When the Dark Wins

“I can do anything I want with you, because I’m your Master, whether you say the word or not. And when I sell you, it will be the same.” Her sobs grew louder as he moved deeper, inch by inch, stretching her as she fought and twisted. A strand of drool escaped her mouth, shining as it trailed towards the floor, and then he forced the rest of his cock in.

A scream escaped her, ending in a choked sob as she sputtered pleas, making the chains rattle when she moved her hands. Only the second cock she’d taken in her ass, it would still hurt plenty, and he was going to make her feel every bit of this violation. His brother may have been first, but he had rushed it — like he did everything — and so it would be this she remembered the most.

“You are not a person anymore, you’re a slave. Property.” Easing back, he thrust in a little harder, a little faster, ignoring the urge to tear her apart, focusing on every shiver, every whimper, every crumbling

bit of hope.

But as much as she said she wanted to die, she would survive. He would make sure of that.

“You are nothing more than a body for men to seek their pleasure in, to torment for their entertainment.” Reaching forward, he caught her ponytail in his fist and wound it around to lift her head and pull her back on his cock, stretching her further. She choked out a pain-filled cry, eyes clenched tight as her fingers bent against the concrete. The sight of the gag between her lips, her tear-streaked cheeks, and the dark whip marks across her shoulders was perfect.

The customers will watch this over and over.

“I will take everything from you,” his voice was strained because she squeezed his cock inside her. Rhythmic, twitching pulses in the tight sheath of her ass, but he was determined to make this last. To make her suffer more than she had with Marcus, to get her one step closer to breaking.

“It’s up to you how long this lasts, slave.” He fucked her a little harder, enjoying the throaty groan that slipped around the gag. “You choose when the training ends. So, how much can you take before you snap?”

12

Beth awoke with a jolt, panic and pain rushing through her, but when she tried to lift her hands they stopped short. The clatter of chain brought awareness of the cuffs on her wrists and ankles, but where was she?

Darkness.

Complete and total darkness.

Attempting to lift her head was almost futile, because the collar around her neck was attached to whatever she was lying on. Pressing her teeth into the narrow bit of rubber between her teeth she made herself swallow the pooling saliva.

Her heart was pounding, blood thumping inside her ears, but she tried her best to stay calm, to talk herself into sanity. Yet, something about the space around her felt stifling. Claustrophobic. Flaring her fingers out she brushed walls on either side of her body, and when she strained against the collar on her throat she managed to make her shoulder brush one side.

Oh God.

This is like a coffin. Is it a coffin? Did he bury me alive?

Horror movie scenarios flickered through her mind, and she couldn’t control them. Couldn’t stifle the thoughts as they made her panic, whining against the gag she pulled and kicked at the cuffs holding her down. Energy waning, she sobbed, trying not to choke on her drool as her nose clogged from the tears.

He said he wouldn’t kill you.

He said it.

Somehow, that was a lifeline inside the nightmare. The promise of a psychopath holding her sanity together while she stared into the perfect darkness of the grave, pain creeping in at the edges of her awareness.

Her back and ass were alive with the marks from the whip, and every shift of her body reminded her of them. That had been worse than she’d imagined. Each strike of the sleek leather felt like it had torn skin and muscle, but she was quite sure she hadn’t bled. She would have felt that, right?

Right?

The whimper echoed back too close, rebounding off a surface much nearer than she wanted to imagine. Visuals of being trapped in a fucking coffin were spinning around inside her head as she pictured that asshole with his stone cold eyes shoveling dirt atop it.

Burying her alive.

Suddenly, it was too hard to breathe. Lungs cramping, tightening inside her ribcage, and she stretched her mouth wider than the gag so she could swallow more air. Strange, high-pitched noises were leaving her on every frenzied exhale, and she couldn’t stop them.

Please let me out of here.

Please.

Rolling her head and eyes as much as she could she tried to search for light, for any hint, but there wasn’t a shred. Nothing. Just darkness and a stifling warmth that made her question how much she was re-breathing her own air.

Am I light headed?