An Elegant Weapon

by Candace Blevins

  In the coming days, I had a different class every day between fight training — which cutlery to use, which dishes and what order, why there were three glasses, how to properly greet people of various stations (from penniless human all the way to royalty, which I didn’t think likely), how to properly shake hands, how to put my hair into a bun and a few other too-fancy updos. It was stupid, but I had to stand and be paddled, whipped, or caned when I messed up — the method of punishment varied by instructor, but my bottom and the backs of my thighs were covered in welts and bruises.

  I also had to learn how to say ten sentences in French, and the teacher insisted I get the pronunciation just right. My forearms were in stocks while I learned, and she hit my palms with a ruler when I didn’t get it exactly as she wanted. Both hands were bright red when she finished with me.

  I had to run a mile a day with a two-pound weight inside my girl parts. Apparently, this made my internal muscles stronger but it was so hard. It fell out a few times and I was mercilessly whipped until I got it back inside.

  And twice a day there was a whole lot of fight training with Marco. Bran fucked me at least once a day, but he only fed from me every other day. He made it clear the feedings would only happen if I made myself available every time he wanted me, so I did.

  My wrists and ankles were, indeed, bruised and tender from the stainless-steel cuffs. I only complained about it once though, because Bran paused my training to make me run a mile when I told him my ankles hurt too badly for the kick training he’d wanted me to do. I ran the mile, performed the kick exercises, and didn’t mention how badly my wrists and ankles hurt again.

  Two days before the big exhibition fight, Marco informed me someone else would handle my training for the day. “He’s not as kind as me,” Marco had warned. “Do as he says. He’ll likely want to fuck you, or at the very least make you blow him.” He reached out, twisted the metal holding the tag on my collar, and came away with the connecter and tag. “Bran told me to remove this. You’re open season for any upper-level employee or guest who wants to fuck you now. I won’t demand it unless I think using you will help your training. Don’t expect the same from others. You’ll learn much from Bruiser, but it’s important you listen and follow orders.”

  My stomach fell into my feet. The tag hadn’t been much, but I felt even more vulnerable now than I had before. I had to speak around the lump in my throat. “Why can’t you train me?”

  “Bran needs me to escort him off-site. I’m surprised he’s had me with you this long, and I can only think it means he has plans for you. Don’t fuck up today.”

  The man who came to get me looked like someone from the WWE, and my first thought was to wonder how he wiped himself.

  “This is Bruiser,” Marco said with a nod to the large man. “Learn everything you can from him.”

  I stood, nude as always, and met Bruiser’s gaze. “Hello. Do you prefer I follow you or go in front?” The guards who walked me from place to place wanted me in front of them, and they’d tell me to go left or right when we came to a junction if I didn’t know where we were going. However, I usually followed Marco through the halls, one step behind and to his left. He told me it was training I may or may not need, but it couldn’t hurt me to learn.

  “You will walk in front. I watch naked ass. You know way to gym?” He had a thick accent and I had no idea what it was.

  “I do.”

  He looked at Marco, who told me, “You should call him Sir, Holly.”

  I stopped my eye-roll before it started. Go me. “I know the way, Sir.”

  Bruiser instructed me to go through a door at the back of the gym, and I was surprised to see a weight room with a lot of people using it. Men and women. He pointed to another door, and this room had punching bags. Half the room was the small ones, the other half the big ones. He led me to a big one, punched it once without saying anything, and then again in slow motion as he talked through where his feet were and how his hands worked with them.

  His hand slapped my bottom hard after my first try. “Do better. Harder. Smoother.”

  I took two steps back and did it again, this time using my momentum as he’d explained. My fist hurt all the way up my arm and past my shoulder.

  “Better. Again.”

  I did, and it hurt just as bad, but I didn’t care. Hitting the bag felt satisfying. All the anger, rage, frustration, and terror I’d felt in the previous days and nights went from my fists into the bag. I knew the jolt up my arm was coming and I embraced it.

  Eventually though, it got to be too much. However, just as I was about to tell him my arm hurt too bad to possibly keep going, he told me to switch arms. I took two steps back and tried to think it through, but couldn’t work out how to step into it. “Can you show me the other side please, Sir?”

  He did it fast and then slow, but I made a mess of it when I tried. Another hard slap to my bottom, and he showed me again.

  I went through it super-slow without actually hitting the bag, and Bruiser helped talk me through it. I sped a little, then a little more, and I finally went full speed and slammed my fist into the bag. Not quite as satisfying and a lot more work, but I kept at it until it wasn’t awkward.

  Bruiser slapped my bottom again every time I stopped, so I had to keep going. I took my anger at him out on the bag, though, so it worked out okay. He made me do it twice as many times on this side as he did the other before he let me stop, and I thought my left arm might be about to fall off.

  Regrettably, I wasn’t allowed to stop and rest, Next, he had me do it on the right and then the left, alternating back and forth until he finally said it was time to move to kicking. I was better at this, since Marco had taught me the steps already, though I’d only kicked the air for Marco.

  An hour later my fists and feet felt horribly bruised — not to mention my wrists and ankles — and I begged to take a break.

  “Yes. I feel need for break. Hands and knees on floor.” He pointed to the mat and I went to my hands and knees.

  He wore long black workout pants and a black t-shirt, and I have no idea how he got his pants down and situated himself so he could enter me just as I settled into position, but he did. I wasn’t expecting it, and I tried to fight but it was no use. He was completely inside me and held my hips so I couldn’t escape. If anything, my moving and struggling to try to stop him seemed to spur him on.

  Half the room stopped what they were doing to watch, and when I realized I was creating a spectacle, I hid my head in my hands and shut up.

  He was huge, and rough, and I’d been dry when he slammed into me. Within a few strokes I was raw, but I clamped my mouth shut and didn’t make a sound. With my face hidden in my hands they wouldn’t know how bad my eyes watered, and I wanted it to stay that way. I was mortified and humiliated enough without strangers seeing me in tears.

  Bruiser fucked me at least ten minutes before he pulled out and came all over my back. He rubbed it in, sat back, and popped me on the butt again.

  “Get me red sports drink from refrigerator, girl. You get whatever you want. Must hydrate. You tell Fluffy.”

  I had to walk past nearly everyone in the room to get to the refrigerator on the far wall. My nose was running, I was sure my eyes were red, and my lower back was cooler than the rest of me because his cum hadn’t dried yet. I was also the only naked person in the room, but I held my head high and walked as if I didn’t care. I got myself another orange juice, Bruiser’s drink, and returned. Talk about a walk of shame, but I refused to look as mortified as I felt.

  “You must be more flexible. You sit like this.” He stretched both legs out to the side. No way did I want to spread my legs like that, naked, after the room had just seen me fucked against my will, but I remembered Marco’s warning to obey him, so I did it. My legs didn’t go as wide as his — not even close.

  “You work on this. Never just sit and relax. Sit and stretch. Always.” He leaned over one of his legs, then the other. At his pointed lo
ok, I did the same.

  “Non. Back straight. Put the tits to knees, not head to knees.”

  When we finished our drinks, he took me into a room with a padded floor and walls. I looked up and noted even the ceiling was padded, and there were metal cages around the lights.

  “Kick me. Like I’m bag.”

  I grinned, stepped in, and kicked.

  Before my foot was even close to his body, he grabbed my leg and I flew away from him and landed on my back with both legs in the air.

  “You learn to fall and get up in room of pads.” He dove backwards, landed on his back and kept going until he was on his feet. “Like so. Yes? Kick me again.”

  He gave me three attempts, and when I didn’t manage to roll and get to my feet, he sat on the padded floor, pulled me over his lap, and spanked me — hard and fast until I was crying and screaming, but he didn’t slow and didn’t ease up. I didn’t count but I’m sure he hit me at least fifty times.

  I spilled off his lap as he stood. “Kick me again.”

  I was madder than a wet hen. My bottom was on fire, and the jerk had manhandled me like a doll. I stepped in, kicked, and once again went flying backwards but let my legs keep going over my head until I managed to get my feet under me. I stood and glared at him, and he smiled. “Girly can learn. Again.”

  When I had it with my right foot, we switched to left. It was forever before he was satisfied with my form, but he finally said, “Hit here,” while he touched the side of his face.

  I didn’t want to do it, but I put everything into it I could. I’d never managed to actually make contact with my foot, odds were I wouldn’t be able to with my fist, either.

  As I’d figured, he blocked the strike before I felt the satisfaction of my fist impacting his face. I didn’t expect him to toss me so high into the air, and I couldn’t breathe when I landed on my back this time.

  I panicked, but he merely stood over me, watching. I thought I’d die, but my lungs finally pulled air in — a horrid sucking sound, but I didn’t care.

  “Must learn breathe faster. Must move even before breathe. Up. Again.”

  There was no break on this night. No time to stop and eat, no trips to yet another sadistic tutor. Bruiser worked me for six hours straight with four breaks for water and protein shakes, and everything on my body hurt.

  “Boots on,” he told me as we went into yet another room. Several pair were beside a bench, and I went to the ones he pointed to. They were my size, and he went to his knees and laced them really tight. “Jump and grab pole.”

  I followed his finger, saw what looked like a chin-up bar, and jumped the ten or so inches to grab it. He grasped one of my ankles, lifted it, and stuck it to the bar. I heard a click, and my foot stayed. Seconds later the other was attached, and he flicked my left hand. “Let go. Do sit-ups.”

  Now, Bruiser used a flogger to beat my stomach if I stayed down too long. My abs were on fire from the forced exercise, but the flogger was vicious. I was in tears, trying to do impossible sit-ups to keep Bruiser from mercilessly flogging me, when Bran came in.

  I thought he’d rescue me, but he took the flogger from Bruiser and hit me even harder when he had a clear shot at my torso. “Twenty more, Holly. Do them right and you won’t feel the leather.”

  When Bran finally let me stop, my stomach was so red I thought it might glow if they turned the lights out. Bran supported me in his arms while Bruiser released my feet, and I relaxed into the vampire’s cool arms while I was carried like a toddler to a room with fancy furniture. Bran sat in a huge chair and adjusted me in his lap so my legs went over the luxuriously padded arm, secure in his embrace.

  I didn’t fight him. Didn’t even consider it. I was tired and I hurt, and I’d have taken just about any kindness in that moment after Bruiser’s emotionless voice all day. I was battered and bruised both physically and emotionally.

  “He was hard on you, wasn’t he mon petit combatant?”

  “He… he raped me, Master.” I kept my voice low. It was so hard to say.

  “I saw. I had to bring someone in to blow me while I watched the playback. I’ve already told you though, you were given to me. The concept of rape doesn’t apply. Your body is mine for the next five weeks and a few days. Not yours. He’s my loyal employee and you’re a slave. He gets the use of you as often as he wants as long as you aren’t seriously injured or ill.”

  I curled into him so he wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes.

  “You should know I find your tears a turn-on. Are you terribly sore?”

  I nodded. Bruiser was huge, and he’d been so rough.

  “Okay then, I’ll give you a choice. I can take your ass or cunt. Up to you.”

  Bran’s bigger than the average male, but not enormous. He can be rough, but Bruiser was savage. “My bottom if you’ll use lots of lube, please Master.”

  “Very well. You’ve earned a reward and you’ll get it before you go to sleep. Unfortunately, my bite isn’t going to be a reward on this day.” He sighed. “As much pleasure as I can give? I’m capable of creating pain in the same magnitude. After watching how you reacted to Bruiser, I need to taste your blood while you hurt. I can learn much about you this way.”

  He looked down, and I lifted my head to meet his gaze. “Please don’t hurt me.” I couldn’t hide the tears in my eyes so I didn’t try. “Today’s been awful, Master.”

  “It won’t injure you, and I’ll heal you of the effects of your week with Marco and day with Bruiser. You’ll awaken tomorrow without the bruises and welts — including those on your wrists and ankles. Also, your muscles won’t be sore.” He turned his head. “Tell me your thoughts on her trainability.”

  I hadn’t realized Bruiser had followed us in, and I jerked and flinched at his harsh voice. “She needs encouragement, but she worked hard and followed instructions after proper incentive. With training and work, she could be mighty warrior.”

  “Strap her in and lube her ass for me, but don’t stretch it.”

  Terror burned through my veins, and Bran inhaled as if he smelled bacon cooking. “I love that smell. Your fear is like the finest spice. Go with Bruiser so he can ready you for me.”

  Bruiser opened curtains at the back of the room and pointed to a platform with two bars, both waist high.

  “Bend over bar. Spread legs.” He’d managed better sentences for Bran. I wasn’t worth the extra effort, apparently.

  I did as he ordered, and my hands naturally landed on the other bar. “Yes, this is good. Spread legs more.”

  After manhandling me all day, he wound rope around my ankles and the supporting bars with surprising control. My legs were sufficiently trapped so I couldn’t pull my legs together, but the coils of rope weren’t tight enough to cut off circulation.

  Soft cotton gloves went on my hands, but then they compressed around my wrist and I knew they wouldn’t come off. “Squeeze bar.” He wound Velcro at angles around my hands until there was no way I could let go of the bar.

  I thought he was finished, but he stepped to the side and cranked a handle, and terror shot through me as I realized the bar my hands were attached to was moving away. He stretched me past the point of comfort, and when I screamed in pain he cranked it backwards about an inch.

  Once again, surprisingly gentle hands pulled my hair into a ponytail on top of my head, and he somehow braided a rope into it. My braided ponytail was tied to the same pole my hands were bound to, and there was no way I’d be able to move my head. Or neck.

  I squeezed my eyes closed while Bruiser stuck a single lubed finger in my ass several times to make sure I was coated all around the inside and outside. His large, meaty hands popped both cheeks hard before he said, “Girl is ready, Master Bran.”

  “This is a feeding station,” Bran explained, his dress shoes snicking against the floor with every step that brought him closer. “There are nicer ones now. Fancier. More comfortable for both the meal and the diner, but this suits my purposes today.”
>
  An electric motor sounded behind me, but I couldn’t look to see what it was.

  His cock touched my butthole and I clenched.

  “Relax.” He sounded annoyed.

  “Trying, Master. I’ve never done this sober.”

  He forced himself in, but stopped with just the head inside. “Fuck, you’re tight.” He rubbed my ass, my back. His fingers seemed to be tracing my many welts and bruises.

  “Okay then. You aren’t a masochist and I have no intention of teaching you the many pleasures of being hurt. You’ll generally only feel this kind of pain when you’ve given me reason to punish you, but today’s an exception. I’ll try to make it quick, but it takes a good three or four minutes for your blood to fully take on the flavor of your agony.”

  He jammed his cock all the way in and a scream ripped from my throat. Bran’s taller than me, so he leaned over, grasped the bar between my hands, spread my arms farther apart, and struck the side of my throat.

  He didn’t merely bite me on this day. He struck like a snake, with nothing to dull the pain of his teeth piercing my skin and muscle. I was in agony. It felt as if bleach was being injected into my veins and soaked into every cell of my body. Meanwhile, his hips pistoned behind me and he screwed my butthole vampire-fast and vampire-hard, which is magnitudes more than a human can manage.

  Blistering lava filled my arteries and veins. I was in hell. No — hell was in me. It saturated me. I became anguish and suffering. I breathed it in, breathed it out. Life held no joy, no happiness. I stopped breathing. My mind shut down. If I’d eaten anything, I’d have puked.

  6

  I came to in Marco’s arms, sitting upstairs in Bran’s office. Bran sat behind his desk, and I wore a dress and sky-high heels.

  “She’s coming around, Sir.”

  I looked to Marco in confusion. His gentle smile told me to relax, the worst was over. I took a breath and let it out. I was swimmy-headed like I’d been drugged. It felt like more than just the effects of his bite had felt in the past.