Page 75 of Shattered In Darkness

He stops, suddenly. My body clenches around nothing. He kneels in front of me. “You want to come?” I bite my lip as he grips my jaw, forcing my eyes to his. “Say it. Beg. Promise you’ll touch yourself for me, exactly how I say. Or I’ll leave you down here, wet and shaking, until you forget your own name.”

I nod, desperate, broken. “Please. Please let me. I’ll do anything. I’ll touch myself, I’ll be your whore, I’ll do whatever you want⁠—”

He unzips my pants and pulls them down. My hands are still bound behind me. I can barely move, but he positions me, legs spread, knees pointed out. He cuts the ties. Freedom, but it comes with a price.

“Show me,” he says, voice rough. “But only when I say. Only how I say.” I reach between my thighs, fingers trembling. I’m soaked, humiliated. He palms himself through his pants, the outline hard, thick. He strokes himself, slow, as he watches me. “Just two fingers. Small circles. Slow. Pretend you hate it.”

I obey, sliding two fingers over my clit, slow, trembling circles. The pleasure is laced with shame, with the memory of the cold knife. He watches every twitch, every gasp.

“Look at me,” he orders. I meet the empty eye sockets of the mask. He unzips, pulls his cock out. It’s huge, leaking already as he strokes himself in time with my movements. “Faster,” he says. “But don’t come. Not yet.”

I speed up, breath going ragged. My body betrays me, hips moving, thighs shaking.

He kneels, strokes faster, eyes devouring me. “You’re so fucking filthy. Say it. Say you’re nothing but a hole.”

“I’m nothing but a hole,” I whisper.

“Now beg me. Beg me to let you come.”

“Please. Please, I’ll be good, I’m your whore, I’ll do anything, just let me come⁠—”

He groans. “Do it. Now.”

I rub harder, and the orgasm tears through me, all the pain and terror washing out in one blinding wave. I sob, my body convulsing, legs quaking. He strokes himself, faster, rougher. His hand is a blur, the mask inches from my face.

“Open your mouth,” he commands.

I do. He presses his cock to my lips and jerks, hot, bitter cum pouring into my mouth, over my tongue, dripping down my chin. He keeps going, filling me, smearing it over my cheeks, my nose, my lips.

“Lick it,” he says. “Clean it up like a good girl.”

I lick his cock, my own tears and his cum mixing, choking me. He holds my head, guiding me, making sure I don’t miss a drop. When he’s finished, he tucks himself away, standing over me as I kneel, ruined, cum smeared across my face, my body shaking.

He bends and wipes a thumb over my cheek, pressing it into my mouth. “Swallow.”

I obey.

He steps back. “Good girl. You’re learning.” He kicks the bucket toward me. “Go ahead. That’s where you piss. Remind yourself. That’s all you are. Mine.”

I crawl to the bucket, humiliated, every inch of my skin burning with shame and used-up pleasure.

He leaves, boots echoing up the stairs, the lock sliding. I am alone again, shaking, sticky, filthy. I curl up, knees to chest, the taste of him in my mouth.

The cold creeps in, but I can’t feel it. All I feel is him.

23

LOLA

The door swings open with a bang. He fills the doorway, skull mask looming in the dark. I sit up on the mattress, blanket clutched tight, forcing my chin high even though my hands are shaking.

He stomps across the room, all violence and silence, and grabs a chair. Dragging it across the floor, he sits, legs wide, elbows on his knees. Watching me.

“Get up,” he says. My heart thrashes against my ribs. I wonder how he is going to use me today. He points. “Sit there.” He wants me on the floor at his feet. I hesitate, but he tilts his head, voice dropping. “Now.”

I sit. My knees bump the chair leg, and he leans in, close enough to taste my panic.

“I want answers, Lola.” His voice is deadly calm. “Tell me about Marcus. Tell me what you do for him.”