Take Me (Enslaved #1)

CHAPTER 5

I come to in increments. Slowly, I become aware of my body. Tingling sensations prickle in my extremities and spread through my limbs as thoughts flicker through my mind with increasing vividness. But even as I wake, the fatigue lingers, bone-deep, and I think it’s as much my system reeling from the time spent in Dax’s chair as an aftereffect of the drug.

Vividness is not a welcome relief because with it comes physical and mental reminders of what happened in that chair—along with the realization of what the final violation entailed.

My tongue throbs as if someone has stabbed it. And that’s exactly what happened. Horror infiltrates my dazed mind with oppressive black colors as I move my tongue and feel the click of metal against my teeth.

I wince as the swollen muscle throbs at the movement, and icy shivers race down my spine when comprehension settles into my mind.

A piercing. Solid metal through my tongue.

Why on earth?

Nipples, labia, clit, I would get. But in the mouth…

I can’t come up with any plausible explanation, and the blank void scares me to the core.

The barbell feels entirely wrong. A constant violation in and of itself.

Instinctively, I lift my hand to touch the foreign object, but it’s not skin that touches my lips. It’s leather.

A foreboding sense chills me as I wriggle my fingers and find them locked in position.

My throat constricts with a growing lump as I hold up my hands to find them encased in black leather. But not just encased.

Trapped.

The gloves can’t even classify as mittens since there’s no separate room for the thumb. There’s not even enough room to open my hand. It’s two snug leather cases, keeping my hands fisted and useless.

I don’t remember gloves. I barely even remember getting the piercing. All that pops up as I rack my brain is the sting of a needle in my inner elbow and a thick fog descending over my mind.

Closing my eyes, I try a little harder, and a few memories appear. But they’re all clouded in a dreamlike mist. The forceps grabbing my tongue, the hand stroking my hair, and the sharp prick of a needle. Then there’s the vague sensation of someone working on my hands and someone carrying me back here.

I open my eyes again and heave a shuddery breath. My hands look like two leather-bound stumps.

I can’t take it.

Without warning, a furious energy surges through me. I jerk up to sit and shove one glove to my mouth, biting down on the wrist strap like a beast, uncaring of the sharp burn erupting in my tongue. I angle my head and bite and tug on the leather and the metal clasp, but nothing gives. The glove is locked in place. Even with a free hand, I wouldn’t be able to remove it, I realize as I stare at the padlocks securing the buckle.

Still, I give it another go with the same result.

Staring at my leather-bound hands, I pant through my desperation. As my fury morphs into hopelessness, awareness seeps back into my body—into my pounding tongue. The pain becomes so acute that it spreads like poison through my veins and into my brain. I dart up off the mattress, seeking some kind of outlet for the pounding sensation lodged inside me.

And that’s when I notice the chain. A thin, but solid metal band that connects the mittens to a collar around my neck.

A scream tears through my throat and bounces off the bare walls and back into my ears, mocking me with my confinement.

I rush to the door and bang on solid metal. With the leather providing a buffer for my hands, I manage to put in a staggering force that has the iron squeaking in its frame.

Suddenly, the door flies open. I stagger forward, nearly colliding with the mountain of a man who’s opening it.

If I thought Dax was big, there are no words to describe this man. Not only is he tall, but wide and brawny too. His arms are like trunks, and his bulging chest looks as solid as the metal door. But that’s not even the worst part. What has my blood running ice-cold is the menacing expression that is literally cut into his face in the form of a long scar that slices down one side of his mouth.

Before I can even think to apologize, the man has pulled a bundle of rope from his pocket and is shoving me back into the room. With a few quick motions, he loops the rope under my neck chain and ties it to a hook in the ceiling, forcing my hands and head up, making my back arch awkwardly.

I’m staggering in a precarious position when a thick stick connects with my ass. A scream tears through my throat as fire flares through my muscles, overriding any pain I felt in my tongue.

A hand catches me at my sternum, preventing my full weight from catching on the wrist-neck chain as I fly forward. It’s a small mercy, but the tug on the collar is startling even so. And when another strike lands, I release a despairing wail that fills the space with a keening sound.

The strikes keep thudding into my muscles, sending me dangling in the chains and thrusting me deeper into blinding agony. I’m at the mercy of this beast of a man in every sense of the word. All I can do is scream and shuffle my feet in useless attempts at avoiding the heavy stick.

Tears are streaking down my cheeks when a voice breaks through the violence with a resonant power that demands instant obedience.

“Stop!” The clicking of square heels resounds through the empty space as the new man approaches.

“She kept banging on the door,” the brutish man says, stepping aside.

“I’ll take it from here,” the new man says as long fingers wrap around my nape. He pulls my head back to make me stare up into a terrifying set of dark eyes under straight brows.

“Didn’t get enough attention?” Mikhail gives me a shake. “Huh?” Glancing at the other man, he says, “Get me some lube.”

Then he grips me around the throat and yanks me back into him, growling against my ear, “Maybe I should do this without, though? Teach you a lesson.”

He slides a long finger between my ass cheeks, and panic flares in my already reeling body as he rubs a fingertip against my puckered hole.

“No, please don’t,” I beg, sniffling to control the effects of the tears.

“No? Why not?” He shoves a fingertip inside, and I cry out as his dry digit tugs at my tissues. He’ll tear something if he goes any further without lube. And maybe he will anyway. I’ve never had anything up there—except the thin tip of the syringe.

“Please, I’ll be good. I won’t bang on the door again.”

“No? Will you beg me to train your tight ass then?”

“No. Never,” I whimper, more tears gushing from my eyes.

He moves his finger inside me, and hopeless indecision tightens my chest. No matter what I do, I’ll lose. Either choice will tear at me—physically or mentally.

The brute returns and tosses Mikhail a tube.

“Last chance to beg,” Mikhail growls, forcing his finger a bit farther in.

“Lube, lube, lube,” I cry. “Please.”

“Please what?”

I squeeze my eyes shut and force back my pride to save myself from agonizing pain. My voice is barely above a whisper when I finally manage the words. “Please use my ass.”

“Not good enough.” He smacks my ass hard enough to make me cry out and jerk around his finger. A raspy sensation like sandpaper scratches at my tissues.

“Please, train my ass. Sir. Please, Sir.” The words crush me, and I break into a sob that opens the floodgates. Seeking purchase as desperation tears through me, I work my useless, leather-bound hands against the rope.

Mikhail lets out a cruel chuckle. “Since you ask so nicely, Koshechka. ”

There’s the sound of a lid popping open, and then cold lube trickles between my ass cheeks, around his finger. He pulls out and pushes in again, smearing lube onto the edges of my narrow opening.

He repeats a few times until he easily slides in and out, fucking my ass with his fingertip.

I feel dirty and vile, my ass smeared in sticky lube and a stranger’s finger pumping into that hole.

“You’re lucky I’m the first one to use your ass. If I’d let Dorin do it, you might not be so lucky to get lube and one digit at a time.”

The bulky man huffs a cruel laugh. He remains at the other end of the room, watching the violation unfold.

But I’m stuck on the first part of Mikhail’s words. Nikolai should have been the first one to use me back there. More than once, he talked about how he looked forward to sinking into my tight ass, and I imagined how he’d carefully work me up to fit his size.

I weep, utterly broken. I weep from the indignity of it all, the devastating helplessness of losing my body, and the knowledge that Nikolai won’t get to be the first one to use me back there.

Mikhail pushes a bit farther in, and my nerve endings spark to life, sending strange sensations into my tissues.

I hate it. I hate it so fucking much.

At least, that’s what I try to convince myself of. But as he sinks a little deeper, I’m horrified to realize that my pussy is throbbing—begging for something to clutch onto.

“You’re such a little ass slut. Did you know that?” Mikhail pumps in and out. He never sinks deeper than the second knuckle, but his finger is long, and the sensation is more than enough to shoot tiny bolts of electricity into my sensitive tissues. “You’re fucking clenching my finger, begging for more.”

“No, I’m not.” I try to deny it ardently, but my body won’t cooperate no matter how hard I try. The need keeps building until I’m desperate, crying then moaning, scraping the mittens furiously at the ropes, then arching my back.

“Do something about her pussy, will you?” Mikhail orders the brute—who must be Dorin. The massive man steps forward, unclipping his stick from his belt. It’s as long as a police baton, but slightly thinner and rounded at the tip, and when he holds it between my legs, I realize it’s to serve a double purpose.

I kick out a leg, trying to shove it away, but it only earns me a hard thwap on my thigh. Pain blossoms in my muscles, making me buck in the restraints, and he easily slides the stick through my wetness and pumps it into my pussy with a staggering force.

“Show me how much you love getting your holes filled,” Mikhail orders with the same resonant authority as when he came in.

His words are vile and crude, but I can’t deny the effect. God knows I try to, but he has already broken me down so much that there’s nothing left to keep my defenses intact. So the command slips straight in, hitting into that perverted part of myself I’ve always tried to hide—always been ashamed of. It throbs and tightens deep in my belly, like Nikolai’s commands have done all week, awakening a desperate need for release.

A moan bursts from deep within my stomach, and when he repeats the words, I come apart, writhing and jerking with the full force of an explosive orgasm.

***

When Mikhail takes me down and places me on the mattress, I’m numb. Shaking, but numb.

Both men leave, and I have no idea how long time passes before Mikhail returns with a steaming bowl of meat stew that he places beside the mattress.

“Eat,” he says.

I don’t move. I just stare into the space before me, feeling dirty and broken.

Worthless.

The slightest movement brings awareness to the sticky mess between my ass, a flicker of my gaze brings my attention to the black mittens, and any active thought takes me straight back to one out of the many horrors I’ve already endured here.

So I just lie there. Not thinking, not moving, barely even looking.

I feel Mikhail’s eyes on me, studying me closely. When he sinks onto the mattress and grabs me by the waist, I instinctively whimper, expecting more pain or degradation. But he simply lifts me up to sit. Draping his left arm behind me, he uses it as a sling to hold me up as he takes the bowl in the same hand and picks up the spoon with the other. “Open your mouth.”

I don’t obey, of course.

“C’mon. Beef stew. Is good.” He prods the spoon at my mouth, wetting my lips with the warm sauce, but I still don’t open.

With a sigh, he sets the bowl aside and grabs me by the arms, turning me to face him.

“Look at me.”

When I still don’t react, he grabs my chin, and I finally meet his eyes.

“Good girl,” he says with a slight glimmer in his expressive eyes. “Now, take a deep breath.” Rounding his lips, he inhales deeply.

I take in a small suck of air that barely lifts my chest.

“You can do better.” He slaps my stomach gently. “Deep into the belly.”

He repeats the long inhale, and I find it’s easier to obey his easy-going manner than it is to disobey it. After all, this order involves no humiliation or pain. So I take in a long, but staggered breath that reaches all the way through my lungs and into my stomach.

“Out again, slowly,” he urges, and I push the air back out through rounded lips.

He has me repeating several times, and somewhere along the way, I start to regain my senses.

The moment I look away from Mikhail’s steady eyes, harrowing memories flood my mind, and I start to draw back in on myself.

“No, no. You look at me.” He immediately sees what happens, and when he takes my head between his hands and forces my attention back on him, the memories fade again. “Keep your eyes on me. Okay?”

I give a slow nod and let my attention linger on him.

Without breaking eye contact, he picks up the bowl and holds a spoonful to my lips. “Now eat.”

Somehow, he manages to get me to eat the full bowl, keeping the devastating thoughts at bay with the sheer power of his gaze.

I wince as I move my sore, swollen tongue, and it takes me a while to get through the whole portion as I chew carefully.

The food isn’t half bad. It’s almost like a hearty portion of comfort food, and I feel somewhat revitalized when he sets the bowl aside.

My eyes drift over the room as if I’ve just woken, and in a way, I guess I have.

But my surroundings are as bleak as before, making me long for sleep and ignorance.

“Do you need to pee?”

I take stock of my body and feel a pressure deep in my belly, so I nod.

Mikhail takes me by the waist, having the foresight to predict my weak legs as he helps me stand. A wave of dizziness hits me the moment I’m on my feet, and it takes me a minute to find my balance before I can move across the floor.

He helps me onto the toilet, then leans against the wall, looking bored as he waits for me to do my business.

I don’t prolong the humiliation by begging him to leave, knowing very well he won’t; I just look away and finish as quickly as I can. But the humiliations have no end today. When I reach for the toilet paper, I remember my immobile hands.

“I can’t...” I steel myself with a deep breath. “I can’t dry myself.”

“Just drip. Someone will hose you down before bedtime.”

I manage a few shakes before he hoists me back up on my feet and leads me back to the mattress.

Thinking he’s finally about to leave, I curl up with my back to him.

But instead of hearing the heavy iron door, I hear the rustling sound of clothes and shoes being removed.

“I’m not cold,” I say when he lays down behind me, naked from the waist up, and pulls the blanket over us. I am a little chilly, but I’d rather freeze than be stuck in this pretend intimacy with my captor.

“I know,” he simply says and slides one arm under my head for me to use as a pillow while stroking my forehead with the other.

I tense up, trying not to lean too much into him. But my soul is starved for affection after what I’ve been through today, and somewhere along the way, my resistance lets up. Closing my eyes, I sink into him, and the man who has violated and humiliated me without a flicker of emotion actually hums as he gives me a tiny squeeze.

I stiffen for a second before breathing hard and asking on a long exhale, “Why are you doing this?”

“This?” He gives me another squeeze, tight this time.

I nod my head on his arm.

“I’m supposed to train you, not break you. And I came very close to doing the breaking today.”

“And what do you care?” I try to pull away, but he simply bands an arm around my waist and drapes a leg over mine.

“Special client—makes you special.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“A friend of mine has made a very specific order, and I’ll train you to meet his demands.”

I don’t want to ask the question I already know the answer to, but I need to hear it. “So, you’re selling me?”

“Yes.”

His answer is a punch to the gut, and I squeeze my eyes shut as I try to breathe through the anxiety .

“No worries, Koshechka. You’ll learn to like it. This is part of the request your new master made.”

“That won’t ever happen.”

“I’m very good,” he says with arrogant confidence.

Unable to bear more information about this sick business or have more arguments shot down with cold efficiency, I stay quiet.