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Judging from Lucia’s cries, that’s not true at all. She’s in pain, and her cries get louder as Lazzaro widens the speculum.
“I think something will tear if we open her more,” Lazzaro mumbles, sweat dripping down his brow.
I pretend to think about it for a moment, then I say, “Fine. But if she can’t handle this, I don’t know what she’ll do when Santino and Angelo take her at the same time.”
Her distress deepens, and a vague “no” sound escapes her lips.
“Of course they will. Angelo’s been openly fantasizing about it ever since we picked you up. And you’ve agreed to do whatever we say.” I incline my head at her. “Maybe if you beg nicely, they’ll simply each take a different hole.”
With how Angelo was going on about her ass last time, I’m not surprised at Lucia’s shudder. There’s a lot more pain in her future.
Lazzaro gets his samples, and after he’s put it all in plastic vials he reaches for the speculum again. I put a hand on his wrist to stop him.
“Go wait outside. I have a few things I want to discuss with Lucia.”
Lazzaro nods, and he’s out the door without another word. Intimidated, but I saw the hint of an erection. He isn’t unaffected by Lucia’s body.
Too bad for him, Lucia is already taken… for now. As long as she behaves.
I calmly pull my phone out of my pocket and browse to my email, where I find a new message from Santino. I’d asked him to send me a few videos, and the first one is exactly what I need.
I pull it up and skip ahead to a wonderful still shot, then walk over to Lucia’s side to show her.
“Do you know who this is?” I ask her. Lucia shakes her head, horrified.
The frame is paused on a woman’s face. She’s badly scarred, half of her face mottled red, and the eye on that side is missing. Her blond hair is cut unevenly.
There’d be no way to guess that this woman is a former state beauty champion. “This is Elena O’Hare—or Elena Pavone, after she married.”
Lucia takes a sharp breath.
“Pavone’s second wife. He discovered her cheating on him, I believe. The scars are from the acid he dumped on her face.” I press the play button, and the video pans out to show Elena naked in a dirty bathroom. “I believe she’s a regular star in the porn his syndicate produces.”
I place my phone on Lucia’s stomach so she can keep watching. The volume is turned all the way up, and the dialogue comes through loud and clear.
“What are you?”
“I’m… I’m your cum dumpster, Master.”
Lucia starts blinking rapidly to stave off tears, but the shimmer in them is obvious. She already knows that Pavone is worse than we are, but I don’t think she’s been confronted with the reality of it.
While the video continues, I sit down on the stool between Lucia’s legs. The speculum continues to hold her wide open, and I can see the pink, fleshy folds inside her.
Without warning, I reach inside and push against her inner walls. Lucia shrieks, a combination of pain and surprise that is music to my ears. But I don’t want her pain right now. I wait for her to calm just enough before I probe her insides, stroking until I find the spot that makes her tense up and cry out in pleasure.
“Ssohh,” she says, as close to “stop” as she can get with her mouth still held open.
I decide to be magnanimous and ignore her, simply continuing to massage her. Her squirming increases, and my phone slides farther down her body. It doesn’t matter. She has her eyes closed anyway, and the sound is more than enough.
“P-please piss on me, Sir. I’m—I’m your t-toilet.”
Elena’s voice is warped with sobs and hiccups. It’s one of the earlier videos, from before she’s completely lost the will to live. I’m not sure she’s still alive, but it doesn’t really matter.
I can feel Lucia start to constrict under the onslaught, short pulses along my fingers. I want to pull the speculum out and fill her with my cock—but I remind myself of my plan. I’m not going to give in just for a bit of fleeting pleasure, not when there’s a much larger prize at stake.
When I think Lucia is closer, my fingers sticky with her wetness, I use my thumb to rub her clit. It’s strange to feel her smooth skin around it, no hair at all, but I can appreciate the sensation.
It doesn’t take more than a few extra strokes for Lucia to shudder and convulse, her back arching off the chair. She moans loudly, but it devolves into a long, wet sob.
