Tears of Tess

I sneaked right beside him while he f**ked a girl, holding her pigtails like handholds; his old man ass wobbling with every trust. My lips curled in distaste and I snarled. The girl’s tears set fire to my stomach.

I raised the gun, testing the weight. My hand was dry—not sweaty or nervous. My heart even and sure.

“Enjoy your last f**k, father. It’s the last you’ll ever do.”

My father, Mr. Quincy Mercer the First, stopped mid thrust, face bright red, jowls trembling.

“What are you doing in here, you little shit? Get out. I told you this part of the house was forbidden.”

Girls all around the room, tied up in horrible positions, started to cry. Some with their necks bound to ankles. Others hanging from the ceiling upside down. Tears flowed, but light slowly glowed in their eyes. Hunger, revenge, freedom, infected each like wildfire. Smashing the shackles of brokenness.

I didn’t say another word. What was there to say? I squeezed the trigger.

The red spray was a gruesome firework. My father’s brains splattered over the girl he still impaled on his cock.

She screamed and scrambled away, wiping her face with shaking hands.

The entire room rippled with darkness. I flexed my arms, standing in the centre, breathing deep.

My father’s rein was over. I was the new owner of the Mercer Empire. At sixteen, I inherited all his belongings, including the stable of women.

For a brief moment, my c**k stiffened at the thought of carrying on my father’s legacy. It would be so easy to violate a girl who was bound, unable to move or stop me. I could lose my virginity to a slave. I could do whatever I wanted. A ruthless tycoon, just like my old man.

But as I stood, with my mind overflowing with darkness, I knew I could never walk that path.

I wanted it too damn much. I craved the feel of submission. I drooled for a woman sucking my c**k under duress. I hated myself with vengeance.

I was my father’s son, after all. Somehow, the moment I killed him, his evilness shot into me. I wanted to put a bullet in my own brain as I knew I’d never be free from the monstrous urges.

Needing to run, I quickly freed the women and brought them clothes from my mother’s old things.

The girls accepted what I gave. Keeping their eyes downcast, mouths closed.

That night signified a new beginning. For all of us.

A year later, my rehabilitation of the twelve women was complete. Some girls left immediately after I freed them. I gave them money, and sent them back to loved ones. A few remained, needing psychological help. I admitted them to the local hospital, footing all the bills.

I didn’t need to lie how the girls became that way. Everyone knew my father and his sick tastes. He supplied many a sick f**k in the village with toys. Renting them out for thousands, not caring some never came back alive.

I’d been painted with the same brush, even though I resisted the beast inside. I wanted more than anything to keep those girls locked and chained, and subservient to my desires, but I never caved. Always fighting. Forever struggling.

The last girl to leave was a Sheik’s daughter. She’d been a gift for a lucrative property deal in the east. Captive for six years, she felt some sort of sick loyalty to me for freeing her.

The night before she left, she trapped me in my bedroom. The girls were allowed free reign of the house, slowly acclimatizing to freedom once again.

She closed the door, signifying what she wanted with one click of a lock.

I tried to refuse her. I tried to push her away. She didn’t owe me anything, most of all her body, but she took control, and made me do things my father would’ve been proud of. I lost my virginity, not in sweetness and tenderness, but with spanking and degradation.

The moment it was over, I loathed myself. I kicked her out, put her on my private plane, and sent her home. I couldn’t stand to see her. She reminded me how far I’d fallen. How alike I was to the one man I hated the most.

The following years were torture. I needed a release, but normal sex didn’t cut it. I needed violence to get off. I needed the feel of complete submission of ownership. My blood was tainted, and I’d never be free.

Then the bribes started. As I grew my father’s empire to worldwide domination, people wanted property favours. A building here. Special grants there. I had friends in powerful places and men gave me presents. My father’s reputation preceded once again, and instead of gift baskets, I received slaves.

It started slowly, one a year. Then two. Until, finally, I became the king of accepting trafficked women for a business deal. It cost a fortune to accept, and I didn’t touch a single one.

They arrived, broken, trembling, sometimes drugged, sometimes completely damaged. I became a father, brother, friend to them.

Most recovered, but others… some I couldn’t save.

I enlisted the help of the local police. Together, we worked tirelessly. They made me an exemplary citizen for my ‘charity’.

Then Suzette arrived. She had bite marks all over her body. Hair shaved, cigarette burns, and broken fingers. I promptly hired a mercenary to return the favour to the men who broke her.

It took six months before Suzette spoke a word. Another six months before she let me be in the same room with her. Slowly, she started working around the house, throwing herself into housework, as if she could become invisible as a staff member and not the slave she’d been. And I let her.

It helped. Her skin went from pallid to rosy, her eyes lost the panicked hue, and slowly she stopped jumping whenever I appeared, moving with silence.

When I asked if she was ready to go home, she refused. She threw herself at my feet, begging to stay. She had no one to return to, and professed her love for me. She wanted me to love her. Take her however I wanted. But I couldn’t. I never could. I couldn’t resort to using broken women. I would never find myself in the aftermath.

Instead, I used professionals. Played out dark fantasies with women who gladly accepted ten thousand euros for a bit of pain. It never satisfied. It left my throat coated with dissatisfaction, but that was my sacrifice. I would never touch a slave again.

Suzette became fundamental to helping other girls heal. She befriended them, and they found their way back to happiness quicker.

Our little team worked well for years. I focused more on property than saving women. I expanded the company into South East Asia, Fiji, New Zealand, and Hong Kong.

Then my world flipped upside down.

Esclave fifty-eight arrived.