Preston was taller than Paxton, by at least a few inches, but by no means less bulky. He wore a pair of beat up jeans, holes adorning each kneecap. He wore no shirt, no socks or shoes. Even in the pale light, the resemblance between the two was uncanny. Preston’s hair was pulled into a low ponytail, keeping the unruly strands at bay. He was the complete opposite to his disheveled twin. His stiff, unyielding posture was menacing as he stood there, gazing at me from the doorway. I could feel the heated blush rise on my cheeks as he continued his visual onslaught for far longer than socially acceptable. The sound of the outer door closing pulled the pair of us from our trance.
Once the lock clicked, Preston took a step towards me, his bare feet slapping the cold, unforgiving concrete floor. He deliberately took his time, each step seeming to take minutes. When he reached the entrance to the glass room, I felt my heart rate accelerate and my breathing become nothing more than shallow spurts. Preston's entire chest was covered in tattooed numbers. Different sizes, shapes, and fonts adorned him from just under his collarbone, down below the waistband of his jeans.
Some of the ink was crude, while some of them were finely done, but all of them were the same. Numbers. The longer I lingered, the more of a pattern I started to see. These weren’t just random numbers. No, they were specific. One through Eleven peppered his body. They held some sort of significance, and in the back of my mind, I tried deciphering their meaning, but his stare made it impossible for me to concentrate.
“Kneel.” His tone was low and harsh, the one word causing my heart to plummet into the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t move, the fear catapulting through my body held me captive.
“I won’t tell you again, girl. Kneel,” he shouted, causing my ears to ring.
Attempting to follow his directions, I scurried off the bed and dropped to my knees on the hard concrete, scraping my skin in the process. With two large strides, he was in front of me, the smell of Cedarwood wafting through my nostrils. Grabbing my hair and suspending me in midair, I cried out in shock.
“When I tell you to do something, you worthless slut, you will do it immediately, without hesitation. Do I make myself clear?” He bellowed, his fingers still gripping my hair tightly, my hands clawing at his wrists, as I dangled in the air.
“Yes,” I cried out, tears falling again from the onslaught of pain.
With a shake and an extra tug, Preston released me to crash back onto the floor in a crumpled pile of limbs.
“In here, I am your Master. In here I am your mother, your father, your lover, and your teacher. You will service me, learn from me, and above all else, obey me. In here, you are mine to do with as I see fit.”
“Yes, Master.”
The words burned my tongue, bile rising in my throat. I didn’t know if it was the correct response, or if I should have spoken. I knew calling him Preston was out of the question, and not acknowledging his interrogation could have been deadly. Swallowing down my disdain, I shoved my immediate hatred for Preston into the back of my mind and waited for his next command.
“Good. Now kneel and rest on your legs. Now!” Preston started screaming at me when I didn’t move fast enough for his liking.
Doing as he bid, I took a deep breath and sat up, my butt connecting with the heels of my feet, while my arms hung loosely at my sides. Embarrassment flooded through me, at my position at his feet. I felt like a puppy in obedience school.
“Palms up on your thighs, keep your eyes downcast and don’t move,” his words were harsh and unforgiving as he taught me the proper way to heel.
Getting into position, I coerced myself into a calmness I didn’t honestly feel. In the center of my being, I knew if I moved, I would regret it. My head still ached from where his fingers had dug into my scalp and captured my hair. If he was that callous with my hair, how would he be with the rest of me? A tremor ran through me at the thought.
“Did I not make myself clear when I told you to remain still? It looks like Paxton was wrong, and your ability to follow direction is minimal. Perhaps your first punishment will teach you.”
“Please, Master,” I whispered, my tears coming at a steady pace, fear gripping my heart and strangling it, cutting off my capacity for calmness.
“You’ll learn girl. They all do. Now open your mouth.”
My mouth?
Looking up, I immediately understood his choice of words. Too lost in my own misery and fear, I hadn’t noticed Preston had removed his jeans, and positioned himself directly in front of me, his cock jutting out mere inches from my face; hard, and leaking.
“I said open!”
Without hesitation, I opened my mouth an inch, just enough for my tongue to dart out and taste the salt of my tears.
“Come on, girl. Do you honestly think that’s enough? If I have to tell you again, I will wedge it open. And you won’t like it.”
Opening my mouth wider, his words sparking a growing panic, I felt the tip of him with my tongue. Preston was large. Oppressively so. Even with my mouth expanded as far as it could possibly go, I could still feel the skin around my lips stretch to the peak of their elasticity when he guided himself into me, inch by inch. He didn’t stop, and with every shift forward of his hips, I could feel the revulsion creeping up my throat, threatening to spill out.
When he hit the back of my throat, I gagged and attempted to retreat, but he didn’t relent. Instead, he fisted his right hand through my hair and pushed deeper, seating himself entirely in my mouth, his balls resting against my chin. My eyes watered, bulging out of their sockets, and I couldn't breathe. To make matters worse, he smiled down at me, as he brought up his left hand and pinched closed my nose.
For five long seconds, he stood there, not moving, his hands on the back of my head and the bridge of my nose, keeping me locked in place as I gagged, his dick trapped down my esophagus. When he finally pulled out, he brought with it the contents of my stomach, which amounted to nothing more than fresh bile and long strands of saliva.
“Again!” He shouted, serving as a millisecond warning.
Without giving me a chance to recover, I found him thrusting back inside, faster than the first time. Hitting the back of my throat again and pushing further, this time he didn’t stop and wait. This time he immediately withdrew and then plunged back in again. Each time he did, I gagged a little more, bringing up a mixture of acidic juices and spit that dripped down my chin and over my chest. Ugly tears streamed down my face, embarrassment flooding my cheeks.
The torturous pace didn’t stop. The humiliation and tears were constant as he ravaged my throat, bruising me in places that shouldn’t be touched by anything but food. At some point, I found myself detaching from my body, floating somewhere above the scene watching in horror as he face fucked me, over and over again.
“No, girl. You do not get to disengage from this. Focus,” Preston grunted, his saturated cock flinging out of my mouth and bobbing up and down.
Slapping me hard, I fell to the side, only to be righted by Preston’s hands in my hair, and my lips forced back open by his engorged head. With a few more quick thrusts, his hands gripped my head and held me in place as he dumped his load down my throat, his hips grinding against my face.
“If you bring that back up, I will make you lick it up off the floor. You’ve already made a fucking mess and will be punished accordingly,” Preston released my hair and took a step back.
Letting my shoulders slump in defeat, I watched as Preston walked over to a dresser I hadn’t paid attention to, and grabbed a towel from the top drawer. Wiping himself clean, he threw the rag in my direction.
“Clean up your mess, slut, and then get back onto the bed. Face down.”
My rage almost blindsided me as I picked up the towel, but I was a quick study. Quickly I grabbed the rag and cleaned the floor of my spit and bile, as well as my chin and my stomach, before depositing the towel in the nearby waste basket and climbing back up onto the bed, in record time. I could feel my anger burning through
me. How could he punish me for gag reflexes, I had no control over?
“You keep stacking up your transgressions, girl.”
“What did I do?” I turned to look at the man at the foot of the bed, before my common sense, and filter kicked in.
I hadn’t seen the slap coming, not until the stars filled my vision and my neck snapped back. One moment he stood at the end of the bed, and the next he was in front of me, rage radiating from his body.
“Don’t you ever speak to me that way again slave. I will destroy you!”
Grabbing my hair yet again, Preston forced me to look into his eyes, and I trembled. There was nothing there. No warmth or light shone out of them. Only hatred, aggression, and a dark pit of never-ending blackness. Preston was fucking crazy, and there was nothing I could do to save myself. In that horrifying instant, I knew the hell I had been living in was nothing compared to the torment I was about to go through. He would ruin me, and no amount of pleading would save me.
I’d heard somewhere there was no such thing as bad people; only good individuals who do bad things. Whoever said that was a fucking liar. They had clearly never met Preston.
Chapter 3
I didn’t want to remember the details of the previous night, but with every move of my body, the memories flooded in, in explicit detail. After he had tied me to the bed, face down, ass in the air, a blindfold shielding my view, he put a ball in my mouth and strapped it around my head. For more minutes than I could comprehend, he left me there, while he blasted some sort of screaming music which ricocheted around my skull. I wasn’t sure why last night, but looking back now, it was probably so I couldn’t hear him set up his contraption.
I prayed to God, I would never experience that device again.
Once he had set up, the music was turned down, and he explained the mechanism sitting behind me. He called it the Trillix, he removed my blindfold and made me look at it. Two massive dildoes were strapped to it, both dripping with what I could only presume was lube. When he flipped the switch, the top dildo thrust forward, instantly retreating for the bottom one to push out and fall back, both spinning in alternate directions, mocking my churning stomach.
I knew this wouldn’t be pretty. I hadn’t been a virgin since junior high, but I was an anal virgin, and no way was that fitting inside of me. It was impossible. Once again, I found myself locked in prayer this was some sick joke, and I would be set free. But, for a second time, the joke was on me. There was no Ashton Kutcher, and this was not the sadistic version of Punk’d.
As if sensing my hesitation, or noticing the way my eyes bugged out of my head, Preston laughed at me. It wasn’t the light-hearted laugh I had heard from Paxton earlier, it was deep, dark and laced with a menacing cynicism that made my ears want to bleed.
“Your sweet little asshole will stretch and accommodate. Don’t worry. If you ask me nicely, maybe, I’ll warm you up instead of letting the Trillix do it for me.”
“Pweath, Matherrr, pweath!” I begged, my words desperate and muffled.
“Only because you asked so nicely. But, don’t fucking expect this treatment all the time, slut. Tonight, I’m feeling generous. I can’t break you on the first day, now can I,” he asked no one in particular.
Placing the blindfold back over my eyes, I dropped my head and waited for the inevitable. I tried desperately to relax my body for the oncoming attack to my virgin parts, but it was easier said than done. I knew the Trillix would have been brutally and substantially worse without some form of preparation, but Preston was far from delicate or accommodating. The fire spreading through me as he forced two fingers into my ass, made me scream out in pure agony.
“Yes, yes. Keep screaming for me. You fucking love it, don’t you?” He laughed, enjoying the torture far more than I would ever enjoy the sensations.
I howled in anguish, letting it all out around my gag, as his fingers scissored inside me and pressed against places never touched by another human. My vocal chords cried out for mercy as he inserted a third and then a fourth finger, and when he finally removed his fingers and placed the contraption at my openings, I screamed as he turned it on and both dildo’s twirled home in quick succession without any real warning.
No matter how much I shouted, though, I couldn’t stop my screams from eventually turning into cries of pleasure. Never before had I been filled so completely. In the back recesses of my mind, somewhere deep, dark and depraved, I loved the abuse my body was getting.
Within minutes, I could feel the telltale signs of an impending orgasm, building from deep within me. It started just behind my navel, and traveled through my core and down to my toes, before coming back up and exploding at my core. I thrashed and convulsed, attempting desperately to get free from the constant thrusting of the machine, but it was to no avail. The stars behind my eyelids were a myriad of colors, like a broken kaleidoscope crashing through the blackness that was my vision.
After the first orgasm, I heard Preston laugh before his bare feet padded across the room, and the sound of the main door opening and closing echoed in my ears. He left me there with the machine still pumping into me, and no way to turn it off. He wasn’t going to physically break me, but there was a possibility he would mentally shatter me into oblivion if he left me for too long.
Orgasms two, three and four were as intense as the first, plummeting me off the cliff into pleasure town, but climax number five bordered on a level of pain I had yet to experience from pleasure, and the subsequent three nearly ripped me in two. If twelve was his magic number, I didn’t think I would make it. I didn’t think I could last that long. As number nine tore through me, I could feel the sweat dripping down my naked spine, and my breasts drenched in the salty water. My heart beat an irregular rhythm, and I prayed death would find me quickly. I couldn’t take another one, my body couldn’t handle it.
Screaming at the top of my lungs, I used the last of the energy I could muster to try and wiggle free from my bindings. It was no use; I was strapped in tight as ten and eleven washed over me. My entire body go limp, my muscles spasmed in sync as they gave out. I didn’t know how long this torment was meant to go on, but I knew without a doubt it had been several hours. I was at my emotional and physical limit.
I didn’t think twelve would be possible, the pain would override any sort of pleasure I could derive from the situation. The feeling of moisture dripping down my legs, pooling at my knees told a different story. As orgasm number twelve built within me, my blindfold was suddenly ripped from my eyes, the ball gag stripped away, and Paxton’s cock was shoved into my mouth. I don’t know how I knew it was Paxton and not Preston, but something inside of me knew. A spark or a light bulb clicked, and my heart beat just a fraction faster.
Paxton wasn’t quite as large as Preston, but he was still an impressive size, and my poor throat was still raw from Preston’s abuse, but something inside of me wanted to please this man. It was irrational, and completely fucked up, but I couldn’t help it. When climax number twelve finally hit me, the pain was like nothing I had ever felt before, and it took everything in my power not to clamp down on Paxton’s cock as it swelled on my tongue.
Without missing a beat, Paxton pressed the button on the Trillix, remote lying next to me, and the dildos stopped as he pushed into my mouth one last time and stilled, letting his cum wash down my throat. Two brothers. Two cum shots. Two matching sets of DNA, both mixing in my stomach. The thought was enough to make me want to hurl.
Words failed me as he pulled out of me and walked away. There were no tears left to cry, and there was no fight left in my body. I closed my eyes and sniffed the air, hoping I could get even a waft of the cucumber melon memories, but no. Only the smell of sex and depravity filled the air. Preston was right. I was a slut.
A few minutes, maybe an hour later, I wasn’t sure, the ropes around me loosened, letting my entire body fall into the mattress. I couldn’t move. It was physically impossible, my body just wouldn’t obey, but it seemed I didn’t
have to. With gentle hands, Paxton rubbed life back into my limbs.
“Wendy Darling, we need to get you cleaned up. Can you walk to the bathroom?”
Words wouldn’t form, but my grunted answer was apparently enough for him, as he scooped me up in his arms and walked out of the glass hell and straight to the bathroom. The large porcelain tub was cold against my bare skin, and I yelped at the pressure of sitting on my ass. None of that concerned me, though when I saw the red dripping out between my legs and heading for the drain.
“It’s ok, girl. It’s just a little blood. You’ll heal up nicely. I checked. Now, this is going to sting a little.”
With his words, he turned the tub knobs, and hot water immediately poured into the tub. It did sting, but the relief was almost instantaneous. Barely keeping my eyes open, I watched as Paxton turned back to my vanity and headed for the bubble bath containers.
“Which one?” He asked, picking up the Vanilla liquid.
Scrunching my nose, I shook my head, my throat still too raw to form words.
“Lavender?”
Another head shake.
“Cucumber?”
I nodded, and Paxton grinned.
“Cucumber Melon it is,” he walked back towards me with the bottle and poured a healthy amount of the concoction underneath the steaming water.
Paxton turned off the water and grabbed a fresh blue loofah.
“I’m going to wash you now, Wendy Darling.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.
I didn’t know if I’d have protested even if I had the strength. My eyes were slowly closing as my body shut down. Paxton’s hands were gentle as he washed me from head to toe, including my overly sensitive nether regions. Never once did it hurt, and although I couldn’t express my thanks with words, I brought my hand up to his cheek and forced my eyes open to look into his, trying desperately to convey my gratitude.
Trapped: Her Love Story Page 3
