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I’m fairly certain it’s the same room I was brought in before, but since they were quick to cover my eyes before and right after the scene was over, I can’t be a hundred percent sure.
A row of cameras stand sentry in front of me, as Pirro looks down at my growing cock, victory in his eyes.
I use the time to look around the room, noticing the microphones suspended from the bed. There are lights and those shiny fucking things that I know direct the glares and shit, but have no idea what they’re called, scattered throughout the area.
The bed is staged, having a fucking disgusting, rustic, decrepit feel to it, but from this side, taking in the entire area. I have no doubt the cameraman will have the ability to make it look exactly like whatever the client is requesting, the sick fuck that he is.
Several cameras are all pointed toward the bed, capable of catching every fucking angle of what they think they can force me to do.
A storyboard hangs on one wall, next to a blank teleprompter, proving me right about where the woman’s eyes were drawn to the last time I was in here.
I can’t look at the bed, and I hate myself more than a little for how the memory of that woman riding me and acting out whatever commands she was given is affecting me right now. I blame the fucking drugs in my system, wanting nothing more than to slit the throat of every fucking person in this room.
Pirro is just letting me take in my fill, but the woman he threatened to make me fuck isn’t on the bed, and I don’t see another female in the room.
Doom settles in my gut as I consider all the fucking options at these men’s disposal, hating that I know there are ways they could fucking hurt me that I haven’t experienced yet. It isn’t the first time I’ve thought about it, considering what they’re into, but the thought now makes my skin crawl.
I feel like the biggest piece of shit that has ever walked the earth because I know what I would choose if I were given the option to be hurt that way or hurt someone else that way. It speaks fucking volumes as to how much of a goddamned violation it is.
I open my mouth to beg for death when the door opens.
It’s the first time I’m seeing her completely as she enters the room unescorted.
“There’s our star,” Pirro says, and I watch as she manages half a smile.
She’s no more impressed to be here than I am, but she’s also not fighting them either. The contradiction confuses the fuck out of me, but I also know it doesn’t take much these days after hours of torture and being starved for however long I’ve been here.
She nods to each of the men before walking over to the bed. She doesn’t even falter as she climbs onto the thing, holding her arms out and spreading her legs as two men walk to either side of the bed and strap her arms down.
She doesn’t make a sound, not a chuckle or whimper of distress when one of the men twists her nipple harshly.
Her throat works on a swallow, a strand of her blond hair resting there. Her blue eyes are pointed at the ceiling. I watch as she goes from what appears to be calm and collected to her chest heaving, tears running down her temples until they disappear into her hairline.
I let my eyes sweep the length of her, unsure of what I’m witnessing and completely fucking confused by all of it.
I don’t know if the bruises, cuts, scratches, and scars marring her skin are real or just another prop for the fucking movie we’re clearly about to make.
“Here,” Pirro snaps as he presses something into my chest.
I wince from the pain it causes, looking down at the dark mask.
“The customer wants to imagine it’s him, not you, fucking her.”
I take the fucking thing, but before I can say a word, it’s snatched out of my hand by one of the other guys. I glare at my nemesis as the mask is tied on my fucking face.
“I won’t fuck her.”
“You will,” he argues, smiling when I start to shake my head. “You’ll fuck her and make it look good, or the scene will turn into a fucking snuff film.”
I freeze, my spine stiffening as much as capable, wondering if they also gave me a goddamned pain pill because there’s a numbness to my wounds, a kind of relief I haven’t felt until now. Maybe it’s the acceptance of what will happen to me today.
Pirro inches closer. “And before you spit out some stupid shit, know it will be her life you’re sacrificing, not your own.”
