7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Martina
R egret sets in immediately as the deluge of water hits my face. That was so stupid of me. So stupid. Why did I choose to antagonize Vincent? What did I gain from my little show of power over him? The amount of pain I can inflict on him is small compared to what he can do to me.
But with little sleep and plenty of physical and mental torture, I’m not thinking straight. At this point, I just want to die. It would be so much easier than enduring the waterboarding. But my body betrays my desire and continues to fight for each breath.
I don’t know how long the waterboarding actually lasts. I’ve lost all sense of time and place. It feels like forever. And every time I think I might come close to dying of suffocation, I’m allowed to breathe. I live so that I can suffer some more. During the respite between drownings, I get to feel the sharp soreness of my nipples as the weights continue to tug on them. Every jolt and jerk of my body sends the damn things swinging.
Beneath the wet cloth covering my face, I sob for air, desperately trying to restore oxygen to my lungs and hoping to get in some extra before the next flood hits.
Maybe Vincent’ll be satisfied if I give him my real name? Will that be enough to stop the waterboarding? Would it be so bad if I gave up Brady? What are the chances Brady can make it out alive anyway?
No! I can’t do that to Brady. They will torture him for sure. He might even have it worse because he’s a beta, not an omega.
But this waterboarding is so hard to take. I just want it to stop. Brady and I both came into this with a kamikaze mindset—It was more important for us to get revenge for our loved ones—but I can feel my willpower weakening. What if I’m not as strong as I thought?
I should remain hopeful because Brady still has a chance…if I don’t cave.
But with a new deluge of water comes more fear, fear that I won’t be able to catch another breath. Doubt in my abilities to hold out sets in. My resolve turns tenuous.
I start praying even though, growing up, I had a shallow relationship with God. My parents were Catholic and went through the motions of going to church without much depth, kind of like how one brushes their teeth every day. My relationship with God went to zero after Vincent had my family murdered.
Dear God, please. Please make this stop. Please don’t let me cave.
Miraculously, the waterboarding pauses, but I don’t dare hope that they’re done. The water is going to hit any minute. Any minute.
I hear Cho walking away. He probably ran out of water and is going to get more. Which means I do get to have a reprieve. It’ll be a short but heavenly reprieve.
After the door closes, the seconds tick by, turning into minutes, but I can’t seem to enjoy the respite. Any second now Cho will return to resume the torture.
More minutes tick by.
Then even more.
Could they possibly be done?
Just when I dare to hope, I hear the door open. Footsteps follow, stopping next to me. What sounds like a bucket of water is set down.
Please nooooo.
“Ready for more?”
It’s Vincent. I suppress a sob.
The cloth over my face has dried somewhat, making my breath suffocatingly warm.
I feel his hand slide between my thighs. I have no reaction because I don’t have the energy to hate his touch. And anything is better than the waterboarding. I think. Maybe they’re equally bad.
He rubs me for several minutes and asks, “You like this, don’t you? You’re getting so wet for me.”
It’s true. Somehow, despite my exhaustion, my body responds to him. I have got to be the most cursed omega there ever was.
As if reading my mind, he rubs it in. “This isn’t just about being an omega. You’re a slut through and through. I bet you could take a hundred cocks in a day and still be up for more.”
His fingers enter me. My cunt flexes against him.
“You like that idea? The Black Dragon activities don’t include prostitution and sex trafficking, but I can make an exception for you. I could set you up in one of those booths with a dozen glory holes to see how many cocks you can service in a day. Many prostitutes work over twelve-hour shifts. Imagine sucking and jacking off cock after cock after cock for hours on end. ”
I grow wetter. He’s going to think it’s because of the nasty picture he’s painting, but it’s because his fingers keep caressing a particularly sensitive area inside me.
“We can switch things up with a reverse glory hole,” he continues. “Know what that is?”
When I don’t answer, he withdraws his fingers. “I asked a question.”
Before I can explain that I thought he was asking a rhetorical question, I hear him pick up the bucket. Water covers my face like a cold, heavy blanket.
Not again. Please…
He lets me catch my breath before pouring more water. I thrash and tremble against my bonds.
“Ready to answer?”
I whimper, “N-no. I d-don’t…know.”
“It’s a larger hole in the wall, and instead of a cock fitting through it, we fit you. The johns will be on one side of the wall. All they get to see is your ass, your cunt, and your legs. The upper half of your body is on the other side of the hole, so you don’t see the men and have no idea who is fucking you. How many cocks can your pretty little cunt take in a day? How much cum can it hold? Or maybe your asshole can give your cunt a break. You don’t get to choose of course. Some men will want your cunt, some will want your ass, and some will go for both. What do you think?”
I don’t hear his question because I’m too busy wondering if he will continue fondling me or not.
“You can answer me this way,” Vincent proposes. “If you come for me, I’ll set you up in a reverse glory hole tomorrow. I know the owner of a seedy brothel in Kingston. He would be more than happy to whore you on my behalf. I’m going to recommend he charge no more than five hundred Jamaican dollars for each turn. That’s less than five US dollars. Sound good?”
That’s a rhetorical question. The way my body responds to him, there’s no way I don’t come. I fill with dread. I don’t doubt that he could make his revolting idea come true.
“Maybe we put you through the reverse glory hole on your back,” he muses aloud. “We’ll let women line up on the other side of the wall for the chance to sit on your face. I bet that would be a dream come true for a slut like you.”
I’ll do it, I feel like telling him. As long as the waterboarding stops for good.
But if I propose that to him, he’ll know how much I hate the waterboarding. He’ll make me suffer both.
I feel his hand over my face, smothering me. My body attempts to flail from his grasp. But I also feel his fingers back inside of me. And that feels good. It takes my mind away from the lack of oxygen. He lets me breathe, then fondles me more intensely while he covers my nose and mouth. How is his hand so damn big?
I’m assaulted with panic and pleasure at the same time. I can’t deny it. His finger-fucking is amazing. I can hear the sloshing and squishing of my very wet cunt. The waterboarding already spiked my adrenaline, and it doesn’t take me long to come undone at his hands. I come so violently I feel like my eyes could pop out of their sockets. If it weren’t for his hand on my face holding me down, I’d probably have a big bruise from knocking my head against the table.
I ride the wave of euphoria for what seems like the longest orgasm. I almost pass out from it. Or maybe it’s the asphyxiation.
When I come to, the cloth is removed from my face, allowing me uninhibited access to oxygen. But in exchange, I have to see Vincent.
He smirks. “That’s a definite yes if ever I saw one.”