With bated breath she waited for something worse to happen. Nothing did, which flared panic in her chest. Nothing was the worse thing the remote could do because it had to do something. By seemingly doing nothing, it triggered a fear of anything and everything. Chains descending from the ceiling. Dogs bursting into the room. Still nothing.
“If only you could appreciate the way you look at me.” Guy sighed. His hands began touching her as soon as the remote was back in its hidden pocket. The leather of his gloves were warm, the illusion of skin on skin contact almost making her gag.
But that repulsion gave her a way to resist, even if it was petty and small. Rosamma pinched her eyes shut. In the dark, for just a moment, she imagined when her eyes opened this would be all be an erotic nightmare.
The soothing timbre of Gu’s laughter called her back to reality. Fingers brushed against her bound wrists, followed by a gentle massage of her rump by Guy’s other hand. He slackened the rope, and her arms flopped useless against the bed. It’d take minutes to regain feeling in them, and by then whatever he was planning would already have happened.
Next to be freed were her ankles. Legs just as useless as her arms, Rosamma laid placid on a mattress from hotel hell. The plush bed cradling bruised limbs and shattered egos didn’t seem so bad when Guy wasn’t hurting her on it. A clack of shoes, a pause, another clack getting louder. Pop! went the cap of a bottle, before Guy deposited soothing coolness on her blistered ass.
In the silence of this moment, with her eyes closed and gentle hands caressing away the burn of her rump, Rosamma could almost imagine she was with a boyfriend. Or maybe that bodyguard. A whispered yessss hissed through her mind, warmth reigniting between her legs at the idea of Ekene doing this to her.
“Like that?” Guy purred.
“I’m thinking of someone else.” She breathed, allowing the honesty to seep into her voice. He didn’t grow enraged or irrationally jealous like she hoped. Another infuriating laugh popped from Guy’s mouth, a rogue hand swiping down the curve of her ass, the tips of his fingers grazing the edge of her pussy.
“Soon you’ll be this wet for any man who wants to use you. A little pain slut who wants nothing but cock and whips.” A hint of revulsion slipped into Guy’s words, a flicker of truth behind his Good Guy routine. If there was a Good Guy, there had to be Bad Guy. And Bad Guy hated slutty women, but turned virgins into whores.
A groan tore from Rosamma’s throat, and her eyes snapped open. Eyelids peeled back, the sledgehammer of her memories faded to a dull thump against her temple. What happened last night is in the past. She tried to tell herself, but the pessimistic voice of reason broke through the thin barrier of bravery. This was far from over.
Run.
Rosamma tried to climb to her feet, only for leather restraints to bite into her wrist and keep her in place. The missing end of last night sprang to the forefront of her mind. Guy dragged her from the bed by the hair and threw her in an adjoining room. It was barren except for a wall of sex toys that ranged from clit vibrators and feathers, to canes and angry phalic shapes that had knots or bumps deforming them.
Facing the door were two shackles implanted in the metal hull about three feet off the ground. She remembered thinking he had a leather fetish before he commanded that she get on her knees. Afraid of another punishment, Rosamma did as he told her with little fight.
“So well behaved.” Guy groaned, sliding her wrists into place and cinching the cuffs tight. From her knees, Rosamma was the perfect height to lay witness to the swelling in Guy’s pants. “Would you like some food.”
Her stomach growled in the present just like it did in the past. He made the snide comment that because she was a model, she should be used to starving. When he left, that was it. No food slid into her cell later that night, even if it did, she wouldn’t have been able to eat it. She still couldn’t, bound as she was.
Oh god, the panic was coming back.
“Let me out!” Rosamma’s scream echoed around the room, bouncing off metal walls and ricocheting between her ears. Another futile jerk against her restraints, and her knees slid out from under her. She’d fallen asleep guarding her sore backside, but now it slammed hard into the cold ground.
The choked shriek coupled with piercing agony shot any rational part of her brain to hell and back. Exhausted muscles spurred into action, yanking, tugging and wrenching at the restraints keeping her in place. A migraine formed behind Rosamma’s eyes when she couldn’t halt her raving howls.
She didn’t know how long it took for her bleeding lungs to give out, or when exertion shredded her muscles past the point of no return. Guy waited for her shameless display to end. Then he walked into his sex room with the air of a man who was out saving puppies.
He was all soft smiles and understanding eyes. Had anyone ever fallen for such an obvious lie? Would she? When a day stretched into a week, a month, a year, would she willingly crawl into the arms of the devil?
Never.
“You put on quite the show.” He said.
The furrow of slim brows must have alerted him of the What? blaring through Rosamma’s mind. Cotton dryness stole the moisture from her mouth and the voice from her lips. A slow smile twisted the man in front of her into the Bad Guy she witnessed for a brief moment last night.
“I’m getting good feedback from your buyers. The chat room is full of ideas on how to punish you for the little outburst you had.” Dread turned her arms to stone, a lead weight settling in her belly.
People were watching?
“Of course they are.” Had she asked that out loud? “So was I.”
Without another word, Guy turned on his heel and strode from the room. The strangled cry Rosamma released filled her with shame. Still she begged him to come back. And return he did, this time with a tablet in hand.
He crouched wordlessly next to her, that sardonic twist of the lips still plastered in place. When he moved the tablet under her nose, tears sprouted in Rosamma’s eyes. She knew what awaited her on that screen. An outside glimpse of her inner hell. “Santa Maria, Madre di Dio, prega per noi peccatoti, adesso e nell’ora della nostra morte.”
“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.” Guy repeated her words in English, and Rosamma couldn’t help but wonder if it was for the voyeurs watching her. It felt wrong to hear those words without conviction behind them. When stated in monotone, it brought out none of the scriptures beauty.The hollowness came from words reflecting a prayer that God would never answer. “It’s ironic you pray to the mother of Jesus considering your own mother.”
“No one would pray for a man like you. Not even Santa Maria.” She spit.
God, his laugh was like hellfire. The hand he used to grip the back of her neck and force her gaze down towards the tablet felt like a cattle brand. Rosamma’s eyes raked over the electronic screen, her mind unable to comprehend what it was seeing. Her. Nursing a blackened ass so painful it drove away the aches from a hundred other smaller bruises.
Her eyes snapped shut. Back to the darkness where she could ignore the realness of her situation. How many times had she posed in a nude bikini or a micro bikini for shoots? This was just like that. She could imagine all the men watching her behind the lens of an invisible camera were photographers.
“Would you like to see the video from last night? Maybe the part where your slutty little pussy came and leaked all over the sheets?”
A low keening began deep in Rosamma’s diaphragm, spreading outwards to shatter still air. She didn’t want to think about how her body responded to Guy. No, not to him, to the cruel weapon that whipped her black and blue. The only time her thighs grew wet for a man was when the image of Ekene invaded her mind. He replaced Guy in a sordid fantasy where Ekene completed the beating.
“What I want-” she sobbed, her mind scrambling for something he would actually give her. To ask for freedom, leniency, or kindness would be a waste of breath. Her stomach growled and ga
ve Rosamma the answer. “Is something to eat.”
Guy lifted a finger to the soft m of her lips, trailing the pink color with reverence. “In a week's time you’ll be eating a stranger's cock for breakfast.”
Capitulo Nove
Guy left his tablet propped against the wall opposite of Rosamma, the video feed still rolling. At first it was easy to ignore the silent movie of herself. But as the minutes ticked by her eyes began to stray towards the flickering images. There was no hiding from the truth, not when gazing into the windows of her own soul.
She was damned to hell on earth. Guy had beaten her, forced her to come, starved her, and made her watch the invasive recordings he’d taken. If that was day one, whoever planned on purchasing her had far worse in mind. From the glint of evil in Bad Guy’s eyes, he had far worse planned.
Rosamma guessed it was luck or god that had Good Guy walk into her prison with a bowl of oatmeal. Smarmy smile in place, on the streets of Italy countless women would wish for his attention. With the thick Greek accent enlivening his voice, even more would collapse at his feet in America.
None of them would have been Rosamma. She was immune to false charm. In fashion, if you couldn’t separate the weeds from the flowers, your career would tank. Guy was more fake than any of the clothing she wore, or any makeup plastered to her face for a shoot. He would’ve done well in modeling.
“Ah, ah, ah. Don’t close your eyes on me, girl.” He set the bowl of food at her feet, while numb arms hung useless above her head. Even if she stretched and tried to eat the porridge like a dog, there would be no reaching the vital sustenance. Which is how he wanted it.
There was no point in trying, so Rosamma lowered her eyes. A groan of approval touched her ears, earning a cringe. “Such a good girl. Obeying the rules without knowing them. No wonder so many people are willing to pay top dollar for you.”
“Do you think that’s a compliment?” Her incredulous question lifted two thick brows on Guy’s forehead. Their eyes met, and the amusement swimming in his silver gaze made her stomach roil.
“Of course it is. Were I an agent in the fashion industry, you’d be flushed pink in pleasure. Just because you don’t like the context doesn’t mean it isn’t a compliment.”
“I bet a lot of people hated you before you got into this… perversion.” She hissed, willing fire to shoot from mouth and broil Guy alive. Another laugh was his response. Of course.
“More hate me now.” His purr brushed against her skin with the promise of a leather crop. Oatmeal touched her lips, and Rosamma jerked back with a gasp. As soon as her mouth spread into an ‘o’ of surprise, a metal spoon pressed against her tongue. It slid to the back of her throat, choking her with the flavor of egg and cinnamon. “I’ll do this with one of those cocks hanging on the wall if you don’t behave.”
Rosamma twisted her face away with a gag, spilling food down her tanned skin. Without the sun, in a few days, her tan would begin paling into a porcelain snow white. Oh god, would she ever see the sun again? Somewhere in the back of her mind, a whisper reminded her to focus on the here and now.
There was so much promised suffering ahead it made it hard to concentrate. The sun didn’t matter, nor did the filth he’d let slip onto her naked breasts. “Are you filming?” she mewled, hating the broken crack present in her voice.
“Right now? Yes. When I ram a silicone dick down you throat I’ll be recording you then too. People like to see what they’re getting when they make an investment.” A gloved hand coasted over her stomach to collect the spilled food on a single digit. When he brought the substance to her lips, Guy demanded she, “Open.”
Stubbornness glared back, her lips a thin line.
“I can make you open.” It’s like he’s informing her of a fact of life. Dogs bite, cat’s scratch, and Guy kidnaps women to prep them for cock sucking. “But that would mean jumping right into our games. You sure you don’t want a couple more bites of food before we start?”
It all sounded so normal. Rosamma wanted so badly to close her eyes and disappear into the fantasy world she tucked hidden away inside her head. With his calm voice and concerned lies, she could morph Guy into a pleasant facade. A caring boyfriend eager to start the good stuff, but too concerned about her wellbeing to focus on the dirty bits.
Until now, that was never the man she wanted. She wanted strong arms that held her down and piercing green eyes that peered into her soul with an intriguing reluctance. A high-pitched whine split the air when Guy put the bowl on the floor as if finished feeding her.
“My mouth is open.” She gasped, allowing her jaw to hang loose. When her eyes pinched shut, no command to open them came. Cold oat brushed past her lips. Even behind the comforting darkness of Rosamma’s eyelids, she saw Guy with horrid clarity. The thrust of leather-clad fingers on her tongue painted a picture on the back of her eye lids she couldn’t erase.
When the pressure in her mouth disappeared, brown eyes snapped open. Terrified of what else he might try to stick in there, a surge of relief enveloped Rosamma’s soul when the spoon clinked on her teeth. A few seconds passed, a pattern of lift, scoop, lift, scoop driving her closer to insanity. The more she swallowed, the closer to punishment she became.
“This is part of it.” She gasped between mouthfuls. Comprehension slammed into her stomach as Guy’s nose flared. Laughter bubbled from her chest, her mouth dropping open for the next scoop of food. None came. Instead, a glare watched her with an intensity that made her skin crawl.
“Explain yourself.” He demanded.
“Anticipation.” She whispered, reveling in the way his head cocked. She hoped whoever was watching caught on to her slip of the tongue and was thinking Guy stupid right now. It was a petty desire, a waste of energy to dwell on, but there was little pleasure to be had in this room. Making her captor look like a fool would be one of the last few glimpses of happiness she got. Even twisted and malicious as it was. “It’s part of your torture.”
Gravity increased at the corner of Guy’s mouth when she spoke, dragging his lips into a scowl. Without a charade to hide behind, the real Guy was more intimidating than his Bad Guy persona - times infinity. And confusing. Rosamma didn’t know what kind of man wore a look of disturbia when their captive considered their touch abusive. Most wouldn’t tighten their fists at the acknowledgement of wrongdoing because they wanted to be doing that specific wrong right now.
“I consider what I do to be training. That’s how you’ll refer to it from now on.”
∞∞∞
“I’m not a dog!” Her screech came with a tidal wave of rage so potent Guy felt it wash over him like a lover's embrace. There was always anger when he took a slave. Most people fit into a simple box consisting of the five stages of grief. Usually panic and rejection of reality would last a few more days.
Denial accompanied bargaining. Followed by anger, depression, or a rapid swapping of one emotion to the next. Until finally, acceptance. How long it took to break those inherently human traits and turn woman slave before him into a thing, depended on the person he was destroying.
“Are you listening?” He relished the way she still held command in her voice. She didn’t know it yet - but Rosamma was special. He always sold girls like her for more. They took less training, less time, and they obeyed with a blind obedience that turned his cock to steel. If her virginity wasn’t part of the Unicorn package he arranged, there’d be no talking. Her sweet virgin blood would be leaking all over his cock.
“No.” He admitted with a shrug, allowing his eyes to lower to the heaving of her flushed chest. It wasn’t a surprise that Rosamma was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen - she was a supermodel. Still, his cock reacted as if surprised, blood rushing to his crotch in hopes of use. But she was safe, or as safe as she could be while in Guy’s clutches.
Protected by a seven-figure dollar sign. To an extent. While he promised a woman who never experienced a cock in her pussy, ass, or mouth, it didn’t mean he would
leave her to the unskilled hands of an amateur. These first days were so important.
Chained naked to the wall with who knows watching, Rosamma still had a backbone. That’s why these demonstrations were necessary. No one would believe a shrieking banshee was a natural submissive. His clients wanted a little fight, and a lot of obedience to do whatever fucked up thing their depraved minds came up with. It would take a few days to form her into the malleable doll his clients wanted.
But it would be a different man spreading those buttermilk thighs and staring into honey gold eyes when she broke beyond recognition. Maybe they’d let him take part if he lowered the closing price. What’s a few million dollars when he’s already plotting the next Unicorn package? Besides… she was his first Unicorn, not fucking her would be akin to a crime, haha.
“Don’t look at me there.” Slender knees came up to hide Rosamma’s naked shame. Guy wouldn’t let her hide. His hands gripped each of her calves and spread them wide enough to reveal an entrancing pussy to the cameras.
“Noooo.” Mortification smacked Rosamma’s teeth together, the snap of leather altering Guy to her attempted escape. A quick glance confirmed her arms remained secure despite her attempts to hit him. Which left her defenseless against Guy’s greedy touch, his fingers sliding along the velvet smoothness of her cunt.
Many buyers would be grinding their teeth, seething in jealousy at the display. In their eyes, all the million dollar bank accounts stuffed with cash placed an ‘already owned’ stamp on the girl. But it didn’t. When the cash was forked over, she’d get a nice Unicorn tattoo on the hip to mark Guy’s new brand. And part of her would be his forever.
It would mark her for eternity in the same way this moment would taint her mind until death. As his fingers spread the lips of her pussy, Guy slid to the side of his darling Rosamma so she could see what the buyers saw. The buzzing disbelief in her slack jaw, and wide bloodshot eyes.
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