Trust in Me

Trust in Me

Skye Warren

Copyright 2012 by Skye Warren

WARNING

This book contains explicit scenes of dubious consent, graphic violence and sex. It also depicts abuse and captivity situations. Not appropriate for anyone uncomfortable with these situations or anyone under the age of eighteen. This is a work of fiction.

AUTHOR’S FOREWARD

Dear Reader,

I must warn you that this is a disturbing tale, one that starts dark and gets darker. If you are looking for a straight-laced BDSM book, this is not for you. It’s intended as a fantasy for those who are as fascinated by erotic pain and nonconsent as I am. The only balm I can offer is that I’m a romantic at heart, and I think that surfaces by the very end.

Yours,

Skye Warren

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Thanks to my wonderful critique partners and beta readers: Leila DeSint, K.M., Bibliopolist and Jennifer Lowery. Also thanks to my editors, Helen Hardt and Em Petrova. The light you all shone on my dark imaginings has made them fit for public enjoyment.

Chapter One

“Come, bitch.”

His words dragged my body across the floor, invisible chains. I hated him for calling me that way. I hated myself more for going to him. And I went the way I knew he wanted me to—crawling. A layer of grime covered the concrete floor of the warehouse, but it was only fitting to crawl through muck. This whole game was dirty, and so was I.

Carlos looked down at me from his seat with a half-smile. The guy next to him was speaking in low, urgent tones, but I had his attention.

Other whores might try coy smiles or a flash of cleavage, but if you really knew
El Jefe
—and, unfortunately, I did—then you knew all you had to do was drop to his feet. I knew what he wanted and how he liked it, knowledge born of years of training. As long as I behaved, he wouldn’t kill me. I craved the release of death, but I was too well trained to earn it.

I reached his leather shoes and waited. The same Italian leather shoes that had kicked me only recently, but they weren’t a danger to me now. Carlos didn’t like to get too messy when he had guests. Even though I didn’t like performing, I could be glad this new guy was around today. Then again, I’d probably have to service him next.

Carlos unzipped his pants.

The guy sucked in a quiet breath, as if we’d shocked him.

That wouldn’t stop Carlos. He wasn’t an exhibitionist. He was a sadist, and the only thing better than causing someone physical pain was causing emotional discomfort. Every pinch was designed to humiliate, every blow to subjugate.
You’re not worthy
, they said, and I lapped up every blow to my shrunken ego like the masochist I’d learned to be.

Eagerly, I leaned forward and sucked the head of his cock with my mouth. Eager because delays were only an excuse to punish me later, and Carlos was nothing if not creative, and extreme, in his punishments. The whips, the knives, the
cage.
I shuddered.

His cock was musky today, but not urine-tinged—I could be thankful for that, too. Finding things to be thankful for kept me sane. It could always be worse. It had been.

I worked my tongue in a swirl and laved under the tip of his cock. Carlos grunted.

It was almost funny, the way the guy next to him stuttered a few starts, as if unsure if he should continue talking to the infamous
El Jefe
while he was getting his dick sucked. I hadn’t gotten a good look at the guy, just a brief glimpse of jeans and a black t-shirt. Mostly I noticed a big, strong male body. That was enough. Maybe some girls got turned on. I just got scared. It wasn’t about weakness or strength. This was pure survival instinct.

“Go on, Martinez,” Carlos said gruffly. “Continue.”

Martinez started talking again, something about deliveries and security. Carlos put his hands over my ears. Not so I couldn’t hear the conversation. He never worried about trusting me because he didn’t think I was smart enough to do anything about it. That was my one victory, however small.

No, his hands over my ears were a warning. If I didn’t do it on my own, he’d shove my face down so I couldn’t breathe. I could deep throat before I came here, but two years with Carlos had beaten the skill right out of me. He didn’t train me to do better, he beat me to do worse, until my nerves manifested in performance that could be punished. He loved to hold my face down so I couldn’t breathe, until even a shallow blowjob filled me with panic.

I pushed my head down, forcing his cock to slide along my tongue and sink deep in my throat.
Breathe
, I told myself firmly,
and whatever you do, don’t gag.
Gagging didn’t make him angry, it made him horny. The sadistic kind of horny that led to worse things.

I pulled back. His fingers tightened in my hair, not letting me go too far. Then I plunged down again. And again. Over and over I took him deep in my throat, still breathing, not gagging. So far, so good.

Martinez, though—damn. I glanced up, trying to see the man, but Carlos’s arm blocked my view. All I could see was a strong jaw obscured by a few days’ scruff and a low-pulled cap. It couldn’t be him. Martinez was a common enough name. He was long gone, but the memories rattled in their cage.

Hey, little girl. Whatcha doing out here?

Nothin’.

You should do nothin’ inside then. It’s not safe out here.

The man in my memories hadn’t known it wasn’t safe inside either. Or maybe he had known, but pretended he didn’t. He wouldn’t have been the only one to turn away. The long-buried memories escaped their tight confines, flooding my mind. They had no place in my life now. Every whore had a sob story, but no one wanted to think about it—least of all the whore.

Maybe Carlos could tell I was distracted because he clamped his hand behind my head and shoved it all the way down. His cock popped into my throat with a sickening gurgle. I worked at a swallow, but I couldn’t help it—I gagged. Panic swept over me, tossing me, drowning me.
Can’t breathe, let me go.

I forced my arms to remain by my sides, where he wanted them. I’d rather pass out than suffer a punishment. At least, my mind knew that. My body squirmed and jerked in tiny pleas for mercy. Finally, thankfully, he pulled back my head just enough to pop his cock out of my throat. I sucked in deep breaths through my nose—grateful, so grateful—until he shoved it back in again. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but somehow it was, every time. The ache, the burn, the horror that I’d let this happen to me yet again.

His cock filled my awareness, until all I smelled or felt or could think of was the thick flesh in my mouth. When it was in, I was in pain, I couldn’t breathe, I must not move. When it was out, the sweet rush of air breathed consciousness back into me.

His movements became jerky. His hand tightened painfully in my hair. I imagined his face pale and tight as it was right before he came, but my nose was buried in his crotch and my eyes were full of tears.

He yanked my head far enough back that only the tip of his cock was in before he spewed his load into my mouth. I knew he wanted me to get the full impact of the spray, the full salty flavor of his come that wouldn’t have happened if he’d been deep. Even swallowing was degrading, a voluntary act.

Unlike other men I’d seen, and the few I’d serviced, Carlos barely ever made a sound when he came. Mostly he was silent, tense and contained even in his crisis. When he released me, I staggered back onto the floor. He wouldn’t hurt me, not so soon after he’d come, so I lay there, sprawled and heaving, waiting for my eyes to dry and my breath to catch.

When the shadowed office came into focus, I looked away from the sight of Carlos tucking himself into his pants and peeked at the other guy. Martinez. Light brown hair, almost a sandy blond that belied his surname, and a strong jaw. He looked up at me. Blue eyes seared mine like a blinding summer sun.

Oh God.
I knew him. It wasn’t a coincidence. He was
my
Martinez, though the ownership was only in my delusions. Tyler Martinez, my childhood neighbor, the golden boy of the
barrio
. I’d had a massive crush on him. He’d barely noticed me, though in his defense, he was older than me, which was a big deal when I was twelve and he was eighteen. Then he’d left for the military, I heard, and I never saw him again. Until now.

Those blue eyes widened as he looked at me, mirroring my own shock. His lips formed my name,
Mia
, but thank God, no sound emerged. I couldn’t believe he recognized me. It had been—what?—ten years. I couldn’t believe he even remembered me.

I must look different, all grown up. And—oh God—I’d just sucked a guy off in front of him. Not just any guy, a crime boss with a penchant for whores. Tyler knew who I was,
what
I was. My stomach knotted, trying to turn my body inside out. I wanted to die. My self-hatred, which I would have thought peaked years ago, climbed another notch. Bad enough that this was my life, bad enough this had
always
been my life, but for
him
to know, for him to have seen me this way, was too much.

“Here, cunt, show our new friend some hospitality,” Carlos said.

No. I don’t want to
. That thought distracted me for a second. Since when did I say no, even in my mind? Somewhere deep inside, did I still think I had the right?

I met Tyler’s gaze again and was snapped back to reality. The life where, no, I didn’t have a choice. And where, worst of all, he looked chagrined by the thought of a blowjob from me. More than that, he looked disgusted, leaning away, not meeting my eyes. Jesus, there was a blow to the self-esteem I didn’t even know I had. I deserved his revulsion. I knew that better than him, but it hurt to see the eyes I had once longed for, dreamed of, judging my scantily clad body.

Pain slammed through my side. I gasped for air. Those boots again. Damn, I hadn’t been watching. Too distracted. “Come on,” Carlos was saying, “what’s taking you so long, you stupid bitch?”

Every cell of my body screamed to run. I would rather die, rather suffer any punishment, than touch Tyler as a whore. I’d gladly pleasure him of my own free will, but not like this. Tears filled my eyes. At least Carlos would think they were from the pain. I’d never been able to hold them back, which was probably the reason why I was Carlos’s favorite girl. His only girl.

I would have to comply. Even if I decided to leave for good, I’d have to wait and do it when I was alone. Plan an escape. If I balked now, Carlos would just beat the shit out of me until I obeyed. Or until I died. Besides, I had a purpose here. If I could help a single girl escape
this
, it was worth it. My dignity had dried up years ago, but other women still had a chance.

With my mouth filled with the bitter taste of Carlos’s semen and my own self-loathing, I shuffled toward Tyler. He shifted on the seat as I approached. I knew he didn’t want this. It was clear in his eyes, his posture, as if I was attacking him and he was trapped. How ironic.

I almost wanted Tyler to refuse.
Almost.

If he refused me, Carlos would make me pay the price, and it would be dear. Which would I prefer, to make myself a whore of my childhood crush or to suffer unspeakable pain?

But it wasn’t my choice to make after all, because Tyler said, “Stop.”

I froze, waiting for it, hoping, dreading.

“You don’t like her?” Carlos asked. His voice held a warning note, not to Tyler, but to me. “Let us seal our partnership. I can bring in another girl if this one doesn’t please you.”

“No,” Tyler said, his voice strangled. “I…like her. She’s good. I was just thinking I wanted more time with her, maybe a room.”

My breath caught. Mostly I hated the idea. But a small part of me, the part of me that was still a childish little girl and hopeful, loved it. As if this could be the erotic coupling of my dreams, a shiny peel to disguise the rotting core of human slavery.

“Ah, privacy,” Carlos mused. “You’d like to play with her alone.”

We waited. I didn’t know what Tyler’s agenda was, whether he truly wanted me or if it was just a ploy to get out of a blowjob from a dirty whore, but I held my breath for the verdict.

“That is fine,” Carlos said lightly, as if he hadn’t just answered my prayers and doomed me at the same time.

Tyler’s breath released along with mine.

“Take him to my bedroom,” Carlos said. “Tyler is my good friend, so please him well.”
Or else.

I stood up and straightened my skimpy halter and short skirt, as if I had any dignity left, and led Tyler from the room. Neither of us spoke as we moved through the barren halls. Not even as we passed a couple of the men, who leered but knew better than to mess with me when I had Tyler at my side.