by Addison Cain
He slid from the soaking mess between her thighs — all her, because she had never felt him come. A hard slap on her ass woke up the welts, pain making the orgasm stutter. “What did I say about asking permission?”
I’m sorry.
That was what the other one would want to hear, even if she didn’t mean it. This one? He only wanted one word from her.
“Greedy little whore.” His large palms squeezed her backside, making her whimper as the welts protested and he pulled her cheeks apart. “You like it, don’t you… you wanna take it? You wanna take my cock some more?”
Beth arched as he pressed against her ass, shaking her head, but his hands found her hips again and he ripped her open in one vicious stroke. She screamed against the bed, pleading for him to stop, but he pulled back and it felt like a hot knife being drawn out, and then re-sheathed as he thrust forward. An impossible pain.
“Oh, fuck, yes.” He groaned as he tore her apart, hips pistoning with unrelenting strokes. “Take it, slut. This is all you’re meant for, all you’re good for. Just a set of fucking holes.”
Sobbing, back muscles spasming, Beth tried to stop herself from screaming again, but it was useless. She screamed for him, again and again.
Pain, panic, all pleasure gone like smoke.
Nothing but agony.
And then he forced himself deep, teeth clamping down on the flesh over her ribs as he came. Squirming, she tried not to tighten down because it only hurt worse, sobbing as the torment of his bite refused to let her dissolve, pass out, escape.
He pulled out, ripping her head up by her hair, and she saw the rage still simmering in his eyes, even with the manic smile on his lips. “Was it good for you?” he asked, and then he spat into her face.
She felt something crumple inside just before he dropped her back to the bed. The dull sounds of him gathering his clothes faded into the background noise of her pain, and when the door finally shut Beth let the tremors in her body takeover.
It took a few tries, a few weak screams into the sheet, but she finally lifted one knee onto the bed and managed to shift her body completely onto it. Arms still behind her back, she ignored the meager throb of her shoulder as she curled into a ball on her side. This was definitely hell, and there were two devils, not one.
And each day she was discovering a new level of suffering. A new low.
Accepting a new thought as an absolute truth…
I’m going to die here.
10
“Well, that went well.” Anthony spoke from the door, his eyes glued to the phone in his hands.
“Fuck you,” Marcus growled, pouring another inch of scotch before he downed it on a hiss.
A low sound came from his brother, almost a laugh, and his fingers tightened threateningly around the brittle glass. When he walked forward, taking slow measured steps, Marcus forced himself to set the empty drink down before he shattered it, or threw it at the asshole. Anthony stopped about ten feet to his left, as if he could sense the threat, floating at the edge of his peripheral vision. “I’m sure you noticed, but she did not call you Master.”
“I noticed.”
“You know what that means then?” The cold calm of the question only fueled Marcus’ rage, hand shaking with it as he grabbed the bottle of scotch and poured again.
Watching the amber liquid splash, he kept his eyes there, not daring to look at Anthony until he had his temper in check. “Yeah, I do.”
A burning swallow, and then another, but it was Anthony’s huff of breath that made his muscles twitch.
Raising his eyes he pointed at him with the hand holding the glass. “You did something to her. I know you did.”
“Review the recordings if you think so, but I did exactly as we agreed. I took her down from the suspension, I fed her, and I put her in bed. For you.” The casual lift of his shoulder was the only reaction his brother gave. “It’s not my fault you failed.”
Failed.
The word felt like a punch to the stomach, and he hated him even more. This sonuvabitch was ruining everything, probably had already ruined everything with his fucked up techniques. Rage simmered in his blood, still burning through his veins after the defiance the cunt had displayed, and it was all because of Anthony. All of it.
“No one is going to fucking buy her like this!” Marcus shouted, gesturing in the direction of the room where he’d left the bitch bound and crying. “You think anyone wants a slave that won’t even call them Master?”
“It has only been a week, we”—he paused, giving his creepy fucking smile as he tilted his head, dead eyes lifting until they were looking at each other—”or rather, I still have plenty of time to break her.”
“Fuck off.”
“That is precisely what I was going to recommend you do, Marcus. As I tried to tell you on the phone this evening, your presence tonight was not necessary.” Anthony walked over to lean against a leather chair, and when he looked at him again he could sense the satisfaction he took in the next words. “And now your presence is simply not acceptable. We had an agreement after all.”
“You’re such an asshole. Can I at least sleep here, or do you want me to drive North right fucking now?” Growling, he turned away from the bastard and poured more scotch, swallowing before it even had a chance to breathe.
“That would be irresponsible. You’re already drowning your sorrows in liquor, and I’d much prefer you out of a hospital since you’ve invested so much setting up the alternate location for our customers.” He paused, another huff of sound leaving him. “Then you can focus your misguided efforts on your own slave.”
“I could have made her say it!” Marcus roared, slamming the empty glass down on the bar cabinet.
“But, you did not.”
“She would have said it if you had let me handle her from the beginning!” Running his hand over the short crop of his hair, he cursed and paced across the room, avoiding the alcohol because he knew his brother saw it as weakness. “You’ve fucking ruined her. YOU have, Anthony. That’s the only reason she refused!”
Another barely perceptible shrug was the only reaction he got. No flare of irritation, no flicker of emotion in that stone cold face. His brother had his phone in his hand, tapping at it with one hand, barely paying attention to him. “She will break. They all do.”
“When?” he shouted, feeling his teeth grind when he snapped them back together.
“Eventually.”
“Fuck you, Anthony.” Fury pounded through his veins, making his blood pulse behind his eyes, heart beating too fast. The orgasm hadn’t taken the edge off, it had only fueled it. Even screaming and crying she’d refused to call him Master — what would Anthony do now?
He found himself back at the bar cabinet, one hand on the bottle of scotch, tongue tracing his lower lip as he imagined the smoky taste of his brother’s Glenlivet.
“Will another drink really help you?” Anthony asked, and Marcus wrapped his other hand around the glass, fighting the instinct to pour, and drink, and pour again until he could block out his brother’s fucking voice. “You’re being childish, Marcus.”
His grip tightened, the glass shattering under his fist and he ripped his hand back as blood pooled from his thumb. Hissing through his teeth, he ignored the pain and turned to stare at the asshole who supposedly shared DNA with him.
“I’m being childish?” Letting his blood swell in his fist, the warm liquid seeping between his fingers to drip to the carpet, Marcus fought the urge to shout again and forced out a laugh.
It was at least entertaining to be ruining what was likely an expensive rug.
Reaching back, he grabbed the open bottle and tilted it up, swallowing a mouthful that burned but left the delicious smoke behind as he breathed out and smiled. “Nothing I did this evening was childish, Anthony, and if she didn’t submit to that, she’s not going to submit after another week, or another month of your torture shit.”
“Right… I’m glad you brought up
your behavior this evening.” Lifting the phone at his side, he angled the screen towards him and it lit up. “Do you remember what you told me on our call?”
“Yeah, I agreed to your fucking bet. You get to finish training this one solo, I stay out of it, and you get all the profits. Trust me, I didn’t forget.”
“Oh, all of that is true. I’m referring to something else you said on our call.”
“What?” Taking another drink, he leaned back against the bar, listening to the bottles rattle, the shards of glass tinkling on the metal tray as the buzz of alcohol finally started to spread. “You already screwed me over on this. What else is there? Just fucking spit it out, Anthony.”
“You claimed you could break her without fucking her ass… and then what did you do?”
He laughed. He couldn’t help it. He’d actually managed to take something from his brother, and it felt good. “Is that what this is about? The fact that I fucked her in the ass?” Grinning, he thought back to the smooth curve of her back, the swell of her hips under his hands, the sight of her wrists bound in dark cuffs. “Did you watch, Anthony? She came all over my cock, and then she screamed when I took her ass for the first time. Screamed and begged me.”
Anthony’s mouth twitched, eyes dropping to the phone for a second, and Marcus felt victory for one fleeting moment — and then his asshole of a brother smiled. “Yes, I saw, and I just received the confirmation that fifty-thousand dollars was just transferred from your account to mine. A penalty, for breaking the parameters of our wager.”
“WHAT?” Marcus took a few steps towards him, palm wet with blood, and he wanted to make him bleed, to rip him apart, but Anthony raised the phone up again.
“Actions have consequences, Marcus. This will be a good lesson for you to learn, especially if we plan to operate separate, but connected, businesses.” Tilting the phone to and fro, he continued, “And I can always transfer more if you feel the need to act out.”
Fuck.
He wanted to hit him. Hard. Wanted to punch him in his fucking face until they looked nothing alike. This didn’t have a thing to do with the girl, this was just Anthony reminding him who the fuck was in charge.
Another fucking power play, and he’d walked right into it.
When would he learn not to bet against his brother? The man only made bets he knew he would win, which meant he had to have done something to the girl. Drugged her, hurt her, threatened her. He’d go over the recordings piece by piece and find it.
Forcing another swallow of the expensive liquor, he tried to calm down, to focus. “Fifty-thousand for her ass, Anthony? That seems like a bit much.”
“It’s also for the bruises from your little temper tantrum with the belt. Our customers tend to prefer blank slates for their own marks.”
Marcus snorted. “She’ll heal from those long before you get her to call you Master.”
“Well, when I get her to call me Master, we will see. But you will not be here for it.” Tucking his phone in his pocket, Anthony moved towards the door. “I expect you out in the morning.”
“No reason for me to stay, is there?”
“No.” He didn’t even turn around when he answered, just opened the door and walked out into the hall, letting it fall shut behind him with a clap. The automatic lock clicking into place let him relax, and he opened his sticky fist to look at the cut on his thumb.
Not deep, but it hadn’t stopped bleeding.
He could fix this. He would fix all of it.
Taking the bottle with him, he walked to the door and opened it with his bloody hand, leaving dark, smudged fingerprints on the keypad and handle. Ruining the pristine sheen his brother kept over everything.
In his room he had a first-aid kit, and his old computer setup. He could bandage his thumb, and spend the rest of the night getting drunk and pouring over the recordings until he found the exact moment when Anthony had fucked him over.
Then he could take Beth for himself and show them all who was better at breaking slaves.
11
Anthony watched as she pressed herself forward against the cool, concrete wall. Wrists in dark cuffs, arms spread wide, linked to the hard points high above her head. He had always enjoyed this design. The chains allowed him to adjust based on their height so he could make them stretch. Even now, she was up on her toes, calves shaking from the strain, round ass catching the harsh overhead lights.
It had been two weeks of things like this. Creative punishments, mind games, but the girl seemed more defiant than ever.
She’d even told him to kill her.
So ridiculous.
First, slaves were not allowed to make demands.
Second, he didn’t believe for an instant the girl truly wanted to die. No living thing did. It was hard-wired into their biology to survive — and no matter what he did to her, she would always crave another breath.
Most importantly, this was a business, and good businessmen never invested time and money in something only to abandon it at the first hint of hardship.
He just needed to be rougher with her. Make her suffer more.
Running the leather of the whip over his palm he focused on the handful of bright red lines across her upper back and shoulders. “What are you, girl?”
Her body jerked, twisted a little as she shifted her weight between her feet, but she didn’t answer. Fingers wrapped tight around the chains, she was either extraordinarily strong, or impressively stupid.
“Silence is defiance. Do you need another reminder?” Uncoiling the whip, he let it hang to the floor once more. Waiting, watching as he adjusted his grip and moved to the side again, letting her hear his footsteps — but she still didn’t speak.
Lifting his arm, he swung forward, hearing the whip snap against her flesh a second before a guttural cry left her lips, soft whimpers following. Another bright red line formed, and he wondered if she knew he could strike so much harder. Could make those lines purple, could make her bleed.
“What are you, girl?” he repeated, and it irked him. He’d asked the same question so many times and he despised repeating himself. A waste of time and energy. “Answer me.”
“No,” she whispered between harsh breaths, her jaw muscles twitching as she pressed her teeth together again.
Another crack of the whip, harder, and she gasped before she screamed. This line was going to be darker, a lovely reddish-purple. It probably hurt, a lot, but he had never been whipped so he didn’t know exactly what it felt like.
“FUCK YOU!” the girl screamed, voice breaking at the end of the expletive as she dissolved into whines, rattling the chains with her twists and tugs. It was a pretty sight from the side. Round breasts brushing the concrete, flat stomach twisting above wiggling hips.
The customers are absolutely enjoying this.
Walking over to the table he set the whip down and picked up the bar gag. She was still breathing harshly when he approached, refusing to look at him as she leaned her forehead against the wall. There was no doubt in his mind that it was her exhaustion, and not some last minute attempt at obedience that kept her eyes averted.
She was disobedient to the core, but he had something else after the whipping to break her a little further.
“Open your mouth.” That drew her attention, head twisting to look over her shoulder at him, and he lifted the gag so she could see it. Brown eyes went wide, and her jaw tightened.
Anthony was somewhat fascinated by her. Normally, there was so much pleading and begging, especially when he used the whip — a boorish, yet painful implement if there ever was one — but she was still cursing. Still brazenly refusing to submit, and nowhere near breaking.
Weaving his fingers into her hair he ripped her head back, the natural gasp of breath into her lungs opening her jaw, and he shoved the leather bit between her teeth before she could correct it. It only took a moment to wind the leather behind her head, under the ponytail he had roughly pulled together to keep it off her back.
/> She sputtered curses around it, still loud, but less intelligible.
Much better.
“I did tell you what would happen if you cursed at me again, remember, slut?” He stroked her hair, smiling when she pulled away from him. “Ready for the rest of your whipping?”
A garbled stream came from her, and he could almost pick out the obscenities as he returned to the whip. The leather was still warm from his hand, a comfortable hold.
“If you would like to answer my questions from this morning, or address me properly, simply snap your fingers. Otherwise, we will finish this part of your punishment.” Anthony watched as the muscles in her back twitched, her legs bending and straightening. Preparing for the pain.
It wouldn’t help her, of course, but he allowed her the moment anyway.
Sometimes, he was too generous.
Rearing his arm back he snapped the whip across her shoulders, reveling in the scream as his cock twitched. Still sated from before he’d chained her up, but he enjoyed it anyway. Another lash, harder, and her back bowed before she pressed her body into the concrete.
Darker.
That line was already a deep purple, and he listened to her sob, the slurping sounds around the gag as she tried to avoid drooling.
In a moment none of that would matter to her.
The whip arced through the air so fast his eyes couldn’t track it, trusting his skill to land it where he wanted, and over and over it did. Practice makes perfect, or so they say, and though he’d prefer the marks to be more evenly spaced, they were still grouped carefully across the top of her back.
Eyes roving to her ass and thighs he admired the clean expanse of flesh, the belt marks having faded from his brother’s interlude with her, and he smiled. Shifting his feet, he angled lower and the whip cracked at a diagonal across her ass.
A new scream, guttural sobbing. She hadn’t expected him to strike somewhere new.