When the Dark Wins Page 2

  Unlikely.

  Anthony had been taking and training slaves for years, and bringing in his brother had simply been good business. The man had an eye for natural submissives, which made the process somewhat easier. He was loyal, and he was an excellent delivery boy. But it would be better for business if Marcus would stop thinking with his prick and viewing the slaves as anything other than commodities.

  There was an odd look on his brother's face as they watched each other, some mixture of irritation with him and hunger for the girl. Not like it fazed him either way. But it promised an argument that Anthony did not want to entertain.

  After all, the girl could wake up at any moment and he wanted to watch her panic. To listen to those first desperate sounds, her first screams.

  “You know you're not supposed to fuck them when you take them.” Anthony pressed his buttons, and Marcus slammed his glass down as if on cue.

  “I didn't fuck her! I caught her, drugged her, and brought her here.” Thrusting his hand in the vague direction of the bedroom, he continued, “And then I secured her for you.”

  “Good. Then you can get back to whatever you had planned.” Anthony pulled out his phone again, wanting the cameras on in time for the wake up.

  The customers liked the first screams too.

  “We just sold the last one, Anthony, we could have waited another week.” He shook his head, swallowing another mouthful of alcohol as if it could make him not feel whatever odd emotions he harbored.

  Fortunately, Anthony had never had to deal with trivial things like guilt or pity. They had simply never been a part of him, and why should they be?

  Emotions were distractions.

  Flaws.

  Especially when there were so many things he could do to their new product. So many ways to make her scream, to break her down. Options unrolled in front of him like a luxurious, blood red carpet, diverting his attention from Marcus' clear disquiet.

  He needed to end this discussion so he could be there when she awoke and her confusion slowly turned to fear.

  It would be exquisite.

  “I'm still trying to get the house set up, we didn't need to grab Beth yet.” Marcus' fingers twitched against the edge of the glass, an old tell that telegraphed his needs even better than the wobble of his voice when he spoke her name.

  Pathetic.

  Ignoring his sibling’s inconstant emotions, Anthony flicked on the cameras from his control panel and watched as the feminine shape appeared against the darker sheets.

  Marcus kept talking as if he hadn’t heard him. “Her name is Beth. Elizabeth Doherty.”

  “Do you have any useful information that I didn't already find in my research?” He tapped away on his phone, sending out the alerts that a new event was live. "Anything relevant, or are you stalling so you can continue to chug my Van Winkle’s Reserve 20-year bourbon like an animal?"

  Marcus sighed heavily. “She's strong willed, fought the drugs longer than I expected. Everything else you already know.”

  Anthony made a sound at the back of his throat, but otherwise didn't acknowledge the unintentional compliment. Flipping back to the camera screen he saw her stretched out and vulnerable against the bedding. Already so much different from her smiling driver's license photo. In time he would erase that person completely. “You can go now,” Anthony dismissed him as he turned out of the office to walk towards the bedroom.

  “Why don't you let me have her first? I can get her to understand her situation. Accept it.” The grating sound of Marcus' voice followed him as he watched the girl twitch in her sleep.

  She would wake up soon.

  “Don't you have a house to set up? Another girl to track? It was your idea to start running two operations.” And at least then Marcus' whining would be a state away.

  “I thought I should be here to—”

  “Your assistance is unnecessary.” Pulling his eyes from the screen, he saw the tension in his brother's jaw, a muscle ticking as he avoided eye contact. “What is it, Marcus? Do you think I'm going to hurt her?”

  As soon as he smiled, Marcus growled and flipped him off, turning back towards the front of the house. “I know exactly what you're going to do.”

  “Really? I like to think I'm quite inventive.” The camera angle switched and he watched as her body shifted.

  “I'm going, Anthony. I'll be back in a couple of days.” Marcus spoke from the end of the hall, and he glanced up without another word. Goodbyes were for people who thought he was human, and Marcus had lost that illusion before he was six.

  It was better that Marcus was leaving. The last girl had broken so easily, and then she had cried for Marcus like he would help her just because he liked to make them orgasm. He hadn't helped her, of course, but it had been irritating all the same.

  When Anthony made girls scream, he wanted them to beg him for mercy.

  Even though it would never come.

  2

  Anthony sat at the foot of the bed, leaning back in his chair as he worked through the backlog of emails he'd been ignoring as he waited for the girl to wake up. Customers with requests, questions, and now he was able to answer them.

  Yes, there was a new slave.

  A new girl to watch, to bring in more customers, to feed their needs, and that always meant more money. It was nice to have a job doing something he enjoyed.

  His customers were mere shadows of men who did not have the fortitude to make their wishes a reality. Too afraid of repercussions, of their own weakness. But they had always paid well for the privilege of watching him work.

  The girl twitched on the bed, her legs pulling against the ropes that held her thighs wide. It was entrancing, the way the rope dug into her skin, already red and inflamed from her unconscious efforts. He wondered for a moment just how hard she’d fight them.

  He thought about slapping her. As close to consciousness as she was, it would rouse her immediately — but then he wouldn’t get to watch her hope die slowly.

  Better to be patient, to wait.

  Something Marcus never understood, and likely never would.

  There was so much more to enjoy in this process beyond the physical, and he wanted to take his time. To destroy her slowly, devour every inch of her mind. To strangle it until her awareness was focused into a pinpoint of what her Master demanded of her.

  A quiet groan and the girl tried to turn, her arms and legs pulling in unison as she attempted to curl up. Finally, her eyes opened, her breath caught, and Anthony found his own breath had stilled in his lungs as he put his phone away to enjoy every minute of her devastation.

  Showtime.

  She gasped, her head rolling to look at the rope wrapped around her wrist, but he stayed completely still, completely silent. Enjoying the way her knees lifted from the bed as she discovered the restraints. Her breathing picked up, panic setting in as she whined and pulled harder at the ropes. When she tried to sit up the collar tethered to the headboard stopped her short, but she saw him.

  More silence.

  The girl was exactly what he’d needed. Blonde, toned, tanned. Practically mail order from the requests of the customers. Her brown eyes were wide, and more than anything Anthony wished he could hear the scattered thoughts tumbling through her mind.

  That would be entertaining.

  “Hello,” Anthony spoke, breaking the spell, and she whined louder. Her body contorted, dropping back to the bed as she twisted uselessly against the ropes. From his vantage point her struggles were quite lovely, thighs spreading, hips working at empty air, but it was her sheer panic that flavored it perfectly.

  “Oh my God — this isn’t — no…” Lifting her head she looked at him, and he met her gaze calmly, leaning forward in the chair. Her ribs expanded just before her first scream ripped free. “HELP! SOMEONE PLEASE! HELP ME!”

  “No one can hear you,” he told her, but his words didn’t register yet.

  “PLEASE! HELP! SOMEONE!” Jerking violently off the bed, An
thony watched as her skin rubbed raw against the rope. He wasn’t concerned about her getting loose. Despite their conflicting beliefs, Marcus was excellent with knots. She wasn’t getting free.

  She was never getting free — she just didn’t know it yet.

  Another panicked, desperate scream sent blood rushing to his cock, but he ignored it. There was plenty of time for that.

  Patience was the thing that Marcus lacked. A year of working with him and he’d yet to understand that the best tool available was the slave’s own mind. Allowing them to torture themselves before the real fun began… that was how you broke them.

  The girl, Beth, sagged against the bed, breath whistling in her lungs as she turned her head and relentlessly worked at her bonds. Anthony waited for her to come to terms with her situation. Naked, tied-down, spread wide. Eventually, she lifted her head and met his eyes again. Round, brown, tear soaked orbs in her pretty face.

  She would make them money for sure.

  “Who are you? Why am I here? Why me? Why?” Beth’s voice trembled, a little raspy from the dry mouth he expected after the sedative. Almost every girl asked the same questions in their own ways, so many whys, and it brought him that fizzy feeling of what others called joy to answer her.

  “I’m your Master, and you’re here to be trained so I can sell you.” He hadn’t even finished speaking before she screamed again. A long screeching wail that buzzed over his skin, making his cock rock hard in his pants.

  “No, no, no, no…” she pleaded to the ceiling, her head rocking back and forth on the mattress as she unconsciously contracted her limbs against the ropes again.

  “And you were chosen because you were what we needed.”

  “NO!” Her shout was raw, breaking her voice, but he only tilted his head as he watched her. There was a moment where she became aware of his vantage point, her thighs trying to pull together to meet, but the bed was too wide for that. Her shaved cunt was on display for him, and for everyone watching on the cameras.

  Which is what they paid for.

  “Do you want to know what is going to happen to you?” he taunted her with the question, and her next groan halted in her chest as she licked her lips. Fear almost tangible in the air between them.

  “Are… are you going to rape me?” The delicious trepidation in her question had his cock twitching.

  “Not yet,” he answered, and she dropped back to the bed, a choked sob escaping her as she wrestled with the ropes that gave her no more room than his brother had allowed her. It was a pretty sight, and part of him hoped Marcus had signed into the feed on his drive North so he could enjoy the fruits of his labors.

  “Let me go, please, I swear—”

  “You won’t tell anyone? Go to the police? Etcetera, etcetera?” Anthony felt a smile on his lips as he leaned forward, her head lifting to meet his gaze. “Haven’t you realized you’re not going anywhere? That you won’t be able to tell anyone anything?”

  “FUCK YOU!” she screamed, and her back arched off the bed as she did, her breasts angled towards the cameras in the ceiling.

  “Later. There’s more to discuss first, Beth.” It was irritating to use her name, things didn't have names, but he needed her attention.

  And it would take time to truly make her a thing, but he would. He always did.

  “You can’t do this! You can’t — you…” She trailed off as the panic overtook her again. People were so fragile, their minds so narrow in their capacity to absorb concepts they didn’t want to. The girl was property now, nothing more than a body, and it was his job to break her mind just enough that she was pliable. Like making dough he would knead her into the proper shape, beat her if necessary, all so she could rise to her new purpose.

  “It’s already done. The sooner you accept your place, the better it will be for you. Though I must admit, I enjoy the slaves who fight.”

  “NO!” she screamed, and he felt the vibrations of the air down to his core, wrapping around his spine to make him shiver with the closest thing to delight he was capable. The girl was better than he had hoped, and he pushed himself out of the chair to stand at his full height. He was a tall man. Over six feet. And to a slender girl tied spread-eagle on a strange mattress, he knew it felt like twenty when he loomed over her. It was all about perspective. He worked out, wore suits, kept up appearances — all to maintain the image — but he knew that as aesthetically pleasing as he might be, there was no way to hide the creature under the surface.

  At some point he had just ceased trying to appear human.

  Others like him, and he had met many, worked hard to hide what they were, to suppress their urges to do the worst to other people. The money coming in every month from their little operation was proof enough of that, but as he stood beside the bed and looked into her face he could tell that she wanted comfort. Wanted him to hide his true self for just a moment. Provide a glimpse of some humanity in the man standing over her, something to kindle hope, give her the glimmer of a light at the end of the tunnel.

  That old, childish lie of 'everything is going to be okay'.

  It wouldn't be. Not for her, anyway.

  Anthony would quite enjoy the things he was going to do to her.

  “Are you afraid?” he asked, his voice as steady and calm as it always was.

  “What?!” she screeched, but he doubted even she was so stupid as to misunderstand a question that simple.

  Regardless, she was afraid. He could see it in her. She broadcasted her fear at top volume, muscles jumping, palms sweating, bound hands clenching and unclenching... but he wanted to hear it. “Are you afraid?” he asked again, maintaining the cold edge in his tone.

  “I— yes...” she finally whispered the word, a hushed and broken sound that made his cock jerk in his pants.

  “Describe it for me.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “Tell me what the fear feels like.” His first touch to the skin along her ribs made her jerk, pulse jumping at her throat, face turned away like she could avoid him. Eventually she would realize how pointless it was, and so he enjoyed it while he could. Soaked in her panic, watched the hope dim just a little inside her as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Just describe it.”

  He wasn't sure he'd ever felt fear. There had been plenty of times when he was aware of danger, more than once that he'd felt physical pain and known more was coming. But there was no surging heartbeat beyond the requirements of his body, no flash of something more in the vacuum inside him.

  But she was feeling it, real fear, and he wanted to know what it felt like.

  Moving his hand to her stomach he spread out his fingers, almost covering her taut abdomen as her muscles spasmed. “I'm waiting.”

  “It feels like fear, what the FUCK do you want from me?” she shouted the question, the vibrations of her voice coming up through his fingertips just before he dug them into her skin. A whine of pain, her face contorting with it, but this was just the beginning.

  She would learn new levels of pain and realize that the way he pressed his nails into her skin was gentle. An introduction, a graceful easing in.

  “Let me help. Is your heart racing?” As he asked he relaxed his hand and moved it upward, between her breasts to graze her throat. The rapid pounding of her blood just under her skin was answer enough, but he wanted her to voice it. “Speak.”

  “Yes.” Another weak voiced concession from her soft lips.

  He tightened his grip on her throat ever so slightly, just enough to threaten the airway. “And are you breathing faster?” he prompted.

  The girl swallowed, the swell of it pressing against his palm. “I don't want to die,” she whispered, tears brimming at the edges of her eyes, and he smiled.

  It was his smile that pushed her into the first sob. Marcus had always told him there was something wrong with his smile — he could never do it right.

  But it had barely been ten minutes and they had already had so many firsts. A scream, a touch, ha
lf-moon marks embedded in her stomach, and then a sob. She was rushing things, making it difficult to savor each of them separately.

  And now, the first tears.

  He ran his thumb up her cheek, catching one before he lifted his hand from her skin. Wide eyes watched him, pupils dilating as her autonomic nervous system kicked her into fight or flight. The slick moisture made his fingers rub together smoothly, and for a flash he wondered if her cunt were just as slick.

  Could she be as excited by their interaction as he was?

  It was unlikely, but Marcus usually chose well. The pain would summon a reaction from her and he couldn't wait to find out what it was.

  “It's good that you don't want to die. A strong survival instinct will help you to make smart choices.” Anthony wiped his hand on his pants, clearing her tears away. “And killing you would be such a waste.”

  “You won't kill me?”

  He couldn't help but smile again. “What fun would that be?”

  “Oh God!” Another scream, and the tears were back as she pulled at the rope, ripping at her skin in her panic. Anthony watched her for a moment, imagining what that fear must feel like. Taste like.

  Was it coppery like blood? Bitter like a lemon?

  Or was it as sweet for her as it was for him? Lush and rich like a sinful dessert.

  The girl had done such a poor job of describing it, and if it would work he would cut her open just to see the fear, to feel it like she did, if just for a moment. But… that wasn’t possible. There was no way to experience what she felt, he could only see his side of the equation, and at least he could enjoy this.

  “Oh my God, this can’t be happening,” she whined.

  “Do you think your God is listening?” Anthony tilted an ear towards the ceiling as if he were waiting to hear an answer from the heavens. “Do you think he will save you?”

  Her body shook, she was biting back the sobs that made her ribs quake. From somewhere inside her she summoned the strength to meet his eyes, and he respected the effort it took. “What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice cracking again.