gotten here, if Mat was here too. He sat up. Realized he was still naked.

  And not alone.

  There was a man across the room from him, sitting in a chair facing the foot of the bed, a glass of water dangling from the fingers of one hand. Watching.

  Water.

  He . . . knew the man’s face from somewhere, the sensation more like déjà vu than actual memory. Wherever it came from, whatever it was, it whispered trust this man, so Dougie clambered out of the bed and went to him. Stumbled. Tried to catch himself on the arm of the man’s chair, but still fell to his knees at the man’s feet.

  “W-water,” he said, his voice scratchy and sore. He tried to lick his lips, but his tongue was just as dry and sticky as they were.

  The man held out the glass with a soft, patient smile. Dougie almost reached up to take it from him, but somewhere in his head, another voice, he didn’t know whose: You must never touch your betters. He stretched his neck, chin up, and waited for the man to place the glass to his lips. Which the man did, and didn’t hesitate to tip it back and let him drink, cool water quenching his parched throat and dribbling down his chin and naked chest.

  He’s good. He’s kind.

  Dougie drank and drank, his body shuddering with mingled desire and satisfaction.

  And then again, as his thirst was slaked, with realization. Revulsion.

  He lurched away, crabbed back until he hit the bed. Couldn’t quite bring himself to look the man in the eye, but stared fiercely at his nose and demanded, “Where am I?” It wasn’t quite, Did you buy me? but he couldn’t bring himself to say that yet.

  The man sighed, disappointed. “I suppose this particular mood couldn’t have lasted forever. It never does.”

  The man stood, and though his face was kind, Dougie couldn’t help but cringe. But the man just walked around him, away from him. He heard a tap running, and then the man came back, glass refilled with water. He took a long, leisurely drink of it as Dougie watched, eyes fixated on his bobbing throat. The glass was still half full when he was done.

  “My name is Nikolai,” the man said. “But you must earn the right to call me that. For now, sir will do.”

  So he had bought him, then. Dougie’s head pounded, but he thought he might be starting to piece the last few days back together. Madame. Auction. Apart or together. Hurting Mat. Horrible little rooms, dark and soundless. Thirst, God, such thirst. Alone. Left to die.

  Not anymore, it seemed.

  A few days ago, back at Madame’s, he might’ve regretted that. But he’d learned in that stifling tomb that dying could be just as bad as living.

  “Are you . . .” His throat still felt so dry. He cleared it, eyes on the water glass, beading with condensation. Not in the desert anymore, then. Not in Vegas. “Are you a m-master, sir?”

  Nikolai nodded, the faintest hint of a smile touching his eyes and lips. “After a sort. I’m a trainer. I’ll teach you how to be your best possible self, and then I’ll sell you on to a master who will love you and keep you if you serve him well.”

  “But you don’t . . . I mean . . . You seem so kind, sir.”

  Nikolai squatted down in front of Dougie and held the water glass to his lips, tipped it back so he could drink. Dougie swallowed eagerly. “I’d like to think so, Douglas. I take no pleasure from others’ pain. I’m not a rapist like those animals at the processing center.” He pulled the glass back—empty, how was it empty already?—and stroked Dougie’s cheek with gentle fingers. Dougie caught himself leaning into the touch, eyes drifting closed. What are you doing, Dougie? Stop it. “I will teach you great pleasure, Douglas. Joy. Satisfaction. Would you like that?”

  I’d like to go home.

  He knew what he should say, knew what this man wanted to hear—this man who hadn’t harmed him, who’d given him water, who’d touched him with affection. But he couldn’t lie about that, couldn’t pretend he wanted to stay here. The man already had his body; for all that he’d treated it well so far, he couldn’t have Dougie’s mind, too.

  “Where’s Mat?” Dougie asked instead.

  That flash of disappointment again, but no anger, no retribution. The hand stroking Dougie’s cheek didn’t stop, didn’t get rough. “He’s resting. I’m afraid the last couple weeks have been quite hard on him.”

  “Can I see him?”

  Nikolai shook his head, features sad, like it genuinely pained him to keep Dougie and Mat apart. “I’m afraid not yet. I don’t think it’d do to disturb him.”

  Dougie nodded, feeling his eyes well up with tears. At least they didn’t fall. “You’re not . . . you’re not lying to me?”

  “In this entire process, has anyone lied to you, Douglas?”

  No. Never. They promised cruelty and dehumanization, and I got exactly that.

  Nikolai didn’t wait for his reply. Maybe he saw it written on Dougie’s face. “Because we have no reason to lie. Lying to keep you compliant would mean we don’t have the power to gain the same through more direct means. But we do. We have all the power.” Somehow that didn’t sound like a threat, like it could have. Just a statement of fact, as bland as saying the sky was blue. “And my particular authority is knowing with certainty that one day, you’ll come to relish that fact. You will be transformed, Douglas. Elevated above your base instincts into the very best version of yourself.”

  Dougie didn’t like the sound of that at all. It sounded nuts. Like shit a cult leader would say. Maybe this was a cult. It certainly was organized, and efficient, and everybody knew their place. Top-down hierarchy.

  Was he to be brainwashed, then? Broken and reprogrammed? The thought terrified him even more than all that’d come before. Not my mind not my mind please not my mind—

  “Don’t look so frightened, Douglas.” Nikolai stroked his cheek again, but this time, Dougie pulled away. Just an inch, just enough to get Nikolai’s hand off him. Nikolai dropped it back to his own knee, face unchanged. Gentle. Paternal, almost, like his foster dad would look at him sometimes. “It doesn’t have to hurt, I promise.” A small shrug then, a hint of gentle remorse, gentler humor. “It probably will sometimes—growing pains, you understand—but it doesn’t have to. You have a choice about that. You’ll have many choices here. But as I told your brother, you must understand that choices carry consequences. Some good, some bad. Those outcomes are up to you.”

  “I choose to go home,” Dougie said. And, feeling brave all of a sudden, added, “And to take Mat with me.”

  Nikolai shook his head. “That is the one choice I’m afraid you cannot make. There is no going home, Douglas. There’s nothing to go home to. You and your brother, you’ve fled to Mexico to escape bad debts to dangerous men. The bank is foreclosing on your house. You’ve been expelled from your program. There’s nothing left of that life. It’s harsh, but necessary. You have to let go of who you were to become who you will be. That is your first and most critical lesson in this house. Do you understand?”

  Understand? How could he understand that? “No.” Dougie’s hands balled into fists. He wanted so badly to stand, but he was afraid if he tried, he’d just fall again and ruin his last scrap of dignity.

  “No, you don’t understand?”

  “No. No. Just no. No to everything. No. Can I choose to say no, sir?”

  Nikolai’s nose crinkled ever so slightly at the tone of contempt in that “sir,” but he nodded. “You can.”

  “Then no. No, I don’t believe you. No, I won’t listen to you. No, I’m not playing your sick fucking game so you might as well let me go.” Turned out he could stand after all, even if he did have to lean against the bed. “Now. Sir.”

  Nikolai rose too, with a sigh. He was half a foot taller than Dougie, looked lean and wiry beneath his tailored suit, like Mat. But Mat had taught Dougie a thing or two; h
e wasn’t afraid, wouldn’t be intimidated by this man.

  Wouldn’t be intimidated by anyone. Not anymore.

  “For a moment there,” Nikolai said, the words like a mournful sigh, “I had such high hopes for you. I didn’t want you, you know. You came as baggage with your brother. But I thought I could give you my gifts nonetheless.”

  Gifts? Oh Jesus, this man was insane. If this was a cult, he was guzzling the fucking Kool-Aid. Dougie tried to glance surreptitiously over Nikolai’s shoulder, toward the door, the windows. He had to get out of here. He’d fight his way out if he had to.

  “Yet it seems you’re not ready to receive them. Perhaps you need some time to ponder. Some more time in quiet seclusion, perhaps?”

  That dark room. No water. No food.

  He’d drunk, but he hadn’t eaten, a fact that’d grown more and more urgent as his fluid-parched body came back into itself. How long did he have before he starved?

  You idiot. He won’t starve you to death, not when he can get you halfway there and desperate enough to eat from his hand and drink his cum for dessert.

  He’d read about this in grad school—going crazy in the endless, dark quiet of sensory deprivation. It could break a man in days. Sometimes just hours. Had definitely broken him, at least for a little while. Between that and what’d come before it, it was a fucking miracle of the human mind that he wasn’t destroyed already.

  You snuggled in his lap and drank from him like a mewling kitten.

  That’s where he recognized him from. The memory came back like a fucking freight train. Hunger. Thirst. This man. Water. His strong body. Protector. Savior. In that moment, he’d been all of that and more. Dougie—reduced to a desperate, broken animal—had loved him.

  From here on in, he had to be smart. This was his mind he was gambling with, and he couldn’t throw it away for some meaningless stand. Better to play along now—no matter how humiliating and horrible it was, no matter what—and keep his senses (no more dark rooms, God, please no more) so he’d be ready when the time to escape eventually came. He was halfway to a Ph.D. in clinical psychology; if he couldn’t outsmart this guy, he had no one to blame but himself.