Chapter 15
Ayla
Pirro’s presence in the room is expected. I think he serves as a supervisor of sorts, the middleman between Raul and the customers. I have no doubt the man would want to watch even if he didn’t have an official role. He’s sick and fucking twisted that way.
I hate the wash of relief I feel when I notice that it’s the same man as before on the bed across the room. What we’re being forced to do to each other is fucking horrific, but I’d rather not have to victimize a new person.
I can feel Pirro’s eyes on me, knowing he’s attempting to read my thoughts as I watch the man. He’s masked like usual, but there’s no movement in his body other than the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.
I turn my head, looking toward Pirro.
“The request is for you to fuck a sleeping man.” He looks in the guy’s direction. “I doubt that man would be able to keep from gripping your ass while you rode him, so we drugged him.”
I dart my eyes back in Nash’s direction, wondering if I’m being set up to fail because—
“We gave him a little something for that, too,” Pirro says with a sinister chuckle.
My eyes land on his cock, that part of him not exactly fully erect, but it’s obvious with a little stimulation, even while he’s drugged unconscious, it’s going to work for what Pirro needs it to.
Begging at this point would be futile but I feel the words threatening to come out.
I feel the warmth of him half a second before I smell the stench of his breath as he inches closer. “Took a fucking horse tranquilizer to knock his ass out.”
I squeeze my eyes closed when he traces the tip of my nipple with one finger. Pulling away from him would activate that demon inside that he seems in control of right now.
“The guy is too fucking cheap to pay for issuing verbal commands, so make sure to pay attention to the teleprompter.”
I nod my agreement, waiting for the command to get to work.
When Pirro shoves at my back a couple minutes later, it nearly knocks me off my feet.
I walk slowly, knowing when to turn on the look the client is paying for, because I’ve filmed so many things in the room before.
My face aches as I attempt to look evil and powerful, turned on by the sight of Nash just lying there, unable to do anything about what’s about to happen to him. His arms aren’t even tied down.
I coo shit about him being helpless and how I’m going to do all these things to his body as I climb on the bed, hating that fucking echoing sound of already getting tipped.
I slide my hands up his calves, disgusted with myself that I don’t exactly hate the brush of his leg hair on the tips of my fingers.
My hands are trembling, and somehow this is worse than it would be if he were strapped to the bed and watching me as I touch him.
His cock doesn’t jerk because his drugged body isn’t reading my touch as sexual the way it’s meant for the client. It isn’t until I brush his inner thigh that it has more life in it.
Trained like the fucking sex slave that I am, I glance up at the teleprompter before actually touching him.
The client is eager to get to the show.
SUCK IT.
I swallow as I dip toward his groin, mouthing the very tip of him. The man begins to swell in my mouth, and honestly, I wish it would take a little more fucking effort. I haven’t forgotten what Pirro promised was going to happen after this scene was complete.
I normally don’t have over twelve hours to think about being hurt, but I know he made the threat yesterday because he knew it would stay in my head all day.
I look up once again as I try and take him as far to the back of my throat as I can. The screen demands that I straddle him and tease my clit with his cockhead. Any other time, I’d be grateful for the speed at which this is moving.
Despite being fully erect now, he doesn’t so much as twitch when I accidentally trap two of his fingers under my knee while trying to reposition myself. If the client wants this to be like the other sleeping scenes I’ve done, he’s going to be extremely disappointed.
I’ve never had to be the instigator in one of those scenes. The others I’ve done had me waking up so horny and needy that I practically attacked the man who woke me up through molestation, just too horny to control myself.
Ask nearly any fucking woman, getting woken up because you’re being fondled while you’re fucking sleeping isn’t a fucking turn on. I’d punch a guy in the eye if it ever happened to me before I was forced to act out the scene here.
I want to cry at the precum on the tip of his cock when I lift it to my body as I straddle him. The arousal isn’t an indication of his consent, something I know the man wouldn’t give if he were awake.
I moan with the first brush, hating that part of it is for show for the client and some because it feels good.
The teleprompter urges me to slide down his cock, specifically moaning like a whore when I do.
I obey, lifting his cock and lining it up at my entrance, wondering about my own depravity when I know I probably didn’t need the lube I slickened myself with.
My mouth opens, no sound coming out as I slide down, the stretch he causes inside of me leaving me breathless.
I realize the mistake too late, but the cha-ching that fills the room when I do belt out a fake moan says the idiot on the other end of the transaction is none the wiser.
LIFT HIS HAND AND HOLD IT TO YOUR TIT
I’m still on him, fully impaled by his cock as I reach for one of his hands.
My legs tremble, the threat of tears burning the backs of my eyes as I reach for his hand.
The bend of my body has him pressing against that part inside of me I was hoping to avoid.
His hand is colder than it should be, making the nurse in me wonder about the conditions they’ve been keeping him in and running through a list of things that could cause low circulation.
I lift his fingers to my mouth, taking in the redness on the tips before sucking on one. It was the only way I could get a better look without raising suspicions.
Pulling back his fingers when they threaten to curl, I situate his palm under my breast, hating the way my nipple tightens with his forced touch.
This is worse than yesterday, ten times more deviant. I wasn’t in control of what he did yesterday, no more than I was in control of how I reacted to it. I didn’t want to come. He made me. The tables are fully turned now.
I shift my weight, gearing up to rise, letting his cock pull free from my body to the tip, when the doors burst open.
Gunfire, something I don’t hear very often even in a place like this, echoes around the room.
With a scream, I dive off the bed, praying the platform built around it is enough to stop a bullet, if any fly my way.
Begging for my life is on the tip of my tongue when my head is jerked back, my blond hair tangled in a man’s fingers.
He looks utterly disgusted with the sight of me. I want to beg for my life. I want to tell him all the things I can do for him if only he lets me live. I’ve heard some of the men complaining that there are other groups that have been raiding places like this, killing the men, and taking over.
Pirro was always quick to shut them down, saying no one is fucking brave enough to go against Raul Cortez.
Tears are streaming down my face when the man lifts me to my knees. I see just how wrong Pirro was because he’s lying on the floor with half his face missing.
The tremble starts right in the center of me until I’m shaking so hard I’m terrified this man is going to think I’m trying to escape.
“Pl-Please,” I beg as he sneers down at me.
“You’re as bad as the fucking men here,” he growls, the light glinting off the barrel of his gun as he holds it to my head.
I can only nod, knowing he’s right. I’ve been so willing to hurt others just to save myself and Alani. I’m a terrible person, even worse than many of the others. Because if I had to relive everything I’ve done, I wouldn’t change a fucking thing.
“Will Alani be safe?” I ask, my words so weak, I’m not even sure he can understand them.
“Angel!” another man yells from the doorway.
My eyes snap in that direction as another group of men dressed as commandos enters the room.
“It’ll be the last thing you do,” the man warns, his rifle pointed at the man gripping the handful of my hair.
I feel no safer when he releases me because he doesn’t change the direction he’s pointing his gun as they inch closer to him.
“Fucking Cerberus,” he mutters, the hand holding his gun dropping to his side.
He sneers in my direction one last time before holstering his weapon.
It seems like hours of me staring up at him until his form is replaced by the soft, wary, yet reassuring smile of a woman. She doesn’t tell me everything is going to be okay when she wraps a soft blanket around my naked body.
Nash is still laid out on the bed as she escorts me out of the room.