23 EMMA
I’m scared as Dax leans down and pulls my head up. His fingers work with furious energy as he removes the padlock on the muzzle and unstraps the buckles. But even scared as he makes me, I want him. I want all that intense energy directed at me. I want to be the center of his attention. The center around which the storm orbits. I don’t care if it rips me apart or tears me to pieces; I just want it to consume me.
I want him to claim me. Take everything I have and make it his.
“Thank me for closing your pussy shut,” he says the moment he rips the muzzle off. “Tell me how grateful you are that I’ve taken control of your body.”
My tongue darts out to wet my lips, and I slacken my jaw to make room for the words. It feels strange. I almost haven’t spoken a word in a week. Dax has ramped up the time he keeps me in the mask. He even lets me wear it when I’m alone in my cell now. When I do get it off, I sometimes consider talking to myself just so I won’t forget how to, but something about it seems wrong. I need his permission to speak.
“Thank—” I swallow to rid my voice of the hoarseness. “Thank you.”
“Now thank me for making sure no man can touch your cunt until I sell it.” His words take on a raspy, cruel—or maybe angry—edge at those last words. And those same words cut deep into my soul and draw tears to my eyes. Because I don’t want him to sell me. I can’t bear the idea. I want him to keep me for himself.
Instead of thanking him like he ordered me to, three other words slip past my lips. “Please keep me.”
He draws back. Almost like I’ve slapped him. Or like I’ve hit straight into some vulnerable spot he doesn’t want to face.
“Please,” I continue before he can speak. “I want to belong to you. I don’t care if you’ll never open those rings and fuck me. I just want to be yours.”
He makes a slight shake of his head. “You can’t handle me,” he says, and it almost seems like he’s debating with himself whether he should keep me. Then the shock draws back from his face, leaving cold brutality as he leans in to wrap a terrifying hand around my neck. “I like to hurt women. I like to hear them scream and beg for mercy.” Tightening his grip, he narrows my airways, making me wheeze. “And you know what else I like?”
I give a tiny shake of my head.
He leans into my face, growling right against my lips. “I like to deprive them of that mercy.”
My head whirs and my world spins. I pant for air, but it’s not as much because his hand is robbing me of my breath. It’s his words. I want that complete control. That lack of mercy. To lose myself so completely to him that I can’t even lay claim to that leniency anymore.
He rears back and shoots me a cold glare. “Can you handle that, huh? Can you handle the pain? You have no idea what I’m capable of. You haven’t even seen half of what I do—half of what I’ll give you.”
“I don’t care,” I say. “I want it all. Everything you give me.”
With a grunt, he pushes to his feet, then hauls me up along with him. “Then prove it.” Grabbing me by the back of my neck, he shoves me forward, out of the cell.
My feet scrape against the rough floors as I struggle to keep up with his fast pace as he leads me down the hall.
A few cells down, he shoves me to my knees and points a finger in my face. “Stay.”
I don’t move a muscle as he goes into another cell. I don’t even lift my eyes to catch a glimpse of what he’s doing. But the noises tell me more than plenty. Whimpers and desperate pleas from a woman. He’s going to show me just how bad it can be. Then maybe he’ll do the same things to me. I have no idea. But I don’t care. I don’t care because the way he grabs me as he comes back out with a woman says everything.
“Up,” he demands, and the moment I’m on my feet, he snaps his hand around the back of my neck again. But instead of grabbing the other woman the same way, he takes her by the hair and yanks her forward, bent over and whimpering.
He takes us to one of the rooms where I usually get hosed down in the evenings—the same kind as the one where Lavinia got punished. He places me to the side, ordering me to stay, then ties the woman up by the arms to a hook in the ceiling. The same way Dorin restrained Lavinia.
“Watch,” he demands as he delivers the first blow. The woman screams as he slams his fist into her thigh with a force that seems to reverberate through her entire body. He moves to strike her other thigh. One side of her ass, and the other side. He keeps going, brutal and cold. He doesn’t meet her eyes, doesn’t recognize her as a person. She’s merely a punching bag. But Dax is not dead inside. I’m the object of his obsession, I realize, as he keeps glancing my way as if to gauge my reaction.
Her screams renew themselves to become a constant intrusive ringing that bounces back and forth against the hard walls, steeping the room in despair. I shuffle my feet against the cold floor as I hug myself tight.
But even if I wanted to look away, I couldn’t.
“Watch,” Dax barks every time I lower my gaze to the floor. So I keep looking. But it’s not the woman I’m seeing. Not truly. It’s not her pain and despair. It’s the brutal, magnificent power of the man who controls my soul and holds the key to my deepest desires. The man who has become the needle in my compass—the sun around which my world revolves.
It’s fucked up and wrong, but I can’t deny the effect he has on me—the way he has made me gravitate toward him, leaving everything behind only to see him and the world he creates for me. It’s violent and dirty, but I have a place in it. He makes me feel like I matter here. He’s even given me a purpose.
As he stops beating the woman, I want to go comfort her. The strength has drained from her body, leaving her hanging by the ropes on her wrists as she weeps quietly. But there’s a furious energy to Dax that scares me, and I don’t dare to move a finger.
“Is this what you want?” he growls, turning the woman around to showcase the deep purple layer of angry bruises covering her whole ass. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s horrifying and sickening. But at the same time, I feel a twinge of jealousy. Because that woman is bearing Dax’s mark, and I want to be the one to do that.
“Is it?” Dax demands when I don’t respond fast enough. Grabbing her throat, he turns her again and delivers a firm blow to her stomach. My shocked gasp makes my chest contract as her shrill scream fills the room. But Dax doesn’t even flinch. He doesn’t even break eye contact with me as he delivers the blow.
I gulp as I see the woman in my peripheral vision, hunched over and whimpering in agony. But I don’t believe he would do that to me. There’s no way he would beat me senseless and punch me in the gut. He wouldn’t treat me the same way he treats her. Like nothing. Because I mean something to him. His burning eyes say everything.
So I simply say, “I want you.”
Taking a knife from his pocket, he swiftly cuts through the ropes binding the woman and throws her into the corner. His eyes narrow as he steps toward me, grabbing my chin in his rough hands. “Do you want me to string you up and beat you unconscious? Is that what you want?”
Before I can reply, he has me by the back of my neck again, shoving me forward.
“Give me your hands,” he demands, stepping in front of me with a new bundle of ropes.
I tremble as I obey and watch him twine the coarse material around my wrists. Closing my eyes, I force myself to remember the difference in how he handled me and the other woman. The way he dragged her by the hair but held me by the neck. The way he never met her eyes but kept demanding mine on his.
Dax won’t hurt me like that. I’m sure of it. Yet I can’t help the fear crawling down my spine as he attaches the rope and my wrists to the hook. Twice today, I’ve watched a woman being strung up like this and beaten. And now, somehow, I’ve ended up in the same place.
Opening my eyes, I stare at the mark on my arm. DAX001. And that’s when the first blow lands. I cry out as pain blooms deep in my left ass cheek, sending shockwaves through my lower body. My breaths come in quick pants, but I force myself to calm down, determined to take whatever he gives me. And it’s not too hard. The pain isn’t as severe as I feared. It’s there, burning and pounding in my muscles, but bearable. At the next strike, I clench my teeth, forcing back the panic. I manage to do the same the next three times he hits me. But soon, my composure wavers, and mewls and whimpers form at the base of my throat as I struggle to take what he gives me.
Dax is relentless, raining his hand down on my ass in rapid succession, without mercy, like he promised. He doesn’t give me time to process the pain in between strikes. It just keeps coming, building and building.
Panic slithers around the edges of my mind at the tenth strike, threatening to creep in and saturate my world in mind-numbing desperation. But when the next strike lands, I realize something crucial. He’s not using his fists. It’s his palms that are crashing down on my ass. It’s hard and it hurts, but it’s nothing like the cold violence he rained down upon the other woman.
That realization shifts something within me. The panic draws back, and the pain suddenly isn’t as severe. It morphs into something else. A heated sensation that blossoms in my tissues, radiating through my body, and swirling at my core.
My cries turn to moans around the twentieth strike, and a few strikes later, I lose count altogether as my ability to think vanishes into thin air.
All I can focus on is the need to be his.
“Please keep me, Dax,” I beg as he slams his hand down on my ass again.
He only replies with an even harder smack. And three more right after each other.
The burst of pain makes me scream. But the pain fades as he steps back with a grunt. In its wake comes a well of heat so strong I arch my back, inviting him to do it again.
“Please, Dax,” I say, barely knowing what I’m begging for.
Once again, he answers with four rapid blows so hard that a new scream tears from my throat, echoing against the hard walls. But the sound has barely faded before the pain transforms. It becomes a pulsing energy that thrums in my veins and beats at my core. I want more. More pain, more heat, more Dax.
So I beg again. “Please, Dax.”
His reply is the same. Over and over until I change my words.
My legs are quivering beneath me, my ass burning like it’s on fire when I realize something. “I’m already yours,” I say. “I have the mark to prove it, don’t I?”
“Shut up,” he growls as he grabs my arm, covering the tattoo with his very big palm, nails biting into my skin. “You’re mine to sell, nothing more. This is just the mark to show who made you.”
“I don’t think so,” I say, reckless in my conviction—reckless in speaking it out loud. “You just don’t want to see it.” I have no idea why, but suddenly, it’s very clear. Dax wants me, but he can’t accept it.
With a feral growl, he rips his hand from my arm. Slamming it onto my hip, he pulls me back. Pfft. The dirty sound is followed by a trickle of wetness between my ass cheeks. Then his cock is there—his very hard, enormous cock—gliding through the spit and smearing it around my tight opening that won’t be able to take his massive size.
“No, Dax,” I whimper urgently, squirming against the ropes as he presses against my opening. “I-I can’t… it’s too big.”
“Do you want me?” he growls, grabbing my chin to turn my head and make me face his burning eyes.
“Y-yes. I do. But…”
“Then shut the fuck up and let me in.”
Removing his cock, he spits again and positions two fingers at my opening. He shoves straight in, making me jerk against the ropes at the raw sensation. But I can take it. He has trained me well enough to take two or even three of his thick fingers. But not his massive cock.
Fear trembles beneath my skin as he removes his fingers after pumping in and out a few times, and repositions his cock in a new glob of spit.
“Dax,” I pant as he starts pressing, stretching my opening impossibly. “I-it hurts.”
“Just relax. Breathe and relax.”
I pull in a staggered but deep breath and repeat as he reaches my tight ring of muscle. “It hurts.”
Moving a hand to the back of my neck, he takes me in a possessive yet tender grip. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He strokes his thumb along my hairline, comforting me even as he relentlessly pushes forward. The comfort melts my resistance, and I clutch the ropes and lean into them as I buck back, relaxing to open up to him.
The stretch burns deep in my muscles, and tears pool in my eyes as he breaches the tight rim. I shudder and whimper as he keeps moving forth, invading me in the most brutal, all-consuming, world-eradicating manner I could ever imagine. I can’t speak, I can’t think. My head is a chaotic mess of blaring alarms, trembling fear, and urgent desire as he pushes inside me for the first time.
“I-I can’t… I need… ” The words tremble past my lips, but I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. It feels so, so wrong as he stretches my ass to make room for his impossible girth, yet it feels more right than anything ever has.
“That’s it. Halfway there,” he praises, pausing to let me adjust.
The woman crying and whimpering in the corner is a messed up soundtrack to our messed up union. But it’s barely there. All I hear is Dax’s words and his stuttered breaths as he finds pleasure within me.
He strokes his palms up and down my body, over my stomach and down my spine, as he holds me there, half impaled on his shaft. Heat spreads through my nervous skin, seeping into the tattered remains of my being and repairing the damage he has made—building something new that is molded to him and more purposeful than anything I’ve ever felt.
I want him to consume me fully and utterly. And he does as he starts moving again, pressing on until he reaches the hilt.
I’m crying quietly as he sinks in place, eradicating everything I once was and am to make room for his possession. I’m filled to the brim—physically and mentally.
Reaching a hand in front of me, he slides down my stomach and pushes a finger under the piercings. Onto my clit. Sparks and lightning erupt in my nerves, making me yelp and buck as my whole body comes alive. The pain around his massive intrusion morphs the same way the pain he delivered with his hands did. Heat and pleasure spread into my core from all directions. He leans in to slide his tongue up my neck, and suddenly, something is about to explode. My whole body strums tight, yet loosens to invite him in as he starts moving.
“Good girl, taking all of my cock,” he growls, half hums, as he drags himself along my inner walls. “I’m gonna come inside you in a moment. I can’t hold much longer. I’ve wanted this since the first time I played with your ass.”
“Please,” I whimper, wanting just that. “Please. I want it. I want you.”
“Yes, you do. And I want you to show me just how much by coming with me inside you. Squeeze that tight ass of yours and show me how much you need me.”
“Yes,” I moan, my pulse beating hard as the pleasure builds inside me. It tightens at my core, tightens my muscles, building and building until he rears back and pushes all the way in with one long, slow, agonizing, blissful thrust that throws me over. And then he’s coming too, growling as he shoots his cum inside me, swelling to the point of new agony. But the pain only lasts a second before it transforms into a pleasure higher than anything I’ve ever known.
“Dax,” I scream as I come. My world tears apart with explosions of colors and sensations. “I’m yours. I’m yours,” I repeat as a mantra. The most meaningful words I’ve ever spoken.
He doesn’t respond as we both come down and he finally releases me from the ropes. I don’t think he knows how. He wants to own me—as more than a sub he’s training to sell—but he doesn’t know how.