I clench my teeth. My torture starts all over again until I breathe, “my brother.”
“Good boy.”
A cup of fresh water is brought to my lips and I gulp greedily.
I lose track of time. Every time Petar asks a question, I try my best to defy him, not to answer, but the pain is unbearable. It’s all I know. All I am.
And he starves me. Refuses me water and dignity to relieve myself. The only way to get some food to withhold the pain is by giving him what he wants.
“Who do you belong to?”
A name is on the tip of my lips but it doesn’t get past it. “You,” I murmur. My voice has broken already, my vocal cords raw and so irritated I haven’t heard the sound of it in days. Or is it weeks? I don’t know anymore.
“Louder, brother. You’re being broadcasted live to everyone in the Bratva. Let them know.”
“You!”
“Good. Good. Now it’s time for your reward.”
A smirk spreads on his ugly face, satisfaction so thick I can feel it pouring out of him in waves.
A woman, completely naked, enters the room. She holds something in her hand but I see her through a veil over my eyes. She has long blond hair, and a generous body.
I avert my eyes.
“Oh, none of that, brother,” Petar’s mocking tone echoes on the walls. He marches up to me and takes my chin in his vicious hand, holding it to look at the woman.
“Please, open your eyes,” she whispers. She sounds terrified but I keep my eyes closed. I don’t want to see her naked form in front of me. “Please.”
“Listen to her, Toma. After all, her life depends on you.”
My eyelids snap open. The woman is so close I can’t miss the tears in her brown eyes. The sclera of her eyes is shot with red vessels and she’s clenching her teeth as though not to cry.
“Look,” Petar commands and I know what he means. It’s another order meant to break who I am, who I truly belong to deep down in the hidden parts of the black organ in my chest.
“Please,” the woman breathes again, just for me.
I let my eyes peruse her body. Freckles pepper her cheeks and chest, where her hair has been styled to fall in waves on her shoulders and over large breasts. While I watch her, she drapes my shoulders with a warm towel and I moan. It spreads through my entire body and I feel myself soften underneath her caring touch. I don’t want it but can’t escape it, still bound to my chair.
Her brown nipples are hard, the temperature of the room obvious on her skin, with goosebumps everywhere. Her stomach rolls in valleys meant to entice. She kneads my shoulders,my arms and then my thighs, avoiding touching my cock. I’m grateful for that.
It hits me then.
She looks like the woman I left behind.
I close my eyes but open them again at her whimper of fear.
Everything I’ve lived through for the last few days, the pain and the torment, is nothing to what finally hits me in the gut. This is the real torture. If I don’t comply, agony awaits me. If I do, another sort of death greets me. I won’t win.
She continues her ministrations, massaging my body with the warm towel. My body isn’t my own. I groan. Pleasure spreads through me. After days of torment, convulsing with pain, deprived of food, water and dignity, her touch is soft and fills me with a self-hatred so deep it burns me from the inside out.
She kneels in front of me, wincing when her knees hit the cold concrete floor, and mutters a small ‘sorry’ before she takes hold of me and pumps her hand up and down.
“No. No.”
I wiggle, trying to dislodge her.
Her hand stops. She shoots a glance behind her at my brother, watching the scene with a gleam of satisfaction and hate in his eyes. He nods once. The woman resumes her forceful jerking, and my body responds. No matter if I tell myself it isn’t what I want.
