New Title 7 (3 page)

"Sit on the bed," he ordered.

Obediently I sank to the edge of the mattress, snuck a look and found him searching through one of the bureau drawers. He brought out a brownish container and piece of cloth.

He unscrewed the lid, held the cloth to the rim and tipped the bottle.

Chills trickled along my spine as he wedged the saturated cloth to my nose and mouth.

"Breathe." He cupped the back of my head. "It won't hurt you. I'm a doctor, remember?"

Emotionally, physically drained and sick of being scared, I gave in to his demands.

Drug-induced blackness followed. A heavy sleep without dreams or nightmares.

The
real
nightmare started after I woke. 

My arms were stretched painfully taught. Duct tape choked my wrists and tethered me to the center bars of the headboard. 

I was naked.

He'd done it, succeeded in making me his prisoner. Not one time in my life had I felt as vulnerable. He could do anything he wanted and I couldn't do a damn thing. It scared me to death.

Gathering courage, I suppressed the panic.

Surprised to see my legs unbound, I slipped my feet up and down the comforter, relishing its softness, my one comfort in this dimly lit prison.

Could Brandon be telling the truth about his heart condition? There was no mistaking the scar on his chest—though what did it matter? I was stuck here as a sex slave where I'd remain... unless he died.

Why should I feel guilty for wanting death to quickly claim him? The sooner he died, the sooner I could leave this hell.

He hurt me in the same way other couples expressed their love for each other. If this was the only way he could express his feelings, no wonder he was dying of a broken heart.

"I see you're awake. Good." In a corner, his nude and distinctly masculine silhouette was crouched in shadows.

My god, he's been watching and waiting.

He rose and gave a side view of his sloped, semi-erect penis.

Already? Again?

He advanced and the mattress creaked as he climbed on top. My heart skipped. Pleasant and unpleasant sensations overcame me as if my body couldn't decide how to react.

His warm breath stroked my cheek. He pressed his lips to mine while his heavy midriff shoved me into the comforter's softness. He raised to straddle my thighs, glided his hands from my waist to breasts, traveling in slow motion, thumbs teasing the nipples.

He dipped to my right breast, tongued, sucked the hard peak as he arched into me. Fully erect, his rigid thing stabbed and swiftly gained entry.

I let him do what he wanted. Gave him what he needed. I lost the power of choice long ago, so why fight?

Starting at my throat, he kissed up to my lips and slipped to my earlobe for a gentle taste. 

"Yeah," he whispered, plunging his sex deeper. "I wanna keep you naked so you'll be ready for me, baby.
Always
ready." His brisk motions caused the headboard to bang, bang, bang the wall.

His cock tore in and out in savage repetition. I winced.

"Stop. It hurts."

His breath caught as he froze, eyes snapped open and stared with hatred.

"Did you lie about not being a virgin?" he asked.

"No, but how do you expect me to stay wet all the fucking time? I thought medical students were supposed to know these things."

He glared for the longest time, then yanked out.

"I'll be back." Just before leaving, he eyed me with a sternness that implied:
I WILL be back to finish this. You're not off the hook.

He returned with a jar of Vaseline. Sitting astride my thighs, he popped the lid, scooped out a thick layer and massaged it around his length.

Brandon grabbed the side of the mattress, his well-lubed shiny cock gripped in the other hand. Inch-by-inch he eased it inside.

It didn't hurt.

"You better be happy I took the time to use lube. If I'd gone soft, I would've made you suck me until I got hard," he warned. His dark brows formed an angry angle over cerulean slits.

His lips parted and he exhaled in sudden pleasure. All anger drained from his face, replaced by elation.

I waited for him to finish. How many times would he use me like some sick-ass sex toy? Plus his warning struck fear in me and opened up a whole host of scary possibilities. What other new sex acts would he force on me? Would he jab weird things inside me? What other degrading acts did he have in store?

I prayed to god that he wasn't too much of a sexual deviant.

Though I hadn't been a virgin since the age of sixteen, I was used to vanilla sex and nothing else. But before this I'd only had sex a few times.

"You're not as tight," he said. "But still feels good I suppose."

Yes. I suppose so, considering you're sweating, moaning, groping and bucking like a wild animal. God, I hate you. You're a fucking bastard.

Like a hundred tentacles, his long fingers fondled, probed, caressed. Everywhere he touched, it ached. I rolled my eyes, wondered when this torture would end. Seemed Brandon wouldn't be satisfied until he had my body pummeled into nothing.

He manhandled, fucked and mauled my body, claimed it as if he
owned
me.

Mentally, I drifted outside myself and wandered to a different time and place. Miserable high school memories resurfaced, but anything was better than living in the present.

For years I had a crush on a certain older boy.
Oh my god
—Brandon looked just like him.

So my mental vacation didn't help. Neither did this scorching, stabbing pain that ripped me in half.

Lube wore off.

His violent jabs made me rapidly rise and fall, rise and fall. I couldn't stand it.

"It hurts. Hurry and get off."

His face distorted in a vicious sneer. "Say—
pleeaase
."

"Go to hell, motherfucker."

"Then I won't hurry." Enjoying my agony, he slowed his rhythmic stabbing. "Don't wanna come
too
soon." His mouth formed a cruel smirk as he rode me.

I did something I should've done a long time ago. I screamed in his ear, hoping to bust the fucker's eardrums.

"
Shut the fuck up, bitch
."

I didn't. He could make me do a lot of things—but he couldn't shut me up. I screamed, shouted, cursed in retaliation. He cackled like a lunatic and silenced me by slapping a hand to my lips.

He grinned, riding rougher, crazier. "What are you gonna do now?" he hissed. "
I'm
the one in control, Mia. Not you. And guess what? I can even control my orgasm—which means I'll take my sweet time. So you better get used to me fucking your pretty brains out, 'cause it feels too damn good to stop."

Thrusting. Ripping. Tearing. Shredding.

"I know this sounds cliché, but no one can hear you scream. It's a fact. You're in my basement, the upstairs door is thick. You can scream all you want as soon as I'm finished with you. How does that sound?"

Thrusting. Ripping.
Tearing. Shredding
.

I drifted to an alternate reality where I was a little girl living in Brookwood Hills, my first hometown.

Am I dreaming? I think I'm supposed to be somewhere else.

I entered this unfamiliar colonial-style mansion and grand hallway with a staircase twirling to the upper floor. Intriguing piano music played and resonated. The song grew louder, clearer till I recognized it.

Chopin's Nocturne Number 2. Beautiful. One of many romantic, classical songs Mom loved. I went further, further into this wonderful dream and farther from a certain nightmare. I climbed the stairs but beyond every bend were additional steps, spiraling upward in an endless loop.

And that piano infinitely belted out the Chopin melody.

Who's playing it?

Endlessly looping stairs faded. Nothing below my feet except empty space.  In those seconds of insanity, I sobbed and wondered if my tears would float due to lack of gravity.

'Don't cry. I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm not a bad person.'
His voice was the only thing I recognized in this emptiness. Something tangible, real.

Who was he? Was he playing the piano?

Sharp pain erupted and my eyes shot open.

Ceiling above. Prickling below.

"Can you hear me?" he asked. "Don't cry. It'll be okay. I'll take care of the bleeding."

Bleeding! What's he doing? What...

I screamed, flailed and he seized a thigh to hold me still.

"Mia
—
I told you it'll be fine." Naked, Brandon sat on his heels in the center of the bed. My legs were bent at the knees and parted as he worked on the tender area between my thighs. Alcohol packets, small boxes and wads of bloody gauze scattered the mattress. That's when I knew.

He'd ripped me.

Ripped
me!

I shivered, teeth chattered while I struggled to speak. "Brandon—
what did you do to me
?"

"It's okay." He kept his head lowered. "I saw the blood after you passed out. I've taken care of it." He spoke calmly as if vaginal tearing and bleeding were the most normal thing in the world.

Christ
.

"You tore me up." Hot, bitter tears spilled.

"I applied pressure to stop the bleeding. It's just a small laceration, looks worse than it actually is. Just a few seconds and I'll be done."

"Did you hear what I said? You tore me up! God dammit!"

"Don't move. Hold still so I can do this... now's not the time for a cute tantrum." Concentration etched his face as he dabbed the wound with gauze.

"You tore me up." Waves of exhaustion weakened me, softened my voice. "You tore me up. You tore me up."

I needed him to understand what he'd done. I wanted him to face reality, make him see how much he was hurting me.

You can't turn a monster into a human. You can't change a lifeless stone to a beating heart.

"That's it. I'll be back later to change your sheets." He inserted a bundle of gauze and I flinched from the stinging pressure.

He left the bed, leaned and swept the supplies off the mattress. His guiltless gaze held mine, face perfectly stoic.

"Are you going to leave me alone so I can heal?" I questioned.

"Four to six weeks."

"Four to six weeks?"

"I won't touch you for at least four weeks."

Oh dear god. Thank you.

Brandon gazed with expectation.

"What?" I asked. "Is there something else you wanted?"

"You'll be giving me blow jobs in that time. I can't go more than a few days without fucking or jacking off."

Felt like the wind was knocked out of me. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. I'm serious." He shot me a final glare and left.

Every inch of flesh throbbed. My arms were killing me, duct tape squeezed my wrists, numbed my hands. Purple and red blemishes spotted my thighs, waist, ribs—bruises received when he snared me in the woods.

I survived the first day of this ordeal.

What horrors awaited me in the coming days?

I
n the middle of the night Brandon came in to change the bloodied sheet. Since I was bound, he had me lift my torso and roll to the side to accomplish this. It was a humiliating pain in the ass.

Ugh
. 

I squirmed on the comforter, full bladder pleading to be emptied. I couldn't feel my arms but maybe that was a good thing.

This room stayed dreary without windows and sunlight. A digital clock on the bureau provided the time.

7:24 a.m.

He stirred, doing god knows what in the next room. Meanwhile I had to pee so badly it ached.

Desperate, I called his name. No answer.

"Brandon!"

No answer.

"Brandon!" I shouted until my throat was hoarse. It didn't help that I was thirsty. I heard him ambling about and whenever I called his name, the noises stopped a few seconds at a time.

In other words—the motherfucker was ignoring me.

Damn you, Brandon
.

He burst in when I didn't expect it, startling me as the door swung in and struck the wall. Bits of plaster crumbled.

He wore clothing... for a change. Jet black pajama bottoms and nothing else. The ridges of his stomach glimmered and his hair was damp, slick as if he'd recently showered. A silver necklace encircled his neck.

Wide haunting eyes, the color of jade, glared at me. Corners of shapely lips curled downward.

"I was busy straightening the rec room," he seethed. I didn't care he was pissed and neither did my bladder.

"Please, I gotta go to the bathroom. If you don't take off this tape I swear I'll pee on the bed. You won't give me any choice." I wriggled.

His mouth twisted to a condescending smile. "Okay." He left the room.

Where's he going?

My question was answered when he returned carrying his trademark switchblade. I cringed at its tapered, razor-sharp edge.

Hooking the blade beneath the duct tape which fastened me to the headboard, he sawed upward and my wrists pinched from the initial tightening.

Though adhesive remnants looped my wrists, I was free. Carefully I lowered my stiffened arms and shook to get the circulation going. If I didn't hurry my bladder was going to explode.

I rushed to the en-suite bathroom and sank to the toilet. Discomfort vanished in a stream of urine.
Oh... thank god.

"C'mon, Mia. I don't have all day." He sighed.

"Alright. Just give me another minute."

My jaw dropped when I passed the doorway. Brandon—fully nude—was stroking himself and his penis thickened in hasty response.

"Wait—you
promised
to leave me alone for a while."

"Don't worry. I'm keeping my promise," he said. "I want to get hard before you give me a blow job. Remember our talk last night?"

Oh yeah.
I nodded, miserable.

"Good. I'm glad you didn't forget." Bright satisfied grin.

"Will you let me take a shower first? I haven't had one in days."

His grin faded. "I'll let you shower
after
you give me a blow."