“Thanks, Shades.” Shivering in the Armstrong Suites parking lot in Denver, I hold up the hotel room key card. After the show tonight, we’re enjoying a respite from our bunks and indulging in something we rarely get to sample these days: actual beds.

“No problem,” Shades says. Hard to see where he’s looking through the dark glasses he always wears, but the tightness in his shoulders speaks loud and clear. Something’s going on with him and Letty—I assume because of the baby. They haven’t spoken in a couple days, which isn’t unusual. It’s downright unheard of.

Eliza’s been busy on the Banging Betties’ bus, consumed with caring for Gabrielle and the tour. But she’s also spent a good bit of time with Shades, which worries me. He embraced his new—possible—role of father a little too quickly for my tastes, though he hasn’t done or said anything to make me think he’s being unfaithful to Letty.

I hope those two are okay. It’s gotta be tough on both of them.

It’s hard to stand by and keep quiet as they blatantly ignore each other, but I won’t get involved in personal shit unless it affects the band. The gigs continue to draw sellout crowds, so I’ll wish them the best and leave it to them to sort out their problems.

Raucous laughter turns my head toward the conga line exiting our ride. Rax gropes Eve’s ass as she glides gracefully down the stairs. Toombs enfolds Jinx in his arms. The pair move in sync as they navigate the steps like they’re bound at the middle, his crotch to her butt. He catches my eye, flashes a curt smile, and returns his attention to Jinx.

“Don’t have too much fun,” I say to Shades.

He licks his lips as he faces the bus. Letty’s the only one who hasn’t debarked. No sign of her. “I won’t,” he grunts.

I pat his arm and head inside the building. I’m not sure whether I’ll be sleeping alone tonight. I refuse to contact Lizzie. Call it passive aggression, but this tiny bit of control over my outgoing calls gives me hope that I’ll one day break free of her bullshit. If she wants me, her fingers can do the walking. Mine are tired.

I catch the elevator to the fifth floor and open the door to my room. Double beds. Minibar. Garden tub. Perfect.

I set my overnight bag next to the closet and stretch my aching back while taking in the décor. Lush greens, blues, and purples wash over the lamps and bedding, soothing my weary eyes. I kick off my black oxfords and place them near the door. The carpet is thick under these blistered toes. I wiggle them into the pile. A bath would be amazing.

I turn on the water and raid the minibar for a Diet Coke and a small bottle of rum. Can’t remember the last time I had an entire room to myself, let alone an alcoholic beverage.

For three days, I’ve navigated a minefield of eggshells surrounding Lizzie. Careful not to trip the wire on another explosion of histrionics, I’ve tiptoed around her interactions with her bandmates and surreptitiously recorded conversations in hopes of scrounging enough nails to hammer her coffin.

Nothing.

Not a goddamned thing.

Lizzie’s been playing (mostly) nice. I almost feel guilty for sneaking around. But the further I disengage emotionally from her, the stronger I feel. Like I’m reclaiming a stolen part of myself.

Letting her go is the right decision. For the band and for me.

I pour the rum and Diet Coke into a glass, lift it to the ceiling, and offer a farewell toast. “To orgasms and submission. You were fun while you lasted.”

Guzzle.

I set the empty glass on a nearby table and pad to the bathroom to shut off the tub spigot. My clothes come off. Just as I swing my foot over the side and dip it into the water, my phone chimes with an incoming text.

Fuck.

Ignore it. Make her wonder what you’re doing.

Richard said earlier he’d booked rooms for the band members at the hotel. Lizzie doesn’t need me. She has her own room. Maybe she and Beth will entertain themselves.

I lower my foot.

The phone rings.

Goddammit. I snatch a towel and dry my leg off. On the fourth ring, I answer.

“Jillian Frost.” Lizzie knows damn well I have her in my contact list. She can take my formal answer however she likes.

“Why didn’t you call?” she demands.

I drop my naked ass to the bed. “I’m tired. I figured if you wanted to see me, you’d summon me.” Snicker.

“Serve me.” A quiver threatens to shatter the hardness in her voice. “Now.”

“Or?”

A sharp, incredulous intake of breath confirms she’s shocked by my gall. Good.

“Or I’ll have Richard kick you off the tour.”

I sit ramrod straight. “For what?” Being more talented?

“Being difficult to work with.”

“That’s ballsy coming from you.”

She laughs. “Or maybe it’s Killer Barf Float’s manager who’s difficult to work with.”

I swallow. Goddamn her. And goddamn me for bending to her ridiculous demands again. “I’m in room 589 if you want to see me.”

“I’ll think about it.” Lizzie hangs up.

I toss the phone onto the mattress. Rubbing my eyes, I return to the tub and step in. The hot water instantly soothes my aches and pains, both physical and mental.

Lizzie’s call was another attempt at reestablishing her slipping control over me. Though I shouldn’t let her bother me, she does. My band’s future lies in her grubby little bitch hands, and she’s been dying for any excuse to squeeze.

Would she actually pull the trigger on the tour?

I’m not sure.

Despite her violent mood swings, I believe Lizzie feels something for me, otherwise she wouldn’t keep coming back. Maybe she enjoys the power trip. It’s doubtful anyone else would put up with her shit for as long as I have. Even Beth seems exhausted by her, which is probably why the two ended their previous romantic relationship. Nowadays, they’re merely bandmates with privileges, as far as I can tell.

Lucky Beth. She gets all the orgasms she wants and can simply shove a hand in Lizzie’s face when she gets tired of her mouth.

Fuck you. I’m going to bed. See you onstage tomorrow.

If only I had that luxury.

Or better yet, if only I had a woman who would return my affection, keep me stocked in climaxes any time of day, and smack me around every once in a while when I’m feeling cheeky.

Is that so much to ask? A little love would go a long way for this old broad.

Knock, knock, knock!

The hurried intrusion springs me upright in the tub. Wonder who that could be?

Fuck my life.

I wrap a towel around my body and step onto the bath mat. Staring at the water dripping on my feet, I consider not answering.

“Jillian, open the fucking door!” Lizzie shouts.

It’s past midnight. The last thing I need is to be kicked out of Shades’s dad’s hotel and exposed for sleeping with the enemy. I quickly turn on my voice recorder, slip it atop the nest of wires powering all manner of electronics behind the bedside table, and sprint to open the door.

“About fucking time.” Lizzie pushes past me into the room. Beth stares apologetically at me for a moment in the hallway and comes in too. Shocker that she’s here.

I shut the door and face them. “What can I do for you?”

Lizzie shrugs out of her faux leopard fur jacket and pitches it aside. “Lose the towel and get on the bed, facedown, hands behind your back.” She turns to Beth. “Did you bring the dildos?”

Beth nods and hands her a small cloth bag.

“When is this going to end?” I ask.

Lizzie laughs. “What do you mean? Us? We end when I say we do. Not a second sooner.” The cruel glint in her eye assures me she’s confident I’ll obey, and she’s right. I have no choice but to do as she says until I get enough dirt to expose her for the psycho she is. If I can just keep her talking …

She claps her hands loudly. “Chop, chop. Get busy.”

A foul taste fills my mouth.

I slowly unwind the towel and let it fall to the floor. Once positioned as she directed, I wait. Fabric rustles behind me, followed by the sound of a box opening and the pump of a bottle. My butt cheeks clench at the coolness dusting my skin and the fear of the unknown.

Lizzie and Beth exchange quiet words on the other side of the room. I sneak a peek. Naked Beth nods slowly, glances at me, and I readjust my view away from them.

The mattress dips on either side of me.

“We’re gonna take good care of you,” Lizzie says. Warm fingers trace the rungs of my spine from my tailbone to my neck. “Relax.”

The command sets me so far on edge, I’m about to fall off the blade of the knife I’m standing on. Feet lacerated by distrust and lies, I’m fresh out of balance.

Two pairs of hands manipulate my flesh into believing I’m being honored and cared for as promised. The welcome pleasure of deep tissue massage tempts my back muscles into submitting. Giving her my body is one thing, but I know better than to fall into Lizzie’s trap. My mind, willful as it is, remains my own. Nothing she can say or do will change that.

Breaths rise and fall behind me. Neither of them speak, but one set of hands retreats.

“Spread your legs,” Lizzie says. She wrangles my left ankle and pushes it to the back of my thigh. Something tight and rubbery snags my skin and tightens with a quick pull. She stretches the tie and binds my left wrist to my ankle. My heart picks up from a steady jog to a panicked sprint.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

A slap to my left butt cheek is the only answer I get.

She ties the right side similarly. I’m stuck like a rocking chair, facedown, ass and pussy exposed. My head tells me to hock up a “capybara” and spit it out, but my newly awakened need for giving away free samples of control like niblets of Chinese fast food at the mall puts a damper on good sense.

I don’t want to enjoy this. I really don’t.

But if I can maintain it, my trademark resilience that Lizzie’s so fond of is sure to keep her on my hook.

“I think she’s ready.” A smile laces Lizzie’s voice.

I struggle against the rubber straps. Fear and wild desire mix into a strange cocktail simultaneously destroying and rejuvenating my blood as it surges wildly.

Lizzie swings around and sits near my head. I plead with my eyes for her to stop or go or … something. I’m so out of control, I don’t even know what I want.

She strokes my chin and stares into my eyes. “Be still, pet. You’ll enjoy it more if you take it slow.”

Beth parts my ass cheeks, exposing both holes to the suddenly too-hot air. Something about the size of a finger penetrates my hole. I flinch. “What the hell are you doing?”

A firm hand pushes my hips down, and the finger probes deeper.

Here’s where my head and heart fall into direct conflict. An undeniable need to buck and fight overcomes me. I expressly told Lizzie before that I don’t do ass play. She violated my trust even though Beth is the one doing the actual violating. On the other hand, now that she’s already in, my curious mind is dying to experience this new potential pleasure.

I wrestle with my conscience as I try to figure out what the hell they actually want.

“If you fight, it’ll hurt,” Beth soothes. Her grip on my ass isn’t harsh like Lizzie’s usually is. She assumes control without stealing it. A benevolent Domme?

I should tell her to stop. Use the safe word.

Like the cease-and-desist order to dial Lizzie’s phone number, my refusal to capybara my way out of this situation is a product of my need to hold something over her head. If I bite down on that word, I keep the power. Spitting it out gives everything to her. Spitting it out means defeat.

She may have brought me out of my shell and opened a door to a new world of orgasms and submission and sexual deviance I’d never dreamed of, but I won’t let Lizzie break me.

Resilience.

Damn right, I’m resilient, bitch.

Eyes focused on me with chilling detachment, Lizzie says, “Fill ’er up.”

Beth’s gentle hand pulls my cheeks wider, and she screws the tip of a dildo just inside my back hole. Clenching my teeth, I jerk and twist.

No. This isn’t what I expected. This isn’t what I want. It’s all wrong. Lizzie orchestrated this whole scene to put me in my place. To punish me for Letty’s “crimes” against her.

“You fucking bitch,” I spit.

She laughs and smacks my speared ass. “Where’s your safe word, Jillian? You can play it any time, you know.”

So, it’s come down to calling my bluff.

Beth leans over my back. “You okay, J-Frost?”

J-Frost? What the fuck am I, a submissive rapper whose stone-cold attitude smites my fear of being anally penetrated?

Lids shuttered tightly against the oncoming storm, I focus on the end goal of exposing Lizzie for the monster she is instead of the discomfort and humiliation threatening to overtake me.

I can beat her. I have to. For the band.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Lizzie goads.

When I don’t answer, she looks over my shoulder to Beth. “Fuck her. Hard.”

Beth pushes the dildo past the threshold. The pain is sharp, devastating. I hiss an inhale between my teeth.

As my top half collapses onto the comforter, my body admits defeat, but my brain doesn’t. I mentally turn off the power switch to my modesty and pride.

Stay frosty, J-Frost. Don’t give Lizzie the pleasure of believing she broke you. Push through this and hope she screws up loud enough for the voice recorder to catch her.

On her knees, Beth shifts weight between my legs, dipping the mattress a little left, then a little right. Using a strap-on to commit anal sabotage, she invades me with a slow, deep drive. I clamp my jaw tightly to hold the agony at bay.

“Thatta girl.” Lizzie grins. “You’re such a trooper. Part of the reason I love you.” She leans up toward Beth. The smacks of kisses interspersed with skin slaps fill the air in a steady rhythm. I refuse to add the bark of protest poised on the tip of my tongue to their twisted ballad.

You can end this any time, I coach myself. The submissive has the power. The submissive controls everything.

Beth pulls the dildo out and eases it in again. Lizzie breaks free of her lips, uses my back as a prop for her elbow, and manipulates the silicone dick, roughing my ass with it. Despite the lockdown on my mouth, a whimper escapes.

“Yes, that’s what I wanted to hear,” Lizzie declares. She spits on the thrusting dildo and fucks me harder. “Give me your pain, Jillian. Hand your body over to me.”

Go fuck yourself.

I grit my teeth as she makes a meal of my ass. The only way past this is through it. I close my eyes, hug the agony to my chest, and keep it all for myself. Agony is the only thing I have that Lizzie wants, and I’ll be damned if she’s getting it.

The pain is mine. I own it. I’m saving it as backup fuel for later when I find enough dirt on Lizzie to put her career down.

Pound, pound, pound.

Slap, slap, slap.

Mine, mine, mine.

An hour later, Lizzie and Beth give up and crumple to the bed on either side of me, exhausted. They got their orgasms, but I refused them mine.

My breasts are black and blue. My backside is utterly defiled. And I’m the last woman standing.

Beaten, but not broken.

Beth loosens my bonds. My wrists, ankles, hips, and back hurt so much from being stuck in that awful, hog-tied position, I’m barely able to move.

Once circulation returns to my extremities, I limp to the bathroom. My torso looks like a fucking war zone. My ass is covered in blue and purple splotches. Not surprisingly, I’m bleeding back there too. In the shower, I run hot water over a washcloth and gingerly press it to the spot.

I wash all signs of Lizzie and Beth from my body and hair, dry off, and dress. I leave the bloody cloth on the vanity for Lizzie to find in the morning and exit the bathroom.

The Torture Twins appear to be passed out on the bed. I quietly shove my possessions into my overnight bag, retrieve the phone from the drawer, and make for the door. They can have this fucking room. I’m going home to my bunk where I belong.

“Stay Frosty,” I mumble on my way out, and top the words off with a proud, resilient, and unbroken middle finger.