Chapter 2
“No!”
Biggie woke up screaming.
Again.
At first, it was a wet groan somewhere behind me while I tightened the chain around the iron ring in the basement floor. The sound climbed higher, and I could hear the panic clawing its way up his throat until it turned into full sobbing.
So.
Loud.
And.
Messy.
Pathetic.
I sighed and leaned back on my heels.
“Seriously?”
The basement smelled like the usual damp stone and rust. The single light bulb swung above us and was throwing the shadows across the walls in long, crooked fingers.
Biggie pulled against the chain around his ankle.
“Please…please. Man, please…”
I rubbed my temple, catching the glint of metal on his chain, and began counting the loops visible in the light.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six
And a half.
“You’ve said that already.”
His eyes darted around the room, looking for a way out of my hell. The hooks in the ceiling made a soft clink as I swayed them to his frantic blubbering. The wooden table in the corner was more decoration than function.
Natalie liked to put her foot on it when I ate her, that bitch. The plastic bag in the corner really caught his attention, and finally, his eyes wavered and fell to the drain in the center of the room. It remained rusted with my blood.
His breathing went sharp and shallow as he tried to back away from the large void in the room.
“I got kids,” he choked.
I tilted my head, those glinting metal loops catching my attention again.
Why is it that only half of them show?
“That’s unfortunate.”
Footsteps sounded above us, and I fixated on the cadence.
Slow.
Measured.
Natalie.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
Creaaaaaaaaaak.
The cellar entrance opened, and I didn’t bother to look at the Mistress. She descended the stairs like something drifting down from another world, and her high heels clicked in the silence that her presence brought with her. Her robe trailed behind her like a shadow, and she stopped just behind me.
Biggie immediately started sobbing harder, and the sound made me giggle.
“Please—”
She slipped her hand over my shoulder and pressed her acid kiss on my neck.
Burning…I was burning.
Her expression shifted, and I turned toward her. It wasn’t anger, at least not at first.
Just…disappointment.
Like always.
“Cry Baby,” she said quietly, almost like a lover.
Almost.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“What is this?”
I glanced back at Biggie, who was gnawing on the manacle on his leg like a rabid animal. He refused to meet our gaze, and his clothing reeked of piss.
The yellow tint would make such beautiful paint.
“This man ruined my sale, Mistress. He is the replacement. He’s…emotional right now, but I will prepare him. You don’t need to worry.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line that felt like it could be a smile.
“I hate crying. You know this, and you know what happens.”
Biggie didn’t stop bawling, and the sound made my ears itch.
“Please. I’ll do anything…anything.”
Mistress passed me and slowly approached him, where he was crumpled on the floor. When her burning gaze landed fully on him, he shrank back, tugging against the chain like he might melt into the floor, and it could swallow him whole.
She crouched in front of him and twirled a lock of her deep brown hair in her fingers.
“Anything?” she asked softly, the illusion of calm and poise.
He nodded violently, and the chain rattled harder on the concrete ground.
“Yes. Yes…anything.”
“Will you bring me a replacement?”
“Yes!”
Mistress smiled, and the glint turned evil.
“How about your little spawns? They will go for ten times the amount you will.”
Children.
Fuck me.
I hated that Mistress went after children. I thought she’d stopped hitting the kids after she kidnapped me. I was only nine. I don’t remember anything except for screams, and then my memories are just of her. All my memories are always of Natalie.
I love her.
I hate her.
I am hers.
“If you let me go, you can have them!”
She sighed and stood again, turning to look at me.
“You brought me a pathetic waste of skin who would trade his own blood for his illusion of safety.”
“I’m sorry, Mistress.”
Her gaze sharpened, and I felt the sting before it came.
Slap.
“You know how much I dislike defects.”
Slap.
My stomach tightened as the burn spread across my cheeks and the arousal flooded my system.
“Yes, Mistress.”
Biggie kept sobbing as each smack landed on my body.
“Do you enjoy disappointing me, Cry Baby?”
Yes. Punish me.
“No.”
My cock was straining against my pants, and I couldn’t help but press against Natalie’s leg. She kicked me away from her like a dog.
Mistress closed her eyes for a moment, and then she pointed to the table.
“Cry Baby.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Bring the bag.”
I stood immediately and carried it over. Inside was the thick mixture I’d made earlier—mud, blood, tears, ash, clothing strips, and my own body’s secretions.
My fingers twitched at the sight of it. I wanted to play, and I needed to paint.
Paint.
Mistress gestured to Biggie.
“Hold his head down, please.”
I grabbed his hair and forced him straight without hesitation.
He started thrashing immediately, and I held him down harder, putting pressure on the most painful areas of his body until he stopped squirming and his sobs got even louder.
“No. No…no!”
Mistress grabbed my hand and pushed it inside the bag. When she pulled it out, the thick, dark mixture dripped between my fingers.
I counted the drips as they rolled down my wrist.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
“You failed tonight, Cry Baby. You failed me.”
My chest tightened at the anger and disappointment in her voice.
“I’ll do better, Mistress.”
“You will, yes. But you will also be punished for your failure.”
That word bounced in my head like a marble rolling down a stone wall, and I reached up and coated my neck with the mixture, letting it soak into my clothing and drip down my chest.
Cold.
Sticky.
Safe.
“Show me,” she said suddenly, studying my hand and me.
I froze my ritual and met her gaze. Biggie sobbed harder when she laughed and slammed her heel down on the concrete.
“Him. Show me. Not you.”
“Mistress?”
What is she asking of me?
“Use him.”
My pulse picked up, and I felt the cool liquid turn hot at my flush.
“You want…?”
“Paint,” she said simply. “He is a tool. Is he not such a beautiful canvas, Cry Baby? Use him. Make me a masterpiece.”
Biggie shook his head violently and yanked harder on the metal.
“No—stop!” he screamed, trying to get off the floor.
I pushed him down onto the ground and kept my foot on his cock. He fought me at first, but the chain snapped tight and jerked him back.
Mistress watched me calmly. “Quiet him down. I have a migraine from the squawking,” she said.
I grabbed the plastic bag from the table. Biggie saw it and started screaming louder.
I pulled it over his head before Natalie decided to punish me instead.
The sound cut off instantly into frantic muffled gasps, and I smiled at my Mistress. Despite my best efforts, I always felt a jolt of pride when she gave me that goddamn look. Ever since she’d snatched me away when I was nine years old. The smiles from Natalie made something in my dead heart swell.
She had two dimples and four points that shone in her muddy eyes.
Biggie’s hands clawed at the air, breaking my spell of counting each gleam in her irises. His chest heaved, and I sighed, getting back to the task at hand.
“Careful, Cry Baby,” she scolded. “He still needs to breathe! Do not end play time so soon.”
I counted to calm myself.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
The bag in my hand was yanked off, and all the joy from earlier was gone from Natalie. She looked angry.
Biggie collapsed forward, coughing violently, sucking in air like it was water in a desert.
“What a mess, Cry Baby. You break them too easily. Don’t you understand you need to ebb and flow? It is like blood. An art that pumps with each strike.”
I watched her mouth, counting the glimpses of her teeth.
“Cry Baby! You need to pay attention. Ugh, you are hopeless. Look. Follow my lead.”
She pointed to Biggie and the mixture.
“Paint.”
I dipped my hands into the thick mixture, and it slid between my fingers like wet clay.
Perfect.
Biggie tried to crawl away, and I dragged him back by the hair.
“Hold still,” I muttered, entranced by the thick coating.
I pressed my hand flat against his chest and let the dark mixture spread across his skin. He flinched like I’d burned him, and Mistress tilted her head, studying.
“Continue.”
I did.
Across his arms.
Across his neck.
My fingers dragged long streaks over his shoulders, the same way I painted my own skin. Biggie whimpered underneath me, and my smile grew wider. Mistress circled slowly around us, that prominent smile adorning her features once more.
“Look at you,” she murmured.
Her voice is warm again.
Pleased.
Happy.
“Why do you paint, Cry Baby? Because it is part of you.”
I didn’t answer.
She was right.
She was always right. The noise in my head softened with every stroke of my hand, and she stopped in front of me, reaching down to stroke my dick through my pants. Her hands slipped down, removing the itchy clothing, and I felt myself moan.
“Who do you belong to, Cry Baby?”
The question hit me every time she asked after—so many years of not knowing anything but Mistress. Natalie was the bane of my existence and the reason for it.
I hate her.
I love her.
I hate the way my mouth answers anyway.
“You, Mistress.”
Biggie looked up at me with a different expression in his eyes, and the glint was almost...
Amused.
He was mocking me.
Mistress smiled. “There’s my good dog.”
My cock deflated in her hand as a laugh rang out, and I realized it was coming from Biggie.
Biggie was laughing at me.
No.
No.
No.
Laughter was too loud.
Natalie stroked my dick faster, trying to make it come alive again.
“Cry Baby, doesn’t this excite you? Look how he grows.”
I looked down at Biggie’s dick, and he wasn’t hard at all.
Limp.
Noodle.
“Uhh…”
Mistress grabbed his dick and stroked in time with mine. We both groaned, and I closed my eyes, listening to the sweet sounds of a man. It was so much better than the noise women made, especially Natalie.
Biggie sounded like he was being strangled. He grunted and protested, but the slapping sounds got louder and louder.
Yes.
One.
Thump.
Two.
Thump.
Three.
Thump.
Slap, slap, slap.
Beautiful cadence of orgasms.
“Mmm. That’s right, prisoner. Come for me. Let’s see it. Don’t be shy.”
“I am gay! Get the fuck off of me!”
My eyes flew open, and Natalie’s hands faltered. She looked at me for a moment with pure malice, then back at Biggie.
“Oh?”
Natalie reached out and grabbed my hand painfully, slamming it down onto Biggie, who squirmed and flailed more than before, but his dick was growing now. I felt it in my hand, getting harder and harder.
For me?
Natalie laughed, and the sound felt strange with my hand slamming over and over onto a man.
I had never done anything to a man before. In the foliage room, when I was little, the men would do things to me. I couldn’t respond. I was supposed to be still and not make a sound.
I listened to the cadence of the smacking, and it reminded me of ’We Will Rock You.
I loved that song as a child, before Natalie.
We will.
We will.
“Rock you,” I moaned, grinding my dick into Natalie’s palm as I stroked Biggie faster.
The veins were bulging, and I could feel his heart pumping through his dick.
“Hey. Stop that! Don’t touch me…”
His words were no, but he was close to orgasm. I could feel it and…
So am I.
Natalie stroked me harder, and I ignored the burn of her dry hand, instead focusing on Biggie and the wet paint coating his cock.
I wanted to taste.
The trance of his cock had me stroking in tune with my own heart.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
“Ahh…no! Please…don’t do this.”
Biggie exploded onto my hand, shooting up and dropping down to completely drown my fist.
I was enraptured, barely noticing Natalie’s moans as my own cock blasted off into her grip.
“Good fucking boy,” I growled at Biggie, surprising us both.
Why did I say that?
Biggie looked full of malice as he lay there panting, and Mistress smiled wide.
“Such a good dog. Maybe you need a treat later from me.”
Biggie laughed out loud, and the sound made me flinch. Mistress was walking away toward the cellar doors.
My hands slammed onto Biggie’s mouth without realizing I had moved, allowing no air to escape, and the laughter silenced, his body stilling.
Harder.
Harder.
Don’t let go.
An image of many hands going over my mouth in the foliage room while the tears fell over my cheeks flashed in my mind.
“We’ll decide if he’s worth selli—Cry Baby!”
I stilled my hands, looking up at the Mistress, who didn’t look happy anymore. She was gawking at my hands and the now silent man under them.
“Cry Baby, you just cost us so much money! You are too rash. Bad dog.”
I waited for the slap, and it was much harder than usual when it came. I fell to the ground, and my jaw smashed the concrete, making me dizzy, but the warmth of the blood felt nice.
“Bad dogs need to be retrained!” she raged above me, grabbing the chains off the dead body and latching them firmly onto my raw skin.
“You will be punished for this act, Cry Baby. Maybe a few days in the leather restraints will show you some manners.”
Her footsteps faded as she moved up the stairs, and I cringed as the shackles tightened around me.