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I hate that it’s the same man I doctored, a mask covering most of his face. I hate the sight of his wounds, some of the stitching peeled away, his wounds oozing. It tells me that Pirro has once again worked him over. I’m torn between hoping the monster has at least been giving him injections of antibiotics and thinking it would probably be better for the man if he wasn’t being treated for the infections.
“It’s a paid live,” Pirro says, the finger of one hand tapping out a tempo only he can hear on his opposite forearm. It makes me wonder how many lines of cocaine he snorted while I was taking a shower.
“What’s the theme?” I ask, rather than making the mistake of assuming just from looking at the setup.
“Male victim, female seductress,” Pirro says, his eyes finding mine as if he’s living for whatever reaction I may have. He hands me a mask. It’s one I’m familiar with because I wear them often enough. It’s more than likely at the request of the customer because these guys aren’t concerned about my anonymity.
I’ve learned not to cringe, not to beg for a break. Pirro loves nothing more than forcing someone to do something they don’t want. He lives for the moments he gets to prove he has more authority over everyone when Raul is gone.
“How far?” I ask, my eyes darting back to the man splayed out on the bed.
“Full fuck,” he responds, and my rejection is on the tip of my tongue.
I’ve had to suck a guy off that didn’t want it. When I did it to this man, he wasn’t the first, but I’ve never had to fuck a guy that wasn’t interested.
I’ve done all sorts of fetish shit. I’ve pretended to be asleep. I don’t know how many times I’ve had to gag around calling someone daddy. I’ve been forced to eat pussy while the girl cried and begged me to stop, but never once have I had to have full blown sex with someone.
My hands are trembling as I nod, knowing he’s just waiting for me to argue.
“What if he hurts me?”
Pirro looks from me to the man, before responding. “He’s tied down pretty good, and he’s pretty fucking worked over, but the more he fights, the better for the client. Pay attention to prompts.”
He steps out of the way so I can get closer to the man.
I hate that his eyes lock on to me the second I get within a few feet of the bed.
Instead of trying to calm his fears, I look toward the teleprompter so I know exactly what the customer wants. Everything in me is telling me to fight this, to try and run from the room. It’s a feeling that’s more familiar than it ever should be, because I’ve been expected to do so many fucking things that I’d never even consider if I were free and living my own life.
His eyes are heavy, but even if he passes out, neither of us can avoid this. His cock is thick, albeit not quite fully erect, and I know he’s been given some sort of drug to make him that way.
I know from experience that most men are willing and ready no matter what the situation is. But I highly doubt this man wants to get fucked while he’s covered in wounds, after having undoubtedly been tortured every single day since he arrived at the house.
He tenses as I climb on the bed, my throat working on a swallow as I obey the teleprompter.
START AT HIS CALVES AND LICK YOUR WAY UP HIS BODY.
I wish I could convey that the bile threatening to choke me and make me puke is more about what I’m being forced to do and has little to do with my disgust in him as a person.
Chapter 8
Nash
I try to lift my head to watch her as she makes her way up my body, but I don’t have the strength. I don’t even know if I could fight her if my arms and legs weren’t strapped down.
I’d guess she’s the same woman from the last time I had contact with someone other than Pirro and his goons, but I can’t be a hundred percent sure because of the mask covering most of her face. Imagining there’s more than one woman in the world as cruel and evil as that first woman makes my head spin, so I settle into the idea that this is the very same one who sucked me off on command and then treated my wounds.
I haven’t been given much of a reprieve. It feels like I’ve been here for months already, not a handful of hours going past before Pirro is standing in front of me with a scalpel or some other device to hurt me with.
