Cut So Deep

by Stasia Black

  Bryce slams his palm across my mouth, shutting off my cries.

  “Carl,” he nods his head at the young, handsome businessman I thought seemed so professional when I first met him. “Hold her for me.”

  Carl moves closer, eyes bright. Wow, glad I’m so good at spotting the good guys from the screwed-up ones. Then again, I should just assume that anybody who is in Bryce’s inner circle is fucked up.

  Jackson and Bryce used to be friends. Maybe it’s a good thing that will never go anywhere. For Christ’s sake, Jackson spanked and then finger-fucked me in his limo while I was sobbing.

  No more time to think about that now. Carl leans over my back and puts me in some kind of wrestling hold where my elbows are constricted against my body. Though I can still hold myself up on all fours. Considerate lad, I internally roll my eyes.

  I’m bent lower toward the table though, and Carl maneuvers me so that my face is near the edge. Where I’m confronted with Bryce undoing his belt buckle.

  I swallow and then swallow again. My breaths get short and I force myself not to hyperventilate. Which, of course, is when I want to let out a crazed hyena like cackle. Because last time I was hyperventilating, Jackson spanked me till I was calm. I’m sure someone in this room would be happy to spank me again. Without Jackson, though, it would only have the opposite effect.

  And that’s when I feel like sobbing.

  Oh God, what the fuck am I doing? Seriously, what the fuck?

  Bryce unzips his pants and shoves his boxers down. There’s no fanfare as he pulls out his cock. I’ve seen it before, of course, when he was masturbating by the windowed wall, but there had been about three feet separating us. Far different from it being right here bobbing in my face.

  Open up, Little Barbie.

  How did I let it get to this?

  One man holding my hands while I’m face down on a table, surrounded by a bunch of businessmen while another shoves his cock in my face?

  WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING?

  Fuck the money!

  Fuck it if I have to work as a waitress for five years!

  Nothing’s worth this!!!

  I turn away from Bryce’s cock, but I barely get anywhere with Carl holding my arms behind my back.

  “No,” I say firmly.

  I start to struggle against his grip on my arms.

  “Don’t be a cock-tease, you little bitch,” Bryce smirks. “You were begging for it just a minute ago.”

  He shoves himself toward my mouth again but I lock my teeth shut and twist my head away.

  “I said no. No, I changed my mind. No to the deal. To all of this. Let me go.” I wrestle against the hold Carl has on me.

  “Let me go!” I shriek when Carl’s hold only tightens.

  “That’s right, baby,” Carl says. “I love it when they play hard to get. Inside you’re begging for it, aren’t you, cunt?” He’s all but laying on top of me from behind and I can feel him fully hard on the back of my thigh.

  Oh God. I try to breathe but he’s crushing me.

  They’re not—

  Why aren’t they stopping—

  My chest hurts. I need a breath.

  I have to make them understand. Do they think this is part of the fucking act? I manage a full breath in.

  “No, I’m being serious! I’m not fucking playing!”

  Then I remember the word Jackson gave me—the safeword that’s widely acknowledged in all circles of kink. Surely someone in this room is familiar with it.

  “Red!” I shout. “Stop! No! RED!”

  For a second everything pauses.

  Bryce looks me straight in the eye.

  Then he takes my jaw in both hands.

  And jams his dick into my mouth. As Carl grabs my hips and thrusts into me from behind at the same time.

  Chapter Nineteen

  This isn’t what I was warned about.

  This is supposed to be the terror that hides in the shadows. That thing that happens in dark alleys. When drinks are left unguarded at clubs. On college campuses at frat parties when no one’s looking.

  Not mid-morning in a conference room at a respectable office building in the Silicon Valley.

  This isn’t what I was warned about.

  That’s the stupid thought that keeps running through my head. As man after man uses my body. A train of men. That’s what they call it, right? A train.

  I should’ve run when I had the chance earlier. If I ever had a chance. I didn’t realize I was being surrounded by predators as they came in one by one, looking so innocuous. Still, I should never have come into this situation without protection.

  I was warned about Bryce.

  He’s dangerous.

  My stupid fucking bravado. Thinking I could handle everything on my own. And then not even bringing any protection, not even a fucking knife. Christ, I didn’t even turn on my phone to record whatever might happen. I just never thought in a million years…

  I close my eyes. Chant over and over in my head.

  I’m not here.

  This is not my body.

  I’m on the moors in England like in one of the stupid historical romances I like to read. It’s stormy and loud and I can’t hear anything but the wind battering against the rocks. Yes, that’s it. It’s just the wind yanking at my body. Nothing more. Only the rain and wind howling in my ears, blocking out all other sounds.

  Except my mind isn’t always that strong and sensations sneak through. Bryce’s voice. Always like a king presiding over each encounter. He gagged me after his first use of me. Sometimes an especially sharp pinch or squeeze brings me back to the here and now. I’m aware enough to know they all wear condoms, except for when Bryce came in my mouth. Each man leaves one by one after they’ve had their fill of me. It must have been Bryce’s plan all along. No. Nothing’s happening to me. I’m not here. Not here. Not here.

  Lords and ladies in ballrooms. Silver tea sets. Lace and ruffles and hoop skirts and corsets… clothes ripped off by violent men.

  Violating me.

  Violating.

  Violating.

  I come while the third or fourth man pumps into me. It’s a small orgasm. But, God, why? Why?

  I want to die, the shame is so thick. How could I? How could I?

  It continues. On and on.

  I have my eyes squeezed shut tight, I don’t know how much later, when I notice how quiet it is in the room. There are still hands on me, holding me in place. Always Carl and Bryce while the others used me. But I don’t hear the usual horrible introductory bullshit as each man was initiated. I won’t let myself believe it’s over, not until they’re all gone. I hazard a glance around. It’s just Bryce, Carl, and me left in the room. I put up only the weakest resistance when Carl pries my thighs apart yet again.

  A low-pitched whine is all that manages to make its way out of my throat. All my feisty curses dried up hours ago.

  I blink again and try to force some backbone into my voice. “Shtawp. Pwease,” I say around the gag.

  They don’t stop.

  “I’m taking everything from you, you shit piece of nothing,” Bryce hisses in my ear, taking me from behind while Carl fucks me from below. “Wearing out every hole and marking every nasty inch of your ugly useless body.”

  And in that moment, I see two ways before me. Either I sink back into the nether and am destroyed by this in a way I’ll never come back from. Or I take the much more difficult path and fight.

  Sink or fight?

  All I want is to run in the only way available to me—to disappear, disconnect, fly away to the furthest depths inside my head.

  But oh God, if I cut loose my soul right here, right now, will I ever get it back?

  Goddamn mother fucking thieving bastard rapist liar.

  No.

  No no no no no no no no no nononononononononononononono NOOOOO.

  I will give him nothing more than he is already taking.

  I grit my teeth. Bryce yanks my head by my hair so
that I’m forced to look back at him while he sodomizes me.

  Goddamn fucker thinks this is his moment of triumph.

  The purest form of hatred rises up and chokes me as they defile my body.

  I’ll murder him slowly. I’ll yank his intestines out while he’s still alive and light them on fire in front of his eyes.

  He thinks he’s winning in this moment, but he’ll live to regret this, I swear it. This will be the last day any man ever has any power over me. I swear it on my dying breath.

  I want to growl in fury and let my hatred flash in my eyes so Bryce realizes he hasn’t broken me.

  It takes every last ounce of self-control not to. I want to react like the wounded animal he’s made me. To lash out and claw his face off.

  But no—he just thinks he’s made me that.

  I am not an animal.

  And.

  I.

  Am.

  Not.

  Broken.

  I cling to logic. First, I have to get myself the fuck out of here. My mind works through everything I know about Bryce.

  And, feeling sick, I know what I have to do. Because I was wrong earlier. Bryce isn’t a powerful man. He’s weak. So fucking weak he has to grasp at power like this. Humiliate and brutalize women to feel like a fucking man.

  And that’s my ticket out.

  To make him think he’s won.

  Bryce still has hold on my hair so he can see my face. I make my gaze go glossy and sightless. Then I begin swiveling my hips so that they’re in sync with Carl and Bryce’s.

  This time, when I feel the build at my core, I don’t hate myself for it. I’m doing what I have to. What that sick, child-molesting fuck McIntyre trained me for. What will make Bryce finish faster.

  The ultimate humiliation. When I come against my will.

  So fuck him. I’ll give him a show. Give him the appearance of getting what he wants so I can get out of here as fast as possible and as much on my terms as this sickening situation allows. But it will really be me who’s in control, not this fuckhead bastard.

  I close my eyes and give my body over to the mechanics of what’s happening to it. I find friction for my clitoris. I lean into the sensation that starts to spark back to life.

  “Look how the filthy whore bitch loves it!” Bryce exults from behind me.

  That’s right, you fucking bastard, you just think you’re winning.

  I force my features into one of distressed but agonized desire. I thrash my body in the simulation of pleasure even as I cry out against the tie in my mouth. A sound of absolute devastation. It’s not hard to imitate. All the while I keep my hips pumping, with a twisting grind for the most friction possible.

  And I come.

  I come because my body is trained to respond to stimuli. And more than that, I’m getting off because I’m taking back control. As much as Bryce thinks he’s in control of this shit-show, he’s fucking not.

  He’s the one who’s going to be coming on my terms, and it’s going to be a helluva lot quicker than if he’d had it his way.

  My theatrics seem to have done the trick. Bryce grabs my hips. He ignores Carl and starts absolutely jackhammering away. There’s no finesse. No control to it. It hurts like hell but I don’t care. I’ll care later, but not right now.

  All that matters in this moment is that Bryce is the animal now. Not me.

  I’ve made him lose control. He thought he’d planned this scenario so perfectly. That he can just manipulate and abuse anyone he wants like a puppet on a cord. Well this is just the beginning of me fucking him back.

  And then finally, finally, he’s done.

  I want to scream at him immediately to get the fuck off of me, but it’s more important that I keep playing my part. All that matters is escaping this room.

  So I have to play at being the very thing I hate—broken.

  That’s all Bryce’s ever wanted. I’ve finally figured out his game. It’s just like Jackson said. Bryce likes to take things that are whole and break them.

  I force myself to weep. Not a hard sob, but just that slight body-shaking cry of a person who has nothing left.

  “Calliope?” Bryce calls.

  I don’t respond.

  He calls my name again.

  When he grips my hair and pulls my face to look at him, I let him drag me around without resistance. I think of the other path I almost took and what I’d be like now if I’d gone down that road. And that’s what I give him.

  Lifeless eyes.

  No expression.

  Soulless.

  He snaps in front of my face several times.

  I stare past him to the wall.

  In my periphery, I see him smile in satisfaction. A chill I pray he doesn’t notice runs down my spine. He is such an evil fucker even hell would spit him back out.

  He gets off me, tossing me down to the table like I’m a used tissue. Oww. Christ, I can’t think about how battered and bruised my body is right now. I don’t try to check or assess the damage. I don’t move one inch from where he deposits me, not even to shift into a more comfortable position. I keep my eyes vacant, too.

  Bryce waves a hand in front of my face, then laughs loudly when I don’t react.

  “See, Carl? It just takes one session sometimes to break a bitch. Like a good branding, they’re never the same after. Though I put in a couple months prep time with this one. My ultimate gift to my good old pal, Jackson.”

  “Amazing,” the other man says. “Are you sure it’s done?”

  Bryce laughs again. “Just look at her.”

  He slaps my sore ass and it takes everything in me not to snarl at him and bite his fingers off. But I’m just praying they’re done with me. Please, please, let them be done.

  “Here, I’ll show you,” Bryce says.

  I steel myself. I just stayed strong through the worst hell imaginable. Whatever this is, I can handle it. They’re almost gone, I can feel it.

  Bryce’s energy is winding down and he’s the one running the show. Still, in spite of all my determination, my stomach sinks when Bryce walks back over toward me.

  I force myself immobile when he nears. I don’t tense my jaw or flinch or even flick my eyes.

  He picks up a cold cup of coffee and pours it directly on my face. I keep my cover and barely move.

  The pulling out his intestines idea is too human. I should cut off his balls and cock. Dull scissors. Without anesthesia, obviously. But I shouldn’t kill him right away.

  I don’t react even when Bryce spits on me after the coffee runs out.

  Bryce and Carl laugh like this is the funniest thing since SNL was invented, and I huddle on the table, doing my best to look traumatized and out of it.

  No, Bryce should live a long, long life, locked up with his cock and balls rotting in a jar beside his cell—

  Then, I don’t know whether to thank God or not since after this afternoon, I’m not sure I can ever believe in him, but Bryce cuffs Carl on the shoulder, drinks are mentioned, and they both leave the room.

  As soon as the door clicks behind them, I roll my battered body off the table.

  Oww.

  Mother of Christ. One arm curls over my breasts and my other hand desperately covers my nether region as I crumple to the floor.

  It hurts everywhere.

  It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

  Then there’s just blank space in my head. My face is smashed against the rough office carpet, but I don’t move. My limbs seem paralyzed even as I can feel myself start to shake from head to toe.

  Shock. I’m in shock. That’s what this is.

  I blink, but it’s like suddenly my brain is working in slow motion. I did what I had to in order to get through it, but now, now I— I—

  A noise from the corridor beyond the door jerks me back to the present. Fuck. What am I doing? It’s not safe yet.

  They could come back.

  That thought jerks me like an electric cattle prod jolting me into action. I�
��m up off the floor and reaching for my clothes.

  I squeeze my eyes against the memories of Bryce pulling the shirt off my shoulders and roughly jerking the skirt off at another point.

  No, no, no. I can’t let myself go there. Not if I want to get out of here without going catatonic.

  I’m stronger than this.

  I didn’t let what they did break me while they were doing it. I sure as fuck won’t let it now afterwards.

  I refuse.

  I fucking refuse.

  And that means I have to get the hell out of here. Maybe Bryce’s really gone for the night, maybe that was all a ruse to fuck with my head and let me think it was done before they come back and it starts all over again. I’m not hanging around to find out.

  I pull my skirt up and zip it closed. I ignore the numbness of my fingers and force the tiny shirt buttons through their corresponding holes. My feet get shoved in my heels.

  One thing and then another. I just have to get out of the building. Left foot. Right foot. Out of the building and away from here. I grab my purse and rush for the door.

  My heartbeat ratchets up to a thousand beats per minute in a sudden panic when I grab for the doorknob. What if he locked me in here until he could come back for me later?

  But it turns easily. Oh, thank God. Maybe he does exist. Or she. If there’s a God, it’s definitely a she, maybe that’s my takeaway from today.

  I bolt down the dimly-lit hallway and into the reception area. It’s long past business hours and the whole place is empty. I feel the same fear when I press the elevator button that I did when I went for the doorknob, but again, the button pings and opens with no problems.

  With every level the elevator descends, my heart starts to slow. But it’s only when I’m breathing the warm, humid Bay Area night air as I scramble away from the Gentry Tech building that it finally sinks in—I made it. I’m away from him.

  I’m safe.

  I let out a large, body-shaking breath, but I do not cry.

  I’m going to be a new version of myself going forward, and the new Calliope Cruise has no more room for tears.

  Chapter Twenty

  The next week, I alternate between curling in on myself in bed and running to the shower to scour myself until the water runs cold. Then it’s back to bed. At least until the memories of that day sneak their way past the tripwires I’ve set up in my mind.