Sergei stood and unzipped his pants, pulled out his half-limp dick and thrust it in my face. “Suck on this, you little whore.”
Sergei’s whore. Well, there was your proof.
I did as I was told, though I must admit, I wasn’t too enthusiastic. Sergei then tried to fuck my face, but he couldn’t get hard. Must have been the alcohol. Or my lackluster delivery.
“Can’t get it up tonight?” I taunted when he’d removed himself from my mouth. With my hands bound above me, I didn’t have any other weapons besides my shitty attitude. It was a sick and demented game we were playing. “You’re getting older, Serg. Might be time to see a doctor about that.”
Sergei surprised me then by grabbing his empty bottle and shoving the neck of it into my mouth. My teeth clicked against the glass and I opened wider for fear of breaking it.
“Is that hard enough for you?”
The bottle went in so deep I felt the glass rim push against my esophagus. The dregs of bourbon burned my throat. I gagged and Sergei didn’t give an inch. My eyes watered and my throat closed up as he shoved it in further, choking me for real. I twisted in my bindings and yelled at him to stop, but my voice was garbled. I flashed back to Roger, and the memory was as visceral and real as if it were happening right then. I thrashed on the floor and swung my leg around to knock Sergei off balance. He fell back, taking the bottle with him, and I started spitting curses—insulting his performance in bed, the limpness of his cock, his inability to get me off. I called him a sick and twisted pervert who had to feel up his dancers during class because he couldn’t get anyone to fuck him willingly.
He tried to cover my mouth with his hand—also off-limits—so I sunk my teeth into the flesh of his palm as hard as I could and drew blood.
He whipped around, heading toward his table of torture devices, and came back with a gag in the shape of a ball. I swung my head violently because damn if I was going to let him gag me. He mounted my lap and restrained my legs with his thighs while strapping the gag across my face. I choked on the ball and worried I was going to vomit and choke on that, too.
Deep breaths. I ordered myself to calm down, trying to imitate your voice when I did it.
The look in Sergei’s eyes was homicidal as he unhooked my wrist cuffs from the strap and attached them to a hook near the floor. I pulled back like it was a tug-of-war, but he was stronger and fueled by rage. He yanked at one ankle, and I tried to kick him again. I worried he might twist my ankle or break my foot in the process, so I let him restrain me until I was lying facedown against the cold concrete with no way to fight back or call for help.
A moment later there was a warm wetness on my back accompanied by the sound of Sergei groaning. He was using me as a toilet. I shouted at him, despite the gag, but he was moving again. He grabbed the empty bottle off the ground. I tried to keep track of him while he circled behind me. My breathing was erratic, my head pounding with blood and adrenaline. I felt the bottle’s cold rim press against my anus, and I thrashed like a mad man. This was even beyond what I thought he was capable of. Did he intend to shove that thing up my ass? What if it broke?
“You want to see me hard?” Sergei asked, putting pressure on the bottle. I panicked and tore my head back and forth. “Youmade me this way, Orlando. I try and I try to give you what you want, and you reject me at every turn. You humiliate me. You make me do things I don’t want to do.”
I started crying then, and begging. Sobbing and choking with snot pouring out of my nose, which made it even harder to breathe. I was terrified and furious and completely, utterly helpless. And some part of me knew this was my fault. I put myself in these situations. I went looking for sick, twisted men. Even you, Henri. You were a generous and thoughtful lover—I loved you with my entire soul—but you werenota nice man.
I gave up then and just lay still and waited for it to be over. I didn’t stir again until I heard the bottle shatter against the wall.
“Orlando.”
Sergei’s voice, but it wasn’t him. A ball of dread knotted up in my stomach.
I’d been calling for you for months, until my ribs ached and my lungs bled. And that’s when you chose to show up? When I was at my absolute lowest. Degraded and humiliated and lying on the floor in a puddle of sweat, piss, and terror.
Fuck you, Henri.
36
Henri
Iwould have wept if I weren’t so furious. At him, at you, at myself. I wanted to drive a dull blade through Sergei’s stomach and watch him slowly bleed out, but there wasn’t much I could do at present. His functioning was so impaired by alcohol that I was forced to abandon his vessel and inhabit the body of a passerby.
I broke down the door and rushed inside, unfastening the gag immediately. You hardly moved or said a word as I freed your wrists and ankles. I worried you were in shock. I should have ended it sooner, before he… Rage coursed through me anew at the scent of that vile man’s urine on your skin and those marks on your back…
He’d whipped you, gagged you, urinated on you, and likely intended to rape you with that bottle. He’d desecrated the body I loved so dearly. I would kill him. Slowly. I would make him suffer. But first I needed to tend to you.
I tried to calm you, but you pushed my hands away. Soon after, you leaned over and vomited on the floor. I handed you your clothes, wanting to offer you more comfort, but you glared at me as though daring me to try it.
“Why now?” you moaned. Your voice was hoarse and your eyes bloodshot. Saliva dripped down your chin. “Why the fuck would you come now, Henri?”
I tried to cast a calming seduction, but you told me to fuck off. You headed for the door, and I worried you might try to flee in the state you were in, so I bellowed at you to stay. Thankfully, you obeyed.
I dragged Sergei’s unconscious form to where you’d been restrained. I grabbed two sets of handcuffs and secured him there. I’d deal with him later.
“What are you doing?” you asked, dead-eyed and exhausted.
“Not your concern.”
