by Addison Cain
Light streams from the entry and music comes from the other side. There’s laughter that travels from where the muted yellow light is beckoning — men’s chuckling, which sets me on edge.
My tormentor hands me an object in the darkness, then leans in closer. “This is the only option you have. Use it, don’t use it. That’s all up to you,” he informs me.
When I turn to look at him, he’s gone.
Straightening my shoulders, I step through the doorway and gasp.
Drake
The darkness surrounds me.
It always has. Since I was thirteen, I had seen far too many horrors. But it’s all him. He took and took and when there wasn’t anything left, he preyed on others. Then again, he’d always done that. I recall the first time I learned what he was.
A monster.
It was that day my life changed. I’d never be the same again and now that I’m eighteen, I feel as if I’m an old ragged man. Even though I’m only starting my life, not the life I wanted, but the one I was thrust into at an early age.
There’s a stench in the basement when I enter. Five rooms sit to my left, and another five to my right. That’s ten captives he holds each year. One month, four weeks, he takes one of those lucky ten and ensures they shatter. The process is simple, they come in, they get tortured and used, and then on their final day, a group of men and women walk in, watch the show and choose which they’d prefer.
He’s broken them in for years. It’s the way he gets off. I’ve seen the vilest of acts being done to girls over the years. He’s had boys here too. However, they don’t earn him enough, so he focuses on the girls. They can offer him what the boys can’t.
And as many years as I’ve been here, I’m still trying to find a way out. A way where I can run with my brother and my best friend and never look back. Slowly, with each night that falls, I know that day will never come. But I hold onto that faraway emotion that we’re taught to hold as kids.
Hope.
The problem is, in this place, that’s a fruitless wish. There’s no such thing as hope in here. Life will end here the same way it started. In agony. It’s the cries and screams that haunt the walls of the mansion. Even though the captives are kept in the basement, being on the upper levels, even in my bedroom I hear them. As if they echo to me, to taint me for what I’ve helped be done to them.
I recall the day I walked into the basement when he was in one of his sessions.
The door is ajar. There’s a dim light that tells me to run, to hide, but I don’t. I’m intrigued. I’m ten years old and all I want is to learn to be a good boy. He tells me I need to be, but I never understand what he means.
I reach the last cold concrete step and peek through the space in the door. A gold light comes from within. A scream so loud, so filled with pain, I can’t help stumbling back. It’s a girl. I can tell that already.
I lean forward once more, and the door slides open another inch. The image before me causes me to retch. The sound echoes along with her screams, and he snaps his vicious glare at me.
“Bring him in.” The familiar deep voice I’ve known all of my short life vibrates through the walls of the basement. Cold concrete greets my ass when I fall back.
Two strong meaty hands grip my bony shoulders, lifting me with no effort. My skinny legs flail wildly in the air as a man who’s the size of an ogre carries me inside the room where he’s standing.
“What the fuck is he doing in here?” the man questions.
I recoil when a hand reaches for my face. Gripping my neck, he lifts me onto the steel gurney and presses me flat on my back. The smell of blood is thick in the air and I retch once more.
My body folds in the middle, my small arms hold onto my stomach, but he growls, ordering the ogre to bind my arms and legs to the four corners. Once I’m unable to move, he chuckles when I beg for mercy. But I know for a fact he won’t show it.
The little girl on the gurney beside me is not moving. Her long blonde hair is matted with dark red liquid. It looks like she’s sleeping, her eyes closed, her face at peace and I notice that her chest isn’t moving. She’s no longer breathing.
“What did you do?” My question is hoarse, my throat burns at the realization that’s running through my mind. I shake my head when he looks at me and nods.
“She served her purpose.” His words are cold, then I notice him pulling up his zipper on the dark slacks that he always wears to work.
I don’t understand. My brows crease in confusion. He hurt her. I know that.
“Perhaps we can have him trained?” the man asks the ogre. They both look at me as if I’m an experiment. I’m not sure what they mean, but my chest tightens, and my breathing gets more difficult.
“I think he’ll be a good investment,” the ogre agrees after a long while of studying me. He smirks, his mouth curling evilly as he watches me.
“Tie him in the training chair,” the old man grins happily. He cups my cheek in his hand and leans in. His breath stinks of alcohol and blood which makes me choke on the spit dripping down my throat from his open mouth.
“What if he doesn’t—”
“I said tie him to the fucking chair,” the man bites out angrily at the ogre. “He’ll learn to appreciate my business. He is my son after all.”
Shaking my head of the gloomy time in my life, I move into the empty cell and start my clean up. The wet mattress has already been pulled out of the room, and the bucket needs to be removed, emptied and cleaned. Grabbing the mop, I start on the floor that’s now dried where she’s pissed herself while I was holding her. I shouldn’t have gotten angry, but it was her weakness that I hated.
When he told me two weeks ago he was bringing a new girl in, I was scared once more at what I’ll have to do when he’s finished with her. I’ve become wary of the girls who arrive, because I know the moment I see them in their beauty, it will be the last time they’ll ever look that way again. But when I saw her, there was something I wanted to do to her, something I’d never wanted to do to any of the other dolls he brings in here.
I wanted to save her.
I wanted to sever the link to him and have her be mine.
But as much as I want that, I know it can never be. He owns them all. Each one that’s brought into hell, he takes them and makes sure they never see the light of day again.
But it’s not the fact that he takes from them, it’s the way he does it. A scrape of a boot sounds from behind me and I find my brother at the door. He eyes me wearily. We’ve both been working here for the man we call father for so long it’s become second nature to clean up the mess left by each toy.
“She going to last?” he questions naturally as if we’re talking about the fucking weather.
“I hope so.”
I’ve never uttered those words. Never once cared if the girls come back from their sessions or not, but with the pretty toy I’ve just led to the den I wonder if I’ll ever see those pretty eyes again.
“There’s no hope in here, Drake,” my brother grunts in frustration. He’s younger than me by two minutes. But I was dragged into the darkness much earlier than he was.
“I know,” I finally respond, causing him to glance at me. The blue eyes that match mine stare at me for a moment. Our mother had told us we were special, then only three years later, on our seventh birthday, she died. One thing I remember about her was when she told us our piercing eye color matched with the seas in Greece.
Her ancestry took us back to Europe. Both our mother’s and father’s blood lines originated there. But now we live in what is known as the ‘land of the free’ which to me is a lie, because it seems to stifle everything good in our lives.
“Is she pretty?” he questions as he unscrews the bottle of bleach. The harsh scent still bothers my senses as he douses the floor in the clear liquid.
Is she?
Yes.
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell him, not answering his question because I know there isn’t any reason
for me to want her.
“Then perhaps you should go in there and ask Dad if he’ll allow you to play the final round.” I glance at my brother then. It’s the first time we’ve really gotten to talk about something like this. An option of perhaps winning and keeping one of the girls.
But even so, if I do get her, she’ll hate me for what I’ve allowed to happen to her. I’ve left her in there with the Devil himself. I know what she’s going through right now. In my mind, I recall the training chair. My father’s idea of teaching impressionable youths on the basics of human nature. That’s a fucking joke. More like the intricacies of being an animal.
“That will never happen,” I tell him.
“You never know,” Dante murmurs as he carries the bucket from the cell and disappears, leaving me to wonder if I’ll ever have a chance against our father.
Caia
My tormentor leaves me in the softly lit room with an object. It’s small, and when I lift it to the light, I note it’s a pocket knife, but the blade is serrated, and even though I’ve never been a fearful person, this makes me shudder. If I need this, then whatever I’m about to experience may kill me. When the music and voices faded, hands grab me from behind and shove me into a dark closet.
The person wrenches the knife from my hand and in that moment all hope leaves me. I’m blindfolded and there are plugs in my ears to keep out the noise.
My body aches when I’m shoved forward and then forced to sit on a small wooden chair. my wrists and ankles are bound to the legs of the chair in seconds.
The person moves fast to ensure I can’t fight, and then I’m left alone.
Seconds pass, then minutes.
“Please let me go. If you tell me why I’m here I can get my father to talk to you. Do you want money? He has money.” Nobody responds to my plea. Tears sting my eyes as my mind plays scenarios like a horror movie before me.
I’m hunched over, the tension in my shoulders is unbearable. I’ve tried tugging at the bindings but they’re knotted too tight. With each tug, the twine cuts into the harsh wounds from being bound to the bed earlier and I know I’m not making it better by trying to pull myself free.
Suddenly, the plugs are pulled from my ears and I can hear the music again. Classical and operatic. It’s not loud, merely a whisper, but almost torturous in volume.
“She’s pretty,” a deep rumble comes from somewhere. My blindfold hinders my sight, and I don’t know how many people are in the room, but if I had to guess, I’d say two. The man who hurt me earlier, and another. The stranger’s voice is deeper, more ragged than my captor.
“Get her ready,” a voice comes, the one of the man who’s keeping me in here. “She’s to be trained as soon as possible. I want her ready for Friday’s auction.”
There are hands pulling at my arms and legs, untying me hastily from my bound position, tugging my wrists together, he twines the rope tightly. Then suddenly I’m thrust into the air. A hard shoulder pressing into my stomach as he grips my small ass and another arm snaking around my thighs.
He walks through the space that I’m not allowed to see. When he finally sets me on my feet, I’m placed against a wall, or something cold and hard. Concrete. Perhaps the same type as the walls of my room, the cell I woke up in.
My hands and legs are bound against the icy wall and I’m once again locked in place with nowhere to go. A chuckle comes from my left and his hot breath on my cheek causes me to shudder.
“Don’t worry, pet, you’ll soon enjoy this,” he grits out in a devilish tone. His calloused finger paints something on my lips. As soon as my tongue darts out, the metallic flavor causes me to retch. “You look so pretty painted with crimson.” His voice is cold as ice as it chills me.
The blindfold is ripped from my face and the harsh light is blinding for a moment. Blinking to clear the sting, I find myself in a small dark room and realize the blinding light is coming from the television set which is before me.
“What are you doing?” I croak, but he ignores me as he moves to the corner and pulls out a small trolley that he wheels over to me. Placing it between my legs, I notice it has one of those magic wand vibrators attached to it. “Please, you don’t have to do this.” I know my words fall on deaf ears, but I try anyway.
He locks it in place and moves to the television that’s shining a bright white screen. When he clicks a remote, an image appears. It’s a video that’s paused on the title that I’m sure is something gory from the word on screen.
Severed.
“Enjoy your movie night, princess,” the man who reminds me of an evil ogre smirks viciously as he walks out, shutting the door with a resounding click. My gaze darts back to the screen and before I can think about what’s about to happen, the wand that’s been placed on my core starts a gentle vibration.
Another older man appears from behind me, he’s dressed like a doctor, with blue plastic gloves and a stethoscope around his neck.
“We’re going to test your restraint, little one,” he smirks. “They asked for a strong one, a fighter.”
I frown at this information, wondering who he’s talking about, or even what he’s talking about. “Please, why are you doing this?”
He doesn’t respond, merely gestures to the screen with his chin, silently ordering me to turn my attention back to the television.
The name disappears, and a scene appears with a man who looks to be in his early forties, graying hair with a scraggly beard that reminds me of barbed wire. The lens follows him to a bed where a girl who can’t be much older than my eighteen years is bound helpless.
She’s begging, crying, and pleading with him to let her go. The vibration between my legs intensifies and I’m lost in pleasurable confusion. My body is reacting to the stimulation, but my mind recoils at the scene on the television.
I can’t look away, and I can’t close my eyes. I’m bound so well with my head fastened to hooks on the wall that don’t allow me to move an inch. There’s something on my eye lids that allow me to blink, but I can’t keep them closed.
I’m assaulted by the scene before me of the old man thrusting himself inside the girl. There are feral grunts, screams of pain and when the lens zooms in, blood is dripping from where they’re connected.
My body gives in to the pleasure, my stomach convulses from the scene before me. I can’t stop my orgasm, and I can’t stop the puke that’s dripping from my chin. My mind feels almost fragmented, shattered and torn at the emotions racing through me.
The man who’s dressed in an immaculate suit continues to violate her, to torture her with his cock, his grip around her neck tightens as her choking intensifies, while he spits on her. It’s horrific to watch and I’m afraid to see what’s to follow. His large hand grips her tiny breast, tugging on the flesh harshly as if he’s trying to rip it off. Her cries echo in my ears, and his grunts fill the room.
It’s sick.
It’s vile.
And I can’t move away, turn away from the scene. The large silent man dressed in a white lab coat stalks closer, his hand holding an object dripping blood and when I finally take a good look I notice it’s a human heart. At least, that’s what I’ve seen pictures of in Biology class. My body is rigid with fear, my blood turning icy cold. What are they doing with that? My thoughts are erratic, fliting between fear and revulsion.
“She had so many pretty parts,” he sneers, pushing his hand holding the organ against my mouth as I try to fight him off. The screams still echo around me as he feeds me. With his other hand, I feel the pressure between my legs as he forces two thick fingers inside me. “You’ll be broken soon, just like her.”
I can’t close my mouth as he shoves it into me and I’m painted in the crimson liquid while the video plays and my body leaps over an edge I’ve been fighting but the assault on my clit is too much.
I’m drenched in red. My mouth, my shoulders as he grips me, ensuring I’m soaked in the metallic liquid.
“So pretty, little girl,” he
sneers.
My body locks and convulses as pleasure shoots through me. It’s not from the scene. It’s from the forced orgasm that I’ve been subjected to. But the vibration only intensifies. I cry out, begging for mercy, even though I know they’ll never offer it. I feel another release on the edge, it’s right there and the filthy words from the TV vibrate though me and I cry out in pleasure, in pain, in disgust.
Another notch on the vibrator is turned up and I’m wet. My clit is throbbing now, and I can’t stop the moan that slips from my lips. A third orgasm is close, I’m watching a girl get violated and all I can do is find release, pleasure watching pain.
The piece of filth steps back, admiring me shaking and shuddering wildly. My captor turns around and calls out to someone I can’t see.
“Get Drake in here, she needs to be cleaned up.”
“Why?” I whimper, attempting to spit the blood from my mouth.
He spins on his heel, glaring at me. “Because, little girl,” he says in a low menacing tone. “You’re going to bring me a lot of money. Every part of you.” His blue eyes glow with evil intent.
My body is rising to the edge. I’m standing on the precipice as the old man on screen pulls a blade from under the pillow and severs her head as the wand is turned to full pelt and I come harder than I’ve ever known a woman could.
My body is wracked with a sob, convulsions, and an orgasm that turns me inside out. My toes curl, I watch the head of a beautiful girl fall off the bed and the man find his own release in her now dead body.
When the door flies open, I’m crying. The white coated man steps back after turning off the vibrator that’s assaulted me for as long as the video had been repulsing me. He smirks at the newest member to the room.
“Get her cleaned up,” he orders, then leaves us, his footfalls disappearing into the darkness.
The screen is black, but the dim light that streams in from the room beyond offers me a glimmer to see who’s walked in. My tormentor. The blond boy with the blue eyes that remind me of an ocean. Drake.
