Dauntless (The LockDown Series Book 2)

by Dobson, Shannon

  Holy shit, I was becoming frustrated very quickly, not to mention my dick was pulsating and begging for release.

  Fuck it. I pull my joggers down a little, slipping my hand inside to pull free my stone hard length. A pool of precum already lay on the tip, wanting to be licked clean, but I swipe my finger across it, collecting it on my tip before wrapping my lips around it, sucking it clean. As the salty freshness assaults my mouth, my dick throbs, achingly and rapidly.

  I wrap my hand around the girth, the other hand holding my iPhone. I stroke up and down, circling the tip on each upward movement. My head falls back of its own accord, relishing in the feeling I was bringing to myself.

  I manage to lift my head to continue looking at the pictures. The next one, Kalina on a St. Andrews cross, the same woman once more, wielding the same flogger as she brought it down onto her red striped arse. She had captioned the image ‘see what you’re missing baby. This could be you, I know you want it to be’, and I fucking do, I miss doing this to her, to anyone willing to submit to me. I miss the feel of the corded handle of my whip, braising my skin as I marked the fuck out of her beautiful soft flesh.

  The grip on my cock tightens to almost a strangle, the blood pumping ferociously through me, keeping me hard as granite.

  Another image flicks on the screen, one that has me almost spurting. Kalina, lay on the bed, a cock in her arse, pussy and mouth, three men fucking her, using and abusing her tight little body. I can see the pure ecstasy on her pretty face as they drill her good and hard.

  One more image to go, I’m not sure I can even last till then, I can already feel the cum working up from my balls like hot lava, threatening to spill over.

  I close my eyes tight, clenching them as my hand strokes the length of my cock, hard and fast, my firm grip causing my spunk to gush from the slit at the head.

  Squirt after squirt of hot semen pools on my bare stomach, the divots between my abs collecting the salty liquid.

  I manage to flick to the next image as I continue milking myself for all its worth.

  It was a little dark to see to begin with. I strain my eyes searching for another hot picture to help me drain my balls. I read the caption attached and try to decipher what is happening in the darkness.

  ‘The whore likes to score.’ As I manage to focus my eyes enough on the picture, I can clearly see Abbi. My hand releases from around my cock and holds the phone along with the other.

  She is dressed, in what I can only assume, something she borrowed from a streetwalker; her hand is clasping another guy’s crotch, her tongue in his mouth, his hands on her arse.

  I can see him slipping her something, sliding the little packet into the back pocket of the ‘shorts’ she is wearing, if you can call them that. Her cheeks are pretty much out of the material. When Kalina meant score, she clearly meant scoring drugs. She isn’t coping without her tranquilisers, that’s for sure. I am fucking fuming she is buying in a club, from a stranger, but worst of all, she is touching him, everywhere.

  I throw my phone at the wall, smashing it into a dozen pieces.

  Fuck this fucking shit. I stand, and the cum on my stomach trickles down onto my cock and cotton bottoms. I tuck him back inside, rubbing the semen in so it dries quicker.

  I call Antonio from my landline, asking him if he can come and look after Mel. I need to get out of here, and fast. I need to gain some control back in my life.

  Then I call Scott, and ask him to meet me at ‘The Den’, a club we both frequented often, normally together. Most of my boys are in the scene in one way or another, the twins as much as me, if not more. There is no way I’m asking her best friends, boyfriends to come with me. I don't want or need her knowing what I am about to do.

  Before Ant arrives, I have managed to shower and change into some smarter clothes. I had managed to line up and snort five lines, making me higher than a mother-fucking kite, and horny as a schoolboy.

  This is going to be a good night, I can feel it in my bones, every bone I possess, even the raging one sticking prominently into the zipper of my faded jeans.

  I collect a few of my usual things, placing them in the lockable bag I always take with me. I am ready and raring to go. I know Kalina will be there, she always is. What better way to release some fucking rage, than to mark her beautiful, deceptive backside for the shit she has repeatedly put me through?

  When Antonio arrives and Melissa is sound asleep, I pick up my jacket, grab my keys and collect my bag. Then I fuck off out of my house before I kill someone.

  Abigail

  I am desperate, fucking desperate for a fix. I am now groping some bloke in a nightclub to get some kind of relief from anything they can supply me. It doesn’t have to be anti-anxiety tablets, just anything to make me chill a little. I am suffering badly; I have been for the past two days, since he kicked me out. Antonio has refused to give me any of my own. I am shaking uncontrollably, feeling sick and tired. I need just a small bit, a small fix to tide me over until I return home again.

  “Jesus, sweetheart, your arse is fucking incredible,” the guy mumbles out over the pounding music.

  “Cheers. So is it in there?” I ask him, knowing he is touching my backside to place something in the pocket in the back of my shorts.

  “It is, but I don't take money darling, that’s not how I roll. How ‘bout let’s take this somewhere a little less crowded and a little more private and you can pay me there?” I don't have a chance to answer because his hand is clasping mine and he is dragging me through the sea of sweating and gyrating bodies. I am feeling nervous, anxious and scared. I need to take whatever he has given me, and soon.

  He pulls me into an unused cloakroom at the back of the bar/club. The musty, damp smell hits my nostrils, making me feel uncomfortable. I feel as though I’m on an episode of one of those fucked up Crimewatch programmes. That’ll be the news tomorrow, ‘Young mother of one found dead in cloakroom at night club, class A drugs found on her body’ . What a bloody fantastic parent I’m turning out to be.

  “So, sweetness, about that payment..?” He pushes me against the wall, his erection hard against my stomach. I feel sick to my stomach, but I need whatever is in my pocket. I want to be able to sleep at night without waking up by something plaguing my brain.

  “Aha, what do you want?” I ask him outright. I feel like a whore right now, the one Leighton thought me to be, pimping myself out for the smallest break from the feelings inside of me, but there is nothing else I can do, no one understands what I am going through. No one would be able to help anyway, there is only one thing I consider to take the edge off and it’s in my jeans pocket.

  “Well, my dick is throbbing like a bitch, and I think your beautiful mouth could do something to help with it, don't you?” He pushes me down the wall, my back scraping against the age-old bricks, my knees connecting roughly with the cement floor.

  I gulp down the bile that is rising up my oesophagus; I know I have to do this, just this one time. It will be over quickly, if I use the techniques Leighton had taught me, every man would go crazy for the skills I possess.

  I breathe out a shaky breath as my hands reach for his slacks and unzip them. The guy has style, that’s for sure. He is wearing a crisp, expensive suit, perfectly styled hair with designer stubble on his jaw and a toned hard body. His appearance will make this degrading process a hell of a lot easier, and the reward of the substance he has for me, will make me continue, regardless of how I am feeling inside my heart and head.

  I draw the material of the expensive charcoal suit, down his thighs. His cock juts free, not imprisoned by underwear. What is it with every man I let use my body, deciding underwear isn’t a good thing to wear, it just makes this whole thing a hundred times worse in my head, for some reason.

  I mentally prep myself, encourage and fight myself. I have to do this. The shakes attacking my body are becoming uncontrollable and the pain in my skull is so fucking fierce I am ready to rip
off my own head. I need sleep but I will do anything for five minutes of peace from my thoughts, fears and regrets.

  I remind myself, I am single now. I had called it off. Leighton has no reason to be upset with me, unless you count desperately scraping for drugs, the one thing I had assured him I was sorting out. I am sure Leighton is enjoying his newfound freedom; he seemed very keen to get rid of me two days ago.

  I use this knowledge to continue this dirty, disgusting act.

  I surround his hard, impressive dick with my small, petite hand. I am gobsmacked by the thickness of the thing; my fingers unable to reach completely around it. I gulp down my shock, as I lick my lips.

  “I know sweetheart, it’s a very nice dick, I rather like it, but if you would be so kind, please put it where I have asked you. Open up.” I part my lips, ready to get this finished off quickly.

  My tongue darts out instinctively to lick the pre-cum from the tip of his dick. God, why does my body always betray me in this kind of situation, always making me want it badly but in my head I am screaming for it to stop?

  I lean forward, taking him in my mouth, as much of him as I can, that is. His masculine scent of arousal is prominent on him. The taste does nothing for me, and sorts the problem with my betraying body. My only thought driving me to continue is the small packet in my back pocket.

  “Oh, God, that’s fucking good. That’s it darling; take me deep in your throat.” His fingers fix themselves firmly in my hair, wrapping my long blonde locks around his hands. He uses my head at his disposal, fucking my throat with a sick perversion, gagging me severely. With his every thrust deep into my mouth, I am ready to spew my guts, my stomach aching from the emptiness there. I haven’t eaten properly for two days and I am now feeling the consequences of it.

  “Oh, Shit, I’m gonna cum.” He moans loudly as he fills my mouth and throat with his semen, the salty substance causing me to retch hard. Oh, fuck that is nasty, I really am not in any kind of mood for sex and that is just pure vile.

  I fake a smile up at him as I swallow it down, trying my hardest to act as though I have enjoyed myself.

  “Hmm, that is good. You really have a lovely mouth, baby.” He places his hand under my chin and pulls to raise me to my feet.

  Now eye level with him, my four-inch platforms making me taller than usual, I can see the dilation of his pupils. They are full of pure lust and greed; it is potent in his body like a toxic poison. “Thank you for the stuff,” I tell him and I kiss his cheek for good measure, and then turn on my heels and walk away.

  His hand grabs my upper arm, twisting me back toward him, harshly. “Sweetheart, you don't seriously believe that I would give you a hundred quid’s worth of ‘K’, and you sucking me off would pay for it?” He sees my confused expression, the absolute revolution in myself smacking me full force, as I realise once again I haven’t made a difference by using my body as payment. “You stupid, naive little bitch. Now hand over the paper.”

  I search through my handbag, retrieving two fifty pound notes and hand them to him. As he stands there and checks the money, I turn and make my exit, fast.

  When I return to the bar I can't see Maria or Debbie anywhere, but I need to use the stuff I have purchased. I have no clue what I have bought, but the prick had said it would take the edge of everything.

  The people around me are closing in rapidly, my chest feeling as though a vice is squeezing it. I forget about my friends, as I barge through the crowded room, pushing people out of the way. I push open the bathroom door and run to the only available cubicle, my blood pressure rising dramatically.

  I shut and lock the door behind me, fetching the bag from my rear pocket. I stare at a white powder inside it, calling to me like a magnet.

  I have no clue what it is, looks to me as though it is cocaine. I empty the entire bag, measuring and lining up an easy four lines. Four rows will be okay, I can handle that much perfectly. I have done coke a few too many times in my life and I knew my limit was way above four.

  I roll a note up from my purse, and stick it up my nostril. I use a finger to seal the other nostril closed, then lower my head and begin to snort the streaks one after the other. The burning sensation as it enters my airway and into my bloodstream, settles me instantly. I don't care about the state of the toilet seat, the bathroom or the club for that matter, I am just relieved to feel the drugs kicking in and numbing me.

  I fall back so my arse is rested on my heels, my head now feeling airy and light. I am so weightless I find it hard to move my limbs at all. I feel fucking fantastic, whatever the stuff is, I need more.

  I dust the few speckles from the seat and then attempt to stand. I get my first leg up and then it gives way on me, causing me to crash against the floor.

  “You okay in there, hun?” I hear a bang at the door and the girly voice sound from the other side.

  Sure, ‘cause you really care don't you, you little slut. Nobody is ever bothered about poor old me. “I’m fantastic thanks. I’ll be out in a second,” I say to her.

  I try again, using every ounce of strength I house inside me, to get myself from the dirty floor. My head rushes as I stand, making me feel dizzy and high. I unlock the bolt on the door and pull it open. I smile at the petite little emo chick on the other side.

  “All yours, sweet cheeks.” I gesture to the stall and then walk across the restroom to the sink to clean my hands and face.

  “Look at you, Abbi, you’re a fucking mess.” I talk to myself in the mirror as I wipe the smeared mascara from around my hollow eyes, probably looking like I’m bat shit crazy to every other punter. I can see everyone staring at me, judging me. “Take a picture, would you,” I say looking at the many faces staring at me in the mirror. “Stupid fucking pricks,” I utter under my breath as I run the tap and splash some water to cool my sweat stained face.

  They continue to glare at me, their evil eyes focused on my face. “You’re worthless Abbi, you’re just a useless piece of meat, Leighton doesn’t want you. No one will ever want you. Not even your own daddy wanted you.” They begin to laugh at me, at least twelve different faces. “HAHAHA, you stupid cheap whore, will do anything to get what she wants.” The high pitch cackles sever through me, slicing at my soul.

  My head is floating somewhere else above me but I can't move, I am stood still. I am watching myself outside of the vessel in which I barely exist. The out of body experience freaks me out.

  “Go away, all of you. Just shut up, stop fucking talking!” I scream and try to lift my hands to scrub them away. I manage to lift them, and pound at the mirror with them, hard enough to shatter it everywhere. The sharp shards slice at my hands. “Fuck off, please just leave me alone. Please, someone, help me.” I continue to smash at the glassless wall, the concrete cutting my knuckles. My blood is covering the walls and I am hitting hard enough to split the skin open, relentlessly attempting to rid the noise from my ears.

  The voices and people are still here. I can still see them in the wall, even without the glass, I just want them to leave me alone.

  “Leighton, Leighton, please baby, help me. LEIGHTON, HELP!” I scream for him. He will know how to help me, he will tell everyone to go away and leave me alone. He always saves me, rescues me, even from myself.

  My body begins to shake violently, horrible convulsions spreading through me. I can't stop them, or control them. My body drops to the hard floor, my head smashing against the porcelain sink on the way. I have spit dribbling down my chin, my jaw aching from banging together.

  I can still hear them laughing at me. They are gaining ground on me, their feet beginning to kick at the pathetic pile on the floor that is me. A few of them are crouched down poking at me, taunting me to retaliate. I grab at my hair through my shakes, trying to rip it out, trying to stop the noise. “LEAVE ME ALONE, FUCK OFF EVERYONE, PLEASE, LEAVE ME, I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. I WAS JUST TRYING TO HELP. ARGGHHH.” I scream as nausea rises in my throat, my empty stomach
dry heaving, the agonising and tensing feelings flooding through me.

  The pain in my head is swamping me; my vision is a huge blur. Tiny speckles of light filter through, dark shadows mixing with the cloudiness in my brain. The darkness coming for me, like it always does. The shadows I see casting me into a total blackness that petrifies my almost lifeless body.

  “Leighton, save me,” I whimper to myself, curled up in a tight ball on the floor. My arms wrap around myself as I shake. I feel myself blacking out into nothingness.

  Leighton

  “Evening, Kev,” I say to the doorman as I walk past him, skipping the queue outside. The people standing in the blistering cold have another thing coming if they actually think they are getting in. It is easier to make this look like a normal nightclub, than try and hide it. They let people queue thinking they have a chance of getting in here to dance, but they’ll all be disappointed when they are once again told that the club is full, and nobody is permitted to enter.

  “Evening, Sir. Nice to see you again, it’s been a while.” It has, just over a year to be precise. The last time I had been here was the day before I met, Abigail.

  “Sir,” he nods to Scott beside me, as he holds the door open for us.

  I walk into the lightened area of the lobby, the pulsing sound of the music pounding from behind the set of doors. I can already smell the slight tinge of sweat in the air. I breathe in deeply, letting it seep into my core.

  I walk to the reception area to sign in as is requested. The most petite little woman is sat behind the desk, her body perfectly upright, her posture outstanding. Her eyes sparkle at me as I write my name and membership number down. She isn’t permitted to talk, not unless her master has told her to, we all understood her lack of vocabulary. The beautiful black collar fixed around her slender throat tells me that she is, in fact taken, and by the looks of the lock, by a tough fucking master.