by Addison Cain
Anthony paused a moment to enjoy her despair, the hiss of her breaths around the gag, the whimpers, the occasional sucking in as she fought to swallow the saliva he knew was pooling in her mouth. He could have put her in a ball gag, but that was for shorter durations than he planned to have her in this one.
Tonight, he would torture her in new ways.
But first, the whipping. Two more lashes across her ass, dark ones that drew out the most desperate screams of pain, and then he added another across her shoulders. The girl bucked, crying, and he saw the first string of drool spill from her lips. It glinted in the light as it spilled onto her breasts, and she whined, sputtering as she gave in and let more flow.
How many emails had he received requesting a whipping?
Too many to count at the moment, but he looked forward to reviewing the live cam views on this session. It had lasted long enough that some of the customers would have reached out to others they knew, encouraged them to access it.
Which meant she needed to perform.
“Want to snap your fingers, slave?” He taunted, moving forward to run his hand across the welts on her ass, squeezing hard to turn her soft whimpering into another pain-filled scream. Leaning closer he spoke almost directly into her ear, “If you do it, I might even stop. Isn’t that what you want?”
She jerked violently against the cuffs, anger suffusing her incoherent shouts, he even thought he heard a garbled fuck you in the mess — but she didn’t snap her fingers.
It was like she knew what he really wanted in that moment. As perfunctory as it would be for her to break now, to submit, it would be so disappointing. He wanted to hurt her more, wanted her to scream more, wanted to break her down into component parts until he could reassemble her into something marketable.
Which, at this rate, would take so much time.
And he planned to appreciate each and every moment of her destruction.
Moving to the opposite side of her, he rolled the handle of the whip in his fingers, and then gripped it. His muscles twitched in anticipation, cock hardening again as he caught the sheen of his come on her thighs. She was already a slave, already a thing, she just hadn’t accepted it yet.
The next whip strike across her ass crisscrossed a previous one and she wailed, one foot lifting off the floor like she could block the pain, and then he struck her upper back. She arched, head angled back as she sobbed, and he wondered what she was feeling.
Was there fear in that complex soup of anger and pain? Did she know he could draw blood with the whip? Was she waiting for it?
A visual of crimson streaks rolling down her back filled his mind, and for a moment he even felt tempted. It would just take a little more strength behind the whip to cut flesh like butter. He could tear her to ribbons and listen to her weak screams until she blacked out. Something about the idea was tempting, despite the inherent mess of the blood and the inevitable risk of infection and scarring.
No.
Damaging the merchandise was foolish, and he was never foolish. That was Marcus’ territory. Impulsive and imprudent. Eventually she would need to make him money, and while the whip marks were getting darker, they would heal without lasting scars.
He had waited too long between strikes with his internal musing. Her breaths were evening out, she wasn’t even sobbing anymore despite the occasional sniffle.
If he couldn’t make her bleed, he’d just make her suffer.
Lifting his arm he brought the whip down hard over her upper back, then her ass. Back, ass, ass, back, again and again, and then just as she was screaming herself hoarse he landed the whip high on her thighs. The girl’s legs gave out as she sobbed weakly, hanging by her wrists from the cuffs — an added pain of her own making, but he didn’t want her breaking something.
Walking forward he wrapped the whip around her throat and used it to pull her back up, aided by his grip around her waist. She choked, coughed, sputtered against the gag as he tightened the whip, and his cock strained at his zipper.
“Do you want to submit yet?” he asked, watching her hands for any hint of an attempted snap.
Nothing.
He hadn’t planned to fuck her again, but there was nothing like screaming, or the desperate choking sounds coming out of her now, to make him hard. With her life in his hands, she was as pliable as she needed to be, too weak to stand on her own… but she wasn’t even trying to snap her fingers, and he had been so patient. Given her so many chances.
Anthony had refused to fuck her ass so soon after Marcus’ hasty actions, wanting to wait until the right moment, and now felt perfect. Dropping the whip he held on to her waist with one hand and unlinked one of the cuffs with the other. Her sudden intake of breath spoke of the hope she felt, the hope that the punishment was over, but he only moved the connector farther down the chain and then locked the cuff in place again.
She sobbed, the jerk of her body against his a clear indication that this was the right decision. The right moment.
With the second cuff shifted down he was able to pull her away from the wall, bend her forward, and she braced her palms on it, garbling pleas through the gag. He could hear a broken ‘please’, the barely perceptible versions of ‘no’ and ‘don’t’, but her refusals only made him smile because none of them were the answers to his questions.
The girl had not admitted she was a slave, had not called him Master, had not submitted.
“You understand what this means, girl. More punishment.” Keeping one arm around her waist, he opened his belt, his pants and zipper, pushing them down as he forced her legs wider. It strained her arms, forced her shoulders to twist, but none of that mattered as he freed his cock and slid into her hot cunt, still wet with the mix of the two of them. She hadn’t come, but he had, and her body’s defenses had made her more than wet enough.
Another contribution of his training.
Tightening around him, squeezing, she whimpered as his pants scraped over the whip marks. He moved inside her slowly, letting her believe for a moment that this was all he wanted from her. The girl started to relax, and he knew she was separating from this like she had so many times before.
It would be a short-lived reprieve.
He thrust a few more times, lubricating, before he pulled out and moved his cock to her ass. Body contorting, she whined as she tried to pull away, but his arm around her waist stopped it. She was so weak compared to him, helpless even without the cuffs. He could have done this a hundred times over, could have done it without wetting his cock inside her, but with her gagged and still crying from the pain of the whip?
This was the moment to take her ass.
“Have you realized yet that there’s nothing you can do to stop me?” he asked, watching her ribs expand and contract as she stayed silent. Defiant.
She was practically begging to be punished.
Unlike his brother, he slowly pressed against her tight ring of muscles. Waited for her keening whine to rise, for her body to shudder, her panic to peak, before he twitched his hips and forced the head of his cock inside her. So tight.
“I can do anything I want with you, because I’m your Master, whether you say the word or not. And when I sell you, it will be the same.” Her sobs grew louder as he moved deeper, inch by inch, stretching her as she fought and twisted. A strand of drool escaped her mouth, shining as it trailed towards the floor, and then he forced the rest of his cock in.
A scream escaped her, ending in a choked sob as she sputtered pleas, making the chains rattle when she moved her hands. Only the second cock she’d taken in her ass, it would still hurt plenty, and he was going to make her feel every bit of this violation. His brother may have been first, but he had rushed it — like he did everything — and so it would be this she remembered the most.
“You are not a person anymore, you’re a slave. Property.” Easing back, he thrust in a little harder, a little faster, ignoring the urge to tear her apart, focusing on every shiver, every whimper, every crumbling
bit of hope.
But as much as she said she wanted to die, she would survive. He would make sure of that.
“You are nothing more than a body for men to seek their pleasure in, to torment for their entertainment.” Reaching forward, he caught her ponytail in his fist and wound it around to lift her head and pull her back on his cock, stretching her further. She choked out a pain-filled cry, eyes clenched tight as her fingers bent against the concrete. The sight of the gag between her lips, her tear-streaked cheeks, and the dark whip marks across her shoulders was perfect.
The customers will watch this over and over.
“I will take everything from you,” his voice was strained because she squeezed his cock inside her. Rhythmic, twitching pulses in the tight sheath of her ass, but he was determined to make this last. To make her suffer more than she had with Marcus, to get her one step closer to breaking.
“It’s up to you how long this lasts, slave.” He fucked her a little harder, enjoying the throaty groan that slipped around the gag. “You choose when the training ends. So, how much can you take before you snap?”
12
Beth awoke with a jolt, panic and pain rushing through her, but when she tried to lift her hands they stopped short. The clatter of chain brought awareness of the cuffs on her wrists and ankles, but where was she?
Darkness.
Complete and total darkness.
Attempting to lift her head was almost futile, because the collar around her neck was attached to whatever she was lying on. Pressing her teeth into the narrow bit of rubber between her teeth she made herself swallow the pooling saliva.
Her heart was pounding, blood thumping inside her ears, but she tried her best to stay calm, to talk herself into sanity. Yet, something about the space around her felt stifling. Claustrophobic. Flaring her fingers out she brushed walls on either side of her body, and when she strained against the collar on her throat she managed to make her shoulder brush one side.
Oh God.
This is like a coffin. Is it a coffin? Did he bury me alive?
Horror movie scenarios flickered through her mind, and she couldn’t control them. Couldn’t stifle the thoughts as they made her panic, whining against the gag she pulled and kicked at the cuffs holding her down. Energy waning, she sobbed, trying not to choke on her drool as her nose clogged from the tears.
He said he wouldn’t kill you.
He said it.
Somehow, that was a lifeline inside the nightmare. The promise of a psychopath holding her sanity together while she stared into the perfect darkness of the grave, pain creeping in at the edges of her awareness.
Her back and ass were alive with the marks from the whip, and every shift of her body reminded her of them. That had been worse than she’d imagined. Each strike of the sleek leather felt like it had torn skin and muscle, but she was quite sure she hadn’t bled. She would have felt that, right?
Right?
The whimper echoed back too close, rebounding off a surface much nearer than she wanted to imagine. Visuals of being trapped in a fucking coffin were spinning around inside her head as she pictured that asshole with his stone cold eyes shoveling dirt atop it.
Burying her alive.
Suddenly, it was too hard to breathe. Lungs cramping, tightening inside her ribcage, and she stretched her mouth wider than the gag so she could swallow more air. Strange, high-pitched noises were leaving her on every frenzied exhale, and she couldn’t stop them.
Please let me out of here.
Please.
Rolling her head and eyes as much as she could she tried to search for light, for any hint, but there wasn’t a shred. Nothing. Just darkness and a stifling warmth that made her question how much she was re-breathing her own air.
Am I light headed?
Is that from the panicked breathing or a lack of oxygen?
A scream ripped out of her, and she fought the restraints desperately, bucking her hips, twisting and pulling — but it was no use. She was just using more of the air struggling, and as the tears rolled from the edges of her eyes, tumbling into her hair, she forced herself to be still. To hold her breath, and then let it out as slow as possible. Gasping air in was an instinct, but she struggled to slow it too.
In and out.
Slow and even.
Where the fuck am I?
She remembered the whipping, remembered him fucking her ass slowly, the pain of it, the strain of the chains and the position… and then he had finished. Right?
Her thoughts grew thick at that point, muddy and sticky, and she wished anything in her life made sense. If it made sense she could understand where the fuck she was, but everything in her world was a nightmare. An incongruent horror show that seemed to have no end in sight.
How much can you take before you snap?
He had asked her that question again, and then he’d pressed her to the concrete with his cock still in her ass. Fucking her, he had asked it again, and again, and then his hand had come around her throat.
Unconscious.
That’s what he’d done, he had choked her until she’d passed out — and then he’d apparently put her in a coffin. Beth whimpered, not sure if she wanted to die, or wanted to live, but she wanted this to stop.
‘Please let me out, please. I’m sorry, I’m sorry…’ The words were garbled, but she still tried to say them, to make them clear around the gag. Swallowing the saliva, she tried again, saying it louder, and then she strained her ears, listening for anything. Any sounds at all.
Silence.
Except for her breathing, and the dull clank of metal on metal whenever one of her limbs twitched. She had told him to just kill her, but she had hoped for a quick death, not suffocating or starving in a box.
Is that his plan?
More horror movie shit.
It was ridiculous, he wouldn’t do it like this. Not in the dark. Not in this infinite darkness where none of those fucking cameras could watch her suffer. He’d do it with a knife out in the open, in that concrete room where there was already a drain to wash the evidence away. Or he’d electrocute her, because he liked electricity in all its forms.
Cattle prods, and electric batons, and devious boxes that rushed electricity into numerous devices that he’d pressed inside her, or attached to her skin. It wouldn’t be like this.
I won’t die like this. I won’t.
“AGH!” She woke up to the pressure of fingers deep inside her, stretching her, but the light was too bright to see. Whining she tried to tilt her hips away, but another finger joined the others and she screamed — was that four fingers? Was he trying to put his fucking fist inside her?
“STOP!” The word left her lips and she realized she could speak, the gag was gone. Ignoring the pain between her thighs she forced her eyes to pry open, wincing past the bright lights to make her eyes adjust.
Fingers spread and she groaned out her pain, clenching her teeth against the cry as she pulled at the cuffs. Still tied down, thighs spread just enough that she couldn’t stop this.
“Please, fuck, please stop!”
“What do you say, slave?” It was him. He was above her, inside her, hurting her. Again.
“Oh God,” she whispered, and then his fingers pushed deeper, knuckles stretching her cunt. That was the word he used, and it was the only one her mind would grasp as another torrent of pain shot through her. Too much, too fucking much.
“You know what you need to say. Say it and I will stop.” The bastard punctuated his statement by forcing his fingers a little farther in. He was tearing her, he had to be. The pain made her spine shiver, made her back arch, but her eyes slowly focused despite the tears blurring the edges.
He had one hand braced on something above her, something above the… drawer… she lay inside. That was it, she was in a drawer. A huge fucking drawer, with restraints. Turning her head she saw the metal lining she lay on, the dark hole inside where she had been trapped. A gasp ripped from her lungs as pain spiked ag
ain, a whine as her whole body tensed with the stretch of four fingers forcing her wide, and then he slid back just enough to let her breathe. “Please!” she begged.
“Say it.”
Master. Master. Master.
The only word he wanted. What would it mean to say it? What would he do if she did?
“You are going to suffer until you say it. I want you to understand that.” His hand grabbed her jaw, and then his fingers left her cunt completely only to be forced into her mouth. Stretching her lips wide with the tang of her own taste — when had she grown wet?
He released her, and the last thing she saw was a blur of lights in the ceiling and his empty expression as he pushed the drawer shut and darkness overwhelmed her. Sore and whimpering she screamed for him to come back, but she didn’t use the word.
There really was a magic word, but would using it be a blessing or a curse?
Drawer open.
The freezing spray of water hit her skin and she gasped, too stunned to scream, but then she remembered her thirst. Desperate for the water she kept her mouth obscenely open, swallowed as often as she could, fighting the urge to shiver and clench her teeth.
Then came the baton. Loud, electric zaps that had her convulsing on the metal tray in short bursts. Pain thundered through exhausted nerves, but all she wanted was the water back.
Still thirsty.
She hadn’t been able to scream, or beg, in so long. Throat too dry, too raw from screaming in the damn drawer.
“Say it.” His words buzzed in her ears, humming like the lingering vibration of the shocks. Wincing, she tried to look at him, to pull his image into focus, but he was backlit by bright lights and he was nothing more than a shadow. A pit of darkness.
“Say it or you go back in, slave.”
Another zap, another groan, but all she wanted to ask for was the water. Even cold and biting, she didn’t care. Just… “Water?” she croaked.
“Wrong answer.”
The drawer slammed shut, rocking her body against the cuffs, and she flinched, tried to collect her thoughts into something not chaotic — but nothing worked.