The Breaking and The Owning

The Breaking and The Owning – Full Text

TRIGGER WARNING:

This story contains dubious/non-consensual sexual encounters. This work is only a fantasy. Always ensure you have explicit consent from all sexual partners before engaging in sexual liaisons. If you were a victim of sexual assault, please seek help from The National Sexual Assault Hotline.

The Breaking and The Owning

Part 1: The Breaking

Clop. Clop, Clop. Clop. Frustration welled up within her mind. High heels were strutting hammers upon the sidewalk. Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop.

A girls’ night. It was simple enough. A night of fun with my closest girlfriends. How could that be so easily destroyed?

Oh, that’s right, they wanted to rut against those creepers, call it dancing. Those men looked creepy. Acted creepy. Those questions, though. Disgusting. And strobing lights made us look like jailbait. Really? Nastiest pickup line, ever. Who falls for that? They did, apparently. What the fuck? Finished a master’s degree in psychology. Done. Twenty-five years old. Not jailbait. They had issues, those fuckers. A walking DSM-V of items.

Not drunk either. One fucking drink I took. Period. They were drunk, the men and my friends.

Maybe I have anger management issues? Yeah. Perhaps. Find the right guy. That. That’s an issue. Where is he? There? No. Want? Brains? Yeah. Body? Eh, not so important. Dirty mind? Hmm. Kinky mind? Now that’s something to consid…

Predatory claws jetted out of the alley shadows, grabbing the woman, the leonine forceful man pouncing upon prey. Ripping her from the poorly lit sidewalk, a block from the cacophonous dance club, deep into his den, they went. The club was creating the lure for his hunting grounds. That made it easy, so easy. He prided himself in being efficient, quick, a singularly focused hunter.

Dragging her down, down, down the darkening alley, her high heels scraped the trash covered concrete, her legs kicking the air, she didn’t realize the futility of her actions.

He did. He’d hunted the streets on a rotation, knew the truths of the matter as specific facts. Gripping her mouth hard, he knew she couldn’t cry out, though the more she attempted, the more he savored her struggle. Each successful ambush pleased his inner beast, ignited his arousal as nothing else would.

Fuck. What the fuck? What the fucking hell happened? Who? Who the fuck is this? So strong. Can’t get loose. Where? Where are we going? Can’t scream. I should have stayed at the club. Is this the end?

Firm words flowed from his lips, detailing his instructions whispered roughly into her ear.

“If you do what I say, what I want when I want, I won’t hurt you… much. If you keep resisting, I’ll make you suffer the consequences.”

Fighting him energetically, she attempted to writhe, to squirm, to twist her body free. Get away. If I can just escape. The club. I can run back to the club. It’s not far away. But first I need to…

His hand dropped from her mouth to grip her throat tight, pressing upon her carotid artery, abating her struggle as she lost consciousness several seconds after. Her words so soft as to be inaudible, whimpering sobs blended in. He heard her begging for her life, words near formless as he restrained her breath. Writhing with all remaining energy, she focused it all to breathe.

Is this it? Is this how everything ends? Me gasping for air? Goddess, this can’t be it. Is it? More. There must be more. Has to be. Live. I must live.

Enunciated syllables fired into her ear.

“If you stop struggling, I will loosen my grip, girl. If you continue, I’ll choke you out and leave you in the middle of nowhere, naked, alone, and feeling so much pain. You have a choice, so make it.”

The struggling halted a moment later. Making prey too afraid of what might happen was his tactic to quell the conflict. Forcing the woman to fear what was theoretical, what was possible, it made them compliant to what happened to them at the moment. He controlled her fully. Loosening his grip upon her throat was a simple choice.

Rapid gulps of air followed the reprieve, soon enough followed by slower, deeper, focused breaths. I’m still here. For now. Still here. Afraid. Yes. Alive. Yes. Survival? Surrendering to fate isn’t an option. Control the fear. I must control my mind.

A whisper followed her thoughts. Hope. Perhaps there was hope.

“Obedient girl. Follow my words. It won’t be as bad as it will be if you resist. Nod if you understand.”

Rapid nodding compliance acknowledged his question. On the edge of trust, her body submitted to his touch, his rough grip upon her wrists still held by his talons. His voice filled her head, all extinguishing her will to resist. His trap engulfed her, leaving no space for resistance to exist.

The quiet air carried a soft whimpering question to his ear. An expected one. One that he’d heard many, many times before tonight.

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Sssshhhh, petty girl.”

Transformed from animal growls to a soothing balm, he assuaged her fears again with hope for a better outcome.

“What I will do to you will be for my pleasure and mine alone. If you listen and follow directions, what will happen to you will be minimal harm. Please me well to make it easier on yourself.”

Frightened whimpers, halting words. Her voice cracked from strain, from the stress thrust upon her. Think. Psychology. What was the use of studying? Apply it. Now. Do it.

“I’m… I’m a good girl. I’m… I’m a virgin.”

Doubting both statements, he entertained that, as with previous prey, she attempted as they did to bring out some humanity from his core, wishing it might change her fate, make him pity her. There was nothing to elicit as he held no understanding. He felt no pity. There was only raw animal thought, the basest of motivations.

“Please, don’t do this. Please?”

Sneering, flashing his gritted teeth in the dimness, he barked back.

“I’ll fix your virginity, affliction girl. Alleged virginity, more like I think. It doesn’t matter, virgin or not. Once I finish with you, you’ll be very experienced at pleasing men.”

Tensing muscles solidified her frame, refusing his attempts to direct her. Fisting tight her hair that ran past her shoulders, forcing her face to his, he demanded a kiss, roughing her face with his day’s worth of stubble. Nipping her rejecting lips, forcing his tongue into her mouth, feeling her struggle, he gripped her throat again, harder than before, feeling her entire body shiver from fear.

All resistance stopped, she slackened. His grip yielded only a fraction. Her body leaned into him, her body accepting her new reality even if her mind was yet to follow.

This kiss. It’s only a kiss. Just a kiss. Disgusting. His tongue. So deep in. Play along. Let him, let him do what he wants. I don’t want to. It will be better if I do.

Breaking their kiss, liberating her throat, slipping her hair free of his hand, he brushed the shell of her ear with his lips marked with vermilion lipstick from her ravaged mouth.

“Good girl. Don’t fight, and it won’t hurt as much.”

Her head bobbed slowly, remained tilted forward, eye adverted. Gentled fingers lifted her chin, and despite the blackness surrounding them, there was light enough to make out details. He saw tears waterfall down her cheeks. Attempts to form words conflicted with her catching voice. Her eyes showed the fear that quivered her body.

Reason. One can reason, right? Or is this a nightmare? Goddess, this is a horrible, horrible dream. Waking up. I’ll wake up, right? I have to wake up soon.

Locking his gaze upon her eyes, eyes that seemed medium-toned, reflecting gray in the night, he whispered to her with encouraging words.

“Come with me, dear. Follow me.”

Compliant in body, he guided her farther down the alley to a chain-link fence wall running parallel. Unsteadied by her fear, an unexpected softness flowed through his arm, wrapping her waist, preventing her fall. The sudden protectiveness battled against the mercenary motives he had for hunting.

Offsetting the moment of softness, his other hand tightened around her wrist, his body twisted, throwing her against the fence.

Her startled gasp filled the void, widened eyes met his, breathing deep her body tensed to scream.

He covered her mouth, growling a warning.

“If you scream, I will slit your throat right now. Do. You. Hear. Me?”

Rapid nodding met his words, eyes as trembling moons stared at him. The unique zippery sound of duct tape reached her ears. A long, sticky, thick piece topped her mouth. Flaring nostrils kept time as her breathing raced in, out, body trembles adding to the tension. The snick, snick, snick of handcuffs added another layer of fear as they tightened around her well-bruised wrists, body shudders working in vain to pull her arms toward her core, to wrap herself in imaginary protection. Resistance was futile. Her hands drew upward, bound in cuffs, cuffs secured to the chain-link high above her head.

Watching. Waiting. Observing. It was the pause in the process that intrigued him, the contemplation of how the prey would respond once made so vulnerable, so unable to escape, to warn, to cry for help. Submission to the situation that would come. It always did. It was predictable; it was certain. It was the one thing that was inevitable when nothing else felt right. The path, the journey, that aspect varied between prey. The ending never did.

And yet as this prey stood so alone, so open, so fetching, so tantalizing, random flashes of doubts arced in thoughts, distracting him. The knife. That would clear his mind, push away the weakness invading his thinking. The sharp blade always made him feel better.

Eyes that never narrowed from perpetual fearful awe, they focused upon his slow, sure movements. The sight of something held in his hand made her dance against the restraints, shifting her weight from foot to foot, writhing against the fence, rippling her meek, curvaceous body to seek the escape that wouldn’t come.

This. This won’t turn out so well. Goddess. This is how it ends, isn’t it? This is how I make the news cycle? Yeah. Blogs? Maybe. Local news? Could. How many missing girls? Too many. How many dead? No one knows. He’s a psychopath. Sociopath? Doesn’t matter. He’s not right in the head. He has me. I’m here, placed before him like a trophy.

And yet my body betrays me. So tingly. So aroused. My nipples are peaking. I feel a need. This is horror, darkness, depravity. He’s a monster. My body responds to him despite my head. Traitor. My body turned traitor. Here he comes. He comes to feast upon me more? Yeah.

Slow, steady steps brought him closer to her. Her face turned away. Gripping her jaw, he forced it back, holding up the object before her now tightly squinted eyes, quaking energy swaying her body, tears drenching her cheeks. Leaning in, whispering, caressing her cheek with his stubble, speaking simple orders, his words flowed soft silk, deviating from the brutality of his thoughts that birthed them.

“Open your eyes, girl. Open them wide and look at what I have in my hand.”

Hesitation stalled her response only a moment. Tears gushed freely, smearing her vision, though still clear enough to see the knife. A folder type she recognized was like her father’s. The jarring juxtaposition of imagery froze her responses, fixing her eyes on the blade, focusing on the hand that held it.

Is this my death? Is it? Is this how my life ends? Or are these the depths of nightmarish agony? I have to be fantasizing about a terrible dream. Or having a terrible drug trip. Was my drink spiked? None of this can be real.

A coldness, a hardness returned to his voice, chilling her entire being.

“You know what this is, what I can do with it. You know now that I have the means to hurt you badly if I so choose.”

His demonic grin became the background to the horror held before her, his hand motioning the blade before her face. His hand retreated from her vision moments later, the other turned her head to expose her neck, laying soft kisses upon it, nipping, languid licking, tasting her pulse throbbing hard within her throat.

At random, her body stilled, relaxed as he tended to her supple, soft flesh. Rapid, shallow breaths alternated with slower, measured ones. Body and mind in conflict, she no longer struggled, pressing her legs together tight, his sturdy frame pressed hard against hers.

Upon that contact, she felt the mix of soft and hard, the imperfections of his body, understanding he was strong, yes, and also rounded, not chiseled. Yes, he was a man. A man with needs. Offer it up. Sate his hunger. It’s all a dream. Give in. Let go. Accept the nightmare.

Upon contact, he felt the curves pressed against his body; the beauty held in her form, left wondering about her eyes, her hair, how she’d feel to hold, not harm. No, not weakness. No vulnerability. No sympathy. No empathy. No. The knife. Use the knife.

Automatic words flew out his mouth, neutral in tone, rejecting the softness attempting entry into his psyche.

“Close your eyes. Focus on stillness. I’d rather not slice you accidentally.”

Eyes burning with saline streams closed tight anew, her body continued trembling yet steadier than before. Slowed breathing created a calming cadence that even he could notice.

Control. Total control. Over his hand. Over her body. The force of chaos a knife’s edge away from release.

Slipping, sliding the unsharpened spine of the blade across her throat, to scare her only. He held no desire to maim her physically. No desire to kill her, not really. She didn’t know that secret detail, that compelling fact. The power of fear fed his fits of hunger. Yet even he had limits, lines he wouldn’t cross. He’d teach her all the rules in time. That time wasn’t now. Later. Much later. His list of wants was long, his hunger to play great, the night never long enough for it all.

He’d take what he could while the time overflowed with potential, with possibilities. Too soon, the demands put upon him would force him to halt his consumption of her for a vital purpose. The blade play would continue. He wanted her to dance for him as only she could, with her held in tension.

Sliding the icy blade across her hot neck, down, down, down to where her plunging neckline blouse stopped, just above her breasts, he paused. There betwixt her breasts, he glided the sharpened edge across her skin, her silky shirt, watching her body still as he toyed with her form.

It is such a beautiful blouse. Honestly, I’m torn between need and want, hating to slice it up as I enjoy her wearing it. He struggled with deep contradictions. He might be darkly deviant, but he also appreciated quality clothing when he saw it. Shame filled a corner of his mind, an instant alone, nothing more. His mind fixed on what to do.

Whispers filled the space between them, gentleness a surprise to him again, his harshness put to heel if but for a few moments.

“I will cut off all your clothes, dear. It pains me to do that given you dress in such lovely items. However, what I want, I can only get once I shred them.”

Tears rained down, breathing hammered heavy, yet she stood like a statue for him.

Cutting, slicing into the blouse, shedding it into strips, slow, precise strokes, making quick work of it. Once it was but bits falling to the ground, he smiled, leaning in to kiss her neck, thanking her for obedience.

No effort to recoil from his attentions flowed through her. Instead, she tilted her head farther to open herself more to him, still crying, still breathing shallow, rapid bursts. No rejection. Acceptance. Perhaps encouragement?

Standing upright, he admonished her with the apparent logic he’d already explained, but expressed the facts again as a reminder. For her safety? For his needs? Because there was a desire to be kind? Swirls of conflict spun as whirlwinds attempting to push him off course from the course, his path, he needed to follow. Sate the hunger. Play while there was still time. Time was running out.

“So long as you stay still, I won’t cut into your body, only your clothes. Do you understand?”

A single nod. Acceptance. Comprehension. Surrender.

The pop of a strap sliced with focus, then the other. Satiny caresses removed strips of nothingness. Liberated breasts, bountiful, freed from their prison. So young, so pert, so full. Experiencing their beauty, their purity, he needed to sully her, fuck her, take her entire body without mercy, tearing away any semblance of innocence, of freshness, of newness. He couldn’t leave her untouched by him, by anyone.

A soft clack. Something hard fell as the strips of bra themselves fell to earth. Involuntary curiosity dropped him to a squat, grasping the thin cards. Driver’s license? University ID? Debit card? Evidence. Into his pocket. A distraction. Focus. His growing need. Time running fast. Stand.

A compulsion to free her from the bondage of propriety forced his hard arousal against his jeans. Could he smell her involuntary heat? Was it the musk of her perfume? Was it only his imagination? He wanted her, all of her, ready to fuck or not.

Cupping her soft breasts with heated palms, caressing them with fingers dressed with calloused, rough skin, he delighted in her warmth upon him. Heaving chest, tears falling freely, he watched her eyes observe his attentions, daring not to look away. Fingertips experienced the nipples erecting from the lightest of touch upon them, more so as he rolled them between dexterous fingers, taunting them to attention.

He dipped his head down, taking them between his wetted lips, pulling them into his mouth, licking them, sucking them deeper until their flavor was fresh, soft hardness upon his tongue. Hardened cock hardening tighter, fuller, thicker, the more he devoured her, forcing his hand down, gliding over the strained fabric of the well-worn jeans restraining him. Adjusting the throbbing, it called for use, to slip inside her deep, so deep, until it cummed within, marking her. The impatient waiting building, pushing him to rush, forcing him to restrain himself.

He tasted her, savoring every moment, carefully measured in dreams, in fantasies he’d had for so long. No, not the vulgar ones, not the animalistic ones. The ones from long ago and those from not now intruding upon his work. Something about her was different, so different from the rest. Might she undo him before his labors laid complete? Vulgarity trumped kinder.

“I love your tits, girl. They are so delicious upon my tongue. Any boy would love to have access to them like this. But I’m not a boy; I’m a man. And this man will enjoy them happily. You’re too good to share.”

Offer them. Give him his desire. If I cooperate now, I might persuade him later. Push them out. There’s nothing to lose, perhaps something to gain.

Nipping at them, caressing them, biting down for moments, releasing, her stance changed. Did it? Jutting out her tits? Did she do that? Was he imagining? It was fiction, must be.

The ardor led his eyes down, down, down to her skirt, her legs, her high heels. Regret. Hands slid down her sides, holding her hips firm above the smooth, supple leather. Quality. A beautiful design accentuating her body. Regret. It needed to go.

Slipping the blade down her stomach, down, down, down slowly, run under the waist, precise cuts. A slash here, a shred there, it laid open above, exposing her abdomen, freeing her hips for his designs. Left behind by choice were the slick lacy panties, scant coverage for what they attempted to hide. Nothing would remain that way. Nothing. The blade inching down, the dull spine glided over her mons pubis, downward, tip adverted, down to the cleft of her pussy, slickened labia parting. There. Right there. The cold metal upon her clit, careful placement, no cuts, no harm. He promised. He kept it.

Shivers arced from toes to head and back again. Did her legs spread? Was it an illusion of the mind? Did she part them? Parting them just for him? The fantasy made his cock throb tighter against the mere cloth binding his need. Not like before. Not like with the others. They were work, an assignment, a list to complete. This one felt personal. Perhaps it was. Maybe there was a cause, a doubt.

Too much to do, to be done, not enough night. Never enough night. The sun would come too soon. Must be mindful, speed along.

Directing the blade, the sharp, sharp edge beneath the sweetness that wrapped her center, the silkiness was like a sheer skin; his work regained its focused urgency. The spine slipped upon her tenderness, the sensitive skin he protected, sawing the razor edge back and forth countless times, pensive, shredding the panties. Shred them to ribbons. He did so with abandon, smiling at the contentment such a simple thing gave him.

Cleanly trimmed. Well-tended fur. Thick, soft hair between her thighs, leading eyes down, down where her folds began. He slipped a finger upon her, within her, so wet, so very soaked from her body’s anticipation. Her folds parted wide with two fingers seeking her heat, capturing a taste of honey. Lifting it to his lips, partaking of something so special, the sweet, the tangy, the salty, all flavors upon his tongue enticing him, drawing him forward.

He must have her. Soon enough, he would. Savoring her center, that couldn’t wait. Kneeling, he parted her lips wide, lapping her flowing arousal, bathing his tongue within it, catching every drop. Frictioning wetted tongue, wetted with her, slipping upon her slit, teasing her clit, he couldn’t mistake her thighs parting, not now.

Entering her heat, penetrating her, taunting her, shallow, directed strokes to tempt her, ready her, he attended to the needs of her, for him. Readying her body for himself. It wasn’t to please her, was it? No. He needed her opened up. No, this wasn’t like the others. Don’t show weakness, vulnerability to her. Play it hard.

“Sweet girl, I know you suffer from the terrible affliction of virginity. Or at least that’s what you told me. The thing is, girls shouldn’t have to worry about being virgins. They should be sluts who fuck at a moment’s notice. For fucking whether or not that cunt is ready. Whether or not you’re aroused. To do you a favor, to rescue you from that horrible, horrible condition, I’ll give you help and liberate you.”

Standing again, unfastening his belt, unzipping his jeans, letting them drop off his hips, he was closer to his goal. Thumbs under the waistband of the boxer briefs, the pulsating throbbing released as they lowered. Thickened, engorged, long since ready for this moment. The freedom, the fresh night air, it stimulated him all the more. So needy, precum ebbing out his tip, waiting for this moment, he gripped her thighs, pulling her toward him, angling her ass, tilting her hips, finding the right angle to ram himself deep into her, his first reward for the night.

Kissing her neck, pressing his cockhead against her slit, he knew it was his, his cocksleeve, a fuckhole, just an opening for his pleasure alone. Slickening her entrance for this moment spread inch by inch, yielding to his slow, determine pressure, holding it just a tip within.

Cloying kisses laid down upon her neck, distracting her, confusing her, misdirecting her attention. Would he do it? Really do it? Take her now, in the dark alley, raw, nothing between them? Would it be flesh upon flesh? Her brain said no. Her body said yes. Yes, it would take it in, consume him.

Her cheek. Those kisses there. Tongue flicks. Tasting her salt? Tasting her sorrow? Would it matter? Matter to him? Why had she not thought of the moments before now like this? Shock? Yes. It was shocking. It wasn’t happening; it wasn’t real until now. It had been all a dreadful dream, a nightmare. Now it was real, as real as real could get. The kisses. Welcome kisses. He couldn’t be evil, not with kisses. He was rough. He was evil. Or was he the wicked, twisted angel she’d craved?

What would he take? There was no virginity to rob. Why did the term even matter to her? A ploy. Appealing to a kinder nature. He had none. Or did he? Confusion. There was that. That ploy failed. Another perhaps?

“Oh, sweetheart, you’ll be a woman soon. Don’t fret your head about it. A man will take you and make you experienced. No fumbling boy will ruin your first time. To be honest, I’m doing you a favor. You won’t see it at this moment, but once you know how freeing losing your affliction is, you’ll thank me.”

A laugh so slight it was, but a thin fiber slipped from his lips. The airy words he uttered to her so far tonight tasted oversweet, appeared purple in his mind. Honesty. He preferred dealing in it. She deserved it.

“Though to be open and true with you, I’m playing your game. I don’t believe you’re a virgin. For your sake, though, I’ll take part in the role play. I love acting a part.”

Whimpers dominated the space between his lips and hers. Flowing, continuous tears. He caressed her cheek, kissed it with love. His perverse, perverted love. Into her. He slipped in, the angle perfect, one raw stroke now. Steadying her hips, he held her up lest her handcuffed wrists take her full weight—savage mercy.

Her legs wrapped around him tight. Unexpected. Taking him in. So tight. Forced open. Pain. Thrusts. Pleasure. In pain, there’s a pleasure. Thick. Tight. So long without. Was now the time? Was this the place? No consent. Betrayal by her body. Filled with him. Darkness. So much darkness.

The truth? One didn’t feel a hymen tear. It was fiction. That was a fact he knew but played it as possible upon the nocturnal stage of brick, concrete, steel. Fantasy. It was a fantasy he enjoyed. Unless he felt a pussy so tight as hers. So hot, so wet, thrusting in and out, reveling in the feel of fresh pussy taken bareback. His cock so hungry to fuck, now stretching her walls.

So tight. Too tight? So much stimulation. Rapid urges to cum. It felt so good to get so close so soon. It won’t be much longer. Time was too short. A quick cum dump it had to be. Mark her with a heavy load, mark her deep, make her his.

Pausing, catching his breath, putting off the rising sensations, the dropping feeling shouting to him he would come soon, he formed his words. He was stating facts, spelling out what would happen to her. The truth. His perceptions. His beliefs. An amoral lecture.

“Sweet girl, you get to have a novel experience now. I’m going to cum inside you and mark you with my sticky, hot cum. Once I do, you’ll be a woman, an experienced woman. You’ll know the feel of a man cumming inside you and know what it feels like for his cum to fill you, to touch you deep inside.”

A handful of hard pumping strokes taking her, forcing her into the chain-link fencing, a springing chink, chink, chink sound filling the alley. A pulsing climax, holding back his growl, he felt the euphoria of orgasm overwhelm him, one long delayed in coming. What pleased him the most was finishing inside. Ramming a pussy over and over until every bit of his cum was inside. Feeling it flow out, drip down, confirm that his pleasurable game was complete.

Slipping out, flaccid, spent, he lowered her to her wobbling feet, holding her hips steady. Pulling her close, he kissed her neck, slow, gentle kisses, gliding his stubble upon her skin, sending shivers down her spine. He tasted her body already. Starting again, kissing his way down her neck, shoulder, down, down, down to her breasts. Her nipples felt even better the second time than the first. He enjoyed her familiarity, having her body as his, taking what he wanted, enjoying her newness.

Memories lingered. Those who were before her, he never treated so well, not as he did her. Was he slipping, weakening? Was it regret? Doubt? Second-guessing his choices? No. He’d made a choice once. It cost him dearly. It forced him upon a path that led him to where he was tonight. Every decision had a consequence. He gambled that he chose correctly.

Time was running on. Still, time enough to reward, right?

“We’re not done yet precious. You still have more to do for me. But before we do that, I need to reward you for giving me your virginity. Well, alleged virginity. I want you to feel pleasure. Let me help you.”

Wetting his fingers with the mix of cum, his and hers, he swirled them around in tight circles upon her needy clit, slow, slow circles. Rutting against his fingers, she pushed hard into the pleasure he offered. Holding nothing back, she pressed upon him, rubbing her entire pussy upon his fingers, his palm, marking it with the blended mark they made together.

Puffing nostrils, a low rumbling in her throat, he felt her so aroused, so hungry body fighting to unleash her climax, her release. It was a desire as much now for him as it was for her. Drenching his hand with his gift, her flowing gift, she murmured, shook in quivering waves, ramming her hips against his hand all the more.

Pressing into her, slipping fingers deep within, finding her sacred nexus, he pressed, released, pressed, released. Thighs clenched together. His thumb teased her clit, his fingers curled back upon themselves, come-hithering to caress in the stead of pressure taps. Gyrating against the temptation, the stimulation, she rutted her entire body against his, no longer satisfied with her hips alone. Until she cummed. Until she cummed again. And again. Until her legs wobbled. Until she leaned into the chain-link.

Her muffled cries reverberated within his mind. The gaze of glassy, unfocused eyes met his lupine stare. Slow, careful tugging released the tape inch by inch, saliva dripping from lips like cum from her pussy. Moans left her lips, soft tones of aftershocks within her quivering core.

He traced the lips held in bondage, her full, plump lips with his fingers, roughness upon the smoothness. Dipping fingers down between her thighs, he glossed her lips with their cum, slipping fingers inside her mouth, her tongue licking them clean, sucking them.

“You’re such an agreeable girl, sweetheart. You’re getting into what your part is in this. Now, there are a few more lessons you need to learn, and you will enjoy them, there will be no other option.”

There’s some pain. There’s some pleasure. There’s a choice. Survive the pain, receive the pleasure. Or is it the pain becomes the pleasure? So confused. Was all of this a nightmare? Or a moment of sinful delight? Is there a difference? Is this heaven? Or is this hell? Where am I truly?

As he uncuffed her wrists, her legs wilted beneath her; he lowered her down to her knees with care. Fisting her hair, he rubbed her face against his spent arousal, coating her lips with their cums. Hot breath puffed upon him. Rubbing her face harder against him, he felt her understand her place, his wordless instructions, his expectations. Her lips took him into her mouth.

“That’s it, girl, suck on me like you hunger for cock. I will make you a cockwhore before I finish with you. Keep on what you’re doing. It’s starting to feel excellent.”

Taking in his cock. Face ground against him hard, harder. Thrusting hips. Breathing? Some. Suck. Suck him. Do it. It can be done. Must I do it? Yeah. Like it right now? No. For him. Do it. Do him. Wear him down, tire him out. Be the best? Oh. Be the best cockwhore. He wants to make me one. Attainable goal. Play a role. Get into the spirit. Enthusiasm. Give him enthusiasm.

She felt so good. Was she a professional? Such a mouth, a throat as hers was perfect for sucking, licking. Grinding his cock deep into her throat, her breaths halted, she gagged; he pushed for more. Ramming into her, pulling back, thrusting into her mouth as a second pussy, he fisted hair with both hands, controlling all. Her breath. Her depth. Starting. Stopping. A rhythm formed, bobbing head, thrusting cock, making her take it all to the back of her throat. Bliss. It was all bliss for him. He couldn’t stop. He needed more.

Feeling perfect, that was his desire. Everything had to be perfect when he toyed with his prey. The throat fucking that tickled his cockhead, pushed him to hold it thrust full deep, hips against their lips. Building their endurance with each stroke, feeling their choking on his cock, releasing them, starting again, he played with them, taunted their mouths, their lips, their tongues, their throats, all for his delight. His second gift of the night from her was as pleasing as the first.

A doubt. She wasn’t one of them, was she? Tonight was different. A strict schedule to keep. His watch told him to speed up his work. He couldn’t play all night into the rising sun with this one. He wanted to stay alive. Quicken the pleasures then.

Pumping harder into her, bobbing her head still double-fisted, thrusting faster, gagging her, hammering in, out, in, out, the edge of climax rose ever sharper, a hair-trigger pull short. Her tongue teased him, lick, lick, lick, lips sucking energetically, driving him to the precipice. Her wet, fiery mouth humming around him gave him the tingling warning he was near release.

Focus. He focused on the sensations, working to form the words to tell her. What to say? Motivating her, he needed to motivate her. She needed proper motivation. And instruction. And direction. He slowed his breathing, directed his mind to the task.

“Oh, sweet girl, you’re doing so well, baby. Now, when I cum, you will swallow all of it. You don’t get to choose. You will swallow it all. If you’re a good slut, I’ll let you rest when we finish this.”

The moment. That exact moment he dropped within his core, down into the center of his hips, that single moment was his notice. A contraction. Pulsing eruptions of release exploded out of him, filling her mouth with cum. It wasn’t the torrent from fucking her pussy, but it was ample.

So much cum. Not like in my pussy. Lots. Still lots, though. How do other women do it? Must have more practice than me. I felt him tighten up, then explode. Holding it roughly within, it hit the back of my throat. Easier to swallow. Choke. It choked me. I did it. I swallowed. Yeah. I finally swallowed. Praise. He praises me. Threatens, but is a carrot wiggler, not a stick carrier. Confusing. So confusing.

To his mind, it was perfect bliss. He took her oral virginity. His perception of the matter, even if he knew it, most likely a lie. Using her as a walking, breathing cocksleeve, he felt complete. With each suctioning slurp more, she pulled out every drop he had. Pulling until he was flaccid anew, throbbing no longer, she cleaned him up, kissed his nesting cock.

Acceptance. Tears. Both. Eyes still crying endless tears, but also a look of approval regarding her status. It was a truth she saw within her mind. To stay alive, she needed to be useful to him, serve him. She gave a reason to keep her. That was motive enough to remain determined.

His heart moved because of her. So many girls he’d played with, yet this one, only this one, she did things he couldn’t explain. It was unraveling in his mind. He felt the edges of his rigid worldview soften. Fear. He felt fear. Not for what he’d done so many times before to others. Not for what he needed to do tonight, to do before the sun rose high in the morning sky. Fear that he would lose himself in this one, this one girl, this one woman.

He couldn’t melt. He couldn’t weaken. Not now. Not at this moment. Selfish. He was selfish. None could argue otherwise. He did what was in his interests. And yet, he saw the logic that his selfishness might save them both. He preferred to stay alive. She did too. It felt pleasant to feel this woman serve him, but could she do what he needed her to do to keep them both alive?

Letting his heart melt in the realization that yes, he liked her. He was an amoral bastard, a cruel beast. She wasn’t just prey to him. She wasn’t only an item on a checklist. He hardened his concentration, though. Sentimentality wouldn’t get them through the next day and a half. Cruelty would be kindness. Be the brute. A brute with higher motives.

“Okay, girl, you get to rest, but there is still more for you to do to satisfy my needs.”

Helping her to her feet, he glanced down at her thighs, her calves. Dark toned hose. Black perhaps? Silky with a rose motive upon the cuff? Red perhaps? Red heels? Had he forgotten about them earlier? Did he not care about them? Nude. She was bare save for them. Leave them on. He’d taken all else from her. He left the hose and shoes alone.

Sexy. She looked sexy wearing them. Sentimentality. They reminded him of someone long ago. A desire to see her laid upon a bed of rose petals and satin sheets. Her legs bent pinup style as she gazed with a fiery hunger for him to join her. No. Not now. Those thoughts. I can’t have those thoughts. Not now. This is about the job, not dreaming.

Guiding her to the panel van deeper down the alley, new qualms quavered within him. There were things that needed completion still. She was tired, so tired. The plan had to move forward. He opened the windowless rear doors for her. Dazed, confused, compliant, she entered without question, his hands steadying her.

Entering behind her, he positioned the woman upon hands and knees over a low rest the height to rest her torso, rest her neck, rest her head, to rest like a sleepy kitten over an armchair. Exhausted, she submitted herself to the placement, closed her eyes.

He cuffed her wrists, her ankles with padded leather, attaching metal restraints to the heavy rings of each. Sleepy or not, he chanced nothing as he quickly retreated up the alley to gather his shreds. He left nothing behind. Nothing that could be evidence could remain.

Returning to the unremarkable van, a van without side or back windows, soundproofed, a van that was both easily seen and yet quickly forgotten, he closed the doors behind him, sealing his den. He had tasks to attend to, cruelly kind ones.

Her body slackened upon the rest. He spread her thighs wider, slipping fingers upon her soft, firm, shapely ass, spreading her cheeks. The tender rosebud tempted him, demanding use.

He attempted stroking to erection again, but his body refused. It left him with a puzzle. Alleged virginity or not, he needed to take all three holes, to open her, mark her, prove that he used her beforehand. The alternative wasn’t acceptable.

His kit. Yes, there laid the solution. Open it. Grasping a tube of anal lube, a massive dildo, a condom, a pair of rubber gloves, he kneeled beside her, gazing upon her slumbering form. Slipping on the gloves, he squirted lube upon her rosebud, pressing into her, prepping her for the fresh assault. Wrapping the dildo with the condom, he pressed the tip against the tightness.

A doubt. He felt wistful, disgusted, he had to do it so raw, but he loved it so much to open up an unfamiliar girl. He never hid his desire for roughness, forcing a girl to please him. Savaging her now would save her later. And it would make his cock twitch. He couldn’t forget about that. It made him harden like softer things never did. She’d enjoy it. He’d make her enjoy it soon enough.

Pushing the tip firm against her rose, adjusting the angle, he prepared for the ramming thrust, the raw assault upon her ass. Now. He shoved the hard dildo shaft into her body. Her lips slipped out sharp, keening he’d wanted to savor all night. Thrusting in, out, in, out repeatedly. Her cries of pain, of hate, of terror, made his tired cock awaken, pressing against his pants, yet still weak from the orgasms prior. He’d have her ass eventually, not tonight perhaps, but soon. A toy was a poor substitute for the real.

Imagining how she’d feel to take her with his cock, he fantasized every detail. How she’d feel plowed into, spread open without mercy. Ramming inside her, backing out, ramming in again. It was his dream as he savaged her with the toy in hand. He wanted to take her. His cock’s arousal urged him to take her with something real, not a substitute.

But what about virgins? Real virgins. Those he’d had before frequently, those he knew were the best. Defiling the innocent, that was his next best aphrodisiac. The first was breaking the spirit of the prey. Or was it a tie?

Neither one was a concern to him at that moment. It was the hunger he felt in his core to fuck her raw, to feel himself inside her again, that was his concern. Could he manage a third fuck that night? Would he cum again so soon? The desire was there. The hardness, too. Contemplation. Sure, give it a go.

Wailing subsided. Screams turned her throat raw. There wasn’t enough energy remaining to fight, to cry out, to resist. The numbness set in. Emotional, psychological emptiness filled her, filled her mind with negative space. The void carried more substance than all her thoughts before.

Perhaps I’m a toy. His toy? Would the fear evaporate if I opened myself to his needs? All of them? Was there not pleasure that came on the other side of the pain? Hadn’t that happened tonight? He’d pleased me after he took what he wanted? Yeah. Sadist. He was a sadist. A taker. A giver. Yeah. All three. We crossed lines. A long way back, we passed them. Trust. Can there be trust between us? Maybe. It hurts so much all over. I have to trust him. Goddess, I must do it to last until I can escape.

“I want to feel how good that tight ass of yours feels. You told me you’re a virgin. I think such is a lie, not a fact. I won’t leave anything to chance tonight. You’re the cum dumpster for my needs.”

He won’t leave anything to chance? What? Why? The virgin ploy didn’t work. Duh. A fucktoy. This body is a fucktoy for him. I am. Every hole is his. There’s no doubt about that. Is this what it feels like to break someone? What does it mean? Does the mind cede control to the power over it? Does it surrender, acquiesce? Is this what it feels like to be an object? I’ve become only a means to please a man?

So raw, hard, deep. He rammed himself into her, feeling her ass surrounding him, not the hardest, not the thickest, but aroused. It would take longer to cum. Maybe he wouldn’t. It might be too soon. Having her ass though, he had to have it. The ardor to use her body was too much for him. It overtook his reason, his rationality. The hunter’s instincts gave him purpose. Dominating his prey was the release. Fucking her like he hated her. That gave him satisfaction. Losing himself within her enforced his control. Grabbing her hips, pounding her hard, she became the object of his pleasure.

Lost in pain, she felt weightless, numb. This part was authentic. She’d never had anal sex. This wasn’t the way she wanted it. He took that choice away. Was it better this way? She couldn’t decide. Her clit rubbed within her labia; her labia rubbed against the fur cover of the rest. Each stroke hammering her ass frictioned her pleasure. Pain and pleasure combined. Confusion coated her mind.

His voice, his breathing. His strokes. He neared release. Within her hips, there was a fire. An inferno. He would cum inside her. He hoped that she would cum as he fucked her body. It was a fresh experience. Fucked like a toy, a toy brought to orgasm by the owner. It made no sense. Yet it did. Didn’t it?

Spasms. Spasming orgasmic release. Weak pulses were shooting into her. It was a surprise. For him. For her. Her body went limp, a rag doll, the object of his desires melted upon the rest. The friction was igniting the confusing orgasm within her. So different. Good. Yet different. Again, the pain turned to pleasure.

Melted. He draped himself over her back, spent to the edge of his endurance. He felt emptied within her. Gathering his senses, withdrawing, he felt rather than saw something dripping out. She was so beautiful now to him. He opened her as he planned.

Glancing at his watch, he knew it was cutting his schedule close. Cleaning himself up, adjusting his clothing, he assessed the situation. Her soft crying floated above her exhausted body. Laying a blanket upon her, he caressed her cheek, running his fingers through her hair.

“Sweetheart, you told me you were a virgin. After this final taking, you’re no longer one. That is if you ever were when I grabbed you. As much as you’ve my cumslut tonight, you’re no longer a girl of the light, rather a woman of the darkness. You’re free now from any illusions of how the world works. You can rest for a while. You’ve pleased me. Now, I need to reward you with more pleasure.”

Removing a thick, long, flexible vibrator and matching butt plug from his kit with one hand, he glided the other down to her hips, lifting the blanket. There was no resistance or rejection as he parted her thighs, slipped them within her. She was broken in, broken psychologically, ready for the next stage. His experience told him that much. Taking prey to the edge, then forcing them farther, that got the results he desired.

Stretched out, plowed open, she expected more torture. The buzzing throb of two toys slipped deep within her was unexpected. Or was it? He said she would receive a reward. An electric chill raced up and down her body as the sensations forced her body to writhe upon the rest, her hips dry humping into it.

Tendrils of soft rope wrapped around her thighs, holding them wide apart, frustrating her desire to continue her humping. In their place, she felt her breasts drop through two openings in the rest, her nipples covered with sticky circles. What is this, this thing now? Oh. Tingles. Tingling. Oh my. Goddess, my tits are, my nipples are, hmm. That’s. That’s. Oh, that’s a higher set… ting. And that back there? Goddess, he’s… those vibrations will drive me crazy.

Taunting her with pleasure, he smirked in the darkness, aware that these next moments are as much twisted torture to him as they are depraved delight for her. I like this stage of the game. For you, this will be my gift after all I’ve done to you tonight. It’s amends, a start at least. You won’t know this, not yet, that I hope to make you cum repeatedly without asking for your opinion. I’ll watch your body forced to release its climatic energy without an end. Your low moans and gasps will flow out of you. Then you’ll orgasm, crying out your ecstasy. I’ll hear your cumming, your whimpering, your mewling for as long as I wish to. The best part is you will plead for me to stop giving you pleasure. Ironic.

Goddess. These… things… he’s forcing my body to become so horny. How many? How many orgasms? A handful? So far? First, it was the pain for punishment, now the pleasure. So floaty. I… can’t… yes… yes… yes… Goddess, yes… Cumming. That’s the reward at the end of the rainbow. The gift for being used by him. And… more… pleasure… Goddess. I want to hump that bench. Fucker. I can’t do this. Yes. Yes, you can. I can do it for as long as he desires. Be strong. Cum… cum… cumming. Yes. On edge. Keeping me on edge…

Whimpers flew like leaves spiraling down from the roof to the floor of the van. He leaned back against the van wall, enjoying each fresh sound pulled from her as he remotely controlled her body with the toys within her, upon her. The dominance he had, adjusting the controls, keeping her on edge, pushing her over it, repeating it time and time again, all of it felt like domination. He spent his body. It didn’t mean he couldn’t savor her body’s submission to his control.

His wants. What about what she might want? He had to ask that question. Did he? Why did he care now about that detail? Why had he not thought about it before tonight, with any other prey? Had she been that beguiling that her presence weakened his steely resolve? It made no sense to him. Or did it? Could it be that being a cold, calculating criminal somehow lead him to this place where one prey, one female, one woman, one person could fracture him?

Hold it together, man. If you weaken now, she won’t survive. If she doesn’t survive, you won’t either. Be the heartless bastard that will keep both of us alive. Pull it together. Even if you enjoy playing with your prey, keep your eyes on the bigger picture. Yes, let her have her gifts of orgasms. And be mercenary enough to finish the job.

Looking at his smartwatch, listening to her orgasms, checking his smartphone for any new encrypted texts, he continued the tasks until it was time, absolutely time to go to the destination. It had been over an hour, long enough to reduce her to a spent, melted mass of woman covering the rest. Removing the electrostim electrodes slowly, withdrawing the vibrators carefully, he observed her. He heard her wordless whimpers, felt tears upon her cheek as he caressed it with his fingers. Releasing her bonds, he whispered the softest words his voice could manage, shocking his mind at the vulnerability it displayed.

“You get to rest for sure now, at least for a time. I’ll help you lay down, my sweet girl.”

Pouring her down one side of the rest, she landed upon a thick sleeping bag laid over a sleeping pad. Securing her wrists together, her ankles too, he placed a ball gag upon her mouth before wrapping her up, slipping a pillow under her head.

Rest. Rest at last. Pain. Pleasure. My entire body aches from everything tonight. So, so tired. I should hate him, despise him. I don’t. I genuinely don’t. I don’t understand why. Bound. Gagged. Used. Abused. I didn’t consent. But he gives more than he takes. I don’t know why I want more. Stockholm syndrome? After only a few hours? Maybe.

But he lays me down gently. He doesn’t have to do that. Is it a ruse? What’s his game? I’m still alive. Still alive. I can think of things, horrible things that could come. But he doesn’t have to be kind. I want to know why. I’ll find out why. Just a nap. I need a nap. So tired. I’ll figure out…

Standing up straight in the van, he thought for a moment about the salesperson who suggested choosing the raised roof option when he special ordered it allegedly for a camping van conversion. Her infectious smile and glimmering eyes seemed to float before him as he walked forward to the driver’s seat. A conscience. He felt guilty about lying to that woman. He felt guilty for harming this woman. Guilt. The strongest emotion of the night.

Start the engine. Get the damn turbodiesel going. Put it in gear, Get the fuck out of the alley. Stop being weak. Let the guilt flow if we survive the next twenty-four hours. Game face. Put on your fucking game face. They’ll smell the lack of backbone, the fear.

Pulling out of the alley, he looked both ways down the quiet, empty street. It took a moment to recall which way took him out of the city to where they needed to go. He waited to turn on the lights until he was sure which direction to head, lest his hesitation brought the attention of the police. Behind him, he heard the muffled whimpers of the woman. The rough streets made her plaintively cry out despite the softness of the insulated van floor and the sleeping gear she laid upon. He presumed it was the van’s jolting movement as she tried to sleep. Her sounds became a pleasing song as they escaped the concrete, steel, and glass abomination of the city.

Dancing. This frenetic night of dancing. This stranger in front of me. Is he the kinky one I’ve thought about? Pulsing lights. Throbbing music. His kisses laid down upon my neck. The bites. Pulling my hair. Wet. So wet. Yes, this man. Lips forced upon mine. I want it. I want all of it. Fingers inside me. So dirty. Finger fucking me. Tasting me, feeding me my arousal. Against a wall. Pressed hard against a wall. Ramming me. Fuck. Oh fuck. Hard cock. I need it. Fuck me. Fuck me deep. Yes. So hard. Gripping the fence. Slammed against it, his hips slamming against mine…

Where am I? An engine. I hear an engine. Movement. Driving. Where are we headed? Cuffed. Goddess bless it. It was a dream. I had a sex dream. I dreamed about him, what he did to me. It’s so wrong and yet. Slowing down. He’s slowing down, stopping? Pretend to be asleep. Don’t let him know you’re awake. Let him think you’re passed out still.

Reaching the outskirts of the city, finding better maintained rural highways, the growing silence behind him became concerning. Pulling over onto a gravel road, he stopped to check on her. Feeling her pulse and checking her breathing, he concluded she was okay, at last asleep. Backing out onto the highway, he mentally calculated the distance remaining. He’d have just enough time to make it before the deadline with his prepared prey.

Part 2: The Owning

Darkness gave way to the first fingers of dawn upon the horizon. The turnoff. Somewhere along here is the turnoff. I know why they change the location each time. I understand why they don’t want us to use GPS devices. But trying to find specific road signs with the sun rising in my eyes is a jagged little pill. There. That dirt road. I think. Slow. Slow. Slow. Yeah. That’s the one. Finally.

A slip. Two comments. He was thinking out loud about what needed to be silent. It was too late to stop it. His lips gave flight to the words before his mind could clamp down upon them.

“A quiet dirt road far from the city. No one would look out here for anything.”

Damn it. Why did I say that out loud? I hope she didn’t hear me. What if she did? Reassure her; it’s okay. Gentle words. Make it clear she’ll be okay. Whether she’s awake or asleep, it doesn’t matter. It’s best to say it.

“Your mind might fear that this is where I might dump you, but you’re safe. I won’t leave you. I own you. I’ll protect you. That doesn’t mean you won’t be used. At least I have broken you in before the time that you earn your keep.”

No sounds from her. Perhaps she was still asleep. Or perhaps afraid to speak. There was no more time. He saw the overgrown vegetation on either side of a strangely well-kept driveway. The battered mailbox listed the number. This was the place.

It seemed like an extended drive again, slow, careful driving. Branches overhung the narrow path, forcing avoidance to prevent scraping. Out of the thick timber, an extensive, imposing Victorian-style house appeared in a clearing surrounded by a brickwork circle drive and branched brickwork leading to a parking area, another to a driveway around the back of the house. It was all surreal given the location, but he wasn’t there to comment about the real estate. His focus now was survival.

Shutting off the engine, he appraised his surroundings. Across the front of the house, there were tens of vehicles parked neatly in rows. Music spilled from the house already. The sun was still rising. He hoped he wasn’t too late. The only way to tell was to knock.

Cautiously making his way to the door, he observed the abundance of men dressed in suits around the house. They were brick walls. Well-armed brick walls. Carbines and shotguns slung. Pistols nested in waist holsters. Security exploded from the last venue he delivered to. It had been a close call when the raid went down. The current surroundings made more sense in that context. It was more reason to remain the sadistic beast they expected.

Casual glances washed over him as he walked by, but no other movement. Ringing the chime seemed easy enough. The imposing door of a man who answered sent chills running up and down his spine. Gazing up at him, he saw cold, dead eyes staring back.

Yeah, this is the warm welcome I expected. Scary as fuck. Do it. Do the plan. Get the fuck out. Don’t look back. Will she play her part? That’s the question.

State your business. Don’t piss him off. Stay calm and act professionally.

“I hope I’m not too late, sir. My product is in the van. I’d like to offer it for use by the party guests.”

A long moment of silence. Predator eyes scanning up and down his form. The giant of a man nodded.

“I’ll be back shortly.”

She needs to wake up. Gently. It has to be gentle. She must know the rules. Walk with a purpose, but don’t run to the van. That’s it, focus. She requires a quick orientation. She also needs? What else does she need? Does she need to know? She needs to know she’s safe. She needs to put all her trust in me.

Climbing in the back door, kneeling beside the prey, the product, the woman, he understood the weight of the matter. Looking forward, he saw the sunlight streaming through the trees. The light felt like forgiveness.

The edges of the hard cards she held in her bra called his attention to his pocket. For the first time in his hunting, he pulled out the evidence he never left behind. Turning the driver’s license over, he allowed himself to read her name. In that instant, she became fully human. It tore down the final veil between them. He read over her university ID. No longer could she be just a job, just prey. She became a mission. She became personal.

A tear, solitary, slow, meandered down his cheek. He knew what needed to be done. She needed to know. He laid down beside her, caressing her hair, kissing her cheek. Coaxing her awake with affection, waves of doting affection, he woke her. He began kissing her forehead. Kissing her fingertips. Kissing her inner wrists. He removed the ball gag, her verdant green eyes opened, undoing him. Struggling to keep his control, he searched for his words, for the proper words to tell her what he must.

“I know what comes next will overwhelm you, but you have to earn your keep. And I must pay off my debt to some very unsavory individuals. It’s a Faustian bargain in the balance. If I don’t pay off my debt, I die. If I die, you will too. The only way to pay it off is to offer a fresh product to satisfy the clientele inside.”

Silence. Saying nothing, she stared back into his eyes, a blend of chocolate and midnight. A shallow nod. It was all she could manage. The heaviness of his words froze her ability to speak. What could she respond with given the severity of his explanation?

“Whether you will ever fully understand and accept it, dear girl, I care for you. Know this, above all else. I hate the things I must do, but I wish to live. I need you to live too. What I’ve done to you so far has been a mercy. I’ve saved you from a fate even more savage than what I’ve wrought upon your sweet youthful body. I did to you what would be kindness in comparison.”

I close my eyes and steel my nerves. Will she attempt to run? Will she scream? Will she? I don’t know. I need her to be brave. I need her to be strong. I need her to be determined and resilient. Can she be all those things? Goddess, I hope for both our sakes she can be.

Here it comes—an unknown day. I’m alive. And now I face something worse. Something worse than last night’s tortures. I can only imagine what awaits us. No threats. No violence. Pleading. Asking. He’s feeding me carrots, not showing any sticks. So sore. Pain all over. And he asks me to face even worse. I’m scared. He’s so afraid. I see it in his eyes, the tone of his voice. I need to do this for him. I don’t know his name. Will I walk through hell for him? I want to live. He needs me to live. Yeah. I will. For him, I will.

She nodded, letting slip a single word from betwixt her lips kissing upon his that were a breath away.

“Yes.”

Speechless for several moments, he regained command of his thoughts, his words following.

“Wear my collar and leash, dear girl. I must offer your body’s services for the guests inside. I want you to know that when I used your body, I needed to make sure you weren’t virginal. I had to mark each hole with my cock and cum. If I hadn’t done what I did, the guests inside would have been ten times more brutal to your body. They crave the fresh girls, the full, untouched virgins. They use them horribly, sweet one. They’re so abused that afterward, they must go to a hospital because they are so terribly savaged. I don’t want that to happen to you. It will hurt what they will do to you, but not as much as a full virgin would receive.”

Unblinking, tearful eyes gazed upon him. He whispered a breath away from her ear, an apology he knew must give her.

“I’ve broken you to save you. I hate what I must do. I hope you’ll understand one day that I’ve been cruel to be kind. I want you to live through this day and night.”

Fastening the thick leather collar, snapping the leash upon it, he took away the binding chains from her wrists and ankles, untied the ropes from her thighs. Liberating her from the soft cocoon in which he laid her, he helped her to her knees. Water. Water to wet her lips, lubricate her mouth, soothe her throat. Drinking slow, deep mouthfuls, she smiled. Pulling her close, kissing her forehead, her lips, his eyes filled with tears. Caressing her cheeks, holding her close, he accepted the raw emotions. Steadying his voice, he gave her all the encouragement he had left.

“Please know that I care about you. Survive this day and the night, and you will, we will be free from those horrors. If you earn enough for me, for us, I will take you away from here where you will be safe, safe with me. I know you won’t understand now, but later, you will.”

Helping her exit the back of the van, he steadied the woman upon the weathered brick pavements. Glancing down, the challenge of keeping her upright dawned upon him. Her tall, stiletto heels from the night before were right for sex appeal, wrong for the uneven surface between the van and house. Gazing upon her body, savoring every inch in the warm daylight, he fixed in his mind that he would do whatever it took to keep her safe. Whatever it took.

“Do you trust me now enough to play a role for me? You need to be convincing. I need to do some things to you to make it look as real as possible. They will hurt, I won’t lie. I will show anger, raise my voice, yell at you, do things to you. It’s all for their perceptions.”

Eyes wide. Trembling lips, biting down upon her lower, making it proud, feverish red. Pain. There would be some pain. Pleasure wouldn’t follow. I don’t want it. No, not this. To live? To survive? The balance tilted in her mind. It was a false choice. The line? There was no line. I don’t consent. Not to this. Survival by whatever means then.

Tears were meandering brooks, turning rivulets joining the salty paths of the previous ones. Looking away toward the rising sun, she considered her words, her thoughts. Considering two contradictory lines of reason simultaneously, she chose her words, a whisper upon the wind for him alone between calm and anger.

“I don’t consent to this, to any of this. I never did. I don’t want it, any of it. Do what you will do. I won’t like it, but you will. You’ve liked it all night. I’ll play the role because I want to live, not because I trust you.”

Silence. Contemplation. Gripping her chin in rigid fingers, he glared into her weeping eyes, defiance firing back. A smirk raced across his lips, leaning in, a whisper upon the shell of her ear.

“Resistance. A fire in your heart. Good. That will keep you from giving up. Don’t consent. Fight it with everything you have. That spirit will serve you well. So it begins.”

He drew back his arm, the first slap stunned her, arcing with pain. She didn’t expect it. Or the hard slap upon her other cheek. He gripped her chin tight, her full attention fixed upon him, glaring daggers, she understood the seriousness, the heavy weight of the role. Would there be a line between the fiction and the fact? A gossamer one. Preparing herself for the next onslaught, she stood firm.

Shouting. Cold edged, yelling a breath from her face. Authentic enough to be more than convincing. He didn’t lie. Goddess, brutal honesty. Stinging honesty.

“You worthless cunt, don’t you fucking get uppity with me! I’ll beat you within an inch of your life, and you still must serve the people inside. You’re a commodity to be used and abused! You’re only a product with a price point!”

He fisted her hair, head pulled back, baring her neck, his lips slipped upon her flesh, teeth following.

Bite. He bit me. Another. Pain. Screaming. Wet. I’m becoming so wet. This isn’t. Yes, it is. Ready. I am becoming ready. I don’t want it. My body does. My body doesn’t. It lies. Fuck him. Fuck him to hell.

Pinching. Goddess, my nipples. Did I just scream? Yeah. So painful. Hard. The fucker is making me fucking horny. Hard, hard nipples. Twisting. Rolling. Tugging. Rough handling. So rough. I hate it. All of it. I want to fuck him. Hate fucking. Return the favor.

He fisted her hair, pulling her backward. He grabbed a tool. His favorite tool. Long. Leather slapper tip. Black. Forcing her face down upon the van floor, ass up, exposed. Lashing pairs of cropping. He was impacting her curves, reddening the skin, birthing angry flesh.

Intense, fast strikes laid layer after layer of marks, ass cheeks becoming fiery from his attentions. Watching her legs weakening, he stopped, turned her face up. A dark grin spread across his face.

“Spread your legs, you filthy cocksleeve! Arms behind your back!”

Icy shivers raced her spine. Watching the crop dance upon his fingers, watching the tip flicking upon his palm, she knew what was to come. The dread dropped into a pit where her stomach once existed. She knew she had to play a role. Not this. This was beyond playing along. Or was there a method to the twisted madness? She no longer knew.

It began again.

“Keep your thighs spread, your arms back, or it will be worse!

Smacking her inner thighs, she jolted from the lightning strike of pain. Crying out in tormented rage, she stayed firm. A piercing stare of fury accompanied clenched teeth. Each hard blow sped upward, tingling building inside her center, tingling rising the apex of her labia, hiding under her hood, focusing, circling her clit. Need. Building need. Fighting the desire to close her thighs tight, gripping the crop, she resisted.

The crop danced up and down her inner thighs, stinging marks left behind, a path of depravity tracing the vulnerable flesh now marked, claimed by his brutality. Heat. Rising heat. Her body flushed from pain, from arousal. It made no sense. She hated it. Or did she? Her body submitted to it despite her mind’s rejection. She didn’t want it. But her body hungered for it.

A reprieve, a pause, he stopped the assault, the look of satisfaction gleaming from the golden sunlight laid upon his face

“That was just a warm-up for you. There’s more of this inside. Lots more. More than you can handle.”

More? Worse? Goddess, he’s got to be joking, right? He’s a fucking sadist. How much worse could there be? No. Don’t think about it. Stop wondering. It will not help.

Nipples tip teased slow, methodical, the slapper flipping back, forth, up, down upon each.

Closing her eyes, she prepared herself. She had no precedent for this save the pinching. Burning electricity. Another wave, pairs of impacts, nipples whipped like joysticks to the four directions. Losing count of the strikes, the pain she counted, the levels, the layers. Her mind felt light, floaty, unfocused. Somewhere between the pain and the thinking, she sensed a different space.

He stopped, watching her eyes become distant, her breathing slow, deep. A furtive kiss while fisting hair anew, releasing her. Taking in the heat radiating from her skin, she watched him. His wicked smirk returned.

Warning. He should have given a warning. Fucker. He knows it would hurt like fuck. Psychopath. A psychopathic sadist. Or is that an oxymoron? Screw it. Screw me. My pussy lips feel so wet. My clit needs touching, some attention. Fucking fucker. I hate this fucking game. And I need fucked worse than bad. I want a good fucking now, so fucking much. Goddess blessed teaser. Sadistic teaser. Maybe this is the end? Are we ready to go inside?

A bellowing voice shouted into her face, startling her. She wanted to kill him.

“Filthy little whore! If you don’t listen, I’ll work you over worse than this! When I tell you to do something, you do it!

Cold, quiet words slipped from her lips.

“I will cut your balls off and shove them down your throat. When this is over, I will castrate you with a rusty knife.

Chucking, he whispered casual warmth.

“That’s the spirit! Yes, I know all of it fucking hurt. Believe this, though–this is less than I’ve done before on prey, on someone.”

Shaking her head, closing her eyes, pursing her lips, she growled her displeasure. Her body wanted a fuck. Her mind tried to strangle him. Prey? Really?

“I’ll speak heart to heart with you now. Forget my pretentious speaking from before. It’s part of my role persona. The hard truth here. No games, dead serious. There are dangerous people inside that house waiting to meet you and me. They know me as the cruelest hunter in the Triangle. They expect you to look worked over, bruised, abused. If I didn’t do these things to you, they’d be suspicious. They may still be because you don’t look like the others before you.”

“So you find and abuse women for pay? So they can be use as.. what did you call me? Cocksleeve? You procure women to be used for cocksleeves and worse? Goddess, so why are you doing this now? You feel sorry for me? You suddenly grew a conscience?”

“Guilt. I feel guilt for the things I’ve done. I did something that could’ve gotten me killed. After all, I did the right thing, because I tipped off a human trafficking task force working to dismantle the Triangle. They conducted a raid on a previous trafficking nexus, similar to this one. I saw too much happen to girls, young girls, and women. I didn’t know their names; I didn’t want to know, not then.”

Pausing, he couldn’t look at her, couldn’t bring himself to confess more of his sins.

Curiosity piqued, she forgot the pain. Wanting to know what motivated the guilty sadist, she caressed his cheek, pulled him close.

“Tell me the rest. What happened?”

“The task force saved the trafficked girls and women, over sixty at that location. Some Triangle members were caught too. Because my… young women were rescued before they could generate any income, and they paid me before the raid, they gave me two choices. Return the money plus ten percent or find new girls and women before the next nexus finished its trade to pay off my debt. I didn’t have the money. I spent it on my expenses. If I don’t generate income for them now, they’ll kill me. If you can’t keep up with the demand for your… services, they’ll kill you too.”

“So… you kidnapped me to save your ass? Because you felt guilty enough to repeat your actions? And you were a fucking sadist because… this was a warm-up to what can be expected inside? Great. Just fucking great.”

“My moral compass… fuck it. I’m amoral. Yes, I kidnapped you to save my life. I will keep you safe and alive by whatever means. And yes, inside that house is a taste of what I just did—that and much worse. I told you you need to play a role. It’s one where your life depends upon it.”

“You couldn’t tell me this before you worked me over? Or last night? Right after you grabbed me?”

“I made horrible mistakes. There’s no excuse. When I focus on a task… I focus on single details, not the complete picture.”

Pursed lips, narrowed eyes, quiet exasperation vented, anger flared within. This is too fucked up. Goddess, this is way too fucked up. But. But? He could have done worse to me without a second thought. He didn’t. He put his life in danger to save trafficked girls and women. And he kidnapped me to save his ass. And he told me he would keep me alive by whatever means. He’s a fucked up psychopathic sadistic… a flawed human being. He changed. He wants to live. I do too. The only way to get out of this is to go through hell. Together.

“I’m still angry with you and your decision making. I didn’t consent to what you did to me. I won’t ever consent.”

“Understood on all three items. Are you ready to walk through hell?”

“I’m as ready as I guess I can be. What do we do now? And please tell me it’s not more…”

“Slapping, cropping, nipple torture, or other pain play from me. No more of that will be my doing. You need to stay close to me, and I’ll protect you. Don’t leave my side for any reason, or I can’t keep you safe.”

Nodding, she took his offered hand, standing her up, steadying herself upon the bricks. Attempting her first step, she almost fell. Catching her, wrapping his arm around her waist, he laid warm kisses upon her lips, her neck, attempted apologies.

She offered no resistance, no rejection. Anger pulsed through her still. She craved the pleasure. If not a fuck to sate her hunger, then soft affection. Despite the leash in his hand, the collar around her neck, the gentle kisses tasted of normalcy. She ignored the leather cuffs around her wrists, her ankles at first, but thought them kinky accessories soon enough to fit her part. His arm still encircling her waist communicated protection. Her nudity, her bruises, her pain–all became a footnote in her mind. Dissonance. Waves of cognitive dissonance ebbed within her soul.

Part of her thought about him, his vulnerability, his weaknesses, the imperfections he had. She believed him, all of what he told her. Nothing would be served by lying. There wasn’t evidence to support the supposition. A feeling. Only a feeling? Perhaps thrown into the mix a bit of thesis research working with criminal minds at the county jail. Deception and manipulation by others wasn’t something new to her. He passed the test.

She sashayed out of instability, walking upon the brickwork. Her hips grinding into his aroused him differently than last night. Less a desire to dominate her by force, more a desire to own her as his. Own her—such an alien concept to his mind. Hunting down females, he’d done that for longer than he wished to remember. But owning one, protecting one with his life, his predatory nature morphed toward protecting territory. She was his fresh territory. His territory.

To walk through hell’s gauntlet of use, he’d tolerate, grudgingly, that he had to share her. Once the debt was paid, those who trespassed would do so at their peril. Widen the focus. See the bigger picture. Temper the anger. Think ahead. Remember her name.

Standing before the imposing wood and iron trimmed door, he rang the chime. The mountain of a man who answered before greeted the pair, nodded, stepped aside, allowing entry. Typically the predator, the hunter turned protector gathered the details of the foyer. The doorman was armed as were two more men standing guard.

He carried no apparent weapons, though they patted him down anyway. His distraction, the woman, still held close, made the guards less focused. A single woman of her curvaceous beauty sufficed to bewitch the usually jaded mercenaries. Her eyes, her lips, her poise under pressure was the magic. They looked her up and down; they were men, but her presence projected an aura of confidence. It was more than he needed.

Allowed to pass, they followed the classical music down the hallway to the ballroom, finding the festivities already at high intensity. Cacophonous sounds of fucking, screaming, excitement, pain, pleasure all filled the air with depraved energy. The visual of girls and women being used, abused in so many disgusting ways shocked her. It forced her to hesitate in the wide doorway.

He glanced over, eyes encouraging, the slightest of nods prodding her to move onward with him. A subtle slip in her confidence signaled her fear, her understanding of what would occur. Reading her body, he pulled her closer, the slightest of movements, enough to embolden her, encourage her to face the fears displayed before her eyes.

A deep, cold, booming voice from behind startled her, but he had already heard the footsteps. It was the one person he expected to greet them before anyone else.

“So you brought some fresh product with which to entertain us? Excellent decision. You might just get to live.”

The predator’s flat affect belied the revulsion he felt hearing, seeing, smelling the entity known only to him as Boss. Steeling his nerves, calmly turning with the one he owned, he held his ground, feigned a cordial smile, steadfast in his body language.

“Yes, she’s a new product, but not a virgin. I gave her a test drive to assure that she’s quality.”

“Is she the only one you brought? And not a virgin? You’re a cocky fucking hunter. If you brought a handful, better still a dozen virgin girls, you might have paid off your debt in a fraction of the time she’ll take to do it. Do you think this single presumably cumslutty cocksleeve will last long enough to pay back your debt? Do you know how many hours of services that will take?”

“It was my choice to make. I sought quality over quantity. I offer her services as my only product, even if it takes longer. She’s young, vibrant, tested, and a fresh, unfamiliar face for the clients. She’ll perform well for me.”

Glaring disgust, he shook his head. Twisted mirth filling his laugh, Boss looked them over, motioning them on to the offering area.

“I hope you’re not losing your brutal touch, hunter. Usually, you bring in several worthless sluts at a time covered in all shades of bruises, many bite marks, cropping trails, prod marks, even a bit of blood dried on their skin from your usual work. They’re entertaining as they cower, whimper, cry, plead for the clients. Your style is to break spirits. This one looks too lacking in abuse and much too proud.”

“Again, sir, I selected for quality. And given the time constraints you gave me, there wasn’t time to complete my usual thorough work. She’ll please the clients.”

Shaking his head, Boss snorted, walking off to inspect the newly entered products.

Waiting until the vilest man in the room was out of earshot, otherwise distracted, the hunter pulled his charge close, close enough to whisper into the shell of her ear, close enough to kiss her neck, working to calm her nerves.

“That was the closest call we’ll have in the nexus, sweetheart. The rest of hell’s gauntlet is endurance and pain tolerance for you. For me, it’s watching over and protecting you from the disgusting clients who’ll look for every chance to break the rules regarding offerings and services provided. With that said, we need to walk over to the offering area, register you, and check the service rates. I’ll figure out the best way to earn us the most in the least amount of time with the minimum of services provided.”

“I don’t think I can do this. I can’t look at it, all of it out there. Those girls and women…”

“Those girls and women have hunters who don’t give a fuck about their wellbeing. You have me. They want their cut of the money, screw the health and safety of their product. You have me. Keep this thought in your head–I care about you. I’m the one who will tend to you when you need cleaning up, need a brief rest. I won’t leave you. I’ll prove it. I’ll show you by my actions.”

Kissing her neck, fisting her hair, gazing into her eyes, sincerity shown on his face, breaking through her fears. Is it enough? I don’t know. But who has ever told me they cared about me and meant it? Fucked up, greedy foster homes? Shitty, abusive boyfriends? Clueless, shallow friends? Trust him through his actions. A caring sadist. What was that phrase my classmate told me? Screw the roses, give me the thorns? He gave me the thorns, then gifted me the roses. I have hope. Hope is enough.

A hesitant whisper touched her lips, wavering words in a voice she vaguely recognized as her own.

“I won’t consent to offer services. Tell me to do them, to do them for you because you told me to. Tell me you want to see me being used without my volition, without my consent. Tell me I’m your cocksleeve, nothing more.”

Confusion exploding within his mind, he pulled his body back, incredulity washing across his face, her eyes begging him to say it.

“You… you will provide services to the clientele, whatever they paid for. I… I don’t care if you want to do it or not. You’re… you’re just a cocksleeve I own. I will offer you to whoever I wish, for whatever I wish.”

“You told me to do this, hunter. I’ll never consent. Putting me on the offering is what you do to me. I don’t want it.”

Butterflies danced in her stomach. Tingling circled her core as she felt the heat rising between her thighs, her clit sensitizing, labia engorging, arousal lubricating the now pulsing lips. Her nipples erected to hard, reddish-brown peaks. Her mind didn’t want it. Her body dissented. Looking into his eyes, she slowly blinked, whispering a seductive taunt to goad him. She trusted that the thorns would come heavily upon her, but he’d gift her the roses later, much later.

“If this woman is just a product, an owned cocksleeve, what does the hunter want to do with it?”

Arousal overtook his senses, throbbing need demanding release as her words graced his ear. The concept of her servicing others stirred his anger, but her adamant nonconsent, that was the stimulus that ignited him. Yes, he owned her. He’d taken her thrice at night, and morning warm-up too. Pain. He wanted to taste the pain play he gave her again, knowing she didn’t want it. Wondering how hard she’d fight, how hard she’d resist if he denied himself the knife in the play.

Fisting her hair tight, listening to her whimpering, he pulled her along to the offering area, energy arcing through his body. Sidelong he saw her eyes glancing upon him, tears falling, her lower lip bit to an angry redness.

He wanted to torment her with vibrators until she pleaded for him to stop, then continue until it satisfied him.

He wanted to bend her over a desk and ram her full of him without forewarning, hearing her cry out in pain.

He would crop her ass until it was cherry red that he wanted to do again, right there in the ballroom. Make her tears gush, arms cuffed behind her back, kneeling, thighs tied spread wide, bent over the bench in the room’s corner. Cropping her cunt, cropping her clit when her entire ass was fiery red from his handiwork. Put her on display once he was through. Those thoughts, those specific thoughts, made his cock demand freedom as he’d never thought possible.

Goddess, she found that part of me that feeds upon the taking. Hit that button hard with a sledgehammer. I don’t want to share. But when she’s offered, I get to watch. Gang bang. Oral pounding. Ass fucking. Pussy pounding. Cum showers. She gets taken—voyeurism for me. The only time I’ll tolerate it.

Focus. Look at the larger picture. Sign her up for the offering list. The sooner she provides services, the sooner we can finish. I can hate the clientele when they use her. Does this make me a pimp? Fuck. Stop rabbit holing. Sign her up, get her servicing. Daydream later.

They waited their turn; the predator scanned the line, the floor, the incoming products. He detested surprises when they weren’t related to a current prey hunt. Wandering eyes cast glances upon her, even when they belonged to clientele already receiving services from other products. Mental notes about potential threats filled his mind. A rough count of girls and women in the ballroom, off to the side in the private salon room, entering and leaving what he presumed was the aftercare room—nearly one hundred females across the gamut of ages.

Get her servicing. Protect her. Figure out how to shut down this nexus. Perhaps get Boss captured too? One thing at a time. Save the girl. My territory. My girl. I am taking down the rest if an opportunity presents itself.

The offering agent cleared her throat, glaring at him. Pulling his product forward, the woman looked over what he owned. Her gloved hands were far from gentle, spreading her mouth wide, examining her pussy, penetrating her ass. Attempting to stretch her, that was the line. Glaring down at the crouched agent, he formed his most aggressive tone and withered the overzealous woman with his words.

“Unless you intend to pay for your pleasure, you don’t get to rough her up. That is the rule, is it not? You want to touch and play with the product; you pay up first. Is that still the Triangle policy?”

She nodded, looking furious at the reprimand. He hunted enough to know that when the clientele wasn’t working ways to break the rules and get free services, the Triangle nexus staff would be. Her sharp tones reminded him of a petulant child.

“Yes, it is. I see you tested and worked her over already. I see the cum and marks you’ve left. She doesn’t fit virgin parameters. Standard product rates will apply. I already know your identifier code. Your reputation precedes you. Enter the servicing line.”

Standing. The standing in lines aspect of the servicing feels so oddly normal as if it were an amusement park. That’s a perverse thought. No, that’s not an image I want to have running through my mind. There are too many products and also only a few available servicing bays in this room.

This house is sizeable enough to have many bedrooms converted to dark pleasure dungeons. Those are almost ruleless zones; almost anything goes in them. They’re used for as long as the client wishes. The cost is billed by the hour from their prepaid Triangle account. Or, for the most disgusting of clientele, they have a revolting option. There’s the unsanctioned cash option that gets one an untraceable, undocumented product. The two hunters I learned about that thought the latter option was too good to pass up, I made them a priority to cease their trade. She doesn’t know how far I’ll go to protect her, how far I’ve gone to make right my past wrongs.

Ah, Goddess bless the fuck! A virgin was right in front of us. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I wasn’t paying attention. She can’t see this. I can’t let her.

Fisting her hair, he turned his property toward his chest, holding her firmly against him, whispering a warning.

“Don’t move. The product in front of us was a virgin. She was taken to the servicing area allocated for them. I can’t stop the sounds you’ll hear, but I won’t allow you to see it. What occurs there won’t happen to you.”

Wrists and ankles of the girl attached to the spanning rack preceded the sickening smirk, the lascivious laughter of the client who paid for a full list virgin package, then added several optional selections. Adjusting her position, cranking the rack to spread her thighs wide, so wide that would make a torturer laugh. His ghoulish glee sickened the hunter.

Keening cries escape the product as her legs part almost too wide to be humanly possible. A sadist’s sadist, that’s what he is, that despicable thing passing for a human, the predator fumed.

He was slapping hard on her face, her head whipping side to side with each impact. The man became bored with the results, moving on, savaging her breasts. Gripping the flesh, then pulling upon them, waves of rough slaps laid down countered with savage nipple tugs. He continued his path of brutality, landing crop strikes over her pussy, focused toward the lips, the clit hood. Too much to take in, even by the one who hunted women for use. The screams of terror, horror, pain resonated in his mind, reminding him why he changed his path.

I’ve never offered a virgin product. The compensation is high, but never enough to assuage the guilt of knowing what befell such girls. If the one I own could only understand that while I’m perverse, amoral, deviant, I’m still honorable. How she views me matters more than anything else.

That virgin girl. The nipple clamps tightened down around her sensitive nubs. The idea of doing it, it makes me hungry, but not with her. Only with my territory. Clit clamps, yes, those do arouse me as I think about the evil they fuel within my mind. Still, that girl does not understand, has no experience with such aggressions.

And now he spun her head down, forcing his thick, long, throbbing cock hard against her face, his balls slapping her nose. The gagging. How does that sound carry so far in this busy room? I can’t watch it. I hear him, though, listening to his voice turn husky, deep, shouting insults at her, then he falls quiet. The bellowing growl that he’s cumming into her follows soon after. My hope is the cum didn’t fill her nose as she’s inverted, but from the sounds she made, I know it had.

The rack turns again; the chinking sounds of the geartrain as it moves the form are clear enough. Slapping off the nipple clamps, the sounds she makes. Her clit clamp too. The screams fill my head with revulsion, yet I know the flavor of this sadism, this pain play. Impaling her with his cock, fucking her without mercy or care, those animal growls he makes, breath becoming quicker, shallower, then the groaning satisfaction of him cumming inside her. Slapping her pussy, I see his cum fly from his hand as he lays down his impacts. Pinching her nipples, her clit flat with vise-like fingers. Even in my most depraved desires, I don’t think I could bring myself to harm someone like that. But I did in the past. I am facing my works as this virgin faces them now.

The frame turned again; he angled her as to meet his hips. Flaccid. That was his problem, but he remedied that with spanking her ass until she screamed, whimpered, begged, pleaded. He continued with a crop, not stopping until her flesh became a hot, angry red. That resolved his erection, hardened again. He took her rosebud with a hard ramming stroke, plowing her open with her screams echoing in my ears. Goddess watched over her, perhaps. He cummed inside her, ending his deflowering package, then leaving harm behind.

At least her hunter had the ethics and morality to take her to medical services. Perhaps he will become reborn with a conscience as I was.

Those men over there. College-age? Frat boys? Yeah. They’re paying for you. A baker’s dozen were now waiting in a semiprivate alcove off the ballroom—time for us to enter hell.

“Time for your first offering, dear. It looks like a fraternity freaks outing. It’s a high-income servicing opportunity. And a trial by fire.”

She nodded. Watching the boys as she and her protector neared, their bulges weren’t challenging to see. Nor their lack of manners. The unknown frightened her, and these clients were acting unpredictably. Longing for the arcing shock of the crop upon her ass by the only man she trusted strengthened her resolve. Pain from him still carried the promise of pleasure to follow. The thorns. I crave his thorns.

Waves of fondling, groping hands assaulted her, birthing disgust deep within. A feigned look of contentment cloaked her emotions. Slitting their throats sounded more appealing than suffering their attention—time for him to prove his promise to protect me.

A congenial smile flooded his face; firm words expressed the weight of the matter standing before them

.

“You all appear to be new to a nexus and quite ready to savor some debauchery, so I’ll be brief. I know what you paid for. I know what is on the menu. You will adhere to the rules of the Triangle and enjoy its services as offered. If you deviate from or break the rules, I will report you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Uh, whatever bruh.”

The tanned surfer twat lookalike made light of my words. Best to head this off with more explicit language. The more time I waste dealing with idiots, the less time we have to generate revenue.

Hard toned words dressed in biting snark fired back.

“Well, bruh, when I say report you, I don’t mean like lodging a typical customer service complaint in a restaurant. I mean, I report you to a Triangle adjudicator, an individual who has the authority to resolve complaints on the spot.”

Blank stares met his eyes, then dismissive chuckles. It was time he laid out the facts of the Triangle’s rule enforcement division with a razor edge.

“Adjudicators are rule enforcers who are judge, jury, and executioner regarding violations. They give summary judgments. There are no appeals. And if one of you frat rats think about exploiting a rule loophole, which there might be some that exist, you’ll face someone even more dangerous than an adjudicator. Me. I hunt people for a living. I may not be able to deal with you and your rule-bending during your visit to the nexus, rules are rules, but I will find you wherever you go and deal with you in the most painfully brutal ways imaginable. No one will find your body, ever. But, by all means, feel free to test the Triangle. And me.”

Dead silence, wide eyes, edgy looks back and forth ripped through the group. The hunter grinned, levity returning to his syllables.

“Please enjoy your visit to the nexus and experience all the pleasures your purchased services can provide. Also, please remember that the equipment and adornments of the product whose services you paid to use must remain on her body as received. Violation of this rule, as I’ve explained, can result in undesirable outcomes.”

They stood immobile for several moments, the hunter’s words processed in the college boys’ brains. Hesitantly, they moved to encircle the woman whose body would be their center of enjoyment, unease still ebbing in them. Their awkwardness evaporated the more clothing they removed, boastful challenges among the boys growing in energy until they began to touch her, respectfully, under the watch of the most dangerous predator in the house.

He proved his promise, enforced with persuasive words. But will he need to support his words with violence? His violence. That unique violence, neither empty nor senseless. He has controlled, focused emotion. Emotions, yes, he has them. He wears them in secret or so he thinks. I felt them flow across my body last night. I feel them flow across me now as he watches. His displeasure as these boys have me, the fury he holds firm, tight upon a leash as he held mine when we walked in. Fuck. My body is his. He won’t let me forget it. I won’t either.

Those unskilled hands, those fingers racing with mindless abandon. Children in the bodies of men. They’ll never be those of the hunter who found me. The one who broke me. No, the one who made me. Such poking and prodding. Let it go. Show him what place he holds within me. I gaze upon him with each new defiling of the unworthy. I lock my eyes upon his, defiant, unwavering, telling him I do all of this for him, for us. An orgy? In name alone. Gang bang? Perhaps. A gang of weak boys proving to each other they’re real men.

It didn’t take them long to fuck me, did it? Cock slipping into me? There’s no buzz from anticipation, no tingling expectation of his brutality. Ramming. Raw, raw ramming of inexperience. That one fills me pounds me. Goddess, I’m a dirty, filthy cocksleeve for him. I know the place he wants me, me surrounding him, taking him in, never accepting, refusing him, but he takes me anyway.

Gripping cocks, double fisting the heat of them, stroking them. It’s a thoughtless, numb, dumbness. Yeah, they wrote words upon me – slut, whore, fuck hole, cumdump, bimbo, none of it matters. They can mark me with their thoughts of me, but none can touch me, not like being his cocksleeve. Filling my mouth with flesh, stroking one shaft to an explosion, then another, such waves of use. His use of me is prime, dominant. My throat is used by them, but it never submits. My body, my mind, my spirit can only be owned by one, one alone.

Tired. So tired. Fucking my ass, my face, my cunt, all dripping with the last, filled with the next. Goddess, covered with cum like glossy joy shooting from their cockheads. Their taste is not the tang, not the sweet of him. Loads, so many loads, fill me like a cheap meal. They stuff me with hardness, one for each hole, one for each hand, the one goading the others to use me more than the last. That space, the floaty area that I last felt, I see it in my mind, letting go I enter it. He’s there, waiting, watching, fisting my hair, pinching my nipples, biting my neck. I smile not from their attempts at pleasure, but because I know I cannot free myself from him. But why would I wish that? His roses trump the discomforts of the bangers. They can’t show me the sharpness he can upon my flesh, teach me the pain he draws me along until I feel the joy on the other side.

I won’t kill them, not yet. They take her like they own her. She’s cheap flesh to use and abuse. I’m guessing they think this is the best way to savage a girl their way without worrying about consent or repercussions. They’ll never know her like I do, as a particular part of me that I never had before. A spark of delight in the darkness, her body is fitting me so well as I take her one orifice at a time for my pleasure alone. They write their point of view upon her with that marker, but it will wash away. I’ll cleanse her of their marks, their attempts to devalue her. Yes, she’ll need a good wash, a dry, preparing for the next round.

Those lips of hers painted with their whiteness. She wears attempts to make her theirs as she swallows one after another. They tasted fresh, perfect, unforgettable. No matter what they do to her, what I found, what I experienced, is immutable. Her hair, so soft, so long, it fits so well within my fist. Now sullied with their cum. I can fix that malady. Bathe her until she’s liberated from their filth. Those thirteen boys can’t do now what I did alone. They have the energy of their youth, but not the skill of experience.

Gagging. Disgusting little pricks. My mouth is so dry. The cum is thickening in layers on my tongue. I need water, but I don’t think I can move. Goddess, my throat is so sore. Cocks rammed to the back of my throat, fuck. Too many. Are they done yet? How many fuckings did they do, can they do? Oh, yeah, gang bang. At least one cum per boy, three holes, two hands, maybe near thirty rounds of cock creamed if they cummed twice? Bukkake to the extreme. Sticky. So sticky. Still, he stands there, my beast of a man, guardian, beacon of hope, waiting for them to stop. So fuzzy. So tired. Are they gone? Can we go?

She survived worse for wear. So did those pathetic college brats. For now. The first of many rounds. Goddess. I want to unsee what they did—used hard for what they paid. Far from enough. A start. I want to kill them all—anyone to touches her like this. But we need to live. Let it go. Look at the endgame. Aftercare. She needs aftercare.

It feels like flying, his arms lifting me. Strong. That strength that grabbed me grabbed me tight, brutal last night. So protective now, cradling me close. I must be dreaming. I was their cheap toy, but he treats me like a priceless jewel. He feels like a dream—harshness in his hands, but tenderness in his heart. I want to nap, fall asleep in his warmth.

They left her on the floor, not even the bench they used to steady her. The floor. Like trash. A bath, a quick wash, to freshen her for the next round. I know they tire her body, needing water. No words pass between us now. I read her body, her gaze. I’m far too angry with myself to make conversation, but I keep my touch gentle, lavishing this girl with love, tenderness, caresses, tracing every curve with my fingertips. Freshened, clean, looking almost like she did the first moment I captured her. That water bottle drained, her lips fresh, rosy pink, kissable. Kisses, she has more than earned them, more than earned being loved on, kissing her neck, nibbling her earlobes, the flick of my tongue upon her collarbone.

I need to say something. I’m not sure if now is the time. Perhaps I should keep it unsaid for now. Her name. I know it and the power it has. It needs to be saved for later, when it’s most needed, when she needs to know she’s not prey, not product, not a cocksleeve. When it seems the darkest, that’s when I’ll let her know. Then I’ll tell her mine. I want to end this anonymity, this perception of predatory and prey, give her the choice. It’s only right. But for now, there’s motivation to share.

“Sweetheart, this was just the start. Stay strong for me. You need to keep strong and keep servicing the guests. I’ll care for you all through the day and night. Just stay strong for me.”

I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing. Everything seems so surreal. The bath, the gang bang, his affections, his attentions. So I look beyond him, across the room, working to make sense of it all. My stockings. He washed them, attempted to dry them as best he could. Seated upon such a soft towel, he slipped them on me, gazing up at me, sliding my stilettos back on, the leather bindings, my collar, the leash. All with love. As close to love as I know it to be. Then I fly again in his arms. How I adore the strength and security they provide. If I could only admit that I want his touch like this, especially after the thorns he lays upon me.

The line. We’re back to the line. Setting me down upon the floor, steadying me, I’m taken by the power he exudes, yet he doesn’t flaunt it like the guards. Soft around the edges, hardened poise, protective soul. It’s our turn again. Too short a time to savor his company. A trio of older men. Impatient. Another gang bang? I heard their order. I’m the flavor of the night. They thought they were witty, sophisticated, complimenting me on my hair, my taste in stockings, my curves. Savages. They’re savages under a veneer of civility. Beasts with rage. Angry fucking. Quick, rough, merciless. Then it’s over. Stretched by their fingers and cocks, a quickie cocksleeve service for them. To take the edge off. Perhaps a blessing.

I moaned for effect, faked the enthusiasm, played the game. I’m brave for him, my rock, my defender, what I feel for him, Goddess. What I do for him, I’ll only do for him alone. How can I not? He shows more love and care to me than I’ve experienced in my lifetime before last night before he laid bare his truths. He takes me to bathe again, tending to me without complaint. I see his sadness worn veiled, but he can’t hide it from me. I know his weaknesses, how he carries his emotions.

And hour after hour, he repeats the cycle for me. Client after client, service after service, he carries on. He reminded a client of the rules for breath play while fucking product, a strong recommendation just short of a threat to kill. Another client, one who dried my pussy before fucking me, I saw my hunter eye him, a silent urging to finish and leave. Such soreness around my throat, between my thighs. Did I cry out? I think I did. Maybe.

The slapping. My cheeks. My ass. My pussy. My nipples. My clit. Fire consuming my body as my flesh turned to fire. It seemed I was the favorite for that. Six client servicings in a row, all of such play. Those floggers, those crops. Oh, yes, my inner thighs. My stockings did little to reduce the pain. Yeah, I cried, I screamed, I yelped, sound effects enough to please those sadists until their bodies tired of the game. I was past tired. I throbbed. I burned. His eyes clenched tears until he bathed me. Only then did he let them slip. I tasted them with my lips, licked them with my tongue, lapped them away. Ice. Yes, the ice. It helped the pain. His affection, his words. Love. I hear it in his voice. He doesn’t say the terms, and yet it floats upon the air. Love.

Torment filled my mind from the start of this day, going into the afternoon and then the night. Her keening, her whimpers, all her tears tear at me as raptor claws, ripping at my heart. There’s nothing I can do by stand by her, protect her to the limit allowed by the rules. Damn the rules. By the end of this, they’re valid targets. Until then, my focus is on her safety, keeping her alive, staying alive myself. But her body is worn down; her spirit is weakening. I keep count of the amount of revenue she’s generated for the Triangle. With each abuser, we come closer to repaying the debt. So close. The cries of pain rip at me. Fuck the debt. I’m nothing without her now. This world I put myself in is no longer mine. She’s my world now, my entire universe.

There’s nothing I can do to keep her entirely safe. Her pussy has been used and abused too much. She has no wetness left. I’ve tried to use the lube so much lube. I can’t keep up. Too much demand, not enough time. Is this how someone feels when they know they’re powerless? All this time, I’ve felt invincible, a predatory without equal, a hunter without fear. The horror that surrounds me, watching her servicing clients who savor her unavoidable rawness, I can’t stop it. The rules must be followed. Services paid for must be rendered, and the debt remains. Less. It’s so much less than before.

Weakness. Fire. Pain. Everything feels like torture. I remain determined, and won’t stop until we see this through. Won’t I? I don’t know. I’m uncertain any longer. Those fingers of his. Combing my hair. His kisses like balm upon my skin. He’s my guiding star, my compass. If I could but sleep in his arms, it would be roses enough after the hours of thorns. His embrace. Those arms are surrounding me, engulfing me with his energy. Kisses. I give him kisses. Parting his lips, I tease his tongue; I’ve energy enough for that. I must last until the end. These roses must carry me through, no matter what.

The line. The line. The fucking line. She’s back here again. I don’t know how she does it now. She’s worn down such that I hold her up close beside me. The chatter I hear now is of her being this wonder of nature. She’s broken the servicing statistics for any product in the number of continuous clients. She’s outdone product at any nexus by a wide margin. Such thinking doesn’t bode well for us. Popularity cuts both ways. It may likely break her.

That couple, that man and woman. I feel a bad vibe coming from them. The men I can comprehend, but women coming to the nexus, the kind that comes here are the coldest, most brutal of clients. I’m uncertain I can keep my protective instincts in check. I must. Nothing is more important than keeping what I own alive. No time for lube. Shoving her face between the woman’s thighs, holding her face into her pussy, that’s tame enough for her, but the man is savaging her ass raw as she does it. Cunt eating while having her body shoved with each cock stroke. Those bitter words, orders to make the woman cum or else her husband will do worse.

I won’t kill them. I won’t break their necks. I won’t terminate them here. Even as he chokes my universe while fucking her like an animal. He doesn’t cum. He rests while keeping his cock deep inside her, fucking her more, then resting again. Hearing his wife cumming in wave after wave of orgasms, my entire world keeping her rolling, I have to control my emotions. Looking at the bigger picture.

I force myself to focus again upon it, the debt, my life, her life, keeping us both alive, getting us out of here. I use my senses grounding technique to count down the anxiety, the fear, the worry. I must use it. Five things I see–My world, the ballroom, the couple, the guards, the girls and women; four things I hear–my world, the couple, the sex sounds, the chattering; three things I feel–my beating heart, the warmth of my girl, the hope of us; two things I smell–her musk in my nose, the scent of her hair; one thing I taste–her lips. I can do this. I can hold on and finish this out.

Tears. My tears. Falling tears like rivers down my face. That woman must feed off them. Her cunt must love them as they mix with her cum. I taste both the salt and the tang. I feel the man’s cock plowing into me so deep. The sensations are unfamiliar. The pain, too. Variety. Sweet variety. What would my life be now if he hadn’t kidnapped me? Would I still be so clueless about the darkness of the world? Would I even understand what’s acutely essential in life? Would I know love? Goddess, it’s got to be Stockholm Syndrome. I feel like I’m falling for this psychopathic sadist. All this hell I’m going through now, he put me on this path. I should hate him with all I am. But I don’t. I’m so, so tired now. I want to sleep and never wake up. I don’t want to know any more about this disgusting side of existence. I don’t know if hope is enough anymore.

The look in her eyes, the set in her jaw, the way she carries her body now, she’s giving up. No, she can’t do that. Not now. We’re so close, very close, to ending this nightmare. It will be now that I share the secret. When we go to the cleanup area for aftercare, that’s when I use it. Her secret and mine. She’s too vital now. She’s come this far, so far. The moment is now.

His arms. Those arms that have carried me so many times now, they never tire. He’s a machine powering on as my strength ebbs. I have to let him know that I’m so tired. He needs to know that I can’t do this. I’m not strong enough. I have to apologize to him, tell him I’m so sorry. Tell him I tried, but I’m not the woman he thinks I am. Surrender. I give up.

“I’m not able to do this any longer. I’ve got nothing left. Every part of me hurts. I so sorry that I’ve failed you.”

“You can do this; I know you can. You are Lizbeth Anderson, who studies at University in Texas, Dallas campus. I am Bryce Dalton of Beaumont, Texas. You’re a graduate student. Your driver’s license date of birth tells me you’re twenty-five years old. I’m guessing you’re at least working on a master’s if you haven’t finished it already. You don’t give up. You face challenges. You’re a fighter.

“You… knew my name all this time? And your name is Bryce? When were you going to tell me this, any of this? Goddess, why now?”

“I saved it for when the moment was most vital. You need to know that I’ve seen you as a person with a name, a life, with purpose before we entered the nexus. I need you to understand that you are the most critical person in my life, not because of my debt, but because you touched me from the moment I felt you. You’re different from anyone I’ve ever met. I don’t know why you came into my life the way you did. I know that you undid me that night, despite my bravado, you took me apart and put me back together differently. I. Need. You. And I need you to do this, whatever it takes, be defiant, don’t consent to the evilness here, do what you need to do. Make it.

“Bryce, I’m scared. I’m so afraid. I’m not enough, not powerful enough, not brave enough, not enough in any way.”

“You’re my world. You’re my universe. You’re the one person in my life who didn’t reject me after seeing who I am, who I am completely. You hate what is ugly inside me, but you stand by me in this hell we share. You give me hope that I can live to redeem myself by making right what I’ve done for so long.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I don’t want to die without telling you what I feel for you. You need to know what you mean to me. You need to know that… I want to give you all the roses you deserve for standing by me.”

Her mischievous smirk made him curious.

“You need to work on your timing, Bryce. You seem to wait too long to share the important details. Maybe I won’t castrate you. But I’ll be teaching you when to share important information. Goddess, you know how to frustrate me. And yet endear yourself to me.”

“I’m not a very loveable person.”

Exasperation puffed free from his lips.

“I don’t know about that. You’ve got a lot of things to change in yourself, but I see things that I could grow to love. When we get out of here, alive, we can work on the complicated relationship we have.”

“That’s fair enough. We’re still short several thousand to pay off my debt.”

“I need how many more clients we need.”

“It depends upon what you feel you can do. The kinkier the offering, the more it costs. But the greater risk it will be more demanding, such as more cropping, clamping of nipples and clit, electrostim, more intense pain play, basically more sadistic than vanilla fucking.”

“My ass and cunt are aching, and my mouth is so sore. I’m willing to risk the sadism if it pays things off faster.”

“Then, let’s get your service offerings adjusted and hope for sensual sadism versus hardcore.”

Time winding down, the night turning to early morning. Depraved kink clients are milling about, looking for the best deals. This was the most dangerous time of the nexus trade. The softer kinksters were the first clients of the day as they preferred the fresher product. The darker ardors sought out, the more broken of product, ones well bruised, well abused, ones that they thought could be worked over the easiest because they lacked observant hunters. None of them expected me.

Legs put apart by a spreader bar, wrists cuffed behind, chains attached to the rings. The crop laid upon her, my Lizbeth, what I thought would be the worst, but was more so. Two abusers, each with a crop, tag-teaming her, front, back, sides. Standing firm, her smugness annoyed the pair, her yelps the only sounds she’d make. My girl, the defiant one, now pissing off clients, the ones becoming even more determined to break her. Still, she persists. Even with tears streaming down her cheeks, whimpers escaping her lips, she persisted. When the pair tired, another group took their place.

Crops, floggers, clamps, purple wand. No matter what they do, no matter the number, I can overcome the pain. They’re only thorns. The floating space beckons me again. I’ve missed it so long today, tonight. Mmm. Pain. Sharp-edged pain. Nipples cropped, arcing jolts. Floating. Flying. My Bryce is there. His roses. He is kissing me, nibbling me. Each swat, each impact, I see the roses I dream about. Oh, yeah, the feel of his lips between my thighs, soft swirling licks, flicks with his tongue. Making me cum. Yeah, I want his tongue there, right there with my legs spread, arms cuffed to a headboard. Slow licks. Slow kisses on my pussy lips. I want all that. I want his roses. That was my cunt cropped. Such a lighting bolt sting. Slip that tip between my folds, feed me my cum, Bryce. I want to taste myself. Floating, so much floating, dreamy floaty joy.

That soft, unfocused look she has been worked over, yet she’s in bliss. Subspace. She’s there, I can tell. I want to put her there, but with roses. She’s had enough thorns for a while, enough torture, enough roughness. I want to taste her on my tongue, lapping her arousal as I bring her to orgasm. Then another, another, another. Finger her, dipping my fingers within her, tasting her sweetness. Roses. Tons of roses for her.

Hmm. Roses. They come in many forms. My favorite now is hearing that the debt is paid, plus ten percent, insurance that there can be no weaseling over the amount. The rules are the rules. I provided my part. I’ll have no money to start life over, but I’ll be alive. Lizbeth will be alive. That’s enough—more than enough. One last round of aftercare, at least within the nexus.

She hums softly, warmly. Washing her hair, conditioning it, sponging her skin, kissing her neck, she feels more precious than ever. I know how close we both came to losing our lives. But she faced the worst of it. She took the brunt of my mistakes. I don’t know how to repay her for her sacrifices, make up for what she lost because of me. Questions, she has so many questions, so many fears, so much uncertainty.

“You kept me safe. You kept me going. Will you keep me after this? I don’t want to be abandoned. I know what you said, but you’re free now. You can do anything you want.”

“No, Lizbeth, I promised you I would protect you. I told you honestly how I feel about you. I sense that you’ve had people let you down before, I’m guessing often. I can’t prove my words; I can only show you my actions. I hope you’ll keep me too. I’m as flawed as one can get. I have a taste for pain play. And I love to take without consent. But I have to give up those things because it’s not fair for you to take the brunt of my ardors.”

Silence. Her quiet humming halts. Tilting her head, leaning it back, considered words fill the space between us.

“I want you to have all of me if you keep me. It’s been running around my head since we arrived here that denying you part of me when you’ve offered all of yourself to me, it’s not right.”

“Even if you didn’t give yourself to me, I would still keep you. I was wrong to kidnap you and harm you, attempting to break you down, turn you into just a piece of property. I’m sorry, so very sorry, Lizbeth. I can’t forgive myself for all the horrible things I did to you.”

“Yes, it hurt, you scared the fuck out of me with your knife and persona. But you’re not beyond forgiveness. You’ve been bad for so long, but you started the change to become a better person all on your own. You’re so good to me now. And I believe you to be sincere, even though you have more than a few things you need to work on.”

“I’m terrible. I think I have you fooled.”

“Your actions proved to me otherwise. Don’t worry about the past; it will only make you depressed. Don’t worry about the future; it will make you anxious. Focus on the present. I’m here in the present with you. Let’s enjoy the gift for what it is, a way to become better people together.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Give me roses, lots and lots of roses. Save the thorns for another time, another place, at least for a while.”

“I can do that. After the past day and night, I can’t stomach playing with thorns for a long while. You need to recuperate after all that I asked you to do.”

Turning to face me, gazing deep into my eyes, I see an understanding I never expected.

“I told you I’d never consent to do those things or the rough play you enjoy. I never said you couldn’t tell me to do them because you enjoy them. If you told me to service another person or persons, I would do it for you, not because I want to or that I would like it. I know you will keep me safe. Even if I don’t consent to it, you will keep me safe.”

“I don’t deserve you or your understanding of me. Not at all.”

“I loved the feel of fighting you, I want to fight you as you take me without my volition, but no knife. Call it a concession for safety.”

“I already considered never using the knife with you again long before now. But are you sure you want to be forced?”

“Silly Bryce. I love to push your button about nonconsent. I know it makes your cock hard. Telling you, I’ll fuck someone else if asked makes you want to be rough with me. You want me for yourself, you alone. You want to own me. I’m not blind. And I got into your head in the past two days.”

“I’m keeping you on a short leash for a bit.”

“Teaser! You have to give me roses if you want to do that.”

“How about this rose-we get your dried off, get your hose and shoes on, find a robe, and I carry you out to the van? There’s one last thing I need to do to close this chapter of my life.”

Leaning in, she whispered her hypothesis.

“Report this nexus?”

His quick nod made her grin explode.

“Let’s get out of here. You have a cunt to care for.”

###

One thought on “The Breaking and The Owning

  1. Well Lindsey being a fan of yours for a long time, I will say to you that this is probably one of the best stories you have ever written! OMG! The style in which you wrote it also was so fresh and exciting! Totally erotic! Totally a turn on! Some the the finest erotica I have ever read! You truly are an amazingly talented writer! Thank you for such great entertainment! (willy303204 twitter)

    Like

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