“Shut the fuck up, no one told you to talk,” Butch huffs at me.
I cock my head to the side and don’t let them see that I’m hurt in any way. I keep the smile on my face and my hands limp rather than balled into tense fists. It’s quite a bit of effort for me to do this, instead of jumping immediately into yelling at them and trying to fight my way out of the restraints like I want to.
“What do you expect to accomplish from this?” I ask them. I’m feeling less like I’m floating on a cloud minute by minute, gaining more of my faculties back. “I ain’t telling you shit.”
“We don’t need you to tell us anything. This is just for fun, baby boy,” Dante teases me, and the sound of his voice calling me that name makes me sick to my stomach.
I don’t have time to reply before there’s a sharp object pressed to my cheek, and I immediately clock it as a knife. I’m not sure which one of them is cutting into my cheek, but they press just enough to cause blood to drip down my jawline and neck, before pressing even harder.
The pain ripples through my muscles and I ignore it. It’s deeper than I’d ever want to be cut, but it’s not so much that I can’t hold back my reaction to the pain now that I know what’s happening.
The knife moves down to my throat, teasing at it like they want me to think they’re about to cut me there but then they move to the other side of my face.
I have to admit, I feel a sense of arousal creep up my spine, and it makes me wildly uncomfortable, but I can’t stop it. Each cut on my face brings my cock harder and harder, and I hate it.
“Are you seriously getting hard from this?” Dante asks me. “You sick motherfucker.”
I feel a hand grab at my hair and yank my head back as blood drips down my face and neck. “Disgusting.” He curses at me under his breath and suddenly a knee hits my stomach.
Before I can get the next cough out, I’m hit in the stomach again, then the jaw, over and over again. Hit after hit strikes me as I’m stuck tied to this fucking chair. My hands finally ball into fists as rage fills up my chest.
“You stupid motherfuckers!” I hiss out at them. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”
He lets go of my hair and another punch hits the side of my bloody face. I spit out the blood in my mouth right in front of me and hear a sound of disgust following it. I grin, though I’m seething through my teeth.
“You’re going to pay for that,” Butch tells me and his hand wraps around my throat.
I feel all of the blood in my body rush downward and I curse inwardly at myself. How fucked up can I possibly be?
The question of my own sanity is one I’m not asking for long. Instead, I’m wondering about the morality of my captors. They stab at me with sharp long knives in each of my thighs, and slash at my face and shoulders as though they enjoy it. Maybe they do. Hell, I would too if I was on their side of things.
Fuck, wouldn’t I love to get one of them, Butch or Dante, in a chair and torture him for a few hours. Especially given what they’re doing to me right now.
Every slice into my skin fills me with more and more rage and frustration. I can’t help but growl out under my breath and try to shake the blindfold off of my head. It’s no use.
“Ready to behave now?” Dante asks me.
I notice that his voice is further away from me, so it must be Butch doing his handywork now and not his brother.
“Afraid to get your hands dirty?” I ask him, breathless, with blood dripping down from my lip and face. Everything is foggy, and I struggle not to slip into darkness, but I hold on.
“Shut the fuck up,” Butch hisses at me. He strikes me across the head and everything goes dizzy again, just for a second or two.
I growl in response and struggle against my bindings. I hate being blindfolded and not knowing exactly where I am. I can guess, but it’s not the same as seeing. I’m assuming they have me blindfolded so that it gets to me mentally, but it’s more annoying than anything else.
Just as I’m about to prepare myself for another cut or strike across the face, I feel the blindfold being taken off.
My eyes adjust to the light slowly, and I see that I am in fact in a basement. The basement of the Bianchi house no doubt.
“You’re fucking idiots,” I tell them. “They’ll be here to break me out before you know it.”
“Will they?” Dante asks. “Or will they decide that you’re not worth it? Or maybe, they’ll decide to finally concede to us.”
I snort. “Yeah right,” I say. “You’d have more luck getting Carmine to bottom for you.”
Dante’s face turns red and he steps over to me, putting both his hands on either side of the chair. “You’re pushing your luck,” he tells me.
“Oh really?” I ask and narrow my eyes as I look directly into his. I can see how worked up he is already; he’s trying to hide it. Trying to keep his breath steady and his head on straight; but it’s not working out very well for him.
