Page 10 of Break Me
I stay to the side to study her, smiling behind my hand as she turns around and sees the chair. Her head seems to be kicking back into gear as she processes the order and her surroundings. She takes one step, halts, then closes the rest of the distance with seven tiny ones. Her legs still seem to be stiff from the trip here and the inactivity of isolation. I’ll have to see to it that she gets some time in the fitness room.
She scoots onto the padded seat and carefully leans back, her brows furrowing as she sees the stirrups and averts her gaze to stare at the wall.
I love the exposure and helplessness of the stirrups and tend to use them even when I don’t need pussy access, but I’ll skip them today. If I want to coax her true submission out, I need to build some foundation of safety for her—though it might not feel like safety to her. Thrusting her too deep into powerless humiliations and stripping her sense of self too fast will only slow down the process, if not screw it up entirely. I might not have had a real sub in my hands for almost a decade, but I know the inner workings of Dom/sub dynamics like the back of my hand. It just never was enough for me. That’s why I came here.
I got a little too carried away during a CNC scene, and suddenly, the law was on me. It’s funny, because I did so many and much worse things with my brothers in the bike club, but one slip with a girl and I was facing trial and possibly two years in jail. It wasn’t much time compared to many of my brothers, and our lawyer might have even gotten me off entirely, butI knew I wanted more. I was sick of the safewords, precautions, and girls who tried to keep control by setting boundaries everywhere. It was like trying to take control with my hands in shackles. I wanted more of that sweet taste of power, pushing a girl beyond her limits and doing things deemed unacceptable by society. I wanted the complete control of going beyond consent.
So instead of going through all the hassle of lawyers and courtrooms, I skipped town and fled the country to seek out a place where I could get my dark cravings fulfilled. It turned out those cravings went deeper than I thought. After that first taste of darkness, I was insatiable.
I started out at illicit kink clubs, fucked trafficked women with no rights, and started trafficking them myself. But my demons kept getting hungrier. Nothing would satiate them until I came here. But somewhere along the way, I fell into a stagnant routine. D/s doesn’t exist in this world unless carefully sought out, and I didn’t realize how much I missed it until Nikolai’s girl.
And now, I just might have a girl like that at my mercy.
When Mikhail first brought her in, I was skeptical. The three months that had passed since Nikolai brought his girl home had paled my desire, and it didn’t seem worth the trouble and work. But as I considered what it would be like to have true submission combined with the total control this place offers, my cock got rock hard.
I’ve spent six days getting myself into the right mindset, planning and preparing. Mikhail was right. If I keep going in my usual cold, mechanical fashion, I won’t achieve anything beyond the usual. A submissive needs a real Dom to truly submit—like plants need the sun to grow.
But I’m ready now. Ready to claim my stake over her and exert the kind of dominance that will draw out her submission and make it blossom—make her into a perfect little sub and put a filthy amount of money into my bank account. Though, the money is not really what drives me, and the highest bidder won’t be the one who gets her. The man best suited to continue my work will.
I draw two straps over her body to prevent too much jostling, restrain her left wrist in the cuff above her head, and flip the wide armrest at the side up to place her right arm on it. Brushing my fingers over the inside of her lower arm, I relish the white skin and the bluish tint of her veins. So delicate. So vulnerable. A blank slate for me to mark.
I don’t care how her future owner stakes his claim; she’s a product of mine, and like a good scotch bears the brand of its maker, she will too.
She whimpers as I pull the strap tight below her elbow. The wrist strap will get in the way, though, so I’ll have to hold her hand down myself.
Sitting on my rolling stool, I put on gloves. The crackling sound makes her turn her head, and her eyes go round with worry again as she watches me stretch my hands into the black latex and sees the paraphernalia on the table.
“What are you doing?” she asks in a thin voice.
Pressing her head back into the seat, she closes her eyes and pushes air through rounded lips. She’s on the verge of panicking, but she’s working with herself, trying to stay calm.Good girl.
“Look at me.”
Keeping her head firmly planted into the seat, she moves only her eyes, glancing at me and the tattoo gun on the table.
With a hand on her cheek, I urge her head to the side. “I’m marking you. You’re not just a body or another girl to be trained for pleasure. When I’m done with you, you’ll be a submissive of the highest caliber.”
She shakes her head, eyes pooling with tears as she tries to deny her fate.
“You might not be able to believe it now, but with my guidance, you’ll find purpose and peace in the act of submitting.”
“That will never happen.”
I wrap my gloved hand around her chin. “Oh yes, it will.I might not have trained a sub here before, but I’m very good at what I do. And if Mikhail has seen even the slightest flicker of natural submission in you, I promise you, I’m gonna get it out and make you into the finest sub anyone has ever seen. And you’re gonna bear my mark to show who made you.”
She swallows hard and blinks rapidly like she did when I forced her eye contact earlier. But she doesn’t look away. She keeps her eyes trained on me. A small sign that she truly is a natural.
“I want you to look at me while I mark you. You don’t belong to yourself anymore. Not your body, not your mind. You don’t have the right to hide inside your head. Do you get it?”
Usually, I don’t care where the girls look. I don’t care where they go in their minds as long as their bodies comply. But with this one, I want to get inside her head—so deep she can’t think a thought that’s her own. And this is the start. This mark may be physical, but the effect will be so potent that it will engrave me at the very front of her mind.
I disinfect her skin and lift the tattoo gun. The buzzing sends a rush of excitement through me as I press the needle to her skin. I mark her in the same place so many people were marked when their lives were stolen away and nullified many years ago. She’ll know it too—the reference—and the placement will be yet another thing to chip away at her autonomy, opening her further to my dominance.
7
EMMA
Emma, Emma, Emma,I repeat in my mind. I’m a person. A human being with an identity, needs, and dreams.Rights.