by Box Set
“Let me in there, then.” Viktor pulls out of my pussy and steps in around me.
I’m trying to catch my breath, trying to wrap my brain around what’s happening. Because this can’t be reality. This has to be a dream, and I need to wake up. I need to wake up right now.
Another cock is shoved into my pussy and I cry out. Too big. It’s too fucking big. I scream when he pulls back and thrusts forward. I’m wet now, but it’s not helping, it still stings. The stretch is unbearable.
“Come here, bitch.” My hair is yanked and before I can see who has me, he shoves his own dick into my throat. Again, I sputter, but he’s just as ruthless.
None of them care. I’m just a slab of meat laying here. A fuck toy.
My ass is slapped again, and another hand slips between my chest and the bench and twists my nipple.
A round of laughter erupts, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from. Another twist and another scream. It keeps going like this. I’m fucked hard from behind; sharp nails dig into my hips. When one thrusts, the other pulls back. My throat hurts, my back hurts from arching in an attempt to get away.
But I’m not going to get away.
I’m just a plaything now.
Not even human.
And no one is coming to save me.
This is my reality.
“Fuck, yes!” The man behind me, I’ve lost track of who it is, yanks out and his cum splashes all over my ass and back. “Fucking whore.” He grunts as he finishes his orgasm.
I’m given no reprieve before the next dick is shoved in. Thicker, much thicker and I’m back to screaming around someone’s shaft.
“Her throat is so fucking tight,” I hear him say, and swallow, trying not to gag and suffocate on him. My chin is coated with saliva, it’s dripping from me.
“Try her cunt. Oh fuck!” The man behind me pushes in, all the way. I can feel his balls slapping my pussy. Liquid runs down my thigh. Is he coming?
The burn of my throat distracts me from the stretch and sting from my pussy but only for a brief moment. I’m not left alone, and when I think I can maybe stand it, when I find a small corner of my mind to hide in until this is over, a burn like I’ve never felt before crosses my back.
“She marks beautifully,” I hear just before another lash lands across my shoulder blades. I’m being whipped.
Tears pour down my cheeks, mingling with dried and fresh cum. The men are moving around me, shoving into my pussy, my mouth, pulling my hair, whipping my back and my ass.
Pain burst from every area of my body, and my mind isn’t allowed to hide. Once again, my hair is pulled until I’m looking up at my offender. I can’t see clearly enough through my tears, but it seems he’s pleased. He’s smiling. And after he spits on my face, in my mouth, he’s laughing, and he shoves my head back down and forces his cock into my mouth.
My jaw aches from the ring, my tongue and mouth would be dry except more cum coats them when this man comes on me.
“I want her ass,” I hear, and I stiffen. No. Andrei told them no. Didn’t he?
“You’ll be putting your cock on the line. Andrei won’t tolerate it. Stick to her pussy.” Another lash crosses my ass and I scream. Drool and cum drip off my chin, and I try to suck in as much air as I can before someone fills my throat again.
But my mouth is left alone. I’m fucked again. I don’t cry out. I don’t scream. I use the break for my throat and drop my head. Grunts and cheers surround me, but I’m far away now. I feel all of it, I feel the last bit of cum splashing over my ass and back, but I’m empty. All the fear all the hope - it’s gone.
I’m just empty.
Completely empty.
13
Andrei is an asshole. I know this. I grew up learning this fact every day. I thought I knew his tricks, all of them. But he’s up to something now.
The meeting wasn’t what he said it would be. I have to see Magdalena.
My muscles are twisted with tension. The pounding in my head matches the horrible dance shit the men play when they party.
I need a drink.
Then I’ll see Magdalena.
I spent the entire meeting worrying about her, wondering what my father was doing with her. My initial plans were to get the meeting over with and get my ass home to intervene if needed. But nothing has gone according to plan this week.
“Ah, Kristoff. You’re home!” Andrei steps into the main hallway. He’s been waiting for me and is trying to play it off like he wasn’t. The thunder in my head increases.
“Where’s Magdalena?” I ask before stopping myself. He’s holding a glass of vodka, an unlit cigar stuffed between his fat fingers. The look of satisfaction at my question answers it.
“I was just going to check on her, come.” He crooks a finger and heads to the back of the house where his office is located.
Matvei passes us in the hall, a smirk crosses his lips when he nods at me and keeps walking. I turn to stare at him, but my father has called for me to keep moving.
My stomach is in knots. Something is very wrong.
“What did you do?” I ask with a dark undertone. It’s getting harder to keep my composure after the evening I’ve had and the sense of dread starting to overwhelm me.
“Me? I did nothing,” he says with a slight shrug of his shoulders. When we reach his office, he shuts the door behind me and makes his way to the television stashed in the corner of the room. He only uses it to tap into the security feeds in the cells downstairs.
Blood rushes from my head.
“But, the men - they needed to blow off some steam.” He picks up the remote to the television and flicks a button.
My father stands to the side of me, giving me a clear view of the screen.
Magdalena. Strapped down over a spanking bench. Her wrists and ankles bound, her eyes covered with a black rag. She’s squirming on screen, but at least she’s alone.
But then my father appears.
This is the past. This has already happened. My mouth dries.
The volume is off, so I can’t hear what my father said to her, but more men show up. Five in total.
Somehow, I manage to keep my face blank, at least I hope I do. Andrei is checking for a response from me. I’m too busy memorizing the faces of the men I’m going to kill.
Matvei moves to stand in front of Magdalena and slaps her. My hands fist, but I don’t speak. I watch in silence.
Andrei turns the volume on when Matvei shoves his pencil cock into her mouth. Her screams fill the room, but I still say nothing. I’m plotting. I’m planning. I’m trying not to experience this, but then force myself to.
She experienced it. She felt every thrust, every lash, every drop of their disgusting cum on her body. I’ve heard her cry out from the beltings I’ve given her, from my own savage use of her body, but these are different. These are strangled and horrific.
Her body is shaking by the time the third man starts toying with her. Angry welts cross her back and ass, traces of blood mingle with the semen coating her skin. Spit is falling from her open mouth and tears run from her cheek and mix with the mess on the floor below her. She vomited. The asshole didn’t even stop fucking her face while she did. That man will die slower than the rest.
“She’s a good fuck, the men tell me,” my father says when I remain stoic, not taking my eyes off the screen. I don’t deserve to hide from this act.
“Where is she now?” I ask when the last man finally tucks his cock, covered with her blood, back into his jeans.
“I had no more use for her, so I had her brought up to your room.” My father downs his drink and places the glass down on a table.
I keep my eyes on the screen. The men leave her, and all that’s left is her sobs. They removed the ring from her mouth, but she’s not saying anything. She spits blood, and it covers her thighs as well.
The assholes have torn her.
“Did the meeting go well?” He changes topics, but I’m not done with this one yet.
“You
let those men touch my girl?” I ask in a low growl.
His expression darkens. “You mean my girl. She’s mine, Kristoff. You forget yourself.”
“What are you playing at?” I demand.
“You’ve become too attached to this one,” he responds. “You will finish her training, and she will be delivered to Maksim next week.”
My mind flips to his course of topic. “Maksim? You said you weren’t decided about accepting his offer. He’s an asshole, and what need does he have of another girl?” He’s been playing me all night, like a fine-tuned instrument - plucking my strings and getting the exact sound he wanted.
“What he always wants with a girl. He’s offered too much money to waste time with the auction. He wants her, he gets her.” He chews on the end of his cigar. “After your meeting this evening, I would think you’d understand she needs to be dealt with.”
I’m staring at the screen. He’s freeze-framed it for me.
Glancing at him, I recognize the smug grin for what it is. He thinks he’s won.
I remember the same look as he stood over my mother’s lifeless body. His hands covered in blood, the knife gripped in his right hand. I wasn’t able to stop him then. I couldn’t do anything at such a young age. But I’m not a child anymore.
“She’ll be ready.” Let him think he’s still in control. My lesson was learned, that’s what he wants. He thinks I’ve gotten to close to Magdalena, that I won’t do my job because I don’t treat her like he would.
Fuck. He’s right on that point. I won’t treat her like a useless whore. And there’s no fucking way my girl is going to spend one second in the presence of that asshole Maksim.
“Good. If you are unable to complete the job, I’m sure we can help again.” He walks away from me. He’s had the last word, gave the last jab, and now he’s dismissing me.
I don’t say another word or look at the screen again. It’s already burned into my mind. Never to leave.
I failed her.
I promised her no more forcing. I promised if she did what she was told, she wouldn’t be punished.
“Get Dr. Morrow to my apartment now,” I bark the order at the first servant girl I find. She nods, the fear showing in her eyes before she scatters off. I don’t have time to play nice.
I bolt up the stairs and head to my apartment, making a mental checklist of everything that needs to happen next.
14
There’s a soft humming around me. Voices, too. I ignore them both. The pain in my back has become more manageable, and I roll onto it, clinging to the blankets.
“The fuckers didn’t even have a girl clean her up,” I hear a growling voice say, but I just turn away from it. I don't want any more touching.
“We have to take the blanket off, dear.” A soft voice penetrates through the fog, but I’m not fooled. I won’t trust it, but I obey. There’s no point in not. They’ll just take it, and I’ll be hurt again.
I don’t want to be hurt anymore.
I kick off the blanket and spread my legs, sure they’ve come back for more. This is my life. A never-ending string of men who will fuck me at will and hurt me if I try to stop them.
“No, Magdalena.” Rough hands push my knees together.
“I need to examine her,” the soft voice says.
“After I clean her up.”
A long sigh. “She’s torn. I can see that already. She needs stitches this time. And the welts on her back are still bleeding. The stitches on her shoulder held, that’s good at least.”
Two arms slide beneath me. I hiss when my back is touched.
“I’ll clean her quickly and bring her right back. Call for someone to get the bed changed. She’s bled all over the sheets.”
“I’ll do it, hurry with cleaning her.” The soft voice gets harder, but the touch to my knee is gentle.
I’m lifted in the air, but I don’t glance at the man holding me. I don’t care.
“Magdalena, look at me,” the hard voice demands, and I turn to him, but focus on the stubble on his chin. He should shave. “Where do you hurt?”
I huff a laugh. It’d be easier to ask where I don’t hurt.
He shifts me to my feet, and I hear water starting in the shower. I see the curtain, see him moving it out of the way and feel his hands on me, helping me into the stream, but it’s so far above me I can’t grasp it.
“Soap,” he says and begins running hands over my body. I gasp when he brushes over my nipples. They’re too sensitive. “Sorry,” he mutters and keeps washing me. “Can you do your face?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say and hold out my hands. He looks familiar with his square jaw and dark eyes. I rub the soap into my hands until there’s a thick lather then run them over my face. I can feel the crust on my cheeks and scratch it off with my fingernails. When I realize it’s dry cum, I scratch harder.
“Hey, no. No, it’s okay, Magdalena. You got it all.” He pulls my hands away from my face. “Step in the water.”
I listen. Because doing anything else will make him hurt me.
Once I’m clean, he dries me and plucks me back up in his arms.
“I can walk,” I say but don’t squirm to get free. I can, but I don’t want to. It hurts between my legs and moving makes it worse.
“Put her down here,” the soft voice says, and I look to where it’s coming from. An older man, less stern looking, smiles gently at me.
The strong arms put me down on the bed.
“I need you to drop your knees to the side again, like you did before,” the soft voice says, and I do what he says. He’s poking and prodding me. New tears I didn’t think were possible, roll down my cheeks.
“It’s okay, Magdalena. Dr. Morrow won’t hurt you. No one will hurt you ever again. I promise it,” the stern voice says to me in Russian.
I cringe.
“Yes, they will,” I say and turn away, letting the doctor do what he wants.
“She needs stitches, not many though,” the doctor says. “I’ll give you an antibiotic cream for the welts on her back and her butt.”
“Her throat,” the dark voice says and helps me to sit up slightly.
“Ah, yes.” The doctor instructs me to open my mouth and a wooden stick is used to press my tongue out of his way. I gag and wince at the burning, raw pain. “There’s a numbing spray that can be used, but I don’t have any with me. I’ll have to send out for it. Some pain relievers will help in the meantime. Soft foods until the swelling goes down. I don’t see any lacerations, so that’s good.”
There’s nothing good about this. About any of this.
“Send someone out to get it right away,” the dark voice says again.
“Magdalena, do you remember who this is?” the soft voice asks me. Apparently, he’s a mind reader as well.
I remember, but I don’t want to see him yet. I don’t want to see anything yet.
“Magdalena, answer him.”
I flinch at the harsh tone, but it gets me moving. “Yes. He’s Kristoff.”
“Very good.”
“No, he’s not good,” I whisper and lean back against the pillows.
Silence stretches out across the room and I wonder if I’ve made him mad.
“I’m going to give you an injection now. It’s going to numb you, so the stitches won’t hurt.” I look down the length of my body to where the doctor is holding a syringe.
“Will it make the pain inside go away too?” I ask.
The doctor shares a quick glance with Kristoff before answering me. “No, but I’ll give you some other medicine to take care of that.”
“Okay.” I nod and lay back, staring up at the ceiling.
“I heard your father mention Maksim,” the doctor says just before the pinprick of the needle digs into my sensitive, swollen flesh.
“It’s not going to happen,” Kristoff says with as much confidence as I’ve ever heard him use.
“He’s not kind to his girls,” the doctor presses on. I don’t feel a
nything other than his presence. I can tell I’m being touched, but it doesn’t hurt.
“I said it’s not going to happen.”
“You’ve taken to this one,” the doctor says. I can feel the tension building in Kristoff and I close my eyes, not wanting to see his anger.
“She’s mine,” is all Kristoff says. But if I was really his, would those other men have taken me? Touched me and forced me the way they did?
When I peek at him, I see a sadness. He looks down at me, his dark eyes full of remorse and worry. There’s a deep crease in his forehead.
If he dislikes me so much, if he would hurt me so easily why is he looking at me with so much guilt and concern? The last time he’d been with me, before the men took me, he’d been almost sweet. He’d offered to find me something to do to pass the time while he was away doing work. He hadn’t forced me since that first time, he’d been demanding, hard, and unrelenting in his authority, but he hadn’t hurt me again. Not like those men.
It’s then I realize Kristoff had been kept from me. He wouldn’t have allowed it to happen if he’d been here, if he’d known. He would have kept them from hurting me. He would have protected me if he had been aware. It’s why his father didn’t include him, didn’t have him in the room. Kristoff would have protected me.
I reach my hand out and wrap my fingers around his, letting the warmth of his touch fill me. Closing my eyes again, I hold onto him while the doctor finishes his work.
He squeezes my hand when the doctor finishes and my legs are closed again. The movements hurt but are dulled by his touch.
“Here’s the cream for her back. I’ll let you do it. Make sure you watch those welts, so she doesn’t get an infection. I’ll check on the stitches in a few days and should be able to remove them. She can’t be used until then, Kristoff.” The last sentence is firm.
“No one will touch her,” Kristoff declares and lets go of my hand to pull fresh covers over my body.
“It will take her a little time,” I hear the doctor say, but I’m not sure what he means. I close my eyes again, trying to find that little corner where I can hide. I don’t want to think about the pain, or how it came to life, or where I am, or where I’m going.
