With two new fingers of ginger wedged in each hole, Preston climbed back onto the bed, kneeling directly in front of me.
I opened my mouth wide, ready for him to do what he had to do, and finish, so I could curl up in peace, on my bed, and forget the world, but Preston seemed to have other ideas.
“Oh. You think you know what’s going to happen, do you? I can see it in your eyes, slut. You’ve given up. Not today, you won’t, and not with me. You see, this time I have something special for you, and I think you’re really going to love it.”
Smacking my face, he jumped off the bed again, excited, like a kid in a toy store. I tried to suppress my nerves and let the feeling of indifference wash over me, but I’d never seen him like this. It was as if he was legitimately having fun at my expense, and whatever he had planned was not going to be pretty for me.
Coming back to my field of view, I saw something that was unfamiliar, next to something that had my eyes widening in shock and disgust.
“Know what this is?” He picked up a long stick with a small piece of metal at the end. “This is a branding iron, and this,” he said, grabbing the blowtorch, “is how we tell the difference between trained and untrained slaves.”
“Please, no. Please, Master. Please,” I begged, finally finding my voice, my fight coming back to the forefront.
“Please, Master, please,” he mimicked me. “You’re my fucking slave, and your body belongs to me, if I want to cut off every piece of flesh from your bones and only leave your cunt, that’s what I’m going to do. And if I want to brand the word ‘SLUT’ across your forehead, no one is going to fucking stop me, not even your precious Paxton,” he spat.
I closed my mouth. Arguing at this point was futile. I was about to be branded like cattle, and there was nothing and no one to save me. As if to taunt me, he set up everything within eyeshot, so I could watch the horror before it happened. When he lit the blowtorch, his eyes twinkled like black diamonds. I couldn’t stand to look anymore.
His hands touched my face, making me flinch away, but there was nowhere for me to go.
“I would be careful with your movements, girl. This could take your eye out if you move too much,” he wiped the stray hair away from the side of my head and face, and pinned it up with a randomly produced Bobby pin.
The smell of rubbing alcohol permeated my nostrils as he took a cotton ball soaked in it, and wiped around the side of my forehead, my corner of my eye and my temple. Not only was he branding me, but he was branding my face; the only part of my body that couldn’t actually be covered if I ever managed to get free.
“Not only will this signify your training, but this is also a sign to others, should you ever escape. It can’t be hidden, and you can’t hide. We are everywhere. We would find you, and you would be brought back.”
How did he keep reading my thoughts like that?
“And because I don’t want to hear that God damned mouth of yours again, open up.”
Opening my mouth for him, Preston shoved a ball gag in before tying it around my neck. I didn’t really want to hear my screams either.
“There, that should do it,” he said, turning back around for his supplies.
Picking up the blowtorch he turned the flame to the metal at the end of the stick again. Unable to turn my head, I watched in horror as the metal symbol turned from gray to yellow, to orange, to red, and finally to a smoldering shade of blue.
“Don’t fucking move,” he whispered, before grabbing my hair in his left hand and positioning the piece inches from my face with his right.
“This is going to sting a little.”
My scream could be heard through the ball gag as the metal touched my skin, burning its way through layers of skin. The smell of searing flesh crawled up my nostrils and embedded itself deep into my nose hair. My ears rang out, drowning out whatever words Preston was saying to me. My vision turned black and my eyes shut, just as I saw the branding iron pull away.
I couldn’t have been out for more than a few seconds. When I opened my eyes, the table of branding supplies was still visible, along with the metal rod itself, still slightly colored in heat.
“You’re stronger than you look. Every other girl was out of it for far longer than two minutes,” Preston laughed, rolling the cart away.
I could feel the drool, dripping from my chin, and drops of blood dripping down my cheeks. Every part of my body was shutting down, trying desperately to take my mind with it, but of course, I was as stubborn as they came and my brain refused to protect my body from anymore brutality to save my pride.
“Ok, slave, only two more slices of ginger left. Are you ready?”
I wasn’t ready, but I couldn’t verbalize it. I couldn’t take the chance of prolonging this night any longer. I was spent, and not even Paxton could pull me through this one.
I felt the ginger being shoved into my tight ass, and I winced, but otherwise stayed motionless. When the second piece was inserted into the same hole, panic gripped me, making me jerk in my binds. I couldn’t handle two. It was impossible.
“Settle, slave!” Preston commanded, but I physically couldn’t stop. My body had a new mind of its own, and it was fighting back.
“FINE! You asked for it.”
Behind me, Preston’s cock found my pussy and crashed home, sending me forward, while the rope attached to my hair pulled me back.
“You fucking asked for this, slut, and now you’re going to get it. You’re fucking mine, you pathetic, useless, whore. Your holes belong to me. Your mouth belongs to me. Don’t you fucking forget it!”
Every thrust into me felt like a jackhammer, every spasm coursing through me felt like an earthquake, rattling my bones. Everything became too much. I had a cock mutilating my pussy, lava wedged deep inside of my tight asshole, frayed rope keeping me in place, and a burned face for the rest of my life, and yet my body still responded to the way he fucked me, growing wetter with each pass, making his ravaging uninhibited.
“You. Fucking. Love. This,” Preston screamed, digging his nails into my hips as he thrust into me over and over again, bringing me closer to orgasm. When his hand went around my body and found my clit, it only took a small pinch to send me careening over the edge, my cum squirting out of me as he pulled out and came all over my back.
Without a word, Preston came over to my face, grabbed my chin and yanked the ball gag off of my head before slamming his lips into mine, biting me hard enough to make me open them.
There was no passion in his kiss, only raw ferocity, and hunger, the same things resting behind his eyes. The taste of copper coated my mouth as I realized his teeth had drawn blood on my lips. Pulling away, Preston wiped his mouth of my blood, and then spit the remaining in my face.
“You’re a nasty fucking cunt.”
And then he was gone.
Chapter 12
Sleep eluded my tired body as I laid there, my head suspended by my hair. I just needed a few minutes to compose myself before Paxton came in. A few minutes where I could escape the pain and horror of what had just happened, but sleep wouldn’t take me.
Instead, I thought of my mother, and I cried, yet again. I thought about how she was probably looking down on me, at this very moment, and was ashamed of me. Ashamed I had given up, and ashamed I had let someone brutalize my body. When I thought about her, wearing her angel wings, swathed in a white robe and bathed in a heavenly glow, all I could see was her walking away.
How I wish I could join her, to be cast in light, where love and happiness were the only things allowed. But that was laughable. I’d never be accepted into heaven if heaven was even real. Somehow, I was beginning to think it wasn’t. How could God let something like this happen to people? What did I do to deserve this? I was a good person, wasn’t I?
“You are a good person, Wendy Darling,” Paxton’s voice drifted over from behind me.
I hadn’t realized I had been talking out loud, but I didn’t respond to his statement because, in the
end, I wasn’t a good person. I would sell my soul and kill Preston without blinking, just for the chance to escape. Thinking about murder did not make me a good person.
Paxton came around and sat on the bed in front of me, untying the rope from my hair and letting my head fall back to the mattress. My new facial brand screamed in agony at the contact, but I was too tired to move; too tired to care.
With deft fingers, Paxton removed all of my bindings and dislodged the two pieces of ginger from my ass. Picking me up and cradling me to his body, he rocked me on the side of the bed, slowly, and softly as I stared straight ahead, my mind foggy.
I whisper to your heart,
Your smile whispers to the air.
You trapped my love,
As the light sang through your hair.
My mother’s words sang out from above me, but it wasn’t my mother singing them, and even though my entire body ached, I looked up at Paxton, a question blazing behind my eyes.
“It’s a beautiful song, my Wendy Darling. I learned it for you.”
As he continued to sing, he picked me up and carried me to the bathroom to continue our after-punishment ritual; a warm bath in which he would ease my sore muscles, and whatever first aid needed to be done.
Except for my face, there was nothing for Paxton to do but wash away the filth from my body. When it came time to deal with my face, a grim look appeared behind his eyes, as he grabbed my chin and looked at the offending mark.
“What, Paxton?” I asked.
“I hate branding day,” he whispered, before standing from the tub and heading to the bathroom sink.
When he got back with a tube of ointment and saran wrap in his hand, I looked at him, puzzled.
“If too much oxygen gets on a fresh brand, the skin will heal over, and the brand will not come out right. We have to cover it and let the scar tissue take hold.”
It was pointless to ask him to forego it, I knew he would just say no, but the temptation was there, right in front my eyes, as he applied the ointment and covered the brand.
“Let’s get you into bed.”
Once both of us were snuggled in bed, my back pressed against Paxton’s sweatshirt, his arm wrapped around my waist, I began to relax, just a little.
“I’m going to tell you a story, Wendy Darling. It’s not a beautiful thing, and I’ve never told another soul, but maybe if I do, you can begin to understand why all of this is happening.”
I’d never understand, but I’d let him think that.
“Ok, Paxton. Tell me.”
“Preston and I, are not twins.”
Punch.
Gut.
What?
“Preston and I were triplets. We had a brother, named Paul.”
Triplets. Holy fuck. I could barely keep up with two, how could I add a third?
“When we were younger, Preston and I were very close. We did everything together. We were identical twins. One sperm, and one egg, and the egg split. Paul was his own sperm and egg, and therefore as young boys, we cast him out more often than not. Back then I had a terrible temper, and school kids were not my friends. Paul, the biggest bully in the school, always found a way to gang up on Preston and me.”
I raised my eyebrow, which made Paxton chuckle.
“We were scrawny dudes back in middle school,” he laughed.
“Anyways, our parents died shortly after we graduated High School and left everything to Preston to manage as he was the oldest by two minutes, followed by me, and then Paul. Our uncle checked in on us from time to time to make sure we were behaving, but otherwise, we were alone in this big old house.
One day, I brought a girl home. She was really sweet, and a virgin, and I really liked her. Preston was happy for me, as identical twins tend to be, but Paul was jealous and outraged. I blew him off as being his typical hot headed self. I made us dinner, and afterwards, we sat down for a movie. Halfway through the film, I got up to go to the bathroom, and when I came back, she was gone.
Both Preston and I heard her scream from upstairs, and we flew up there, only to find Paul raping her as he was slicing a knife through her neck to stop her screams. I rushed over to him, and tackled him, hoping to God I could save her, but it was too late.”
“Oh God, Paxton. I’m — I’m so sorry. Where is Paul now?”
“Hold on, girl. I’m getting there.”
Taking a deep breath, he continued.
“Once I saw the blood all over my hands, I lost it. I remember jumping from the bed, and tackling Paul to the ground while Preston screamed from the doorway. I remember getting one good punch to his face, but after that, I completely blacked out. When I woke up, I was on the couch in my parents’ study with my uncle.”
“My uncle kept screaming at me, telling me how foolish I was as he bandaged my body. He kept telling me people were dead because I couldn’t handle being an adult. Paul had stabbed me multiple times, but they were all mere flesh wounds, and no vital organ had been hit, but the scars would be horrendous, and they are, that’s why I never remove my shirt. The reminder is too horrific for me, but neither here nor there. When my uncle finished putting me back together and had calmed down, he told me a secret.”
Pausing for dramatic effect, I turned in his arms to look at him. He waited a moment, studying my brand before shaking his head and continuing his story.
“He told me about our father. He had retired from it, but he had been a head member of a group of sex traffickers known worldwide for their perfect slaves. He then told me the mess I had made had been cleaned up, and the bodies had been disposed of, but in return, we had to train twelve girls for the trafficking ring. Only then would the debt be paid and I’d be free to live out my life.”
The shock was evident on my face. This was a family business? I was horrified; not of Paxton, but FOR Paxton. Catching your brother mutilating and killing a girl was bad enough, being sliced open by the same man, tragic, but then being told your father did things like that all the time in his past, had to have been unexpected.
“I pleaded with Preston to just let me go to jail, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He was determined to take everything on his shoulders and get me out of the mess I had created by bringing the girl to our house. For six months, Preston left our home and joined the ring of members, learning everything it took to become a sex slave trainer. I don’t remember any of those months. I wasn’t allowed to leave the premises, and I was still healing. When Preston came back, I didn’t even recognize him.”
“He had changed?” I guessed.
“More than just a little. Preston was hard and scary. He wasn’t the brother I had shared a womb with or the brother I had built Lego castles with. This brother, I didn’t recognize. This brother was not my brother at all, instead, just a shell of the man I once knew.”
“Shortly after he returned, he captured his first girl. He was still new, so he made a lot of mistakes, and the girl wound up being hurt pretty badly. I was banned from coming down here, but I ignored my brother’s rules and came down to tend to her, and that night a pattern started.”
“He hurts them, you heal them,” I nodded.
“No, Wendy Darling. He trains them physically, and I prepare them emotionally.”
I took in his words and tried to make sense of them. Had he been training me all along and I missed it?
“I see the confused look in your eyes, but let me ask you. If I wasn’t here to tend to your wounds and clean up after the mess Preston creates, would you do it?”
I shook my head. I couldn’t imagine moving on from whatever position Preston left me in if Paxton didn’t come down.
“Exactly. I am training you to keep your head up and to keep pushing on. It’ll only get worse before it gets better and you have to be able to steel your mind, and prepare your body for whatever lies ahead.”
“What happened to the first girl?” I asked tentatively, not really knowing whether I wanted to know or not.
“She was sold, just like th
e ten after her, just like you will be. Last I heard, ‘One’ is now married to her Master and pregnant with his fourth child.”
My mouth hit the floor.
“Married? Child?” I asked, not able to form complete sentences.
“Yes, Wendy Darling. You may be training to be a sex slave, but in the end, most of these men want a companion, just as much. Although, heed my warning. Some of them just want the slave, and even though I will try to make sure you do not get a Master like that, I can’t guarantee who will bid the highest for you.”
I gulped loudly. I didn’t want a Master like that either. Day in and day out of treatment similar to Preston’s would kill me. If I had to be sold, I wanted a Master like ‘One’s.'
“Do you see now, why you must do your best for me?” Paxton asked, hope glinting in his eyes.
I nodded. “I’m your number twelve. I’m the last one needed for you to be free. The last one needed, so you won’t be trapped anymore.”
“Yes, Wendy Darling. You are, and then hopefully I can get my brother back. You must do your best and be the perfect slave. I need my brother back.”
The words he spoke-sang to my heart in the most bizarre way. I didn’t really want to be sold, but for Paxton, I was willing to do, and say anything. Paxton had officially captured my heart, and I loved him more than I could explain or reason.
With a renewed sense of purpose, I curled into Paxton and closed my eyes. Tomorrow was a new day. A day for beginnings, and a day for success. Tomorrow would be the day I would fight for Paxton to get his brother back, and maybe, just maybe, in that struggle, Paxton would see he could love me too, and he would fight back for me as hard as I planned to fight for him.
Chapter 12
The next day had been a new day for me. Followed by the next day, and the next. Before I knew it, I had been here a full year since the branding incident, a total of sixteen and a half months of captivity. Hard, brutalizing, torture, and sweet passionate love making was what my days consisted of for more months than I could recall, but things did eventually get better. I was punished less and rewarded more, and I was even allowed out of my prison, for a few hours a day while Preston was at work.
Trapped: Her Love Story Page 12