SUN #13
Right. I forgot, someone must’ve put the collar back on me while I slept.
The shock is so strong, it knocks me out cold.
***
I open my eyes and I’m back in the black room.
I’m naked, except for the cage on my dick. I’m lying on a table, my legs spread, my arms spread too.
I can feel something between my legs, sticking out of my ass, some kind of device. It looks like a dildo, but I’m almost sure it’s more than that.
Then I hear footsteps behind me, and Anzo steps into my line of sight.
"I thought you weren’t going to be any fun. That you weren’t even a challenge. But you did surprise me a little."
"I’m glad I’m not a total disappointment to you," I shoot back, unable to resist.
Anzo laughs. It's a rare sound, slightly mechanical, as if he's trying to be in tune with his cybernetic implants, but it seems almost genuine.
"You just need to plan your little stunts better, or your body won’t hold up next time," he adds coldly. His mood swings are huge.
A moment later, I feel a vibration deep inside me. The head of the dildo is positioned perfectly against my prostate.
Anzo leans down and blows a strong dose of poppers right into my face.
I cough, but he gives me another hit. That awful spinning feeling hits me again, and that sickening loss of control over my own body and will.
Fuck, oh how strongly I hate this… I know exactly where this is heading. But I’m in for a surprise.
The toy vibrates inside me. Anzo leans over and grabs it, moving it around to intensify the sensation. I can only lie there and take it, helpless. And the same thought keeps flashing through my head, why isn’t he fucking me? Why is he doing this with a toy?
Is his dick really that small, and he's ashamed of it, or is he just so disgusted by me? His way of showing that he has total control over his own libido?
If he were fucking me, at least my body would be giving him something, some kind of use. But the fact that he’s not… that’s even more disturbing.
A cold, calculating game is on?
Until I have something he finds useful, my life means nothing to him.
I’m getting closer. The sweet pressure building inside me, mixing with anger and disgust. But soon the pleasure wins, and right before I’m about to explode inside that damn cage, Anzo pulls the dildo out!
"What the hell? That’s rude!" I blurt.
"You think you earned it?"
"You’re seriously fucked up," I growl.
Personally, I hate edging. It’s never sat right with me, kind of rubbed me the wrong way. I’ve been the passionate type, with no patience for these refined little games.
I glance to the side and see Summer, kneeling in the corner like always.
He’s not looking at me. He’s staring at the ground. I still don’t even know what color his eyes are, not that I care.
He’s clad in the same black-strapped outfit as yesterday. His small frame looks completely wrong in it, but Anzo still makes him wear it.
"Can you just tell me what the hell you want from me, Anzo? I mean sir! If you’re gonna kill me, just do it. And if you wanna fuck me, then just fucking do it—"
Anzo moves behind my head.
I feel his hands on my neck, sliding down to my chest, fingers pinching my nipples lightly.
But there’s no pleasure in his touch. My whole body is tense, waiting for a jolt of electricity or a punch from his mechanical hand.
"You’re very pretty, kitten. People like you think they can coast forever on their looks. Waste their youth on bullshit, and then get pissed when the charm wears off, when no one gives a damn anymore, when no one follows them around."
"And that’s what retirement’s for," I mutter.
"There are better ways. Smart investments. Ways to set yourself up for a life of luxury, if you play your cards right."
"Sorry, I’m eighteen. I’m not exactly planning for eighty," I sneer. "But hey, you’re the mastermind who’s always five steps ahead, so maybe share your genius with us little people. Sir."
"Eighty? You’re not gonna live that long. That much I can promise you," Anzo murmurs, tightening his grip around my neck just enough to send a chill down my spine.
He circles around and shoves the dildo back inside me.
The vibration kicks in again, and my frustrated body tenses in protest. I don’t want this, not like this, not now. But I can’t stop it.
It all starts again. Anzo fucks me with the toy, and when I'm already close to orgasm, the son of a bitch knows it by some strange fluke and pulls it out of my hole again.
"I hate you. You’re a fucking sadist. Sir."
"You don’t know the first thing about sadism, pet. You have no idea what it really means to hurt another person."
The way he says it… I just know he’s not talking about himself hurting someone. He’s talking about someone hurting him . I don’t know how I know that. But I do. It’s just there, suddenly.
"I’m sorry you had a rough childhood. But that doesn’t mean you get to take it out on everyone else. Ever heard of breaking the cycle of violence? All it takes is a decision. Mind over matter."
I throw it at him, and the next second, a small electric shock hits my body. Just a taste of it, Anzo’s version of a slap.
When my jaw finally unlocks, I manage, "You think I’m some idiot you can control, that you can predict my every move. But you’re showing a lot more of yourself than you think. I’m starting to get a pretty clear picture."
Anzo laughs with that same dead, robotic sound.
"Keep going, pet. Maybe you should’ve studied psychology instead of music. You’ve got the attitude for it."
"You’re not that hard to figure out, Anzo. I mean, sir. You reek of a beta complex. And childhood trauma."
"Maybe. But there’s one difference between us," he leans in, whispering into my ear. "No one’s ever broken me."
"Oh, but someone has! This, what you’re doing right now, is proof of how deeply you’re broken. Healthy people don’t act like this. Sir."
Anzo sneers.
"Stop with the Sir. I’m not into some dom/sub thing. And you’re bad at this anyway—"
"So why do you keep calling me pet? I wear a collar and eat on the floor…"
Anzo lets out a heavy sigh. "God, you’re really just an airhead. Anyway, you have no idea what’s going on here. But I’m not going to explain it to you. Your little brain wouldn’t get it anyway."
"You’re not that over and above, Anzo! I can see through you more than you want me to—"
Then he abruptly pulls me off the table.
"I think I know just the thing to cure your little psychologist phase."
He drags me toward the wall. I already know what he’s planning when I hear the ratchet of a pulley above. The hook catches between my cuffs, and panic grips my throat.
"No!" I scream, because this time the pain hits almost instantly. My wrists haven’t healed. "No! You bastard, I can’t take this!"
"A psychological mastermind like you will find a way to deal with it. Treat it as a challenge. You are caught in a cycle of violence. Mind over matter. Find a way out."
Then, while I'm hanging from the hook, writhing and moaning in pain, Anzo does the exact same thing to Summer. Right after, he turns and walks away. Without a word.
And we’re left here, hanging in silence. Well, almost silence, because I’m howling, groaning, kicking, and fighting against this unbearable pain. My shoulders can’t take it.
After just a few minutes, my body becomes a prison from which I can’t escape. A fucking nightmare, the only thing it gives me is constant, unrelenting pain.
Desperate for some distraction, I twist my head and glance over at Summer. He still looks like he’s just floating there. His arms don’t even seem tense.
How the hell is that possible?
"Help me. Please, how are you not in pain? Tell me!"
Silence.
And that silence is worse than the pain in some ways.
I sink into it. Into the loneliness. Into failure.
Like I’m falling into a black abyss.
Eventually, I start sobbing. Desperate, messy sobs. All the adrenaline and tension flood out of me. I feel myself weakening, my body, my spirit.
I can’t fight it anymore…
And just when I don’t even have the strength to cry—
I hear his voice.
For the first time.
It’s soft. Shaky. Timid. Barely audible. Only an alpha’s ear could catch it. He doesn’t even move his mouth.
"If I help you… he may find something worse to do to you."
His words don’t register at first. I’m dangling there, getting slammed by waves of pain, repeating it over and over in my head:
If I help you…
Does that mean he can actually help me?
Help me in a way that would make the pain go away ?
But if that’s possible, how would he even do it?
I twist my head again and really look at him.
I scan his body, and I’m certain Summer isn’t actually hanging. He looks like he’s literally… floating.
The cuffs are slack. The chain above him isn’t even taut.
"Are you levitating?" I whisper, making sure it’s also barely audible.
And then Summer slowly turns his head. For the first time, we look each other in the eyes.
I blink in disbelief.
Holy shit. His eyes are two different colors: one a light golden, the other silver.
I stare, stunned. I’ve seen heterochromia before, but never with shades like those.
"Your eyes are beautiful," I blurt, without thinking. "They’re… magical. Are you? Are you magical?"
It sounds silly, sure. But the idea doesn’t feel absurd to me. My older brother, Snow, has weird abilities no one can explain.
Because of the admixture of alien blood in our society, magic isn’t off the table in our society; some people end up with… unusual traits. Rare cases.
So, is Summer one of them?
"Please… help me," I whisper, breathlessly. "It hurts so fucking bad. Just for a second, I just want one second where it doesn’t hurt."
And then…
Relief hits me like a wave.
Suddenly, my body feels lighter.
The pressure on my wrists from the cuffs just vanishes.
What the fuck? This is insane.
It feels like I’m truly floating! Like something’s physically holding me up. My arms are no longer strained.