The End

by Charlotte E Hart

  I roll my shoulders, letting the beat of the muted music sink into my soul as I watch him walk to a bench, another person’s hands tightening the cuffs into place. I don’t know who it is, nor care. I’m looking at the one thing in my life worth enduring. I love that man, adore him for reasons I still can’t comprehend. And that puzzle only increases as he turns back to me and pulls the belt from his trousers, all pleasantries removed from his face. He’s stone cold here, a mask for the crowd around us, no doubt.

  Four strides and he’s by my side, the belt already looped and hooked under my chin so he can latch it onto the chain above me. I twist slightly, trying to ease the pressure he’s created, it causes him to tighten it again and smile eerily. There he is, my monster smiling back at me, his mind getting ready to disperse whatever atrocity it needs to. And if I look closely enough now I can feel him in those eyes of his, see the change. Perhaps these are the personalities he told me of, one of them, anyway.

  He gazes at me for a moment, his fingers slowly pushing my breasts out of my bra, then moving down to sink his fingers straight to where I need them most. It’s quick, and there’s no depth to the move, which makes me groan out and widen my stance, hoping for more. Nothing more happens other than a small tease, one that increases what desire was already pooling there.

  “Do you remember the main room in the first club we met in?” he asks, his mouth inches from my lips. I nod, the images coming at me as I think about them. “Do you remember what was happening at the end, to the girl?” I frown a little, remembering the initiation procedure that was developing as I left. “That’s what we’re here for, little dove.” He backs away a step as I let the realisation sink in, his feet covering the ground slowly. The crowd comes forward, some of them standing by his side as if ranks are being formed. “These are my people.”

  I glance at the faces around him, seeing no one I know. Tall, short. Men, women. Young, old. All of them wearing the same arched brow as him, one that seems to tell me everything I need to know without any words at all. They’re all like him, aren’t they? There’s nothing soft here. Nothing kind. Fine suits on the men. Tailored apparel on the women, make up still perfected. Only the subs are sparsely clothed, some of their moans still echoing to remind me they’re actually here, too. For now, and with the ring forming around me, sadists are all I can see. They leer and smirk, some amused, some aroused, all interested in me, and what Blaine has brought for them to toy with. Initiation.

  “You didn’t tell me about this,” I whisper, another snatched glance at someone behind me as I fidget a little. Perhaps I’m just nervous that I had no warning about what was to come. Or maybe I’m impatient for this last step to understanding him, to finding him and being obedient to his needs. I’m not sure which, but either way I feel honoured in some way. Like I’ve achieved something to be brought here. It makes me squirm a little, slightly uncomfortable with my own thoughts as I hear one of the men chuckle. My toes roll over themselves to ensure safe grounding beneath my feet, as I turn to glare at him, dismissing Blaine as I do. Something sharp stings at my stomach immediately. The yelp that leaves me rumbles through my skin, making me pull my belly in and draw my knees up, as I twist my body back to face him. He’s smiling, affected by my yelp of horror, no doubt, another belt dangling in his hand.

  “Don’t ever look away from me.” I suck in a breath at his tone, trying to regain my calm as I stare at him, bewildered. “Disappointing me here will be harmful for you.” I don’t doubt it.

  Another laugh sounds in the room as I crick myself back into shape, letting my body hang. I don’t look this time, rather try to let myself fall into his eyes again and forget the rest of them. That’s all I need to do. Focus on him. He looks, though. He drops my eyes quickly and glowers across the room. It’s hate-filled, proving his disapproval of whoever’s laugh it was.

  Much as I might hate to admit it, especially in this context, the sight of that glower on his face calms me. That’s his fight for me. His show of care. His love. It makes me feel precious in ways I can’t explain, not even to myself. I feel cherished by him, even here with all these others looking at me and waiting their turn. This is a show of ownership. He’s proud of me, proud of us. I wouldn’t be here if he didn’t think me ready, nor would I be relaxed as I hang here if I didn’t trust him enough to show me through this. No safewords. No words at all. Just he and I, regardless of everyone else.

  I grip onto the chain above me, stretching myself as I roll my shoulders again and get comfortable. This entire thing makes me feel aroused, sensual now I’m doing nothing but gazing at him.

  “Who first?” he says. “Your choice, little dove.” I don’t care who’s first. I won’t be seeing or feeling anyone but him. As long as he keeps looking at me and focusing me, he’s all I’m here for. This isn’t about anyone else but him and me. Us.

  “Nothing will fuck me like you do. What does it matter?” He smirks, his head inclining to the man on his right, quiet words being whispered.

  I glance at the man as he steps forward, then shake my head and look straight back at Blaine. His frown comes again as I feel a hand grab at my arse, pinching into it immediately. It hurts, enough for me to gasp a little and try to get away from it. It’s futile. There’s no getting away from anything here. And there’s no getting away from the slap and second rough grope that lands because of my rudeness.

  “You should have trained it better,” the man mutters, his fingers snaking firmly around my waist and hovering above my pussy. “Still, I don’t mind a fight.” Blaine sneers at that, his hands going behind his back as he backs away half a step. There’s another pinch to my arse then fingers grabbing my buttocks and rolling them about. “It’s a fine one you’ve got here,” he says, his hot breath coming over my shoulder. “Does it fuck well?” Blaine’s face turns almost to stone, rigid lines suddenly appearing where the softened edges only I know once were.

  “Be careful with my property, Lazeros,” he says, tight lips containing so much more than just those words. I smile again as the man’s fingers work their way into my knickers. He’s jealous of what’s happening in front of him. Probably aroused—definitely I would assume—but he doesn’t like this.

  I flick my eyes to his trousers, watching the way his stance gives room for his cock to harden. I know him now, know his movements and thoughts. It makes me widen my legs, giving this man room to play as I gaze back and imagine other hands. I’m not sure whether I should be enjoying this or not, but I am.

  My tongue grazes my dry lips again as a moan leaves them, and his fingers start to burrow inside. They inch in firmly, no care for their function or purpose. He’s just finding his way inside, fucking me with hands made for pain. And they do hurt. They grate and gauge, his nails shredding me, warning me of the limits I’ll be made to endure by the many. Regardless, though, I feel my hips starting to move as I watch Blaine watch me, my pussy clamping on fingers as they begin pumping in and out. It’s provocative, arousing. The air, the smell, the sight of Blaine as he tenses and inches a step forward again. And I quiver at that, my mind readying me for him rather than this functionary dabble at sin another hand offers.

  “Please.” I mouth the word at the man I love, my teeth drawing back over my lips as I let my orgasm build. I know I’m not allowed to come, no matter what. It’s part of this test. Part of me proving my worth. And I won’t until he tells me to. I can do that for him. I will, no matter the squirming and mewling that are coming from me as I try to back away from the feeling.

  He flicks his head at the man, causing him to remove his hand, and then nods at someone on my right. Another hand hits my skin quickly, the sharp sound of heels clinking the floor around me. Still, I stay focused on the one in control of me, of the room it seems. The hands are smaller this time, womanly. They caress and cajole, making my eyes roll a little, before they twist perversely on my nipples. They wrench and tug, their small surface heightening the sensations to sharp stings and beveled grates. An
d her teeth bite into my neck at one point, making me gasp and groan as I try to avoid her fingers travelling down my stomach.

  It goes on and on. One after another. Just as I get close, another pair of hands comes in to replace the previous ones. Every hole being prodded and poked, fingers delving and diving, some of them in my mouth, the texture of each one different to the last. I feel used here. Used and hung for entertainment. Blaine pulled up a chair at one point, turning it so he could sit and lean on the back to watch me. He smiles and frowns the entire time, enjoying my torment in one breath, but barely restraining himself from intervening in the next. I can see it all in his eyes, the war being waged, the need to stop these people but enjoy them, too. It’s confusing to me, making me fight and struggle a little, unsure if he’s happy or not. And I’m trying to stop the tears from coming. Trying to stop the shame that rifles through me. It’s some degree of the old Alana trying to break through this free for all on my body, fight against it, but that near satanic smile that comes back at me, oh god that fuels me again. It forces me to harden myself and wait for him, my thighs clenching regardless of the large fingers trying to prise them apart.

  “Let him in,” Blaine grates out, his chin resting on his forearms as he keeps watching me. I can’t. Any more and I’ll come. I know I will. I’m a ball of nervous energy, ready to let the pent up sensations explode. Men, women, the look of his gaze as he watches me strain against this man. He narrows his eyes as I shake my head at him and rattle the cuffs in frustration, still clamping my legs together in hope that this man won’t force me. I can’t contain it any longer. One more touch and I’ll come, irrespective of his quiet orders.

  He stands abruptly, the chair he’s standing on being cast to the side as sudden aggravation sweeps his features. Fear builds instantly, the kind I haven’t really felt since my apartment all that time ago. It’s the same face he had then, his hand at my throat when he first showed me himself.

  “Blaine?” I whisper as I try to scamper backward, the move instantly blocked by the man behind me. He’s so fast to move toward me, his fingers reaching for my skin with vicious intent written all over them.

  The hand on my skin is knocked out of the way, the man’s body behind me falling away as it happens, and then just as quickly I’m spun so I’m looking at the wall, my body pushed into it.

  “What did I tell you before you came in here?” My skin is crushed into the brick as his hands reach in between my thighs and pull them apart, hoisting me up as he does. “What did I ask you to call me?”

  I don’t know, nor care. I’m flummoxed, my mind reeling with sensations now that I can feel him on me again. I’m about to come; I can feel it as my nipples scrape against the wall, my wrists tugging at the metal around them. It’s all so bright, colours lighting up behind my closed eyes as I feel him grab harder, his fingers moving the crotch of my knickers away. I’m desperate, moans and grunts coming from me as his clothed body rubs on my back, his cock digging into my arse. I want him inside me. I do. I don’t care that these people are here. I don’t care that I’m being a show. All I can feel is him and the way he makes me feel. It’s all him and me. It’s all I want it to be. And the shunt of my body being shoved, the wall grating painfully against me again, only heightens the next spur for orgasm. It makes me desperate to touch him, have him hold me and guide me. I can’t think at all, nothing other than the need to fuck.

  Sweat pours from my forehead as my cheek squashes the wall, the continued jostling of my body making me rub against it.

  “Please,” I mumble, hardly audible in this room of noise and rumbled sound. I can barely hear it above my own breath, sharp gasps and moans still coming from me along with my chanted pleas.

  “Ask me.” My head’s crushed again, a vicious yank on my legs to push my knees into the surface. “In front of these people, ask for what you want. Let them hear you.”

  “Please, Blaine.” Nothing happens other than more pain, my body pushed and turned, new sensations assaulting it as he keeps coming at me rather than putting his fingers where I need them. “Please. Please.” I’m so close. So very close. And so fucking exhausted. It’s coming from everywhere, to the point where I can barely feel anything nice. Pain, more pain, the next bite in, another blow somewhere on my body. Bruising, raw, my frame being shoved and pushed, pulled and then tugged again. There’s nothing but aching and hurt, my body bound in it as my wrists slip and shear against the cuffs. And then, just as suddenly as the pain came, it subsides and begins to dissipate.

  I open my eyes, letting the room come back into view. There’s nothing here, and my body’s still being heaved and shoved about, but the pain has gone now. I’m floating, just like I was under that water. I can feel him on me, feel the tension and density of him there still, but it’s all suddenly muted and gentle. I sigh out at the feeling, letting him do whatever he wants because the ache just keeps building. It’s sturdier now somehow, deeper. It builds from the bottom of me, a sense of gravity and surety coming from each continued batter of my skin.

  “Sir.” It drawls from my lips, finally understanding the merit of that word in this moment.

  I don’t know where I am, my head lolling back onto something hard, but it’s barely earthly. I’m lost in it, not caring for the next blow or demonstration of worth. I’m here with him; that’s all I know. Desperate for his lips and yet not caring if I get them or not. This here is all us. Other worldly. Maybe it’s death. I’m so close to it I’m holding each breath for fear of losing the hold I have on it. And I can feel my fingers stretching for it, for him. It’s all I can see coming for me. All I can think of. All I want.

  Chapter 21

  Blaine

  T here she is. My beautiful little fuck toy.

  I slap out at her, watching as her body holds steady and takes the brunt of the impact. It fires me up, my hands hardening with each next tug on her skin. Beautiful. She shines here, just like my fucking stars at home. The tears have gone, the wailing and screams disappeared. All that’s left is skin and flesh, her mind drifted to some other place where she’ll no longer feel my wrath.

  The thought preoccupies my magician as he thinks and twists the images, wondering if he should let her abandon the pain, but my monster cares little for the amusement. His hands grab at her and brutally yank skin, little care to their effect on her safety. I grip at my jeans, ready to fuck into her until she bleeds and comes back to me, the pain too much for her to stay away from.

  I snarl at one of the crowd who dares step into my space, wondering if I should make them all leave, but they helped get her here, didn’t they? Helped her find that last little push she needed. And she’s so appealing as she dangles, her wrists already bloodied by the cuffs she hangs from. Blackened streaks on her face, reddened imprints littering her skin.

  “The cage, Blaine,” one of the fuckers behind me says.

  I growl at the thought, aggravated with sharing her. I’ve never brought a woman here, never found one I wanted to cement anything with enough. Time and time again I’ve done this with others, helped prepare them for a life together. And this was my own fucking idea, too. Bring her here, let her feel what it means to be owned and chained before I take her home, so she can breathe her way through it all and understand completely. Now I can’t find the want to let these others on her. I can’t allow it. Or won’t.

  I let go of her, carefully allowing her body to leave my hands and swing as I turn to scan the room. They’re all here still, each one ready to take their turn with what belongs to me. Initiation. I searched to find these people, be included in them at my whims. This is their life, though. Not mine. Nothing matters but this and their little club of iniquity. I rest on the borders of it, half in, half out, using it only when I see fit to try and find my equilibrium with these creatures I’ve created in myself. Now it’s annoying to me, the thought of collarings and life enrolment almost a restriction I don’t care to entertain.

  “This is your time, Blaine.” I gla
re at Delaney’s voice as he comes through the crowd, his shoulders pushing a route through to me. “Accept it.” Why is he here? I back towards my little dove, protecting her from his and everyone else’s advance. He’s not in this club. He’s merely a prelude to this, a path out of the real world. He’s how I found them, but he doesn’t involve himself in any of this. “Do what you need to do, Blaine. Finish this.” My skin crawls at the thought, my own fingers rubbing together as I consider permanent fixtures in my life, fucking magicians laughing at my hesitation. “Take her. She loves you. Prove she’s right to give you that.”

  I snarl at his forthright tone, and watch him weave his way further towards us, the occasional heckle from someone angering me further. “You brought her here, didn’t you?” I back closer to her, watching him drift around the edge of the floor, skirting all the others. He’s not touching her. No one is anymore. She’s mine. Just for me and my sins to delve into.

  She whimpers as I feel her skin on my back, causing me to turn and look at her. Her head’s hanging, the look of her flourished skin making me smile regardless of my cock’s still aching condition and these intruders being present.

  “Stop where you are,” I snap, shoulders squarely aimed at him as he keeps moving.

  “Why? What are you afraid of, Blaine?”

  I’m not afraid. I’m envious of what all this fucking sharing means. I can feel it in my bones as everything collides inside me. Love, honour, commitment to just one and one alone. It’s private to me. Something to be kept behind closed doors and coveted. The stench of death hangs in her arms for me, not them. It waits for me to take it should I choose to. She’ll rest in my hands daily, not theirs, waiting for me alone to play with her and offer security to. This fucking depravity around us pisses me off. Sharing? Fuck that. It’s enough that I’ve watched them on her already, touching what isn’t theirs to damn well touch.