Beth was shaking, shivering, so close to an orgasm that her muscles were nothing more than tremors and heat. Warmth. For once, she was sweating, not shivering, and there was no pain. Only pleasure, corrupting satisfaction that beckoned her to the edge of darkness like a van with candy that promised a permanent escape from everything — but it was all poisoned. Every blissful inch of his fingers sliding inside her traitorous wetness was tainted. By this room, by him, by his actions, his partner’s.
Nothing was real.
And, yet, it didn’t matter, because the physical response was unavoidable.
“Say it. Call me Master.” A sinful growl against her ear, delectable. So easy to lean against his hard, muscular chest and give in. So tempting.
So close.
“NO!” she screamed. Beth pulled desperately against the soft cuffs that tethered her arms to her thighs, focusing on the hot tears rolling down her cheeks instead of the heat pulsing between her thighs.
Ignore the pleasure. Ignore it. Fight it. Please.
The man slid his fingers deep, curving, tapping at the crucial spot at her core that had her body bowing forward, unable to argue biology — and then she came all over his hand. Light exploded at the ends of her nerve endings, mind blissfully empty for a moment, so drowned in biochemical pleasure that she forgot everything. The room, the man, the poster of rules, and the wall of twisted torture devices. It was a mental escape, a trapdoor out of hell, but as it faded she tumbled into something so much worse.
Slick and wet as the tears on her cheeks, but equally as pointless.
Gently, he pulled his fingers from her and forced them into her gasping mouth, pushing in as he caught her jaw in the other hand. Smarter than his partner, unable to bite down as he held her still and slid the damning taste of her arousal over her tongue. Then he pushed too far, gagging her, and she choked around the flavor of her shame. “Say it,” he demanded again from behind her, skull trapped against his collarbone with his fingers buried deep.
“Nyyoo—” Beth tried her best to refuse past his hand, accepting the pain that was to come. Welcoming it on the discordant edge of her forced orgasm, and his growl accompanied by his next words only confirmed it.
“Oh, I’m going to hurt you, whore.” Tearing his fingers from her mouth, he shoved her forward on the bed. Weakly landing on her side as he moved away, left the bed, but she had no misconception that he was done with her. This pleasurable, horrible interlude was only the beginning.
With a jerk, he flipped her to her stomach, unstrapping her wrists from her thighs. She heard the crackling as he pressed them together behind her back. Again, they were wrapped tight, but just as she tried to worm her fingers under the velcro he wound a strip all the way around.
No chance.
Hands under her thighs, he yanked her to the edge of the bed, hips bent, and then she heard the rattling fastenings of his belt. The whisper of leather leaving the dark pants he wore terrified her, and then — CRACK!
White hot pain in a vicious stripe across her ass, too shocked to scream with the first one, but the next loud snap of leather landed on her thighs and she managed it. Voice breaking as she screamed, begged into the sheet that smelled of her arousal as lines of fire blistered her ass and thighs.
Over and over and over.
Agony crashed in on the heels of too much pleasure, suffocated the memory of her orgasm, drowning it along with her hopes of ever getting out.
“SAY IT! CALL ME MASTER!” he roared behind her, but her ears were buzzing from the pain, body shaking as she tried to process the feel of her heartbeat in the flesh he’d brutalized. Tears and drool soaked the sheet beneath her cheek, but she stayed silent.
Giving in won’t make this stop. It won’t.
It’s a lie, a fucking lie, it’s always a lie.
“Bitch.” The vulgar growl, and the tinkling sound of metal fixtures, overwhelmed her ragged breaths for the brief moment before he struck again. Excruciating, so much worse than the electricity. It didn’t end, didn’t stop, and left more than sore muscles behind.
He was hitting her harder now, the pain rising to some place inside where it could go no further, blurring into white noise in her head that silenced her screams, her cries, her incoherent pleading. Everything vibrated with the same tone, the same peak of suffering that he was now drawing out into a plateau meant for her destruction.
Thoughts were born and died before she could process them, catching only bits and pieces. Hints of her dissolving hope, her boiling hatred for them both, her psychotic temptation to give in and be whatever doll they wanted if only it would make him drop the fucking belt.
It was for the best that she couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t make her voice form more than low grunts on the heels of each new lash over already destroyed flesh.
When he stopped again, her head swam. Barely reacting as he wound his fist in her hair and bowed her backwards, a gurgle of strain slipping from her as his knees created a place between hers. “Last chance for mercy, slut.”
Mercy?
Her brain was useless, but that one word was written in blood on the inside of it.
There would be no mercy here.
I am not merciful.
The other one’s voice made it through the fog in her head even though he wasn’t in this room. Both of them torturing her simultaneously, but there was only one with his hands on her at the moment.
When he laughed, her body twitched, an autonomic surge of useless fight or flight… and then he was inside her. Still miserably wet, the stroke stretched her open until he bottomed out, hips slamming hard against her bruised and welted ass. Pinprick spikes of pain inside the white noise, another inelegant grunt from her throat as he wrapped his hands around her hips and slid almost completely out, only to force himself deep again.
It was pure aggression. Animalistic as he thrust over and over, making her ache inside as well as out, pressing finger-shaped bruises into her hips. She tried not to react to the pounding of his cock, the way his hard flesh pushed against her inner walls, but he was at the perfect angle to punish her g-spot with pleasure — and there was no doubt that this was punishment. The slow burn of arousal was breaking through the white noise, bringing her back to her body, connecting her to the aches and sinful tremors in equal measure.
Beth whimpered, digging her nails into her palms, biting the inside of her cheek, anything to stop this from happening again. She hated herself for squeezing him inside her, for groaning into the bedding, trapped on some kind of terrible autopilot that clung to the rising tide of lust in her veins.
“See?” he gloated, jerking her backwards onto his cock. “I can hurt you, or I can make you like it, slave.”
Clenching her eyes tight, she prayed for the detachment to return, for the white noise to fill her once more, but it was his fingers that came back. Pressed against her clit as he leaned over her, the heat of his breath on her back, and then there was only pleasure. It stormed down the aches and pains in her muscles and skin, making her hips buck as he made each stroke count. Hard, powerful, forcing her to accept him and every tremor that threatened an orgasm.
Jagged cuts of lightning through her mind, pure bliss and ecstasy.
This was so much better. So much better than the pain, than the cold, than the other one’s icy emptiness.
“Just call me Master and I can make you feel like this every day.” Heavy, panted words, and as he focused his touch on her clit again she felt her resolve crumbling. That pathetic barrier she had constructed ground to dust, blown away by the next tempting drive of his cock.
Master.
Such a simple word, a simple thing. She didn’t even have to mean it. She never had to mean it. Never had to pretend this was who she really was.
He pushed inside her and held deep, still teasingly rubbing her clit, holding her on the edge, but it was when his other hand slipped through the collar at the back of her neck that everything shuddered.
It was a w
ake-up call. She wore a collar.
This would never be okay. She would never submit. She would never call either of these bastards Master. No matter how good they made her feel. No matter how much they made her hurt.
I’m a person. I’m still me. Fuck. I’m going to come.
The orgasm had crept past the ruins of her self-control as she’d focused on the collar, on reminding herself of her promises, but now it was threatening in blinding colors. Thighs trembling, body tense, she tried to stop it, but he swiveled his hips and thrust hard just as he pinched her clit — and she was gone.
Moaning into the bed as molten light careened through her nervous system and washed away reality once more. It felt good, too incredible after he’d hurt her so much. Her body was desperate for the pleasure, devouring it like it was starving and he was still thrusting as her pussy clenched and squeezed in waves, dragging out the orgasm until she was limp and sweating. Gasping, mewling, heart hammering a staccato on the inside of her ribs.
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 her flesh 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.
Ten
Marcus
“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 Anthony 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. He 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 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.”
Breaking Beth Page 8
