Martyrs (Forced by Consent Book 3)

Martyrs

Forced by Consent (Book 3)

By Amanda Close

Copyright by Amanda Close 2015

The missive had been cryptic in its simplicity and demanding in its brevity, and so, dutiful as ever, Tae Ware found himself preparing to leave the interior of the House and seek his destiny upon the grounds.

WHEN THE FIRST SNOW FALLS

STALK THE FOREST PATHS AT MORNING BELL

PUNISH WHAT YOU FIND THERE

Tae had received the missive while he slept, the message having been typed on House letterhead and slipped under his door. That was nearly a month ago, and since that time Tae had took special notice of the weather. Winters were hard in upstate New York, especially for Tae, who was a Louisiana man born and raised. He had been a servant in the House of Red and Black for nearly three years by the time the missive reached his eyes, so he knew well that the first snow was a peculiar and magical event in this region. This morning, just like every other morning since his initiation, Tae’s finely tuned biological clock roused him from sleep, and he set himself about his morning routine. Discipline was everything for the servants within the House, and he had taken to it with enthusiasm.

The large African American rose from his bed, drained the glass of filtered water on his nightstand, and swiftly made his bed. He wore nothing but his matte black boxer briefs, and before removing those and donning his uniform of shirt and boots he went through a short warm up routine of push ups, crunches, high knees, and jumping jacks. It paled in comparison to the alternating daily exercise regimens expected of the men who resided within the House, though it did serve to get his blood pumping and his chiseled body fully roused from sleep. Tae’s small chamber had a shower, toilet, and a simple cabinet for his clothing. Once he had gone through his morning routine of voiding, bathing, and shaving, Tae dressed.

He had set the missive on his sink, so that he would see it every morning, and remember to look out his small window to check for snow. Tae fastened two wide leather bracelets to his wrists, both of which contained small packets of the highly advanced lubricants that the black shirts used during their daily sexual encounters. The bed sisters were completely under the control of the black shirts once they set foot outside of their chambers, and so it was up to the men to manage the use of lubricant throughout the day. Tae was a rather well endowed man, his penis when fully erect measuring at just over ten inches, and so on more active days he did have to refill his applicators.

Tae thought of the young brunette bed sister, Natasha, as he clasped his bracelets in place. Already the thought of abusing her gorgeous body was stirring his desire. Tae reached down and gave his cock a few gentle tugs as he pleasantly recalled the vivid memory of dragging her through the mud and punishing her tight little cinnamon swirl not two months ago. The only thing better than beating opponents senseless in the ring was sexually abusing willing beautiful women. It was the single most wonderful experience of his life, and his member positively throbbed at the continuous realization that this was indeed his life.

He imagined that all black shirts had similar “mirror time” before exiting their chambers, as like Tae the other black shirts had found their way to the House of Red and Black thanks to similar obsessions. If ever there was a BDSM varsity league, Tae knew he was on the team.

As Tae turned towards the window and began using his hand to wipe away the fog from his steamy shower he told himself that he must avoid Natasha today. Tae had taken the day prior to remain in his chambers and spend the time meditating and fasting. He knew that attachment to the bed sisters was a constant risk, and when a black shirt began to feel the emergence of emotions concerning one or more of the women it was up to him to eliminate those feelings. There was an inexplicable bond between two human beings who had sex with each other, made even deeper by the level of abuse. Though on the surface the black shirts were sexually objectifying the bed sisters, and treated them like little more than pieces of beautiful meat to be abused and fucked then cast aside, their bonds were much deeper.

Everyone who resided in the House of Red and Black was there by consent, they were paid nothing, and yet most remained. There were always those who lost their courage and left, mostly bed sisters and pack sisters too traumatized by the punishment to continue, though even some black shirts left, those who lost their will to dominate or grew jealously attached to one of the sisters. If Tae allowed himself to grow any fonder of Natasha he might begin to feel jealous of the other black shirts as they took her. If he allowed himself to care on such a superficial level as worldly love, then his time at the House would soon be over.

As the Sovereign Lady had told him when he’d first been initiated, he must love each of these women equally, and must hold them so dear that their bond transcended love. They were not here to be in love, from the sisters to the black shirts, they were here to wage a war of flesh. It was a more obvious battle for the pack sisters, who voluntarily lived in pens beneath the main House and brawled each other in bloody cage matches, yet all who resided here fought the fight on one end of the punishment or the other.

To be a black shirt meant that Tae carried a terrible responsibility in exchange for the opportunity to live out his abusive fantasy. To the outside observer the House of Red and Black must seem like a temple of misogyny more than sacred space, thought Tae, but nothing could be further from the truth. He only knew his small part in the grand performance of the House, thought he assumed the bed sisters and the pack sisters had theirs as well. No woman would consent to the kinds of sexual humiliation and bodily punishment that the black shirts abused them with if they were not also servants of the powers behind the House.

Tae could not fathom the true nature of the powers, only that he knew they existed, and being so close to that kind of tangible divinity was enough for him. He did not need to unravel the mystery, simply being in its presence and participating in the dance was enough for him. Tae had come up the hard way as a gang member in New Orleans, and not once in his teen years would he have ever though something like the House could ever exist, much less that he would be a servant within its hallowed halls.

Tae had always been a brawler, a barbarian of a man even at a young age. To support his mother and his five siblings a sixteen year old Tae had begun bare-knuckle fighting in illegal matches. For nearly six years he spent his nights in abandoned warehouses, sweaty basements, and down miles of bayou backcountry beating other men senseless for cash. Eventually he got into the MMA fighting scene, inspired by the likes of fighters such as Kimbo Slice, and made a decent regional career for himself. It was his success that brought his career to a grinding halt, even if that is what led him to the House.

Tae had no moral qualms about engaging the services of prostitutes, though their pimps did have a problem with the kind of violent abusive sexual acts he put them through. Tae paid extra to do what he liked, but eventually the working girls started refusing to take the gig. After his second brush with the law over being caught in hotels with prostitutes Tae had been banned from the UFC, and soon he was back to bare-knuckle boxing to keep his bills paid.

The House recruiter had propositioned him after a particularly brutal match against a fighter who proved to be just as vicious as Tae himself. Tae looked out of the foggy window at the season’s first snow, and smiled as he crushed the missive in his hand and recalled his experience with the recruiter. She was, after all, the reason he was here. She too had used the phrase “war of flesh”, though when she’d first approached him Tae had thought she was talking about his fight.

She was an achingly attractive woman, of Chinese descent, with a compact body that had all the right curves. Her hair was rigidly straight and her lips curled with the kind of coy smile that all but begged Tae to slap it off of her face before ramming his cock down her throat. As it turned out, he had given him her consent to do just that. She claimed that her name was Hu, and that she was a recruiter for an organization that was particularly interested in Tae’s talents. Tae had assumed she was talking about his fighting abilities, and had expected her to pitch him on joining this franchise or that as she followed him to the shed that served as his locker room. Tae had used a garden hose to dowse himself in order to wash the blood and sweat off as the young woman spoke, and it wasn’t long before he realized she wasn’t talking about fighting.

Hu revealed knowledge pertaining to most of Tae’s prostitution experiences. She congratulated him on his sexual brutality, though challenged him to show her what he could do against a consenting woman. Tae scoffed at that, and said that nobody would endure the kind of abuse he was into dishing without getting paid handsomely for it. Hu had responded by boldly casting her jacket to the ground and stripping right there in front of the fighter. Tae hesitated at first, then Hu commanded him to show her what he was made of, that she needed to see if he was the man she was looking for. At the time Tae hadn’t realized just how far down the rabbit hole he was about to go, all he though was how much he wanted to fill Hu’s holes.

Tae pulled his fighting trunks off and revealed his massive erection, taking a silent pleasure in how Hu’s eyes went wide at the sight of his size. Her reaction to his manhood enflamed Tae’s desire, and he asked her if she wanted to take back her offer. When Hu smiled that coy smile of hers Tae reacted with a fighter’s speed and lashed out at her with the palm of his hand. Most people didn’t realize just how powerful the act of slapping someone really was, though Tae knew intimately, as did several New Orleans prostitutes who were afraid to fuck him no matter how much they got paid. Hu was a tiny woman compared to Tae, and she fell to her knees from the force of the blow. Before she could react any further Tae took another step forward and snatched a fistful of her hair so that he could yank her head back.

The side of Hu’s face was already red where his hand had impacted, and as she opened her mouth to either protest or speak the fighter stuffed her with his huge cock. Tae knew somewhere in the back of his mind that it was Hu that actually controlled the situation, since she could simply snap her jaws shut and probably mess up his manhood quite badly, perhaps even bite all the way through his girth. This was the real test, he told himself, and he found that he was absolutely certain she was going to stay on her knees and take it all. Something about her confidence, her calm acceptance that her body was forfeit, told him that he could do anything he wanted to this woman. If she had come here looking to get abused, he’d show her what kind of monster she’d found out in the bayou.

Tae used one hand to hold her hair and the other to grip her throat as he pumped himself in and out of her mouth. Tae was immediately surprised and impressed by Hu’s apparent lack of gag reflex. The last time he’d throated a girl she’d puked twice before learning the trick to having ten plus inches of man meat shoved down her esophagus. Hu was struggling, of that there was no doubt, but she was doing it like a pro. Tae had watched plenty of adult films and this little Asian girl was taking dick better than any porn star he’d ever watched on screen. Tae smiled and decided that it was just another challenge. If she wasn’t going to puke then she had to have experience with this kind of violent deepthroating, so he was going to push her to the limits.

“I want to feel you breathe through your nose bitch,” Tae growled as he shoved himself into Hu to the hilt and didn’t pull himself back out, and relished the sensation of the young woman’s rapid inhales and exhales tickling the base of his cock. The oral punishment continued for several more furious minutes before Hu did finally gag, and Tae decided to show her mouth a few moments’ mercy.

The big man slid his cock from her throat and snarled with desire as the small woman gasped for the much needed air. Hu ran a smooth hand up his thigh sensually even as she breathed with desperation and relied on his grip of her hair to hold her upright. Her touch enflamed his already wild desire and Tae started walking back to the garden hose, dragging Hu by the hair as he went. She whimpered as the rough wood skinned her knees, and cried out in shock as the cold water of the hose hit her naked body. She was covered in spittle and bile from the insane deepthroating, and Tae used the hose to spray her clean with the ice cold water. Goosebumps rose across her skin and the petite woman began shivering wildly despite the warm air. Tae knew from experience that she was in shock, both from the throating and the cold water, though instead of pity he only felt more fire.

Tae picked up the hose and wrapped it around Hu’s wrists, being careful to use a load-bearing knot so that the hose wouldn’t hurt her too much or break her bones. Then the fighter lifted Hu effortlessly into the air and hung her by her bound arms from one of the huge nails protruding from one of the wooden support beams of the small structure. Hu was whimpering and moaning as Tae picked up the other end of the hose and doubled it over in his hands to put his fist round the spout, though the fighter could see the glint of passion in her eyes and the way she bit her lip, and he began. The first strike landed across her thighs, as did the second, third, and fourth, the fifth he laid across her belly before letting the hose fall to the ground.