“Did you already forget where to place your hands, bitch?” he screamed, slapping me hard against my face, causing me to fall over.
Tears pricked my eyes, and anger swelled up within me. My cheek was on fire, and my knees were scraped worse than they had been yesterday, fresh wounds on top of the newly formed scabs. I took a deep breath and sat back up inhaling the scent of cucumber melon to restrain me from lashing out. This time, my hands landed on my thighs as he had directed me last night. I wouldn’t be able to contain myself a second time.
“Better, but your posture is deplorable. Straighten your spine, and turn your feet in.”
Doing what he asked, I took some more calming breaths. At least for now, this I could handle. I could breathe through and concentrate on Paxton, and my freedom. This was the calm before the uncertain but inevitable storm.
“What was your assignment, Slut?”
“To count the number of yellow squares in the grid, Master,” I responded, almost choking on the last word. I didn’t think I would ever find the name appealing or easy to say to the man in front of me.
“Stand.”
Confused at the sudden change in direction, I stood but kept my eyes trained on the floor. I didn’t want to look at Preston. His resemblance to Paxton was uncanny, except for his eyes. Where Paxton’s eyes looked like soothing puddles of blue liquid beauty, Preston’s were dead and empty. Black like his soul.
“Look at me!” He commanded.
I brought my gaze up to meet his and saw more and more differences between the two brothers. Preston’s nose was bent, crooked, giving him a more ominous facial structure. His hair, although tied back, was longer than Paxton’s, and his eyebrows a deeper shade of black and bushier. He looked like the monster version of Paxton.
“To the cross, slut, face first,” he pointed.
I walked over, desperately wanting to cover myself, but knowing the penalty would be severe. I wasn’t sure why walking nude, versus lying down spiked my modesty, but it did, and I couldn’t stop the jitters coursing through me.
“Nervous, girl? You should be. Especially if you’ve fucked up your counting. I don’t deal with failure well,” his voice came from behind me as he harshly pushed me into the wooden beams.
When my chest made an impact, I instantly knew the severity of being wrong would be brutal. Tiny splinters of wood dug into my breasts, and lodged under my skin, just from my initial impact. This cross has not been sanded down on purpose, and the front of my body was going to take the brunt of the lack of care to the wood.
“Step up!”
I stepped up onto the planks sticking out of the cross while he strapped in each ankle with zero wiggle room. Once he stood, I immediately stretched my arms out towards the shackles for my wrists.
“Ah, my little slut is learning,” he sneered with only condescension in his tone.
Why did I think he might be proud of me for doing something right? Preston didn’t do the rewards or ‘job well done,' he only did pain and suffering.
Once my bonds were fully in place, Preston pulled away from me and walked to the rack on the wall, selecting a terrifying whip from it. I’d never seen one quite like that, but if the tail end and the length of it were anything to go on, I prayed I got the grid numbers correct.
“Do you know what this is, little slut?” He asked.
“No, Master,” I whispered as my first tear fell.
“This is a bull whip. Commonly used for extreme pleasure when combined with a small amount of pain. But it can also be brutal for much needed disciplinary action. For every digit you are off, you will receive that many licks with my whip, and trust me, girl, they will NOT be for pleasure. Now, how many squares did you count?”
“One hundred and twelve thou—” I trailed off to a whisper even I couldn’t hear.
The crack against my back buckled my knees. Searing pain scalded my upper back as tiny flames danced on my skin.
“I can’t hear you!”
“One Hundred and Twelve Thousand, Eight Hundred and Six, Master!” I cried out. The spot where he had hit still burned down to my bones, but the sudden movement on the cross sent splinters tearing through my skin, and my nipples. The pain was excruciating, but I couldn’t decipher which side hurt worse.
“Uh-oh. It seems as if our poor slut doesn’t know how to count very well. The correct answer is one hundred and twelve thousand, eight hundred and twenty-four. How many lashings will you be getting, girl?”
Oh God. Math? I couldn’t focus on math when I could barely concentrate on staying upright and preventing more slivers of wood to pierce through my skin. I tried to line the numbers up in my head. Twenty-Four minus six?
“I said how many?” he roared.
Crack!
I thought my screams from last night had been loud, but they didn’t compare to the wail that erupted from me. The whip landed directly crisscrossing his first mark, leaving an ‘X’ on my skin. Although I couldn’t see it, I knew my back looked like the perfect treasure map. I could feel it through my muscles. There was no way I was going to last through… eighteen more.
“Eighteen,” I bellowed, snot and tears mingling on my face as I cried harder than I ever had. Resting my forehead against the cross, I winced as another piece stuck through my damp surface.
“Magnificent slut, you can subtract. Count each lash. If you miss a number, I will start over, and I don’t think you can handle more than twenty.”
Twenty? Apparently, the first two didn’t count. I wasn’t surprised.
The first hit, slid across the small of my back, pushing my face further into the wood. The stinging in my cheeks was almost nonexistent in pain compared to the burn coursing right above my ass. I pinched my eyes shut, trapping my sobs and my gut wrenching fear. I prayed this would be over soon. I needed this to be over soon.
“One,” I croaked out.
I expected the hits to rain down one after the other; a continuous flock of lacerations to my back, my pride, and my fragile soul, but they didn’t come. After each brutalizing blow and subsequent count, Preston sat on the bed, or stood back a few feet, and admired his handy work. He knew letting the sting of each one sink in would do the most damage, physically, and mentally.
At six, I begged for him to stop.
At eight, I pleaded for him to kill me.
At twelve, my legs could no longer support me, and my brain could no longer cope with the abuse my body was being given. I didn’t remember passing out. My eyes had been squeezed shut so tight, the blackness engulfed me so suddenly, I hadn’t even realized I was close to my cognitive limit.
“Wake up, Bitch. You’re not done yet,” the voice of nightmares crept into my fainted dreams.
The smelling salts pressed to my nose were pungent, but the smell of copper infiltrated my senses and kicked my psyche into panic mode. Copper meant blood. I was bleeding.
“Oh, God. What’s happening? Paxton!?” I cried out, the scent of my own blood making me panic and hyperventilate. My chest heaved against the sharp wood shavings of the cross, and I could feel each tiny pin prick. It only made my breathing harder to come by.
“Paxton can’t save you, girl. He belongs to me, just as much as you do. Finish the punishment you’ve earned like a good slut, and I’ll let him come clean up my mess.”
Crack!
The brutal strike tore through my shoulder blade, a wave of nausea shooting through me. I emptied the little contents of my stomach down the front of my splintered chest.
“Thirteen,” I barely managed to get out.
Fourteen, Fifteen, and Sixteen came concurrently in the dead center of my back, curling around my side, and licking at my breasts. Although the whip was savage in its own right, the small ends of the bullwhip were merciless as each strand wove around me, annihilating my skin, and pushing the wooden needles deeper under the surface.
Seventeen hits parallel to the three horizontal strokes, pushing me up on my toes, while my vision tunneled a
nd the room grew too foggy and too hot.
“Seventeen.”
“What was that, girl? I couldn’t hear you?”
Preston’s face was suddenly right in front of my own. I could feel his breath on my face.
“Seventeen.” My voice, just above a whisper.
“Should I start over? You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself,” he belittled.
“Please.”
“Please, what?”
“Please, no more, Master,” I cried, as more pockets of moisture fell from my eyes.
“Do you think your pathetic tears will help you?” he yelled, as he latched onto my hair and yanked backward. “Do you think I give a fuck about anything else but that sweet fucking pussy and your tight little asshole? You’re nothing but a worthless, feeble slut who is only as good as the holes you were born with. Now if I don’t hear this last number, crystal clear, I will start over, and then I will leave you chained here until your blood on the floor has dried into little flakes of red snow.”
Preston shoved my head back and released my hair. I watched as he took his place behind me, and grabbed his roped weapon of choice. I wanted to look away, to close my eyes and not watch the inevitable, but like a train wreck, my eyes were glued to his muscled biceps as they flexed with his grip. When his arm reared back, my body took over, forcing my eyelids closed, and my muscles tightened anticipation.
The crack hit the air, and I waited, but the sting never came. I peeked through my lashes and saw why. Preston was taunting me, circling me like hungry lions lap the perimeter around his prey. His eyes were wilder than I had ever seen them, and the smile on his face scared me more than the whip in his hand. The more he paced, drawing the whip up and swinging it back down with a thundering crack, the more I began to shake.
“Are you scared?” He taunted.
“Yes, Master.”
“Tell me how scared.”
“Please, Master. Please,” I begged again.
“Tell me!”
“I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared. Just get it over with damn it!”
The words were out of my mouth before I could draw them back in. Preston’s taunting halted as he looked at me, almost in shock at my lack of respect, and my outburst of hostility.
“I’m not supposed to permanently injure you, but one more outburst, and you.”
Crack!
“Will.”
Crack!
“Pay!” he roared, slashing me across the tender flesh of my ass, harder than any other hit combined.
I could feel the blood slowly dripping from my back and the new marks he left, and I focused on them, trying to remain lucid. A buzzing sound filled my eardrums, and the room around me was fuzzy at best. I was done.
“Eighteen.”
I saw Preston drop the whip, and storm up to me. He pressed his chest into my searing back, making me cry out. Without a word, he unfastened the button on his jeans and pulled down his zipper, letting his fully erect cock spring free, as he stepped out of his pants.
He unbound my ankles and forced me to step down, my arms pulled tightly, dangerously close to coming out of their sockets. I was bent forward to keep my arms from breaking, but through the pain, I still managed to observe Preston from over my shoulder.
With cleared vision and a sick churning in my stomach, I watched as his hand came up to my back, and smeared the droplets of blood onto his palm, before fisting his cock. He pumped his hand up and down, my sanguine fluid coating his cock, turning it a sickening shade of red.
Something inside of me knew it was coming, but it didn’t stop the revulsion from creeping in when both of his hands caressed my bruised ass cheeks and roughly spread them, letting more of my blood drip down onto my exposed hole.
There was no warning, no preparations, and certainly no stretching this time around, as the head of his cock pressed past my barrier creating a raging inferno ring of pain. I wanted to scream as he continued pushing deep inside, but my throat was raw, and my lungs were empty. There was nothing left for him to take of me. At that moment, I was empty, save for his cock.
With a methodical slowness, he inched his way in until he was seated to the hilt, his body flush against my wounded back, his balls pressed firmly against my slit. For longer than I could count, we stayed like that, not moving, barely breathing. I could feel his cock twitching inside of my inflamed asshole, but I dared not move.
“I can smell your fear, girl,” he leaned down and whispered into my ear. “But there’s no reason to be afraid of me. I am the least of your nightmares. I may fuck your holes, but they will fuck your mind, they will fuck your soul, and when you die, they will fuck your still warm corpse.”
With a fresh wave of fear for my future crashing around my skull, Preston pulled out of me so suddenly if I hadn’t been chained down, I would have fallen. A warm splash of fluid coated the open wounds on my back as I heard Preston grunt behind me, but I couldn’t force myself to look at him this time.
My ears told me he picked up his pants, put them on and then walked out of the door. My body thanked me for stopping the torment to it, but my mind cried out in agony, and screamed out in frustration and rage, threatening to tear itself into two pieces: The broken, and the innocent.
I couldn’t fight sleeps pull, or the overwhelming need to shut down completely. Resting my head against the dank, splintered wood, my body still bent over and hanging on for dear life, I closed my eyes and let myself drift, praying to God I would wake from this nightmare.
Even in my state of sleep, I knew when Paxton was near, and no matter how much pain I was in, I felt my body come alive under his fingers as he carefully and tirelessly worked the dried blood and Preston’s cum off of my back.
Every press of the washcloth against my back filled me with fire, making me jump, causing more pain to fly through my limbs.
“Wendy Darling. You mustn’t move. I don’t want to tie you down, but these lashes needed to be tended to so they do not scar. You cannot scar. Do you understand??
My tongue felt like lead in my mouth. There was zero possibility of speaking my answer. Instead, I nodded at him as more agony sliced through me. I felt hopeless and tired. I was so tired.
“You’re so strong, girl. So strong. None of the others made it past six, and all of the others first counting assignments were off by hundreds. I’m proud. You won’t feel anything soon. I’ve given you a local anesthetic to help with the pain.”
How was I smiling? After everything I had just gone through, how could the muscles in my cheeks find the ability to smile? My feelings for Paxton confused me. On the one hand, he kidnapped me with the knowledge I was to become a sex slave, and by his own admission, there had been others. But on the other hand, I felt an odd sense of peace with him around, a soothing companionship I’d never experienced before, and the way my body reacted towards him was almost unnatural. Not to mention, without him I would have never made it off the cross.
His praise gave me strength, and his voice gave me goosebumps. This was fucked up on more levels than I could even begin to describe, but at this moment, in this glorious, pain-free, mind-numbing moment, I didn’t care. If his job in all of this was to keep me from breaking, to prevent me from giving up, he might just win, because with him by my side, I felt redeemed, I felt cherished, I felt, a little less broken. My body disagreed, as did my mind, but my heart had other plans.
Chapter 6
I didn’t see Preston for two weeks, and for fourteen miraculous days, I healed and felt myself stitching back together, both mentally and physically. Paxton came in daily to check my wounds both inside and out.
I didn’t speak to him for the first three days because I just didn’t know what to say. My mind had waged war against my heart, and although my heart knew my brain was right, that Paxton was only here to keep me compliant and sane, it still beat rapidly when he entered my room.
On the fourth day, Paxton found me in the bath, crying.
“Wendy Darling
. I would have helped you,” he rushed over to the side of the tub, as I gripped the edge, attempting to keep my back from touching the tepid water.
“I’m so sorry Paxton. I failed you,” I cried, letting the tears fall into the bathwater.
“You didn’t fail me, girl. No, no, on the contrary, you have proven to be my biggest success.”
“But, I counted wrong. Instead of trying to escape I should have been counting. I let you down.”
I couldn’t even look at him, as my head rested on my arms on the side of the tub, my slight movement causing water to splash up onto my scabbed over lashings.
“Paxton, it hurts,” I whimpered.
“I know. I know. Shh, let’s get you out of this tub, alright.”
Very gently, Paxton fitted his hands underneath my armpits and hoisted me into a standing position. The cold air stung my back, but miraculously, I stayed upright and attempted to fight my own failures.
I had spent the past three days thinking about my most recent punishment. It was harsh. I knew that, but I couldn’t stop the nagging feeling in the back of my mind, that somehow, I deserved it. The directions I had been given were clear and straightforward. Wear these clothes, count these squares, be ready at this time. That was all I had to do, and I had failed. I had deserved to be punished, and now I was going to lay in the bed I had made.
When Paxton had drained the tub, and fetched a towel to wrap me, ever so gently, I gingerly stepped out of the tub, with his help, and sat on the vanity stool. Taking the towel from around me, Paxton wiped away the bits of moisture still clinging to me from my shoulders and down my chest and abdomen. He kneeled on the floor and picked up one foot, rubbing it dry before repeating the process on the other limb.
Once he was happy with his work, he carefully spun me around in my chair and dabbed the towel on my back, collecting as much water as he could without causing me any excess pain. With his typical amount of precision, he hung up the used towel on the drying rack and picked up a brush from the vanity and ran it through my damp blonde locks.
Trapped: Her Love Story Page 5