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There's a cum and piss-soaked rag stuffed in my mouth. Two of Master's friends are holding me down as Master takes the detachable shower head and turns it onto the highest power setting.
I try so hard to be good. This is just a game, after all. A new one, yes, but still just a game. I haven’t done anything wrong. If I fight them, I’ll have a punishment to deal with when this is over. I force my body to go lax, trying not to hyperventilate as Master approaches.
The water hits me right in the face, a freezing cold assault. One of the men fists my hair and yanks my head back. Water quickly pours into my nose and to my throat. I choke on it, some spilling into my mouth and soaking into the already soiled rag. My lungs feel like they've collapsed. Like they've given up. I don’t fucking blame them. A harsh burn spreads from my chest through my body.
I don’t even realize I’ve started fighting until my fist connects with the shower wall and my knuckles crunch. I tell myself to stop, but I can’t. It's instinct. I’m going to fucking die! I can't just let myself die! I have to at least try!
I kick and swing, but my head is starting to swim, my body feeling loose and heavy.
"Please," I shriek into the gag. "Please, you're killing me!"
The men don't understand me. Or maybe they don't care. Or maybe I don't even make a sound. The water keeps coming until my vision turns black. Then I’m being turned over, the rag removed, a harsh hand slapping my back as I cough and vomit up water. The men are all laughing. I hear Master speak, amusement in his voice. "That was fun. If you had behaved, it'd be over. But I guess now we'll have to do a second round."
"Please," I wheeze. I claw at my throat. My chest. Someone grabs my hands, pulling them away, hushing me, telling me to stop because I’m scratching and they don’t want me to hurt myself. But… that doesn’t make sense. They’ve never cared before if I’m hurt.
“Stop,” Master says. No, not Master. Someone else. Someone familiar, but still new. The voice is warm. Steady. American. “Stop, little one. You’ll hurt yourself. Please stop.”
I shake my head, confusion marring my thoughts. Even though I know I’ll probably make things worse, I have to try, have to beg, “Please. Please don’t kill me.”
Chapter Twelve
Jake
I tighten my hold on the boy jerking in my arms, keeping his hands pinned to ensure his angry fingers can’t claw at his skin again. He’s desperate. Distraught. He’s asking me over and over again to please, please stop. Please don’t kill him.
“You’re okay,” I say as firmly as I can. I want to call his name, but I think maybe that’d just make things worse. “It’s okay, little one. Come back to me. Please come back to me. You’re safe. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
"Please," the boy sobs, his body trembling in my arms. "Please. I can't - not again. Anything else. Please, Master. Anything."
"Hey." I shake the boy a little, freaked out by his wide-open eyes that don't seem to be seeing me at all. "Come back to me right now.”
My movement causes my back to stop shielding him from the water, some of it splashing onto his face. If I thought he was upset before, that was nothing. He writhes so violently that he breaks out of my hold and lands hard on the wet tile, a shriek ripping its way from his throat.
The water. Something about the water is triggering him.
I hurry to shut the water off before scooping the boy up in my arms and carrying him to the bed, grabbing a towel off the warmer as I go. I wrap him up tight and cradle him in my lap, not caring that we're both soaked. I'm just thankful he’s relaxed back to where he was before the water hit his face, even if that is still a pretty shitty place for him to be.
“Hey, little one. It’s over, okay? It’s all over. The water is gone. You’re safe now. I have you. Can you hear me, baby boy?”
His fingers flex where they’ve come to rest on my bicep. “M-Master DuGray?”
“No. DuGray is gone. You’re with me now, remember? You’re not his, you’re mine.”
The boy presses harder against me, his body still shaking. I rub my hand up and down his towel-covered back as I wait for him to reorient himself. It takes him a minute, but then he rears his head back and blinks owlishly at me. It’s one of the rare times he lets me have eye contact with him. I hope one day I’ll get that without having to order him or have him in the middle of a mental breakdown first.
“I-” He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut as if he’s in pain. His voice is thick with emotion when he tries again. “I’m so sorry, Master. I - I didn’t mean to…”
“To be triggered into a flashback and have a violent panic attack?” I smile softly, wishing he’d look at me again. “No one ever means to do that, little one. It just happens. I'm not upset. You’re okay.”
The boy sniffles and lifts a fist to rub at his eyes. It’s adorable and heart-wrenching, and all I want to do is say fuck the party and stay here all night holding him. But I can’t. I have a job to do.
Just as I’m about to ease him off my lap and force myself to get ready, he starts talking.
“He waterboarded me. I - I promise, I wasn't bad. I was good. But he - he liked to play games. That was one of them." He quickly opens his eyes then, the blue flashing with panic. "Not that I'm complaining, Master. I - I'm just a slave. I was there to entertain him. I w-was thankful that he gave me the opportunity-"
"Stop," I beg, unable to listen to that bullshit. "Your last master was a fucking asshole. I'm not like him. No games. No… any of it."
Casey turns his gaze to the floor, eyebrows pulling in. "No… sex."
