“Let me do that,” he murmurs in my ear. My button pops, and then the zipper’s being slid down and his hand is moving over my underwear. I don’t know if I should feel embarrassed about how wet they are, but I know I want more. I let out a little whimper when he removes his hand. “Patience, little one.” I don’t want to be patient. I want more. “Smell.” Oh, my God, he’s offering his fingers up, coated in my scent for me to smell. I inhale. My lips part at the sweet smell of my arousal. I feel so wanton.
He turns my head. My eyelids feel so heavy with this power he has over me. My body voluntarily moves closer to the part of him I know is supposed to give me so much pleasure, backing up against his hard bulge so I can feel him that much nearer to where I need him to be. I had been forced to watch enough porn to understand a great feeling can come from a man and what he can do to a woman.
“I want your fingers again.” I’m speaking aloud, but this voice is not my own. It’s too breathy, but he already knows what I need. He’s already there. Two fingers have slid inside me, which makes me jerk back in shock at the way I feel, his wet lips kissing along my neck. It all feels so good.
Oh, God! He unzips my jacket and pushes the front of my tank top down, and then my lace-covered breast is pushed up and over it. My breasts feel like they are straining against my bra, wanting to be bared to him. My nipples harden, and just as I wonder what it would feel like to have him touch them, he pinches one hard as he starts pumping those fingers inside me, the pain mixed with so much pleasure, and everything goes white. I’m seeing stars my senses are so overwhelmed. There is so much hitting me at once my eyes flutter shut, my head feels heavy, and my hips start dancing for him.
I want more of this man.
I need to be closer.
Oh, God, this feels so good, and then he adds to all the sensations that are flooding my sensitive parts by sliding another finger inside me, and I can feel myself starting to pant, trying to stay in control while he adds to the pleasure by biting my top lip. My eyes widen from the sheer surprise of him doing this, and it is in no way an act of violence. It’s sensual.
He’s now assaulting my lips with his mouth; he’s devouring me. Our lips are lost to this fast dance, while my hips grind against his fingers, and I can’t take my eyes off him. I’m in a trance as I feel my body starting to take off. I’ve watched women about to orgasm on the porn sites, but it doesn’t do it justice to what is happening to me.
I felt nothing watching the porn.
I didn’t believe I was capable of feeling aroused, but I can feel myself clamping down hard on his fingers as my lashes force themselves down. The power of this feeling is getting too much for me to stand. I’m going to explode from all these intense feelings my body is being subjected to at once. I have a volcano growing inside me, and it’s about to erupt and overflow and I can’t stop it.
I don’t want to stop it.
I cry out when I can no longer stand the ecstasy my body is being subjected to, and let it have the reins as I shudder from the sheer euphoria of my release. I don’t even understand the noises I am making. They take over and reveal themselves unashamedly to this man.
And that’s when I wake up to my panting breaths easing, and embarrassment consumes me before I realize I am alone.
I allow my eyes to take in where I am. There is a small light overhead illuminating the room with a soft glow. I’m in a single bed, and not with the tattooed man in Connard who brought me so much pleasure in the safety of Boxer’s bar. That had to have been a figment of my imagination, because how can Edge have changed from being that sexy man who gave me all that, to finding myself alone, coping with the pain he has inflicted on me, and strangers who have abducted me.
I know it’s real because here I am. He doesn’t deserve to enter my dreams. He stalked me and shot me after having sex with me. I’m confused by his actions. He now seems to want to help me.
I note how different this room looks to the last one. Where have I been taken?
Where is Mathias? He’s surprisingly become a small comfort I have grown used to. He is dangerous and a killer, as I’ve bore witness. He has roughly manhandled me, but he has also looked after me. There is something about him. I don’t know how to explain what I feel with him, but I have to go on my gut instinct.
It’s all I have.
A shiver runs down my spine as I wonder what web I have now been caught in. This room is deliberately cold and uninviting. There’s no window for me to look through, only four dull gray stone walls holding me captive.
It’s a cell.
I. Am. A. Prisoner.
I move to sit up and groan as pain shoots through my shoulder, and my body protests from everything it has been put through. I decide staying still for a little longer has its merits.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but I need to get out. I know I can’t lie here like a sitting duck waiting for my fate to be revealed, waiting for somebody to control me again.
The urge to flee this horrible room is too strong versus playing a sitting duck. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand. I give myself a moment, letting my right shoulder fall back against the wall beside the bed, supporting me until I feel sure I can walk a straight line.
My broken wrist is in a cast and has been placed in a sling. I am clothed, but it is a poor attempt at covering me up. I’ve been dressed in a ridiculous, virtually transparent, flimsy piece of black, lacy, loose flowing, thigh-length lingerie. My wound is bandaged.
I look around for something to cover myself up in, but there is nothing. There are no cupboards or a closet. The room is bare, with nothing but a bed in it.
This is indeed a cell.
My bare feet feel the chill on the stone floor, but it’s dry and doesn’t burn like the cold of snow, which is a positive. I start walking across the room when my skin gets that all too familiar crawl to it. I know that feeling. I snap my head up, searching the corners of the room, and notice the red blinking light.
I am being observed.
My face flames. Did they see my dream play out? Was I loud?
Does that mean they know I’m awake?
These thoughts do not stop me from defiantly walking over to the door and twisting the handle, and to my utter surprise, it turns, and then I go for broke and pull on the handle. The door swings open.
I stand there for several heartbeats, staring at a curved corridor ten feet wide in front of me, and another stone, windowless wall.
I am about to walk out into the unknown. A prisoner who was left unattended in an unlocked room raises a mighty red flag that is flapping in my face, begging me to pay attention to it.
But I don’t.
Fuck them!
I face the camera, determined, and give them the bird. I owe nobody my manners or my emotions.
This is a game.
They want to see what I will do next.
I will show them I am not afraid.
What more can they do to me that hasn’t already been done?
And then I stupidly walk out the room, because there was indeed so much more they could do to me.
And they would.
I had no concept of how far I had gotten when I’d left that room. The hallway was curved and it had an arched roof. It felt medieval, because the outer wall was also made of stone, and I hadn’t come across one window.
Was it night or day?
The inner wall was broken up with doors like mine every so often. I felt like I was walking in a constant semi-circle, as I tried to find an exit that would lead me out of here.
It almost felt like a curved tunnel that had been burrowed beneath the ground, with a central hive of rooms at its core.
My heart stutters when I see a striking, long-limbed, redheaded woman dressed in a black catsuit, looking like she belongs in a Marvel comic book, walking toward me barefooted. My instant reaction is to call out to her for help, because Miss Catherine was kind and helped me when I was in need, and then I notice the look on her face. My skin prickles, and I suddenly feel like I’m her prey, and it is me she is hunting.
I start to back up when she hastens her pace, and then I awkwardly run back from where I came.
I have no clue where I’m running to, and I should have tried some of those doors, but I was afraid they were just more cells. I need a way out, not a way into another room.
I’m too slow. She catches up to me in seconds, her hand at my nape, slamming my face against the wall on my barely healing side.
“Ugh!” I cry out, as I pant from the exertion of running. My broken wrist is pushed hard up against the wall, trapping the cast against my chest, while my other is pulled up high behind my back. I can do nothing but wait for what is to come next as pressure is applied, making my shoulder throb in agony. She wants me to cry out again, but I won’t. Instead, I bite down on my lip, her warm breath fanning the side of my face.
The silence is broken by the heavy, clipped footsteps on the stone floor getting louder and more condemning as they approach us.
And then they stop behind me.
Nobody moves.
Let the mind games begin.
I want to roll my eyes at this show of drama because my give-a-fucks at this stage would have flown out the window if there was one in sight. But, I keep a lid on bringing any further unwanted attention to myself and getting the shit piled higher against me.
Disobedience always comes with punishment.
I know this play is all about bully tactics and eventually trying to bring me back into a submissive mindset, which is what William had trained me to believe was my position in life, but Boxer and Miss C showed me it wasn’t.
“Rose, my darling, you may turn her around,” a smooth, deep, accented voice orders the woman. I make my mind up as I’m released and pulled away from the wall, and turn around. I’m going to put a halt to showing any more fear because these people thrive on it. It strokes their ego and swells their confidence.
A slim arm slides around my neck, holding a long, cold blade to it, as I’m forced to confront my new enemy. The brutally sharp blade bites into my soft throat, a reminder of how fragile my life is.
That trigger has been activated again, and my breathing hitches, my legs threatening to give out on me. I wish I didn’t react like this, but I can’t stop it.
So much for not showing any fear, because I can’t be held accountable for those fucked up boxes.
My past has a way of taking the lead and overriding my initial intentions. I don’t see my enemy because the box bursts open containing the memories of my mistress having her throat slit, and my vision becomes bathed in a blood red thick coat of paint.
A strong arm holds me up, the sting of the cold metal slicing into my stretched neck deeper until it is pulled back.
I’m lost in my memories. They have taken me hostage as I watch my mistress’ death play out to me in slow, precise motions.
I can hear Master William talking to me, but can’t understand what he is saying over the blood-filled gurgles of my mistress as she fades away. I inhale and can smell the metallic scent in the air, which makes me want to throw up, so I shut my eyes, try to block the memories, and repackage them.
I’m being shaken while a deep voice is talking to me, and I don’t care to listen. It feels good zoning out. I seek out new images and force Miss Catherine and Boxer’s smiling faces to slide their way in, locking the other memories back inside their box. I want to be home so badly. I’ve got no clue how long I have been lost to my family.
A week or more?
I just want to wake up to the smells of one of Miss C’s breakfasts and go check on the gardens I have made around her house. Take a ride with Lincoln on the bikes.
Pain explodes across my cheek, snapping me out of my safe oasis I had taken myself to. I blink a few times at the woman now standing in front of me. The blade has been removed from my throat.
What is with all the bitch slapping? I am so over it.
My annoyance helps to balance out my fear as I regain my footing unassisted. The male voice is back, but he isn’t revealing himself to me as he stands behind me again. “Rose, assist her back to her room in The Pen. I will give her this one small measure and converse with her privately.”
Without hesitation, I am being marched to my cell, the dagger hovering over the layer of skin that could so easily be sheared wide open, ending my life if I disobey. I know blood is trickling from the cut, and no matter how much I want to wipe it away, I can’t.
I have not yet laid eyes on the man issuing the orders. He’s stayed behind us the whole time, while Catwoman keeps my feet moving one in front of the other.
Guards would have come for me before I had gotten as far as I did if I was being watched on the camera, surely. Had it been dumb luck I had made it this far? Or was there simply no way out for me and I was not at risk of escaping, hence the unlocked door?
Was it a test?
We come to a halt, and the door opens, revealing the room I walked out of. Rose lowers the blade and holsters it then shoves me toward the bed, and I collapse onto it, moving myself quickly into a seated position, conscious of my nearly naked body.
The ridiculous piece of clothing I’ve been dressed in is see-through, and I was aware of my naked breasts being visible. Thankfully, I’ve been allowed a scrap of material for underwear. I’m far from comfortable with how I look in front of these strangers, and that is very deliberate. They want to see my humiliation. It is all a part of the mind fuckery. I badly want to cover up, but I won’t show them my discomfort.
I dare not acknowledge the cut to my throat. It will only show weakness. The thin trail of blood continues its path south to be lost in my cleavage as I sit defiantly in front of these people.
Catwoman stands, arms crossed, glaring down at me like she would readily kill me rather than bother with me. I match her stare, trying to look into her soul and see if there is anything humane left inside of her.
I fear there is nothing.
“Rose, you can stand down and wait by the door.” The man enters the room, and for the first time, I dare to look at him. He is wearing a thick black leather mask. My skin itches as he takes the steps needed to sit on the bed beside me.
Instinct has me starting to move away from him. “Stay where you are.” His command reminds me of William. I know there will be a punishment for not doing as he orders while the woman named Rose is in the room and appears to be his weapon to command, so I halt my movements. I need to choose my fights.
He reaches out, trailing one manicured finger along the cut at my throat, swiping it across the injury, and bringing it slowly to his lips. He sucks his finger clean. He thinks he is unsettling me.
He would be wrong. I want to murder him.
“My name is Cezar, and I own you.” His words are matter-of-fact. He waits for me to let that sink in. He wants me to cry out in rage.
I won’t.
Been there, done that, had one Master already.
He continues assessing my behavior while looking for a crack in my armor. “Your room is in the area I like to call The Pen, and because you’ve been delivered to me,” he looks me up and down, “not in the condition I would have liked, and through no fault of your own, you will be given a grace period to rest. You will not leave this room unless assisted by Rose or one of my sentinels. Rose will introduce these men to you later.”
Sentinels? This guy’s ego is so shoved up his ass.
“There will be no lock on your door because you will obey me. However, there is the camera in your room I noticed you have already observed. Leaving this room unassisted will lead to a punishment you will sorely regret.”
He pats his pants softly. “Rose, darling, come sit on my lap.” She does as he requests, positioning herself to look at Cezar. He holds her by the back of her head and turns it to face me. Her eyes are glazed over; she isn’t really seeing me in this moment. I know that look. She’s in survival mode. “Open your mouth, Rose, and stick out your tongue.”
She opens her mouth dutifully, looking like a beautiful, soulless ventriloquist doll. I stare in horror at the hacked off piece of muscle that has been left behind. She has no tongue to stick out.
Cezar just scored a direct hit, and I start to shake in rage. I wrestle with the urge to look away. I want so badly to launch myself at him, fight this animal, cut out his tongue, and stuff it down his throat until he chokes on it. I look over at the man controlling her. He’s gotten a reaction from me, and his eyes are hungry for my fear.
“You can close your mouth now, Rose.” He pulls out his cell and makes a call. “Meet me now in Whisper’s room.” Then disconnects sliding it back into his pocket.
I visualize tearing the mask from his face so the coward beneath it can be revealed.
“Now, as you can see, it took Rose a little convincing when she first came to me. She had spirit.” He pats her hair. “She was a fighter, but she had to be broken in. I saw the potential in her like I see the potential in you. Your previous master had bragged about you. I wanted to buy you from him, but you were his to covet and were not for sale. Fortunately for me, you became available.”
His smile is creepy. This man is the definition of a functioning insane person.
“You’ve had training, whereas Rose hadn’t when she first came to me.” He starts combing his fingers through her hair while this shell of a woman stares vacantly at me. “She is my pride, having been brought to me the same age you are now.” He starts to turn Rose’s head toward his and I see her come back to the surface from the depths she had taken herself, plastering a passable look of interest on her face for the man in front of her as he bends down, kissing her full on the mouth.
He is an exhibitionist.
Her back has stiffened ever so slightly, and I catch a glimpse of her hand and the little fist she is trying so hard not to form. Cezar’s eyes are closed as he passionately claims her mouth. He is blind to what I can see. Only a person like me would be able to recognize the shell of a person in front of them.
He is used to her obedience and is comfortable around her, and also, he knows the camera in the corner will be capturing all our movements, but she knows how to hide her tells from the mechanical prying eye, her face tilting just enough not to be caught.
This woman has been so repeatedly traumatized she is on autopilot, obeying his commands as her mind silently fights him, unable to have her voice heard.
I understand the lies a victim tells themself to survive.
His hand has moved up to the zipper on the front of her catsuit and he starts peeling it down, the soft hum of the metal teeth opening up until he can get to her right breast. Her chest is naked, and I don’t want to watch, but I fear what will happen if I look away.
He is surely testing me.
I will not bend, but I will not concede either.
He opens his eyes and watches me as he fondles her generous breast, tugging at the nipple until it hardens.
My eyes may be open, but I am no longer seeing this vile masked man who is too lily-livered, as Boxer would say, to show me his face. He has abused this woman so much she is inwardly dead to his touch.
Rose has mentally switched off but knows how to keep herself alive. She is too many shades of her former self, but she is still alive, keeping up appearances. It’s what is keeping her breathing and she knows it.
He wants to get a reaction out of me, but I close my mind off to this sick showmanship.
He releases her breast when I don’t give him what he is looking for. “I see you have conditioned yourself over the years, being around William Dupré.” He studies me, cocking his head to the side like he’s trying to work me out. He has thankfully stopped groping Rose in front of me. “I was recently informed you were a wet dream, yet your features aren’t schooled enough to hide the distaste for what I am doing to Rose. Interesting.”
Who told him I was a wet dream?
“William had bragged about all the things he has done to you, yet you sit there looking uncomfortable by my display of affection for my Rose.” His hands start tucking Rose’s breasts back inside her catsuit and then he pulls her zipper up, the whole time watching me.
“Has freedom left you high and mighty and erased everything you were taught?” He pushes Rose off his lap and she stands, automatically moving to the side.
A loud, impatient knock interrupts the mood of the room.
“Come in,” the only person in authority who can speak replies because I now know Rose can’t talk. She is mute.
The door opens, revealing Mathias, complete with a mask covering half his face. He takes a step into the room dressed in a dark, expensive-looking suit and tie. He only has eyes for Cezar’s masked face, completely ignoring me.
“Ahhh, here is one of my newly appointed sentinels.” He gets up from the bed, moving to the side and placing his hands behind his back.
His attention is back on me. “Mathias informed me of Santana’s demise. You will take the hit for my loss. Mathias, please assist in holding her down and her head firm.”
In a flash, Mathias is on me, pushing my good arm to my side and putting his shoulder into my chest as I’m slammed onto the mattress, flat on my back. He straddles my lower body, keeping my legs from kicking out while one knee slides into position, resting painfully on my right forearm, wedging it by my side while one hand grips my damaged arm, ensuring no free movement. He’s not using his full weight, but it’s enough to keep me in place.
Fear starts to bubble up inside me.
“Keep her head steady.”
Mathias complies and his spare hand presses down on my forehead, paralyzing my head. My breathing speeds up as I start to panic.
What the fuck is wrong with these people?
“Rose, you know what to do. You may have the honors.” She moves toward me.
What honors?
I watch with frightened eyes darting about as the dagger reappears, and I can’t hide my fear anymore.
Oh, God! What are they about to do to me?
Rose’s other hand forces my mouth to open by squeezing my cheeks with carefully applied pressure using her thumb and fingers. I can’t hold my mouth shut. I can only watch in horror.
My body begins to quake as it starts responding to these people and their actions. I have no rights. I am at their mercy.
What the fuck is she trying to do to me?
Rose reaches in, grabbing my dry tongue, and that’s when I understand I’m about to lose it. An animalistic noise leaves my throat as the dagger is raised into the air. My natural reaction is to buck Mathias off me and tear my face out of Rose’s grip.
But. I. Can’t. Move.
I can’t fight these people.
Get the fuck off me, I want to scream out. My eyes water when I feel the burning sting as the cold blade is brought down on my tongue, slicing into it.
A gurgle of pain and blood leave my mouth as my head and cheeks are released. Rose is no longer in my vision. I start to retch as blood coats my throat, threatening to choke me. I need to get it out, so I turn my head to the side, allowing me to breathe better as blood sprays onto my bedding as I cough it up.
When I realize Mathias has let up on the restraining pressure , I roll my body as much as his weight will allow, dribbling and spitting blood until the coughing ebbs. I can’t stop myself from shuddering beneath him, as my body can’t control the spasms of shock at what these people have done to me.
My eyes are watering from the pain, tears mixing with my blood as they too spill onto the bedding. I turn my head, swiping my trembling hand across my face, vanquishing the tears. I won’t let these warped people have them.
And then I see it.
A phone is poking out from underneath part of my thigh. It must have slipped out of Mathias’s pocket, and I covered part of it when I moved my body. I pretend to have another major coughing fit with blood spraying about and cover it completely with my thigh when Mathias slides off me, his blurred body standing tall, dutifully waiting for Cezar’s next command.
I need to keep this phone hidden. I lean on my right elbow, turn my head toward the bedding, and allow these people to believe I am starting to break as I cough up more blood and spit.
These people are insane, and insanity is so unpredictable. They are all warped in the head.
I had almost forgotten Cezar was in the room until his deep accented words hit me. “Mark this as your one and only warning, Whisper. On my command, Rose will cut it right off if I hear of any disobedience, and she’s very good at it, as you have just witnessed. She made the mistake once of thinking she would get a second warning, and she was punished for it, as you have seen. You will do everything asked of you without complaint.”
My only response is to cough more blood up, the burn painful, but I’ve felt worse.
My mind is strong. I won’t be broken ever again. What this crazy man doesn’t realize is how strong Rose’s mind is too. She shows him what she needs to keep breathing, and the rest is survival mode.
Rose has been treated far worse than I had; I can see that from her reactions. There has been a lot of irreversible damage done to her soul. She is robotic, but her eyes show only me her rage that was hidden below the surface for Cezar. She might not care what happens to me, but she wants to live and will do whatever it takes, including ending me.
She has spent too long under his command. She looks mid-twenties, and I fear for the shell that will be left of this woman if she is able to walk away and get her freedom one day. Rose has been through too much, made to do too many bad things.
I have learned I may still have been a virgin, but there are many ways to abuse a woman’s body and mind.
This Cezar commands Rose, but there is a part of her mind that never obeys. Her clone is his puppet. She has learned to separate her true lost soul and keep that small part for herself when she needs to keep going.
I can become Sara. She will get me through this.
The evil man lets out a dramatic sigh. “Mess is something I have a low tolerance for.” He holds out a white square of fabric. “Here.” I grab onto it and try to mop myself up. “This was just a warning shot; the next will be permanent. If anything happens to any of the other women, it will be on your head. Somebody will always suffer for any insubordination, for any fuck ups. Santana was a fuck up. Let’s just say it is my way of keeping you all in line.”
There are other women here?
He claps his hands together in one loud smack, making me jump.
“Well, Whisper, it would appear I must cut our little meet-and-greet short. Just remember, the debt William owes me comes at a heavy price. There will be no more marks on your exterior body. I assure you of this. I will not stand for it. Just don’t test me. Underneath all that bruising and swelling and mess is a beautiful woman who will pay William’s debt off. You are my new prize and need to be in pristine condition in a short time for my high paying guests.”
He lets that comment sit in the air for a few heartbeats. I am counting them, trying to calm my shattered life and what it has now become.
Am I to become a prostitute?
“Rose will come back later and assist in cleaning you up and clothing you, as you’ve made a mess of yourself. For now, you will sit and think about what we have talked about. Rest.”
I want this sorry excuse for a man to shut the hell up and leave. I know Mathias is watching me now. I can feel his eyes on me and I can’t look at him. He helped do this to me.
He is my enemy. I must remember that.
Cezar starts for the door. “You know the cameras are always watching. Don’t give me a reason.” He beckons Rose to walk in front of him, the bloody blade being wiped on another white square of fabric he’s handed her as they exit my cell. Mathias follows, shutting the door behind him.
I stay still, scared somebody will come back. I haven’t touched the phone yet, so I haven’t done anything wrong.
Conscious of the camera in my room, I curl up on the bed, my back to the blinking light, and pretend to shudder and cry and cough. I reach up for the pillow and pull it down to me, pretending to cuddle it for comfort, and tug as much of the bedding up over me as I can, working the phone up my body. Somebody may be watching me at all times, or they might just check the footage every now and then, but what I do know is I won’t have much time until Mathias discovers his phone is missing.
Then what do I do?