Page 21 of Break Me
“All done,” Dax says once the eighth ring is in. Discarding the gloves, he rolls back to take in the vision. “Beautiful,” he says with a strange kind of reverence as he grazes the side of my pussy with a soft touch that sends another wave of sparks and electricity through my heated body. “Unfortunately, I can’t close them yet. They’ll need some healing time. So I’ll have to keep you chained in your cell until I can close this pussy up tight.”
“I-I need more,” I stutter, barely hearing what he’s saying. My pussy is throbbing with an urge that overrides everything else. I just need that little bit to push me over the edge and grant me sweet relief.
“Not today.” Dax pats the inside of my thigh, then starts unbuckling the straps.
“But you can’t just…” I stare at him dumbfoundedly. “I need… more.” My voice trails off as exhaustion clouds the world and my words.
13
DAX
I take in the sight of her pierced pussy as I unstrap her legs. Eight rings total line her outer labia—four on each side. I can’t wait to reduce them to four total, connecting the holes on each side. My dick twitches just thinking about it. It’s a shame I have to allow the piercings several weeks’ healing time before closing her up.
The little sub looks lost as I step up beside her and uncuff her wrists. Her eyes are unfocused and blinking, and her body keeps twitching from the pleasure that must still be rippling through her. It was tempting to allow her an orgasm as she gave in so sweetly, but I didn’t want her thinking she’d get to come anytime she gets horny. And what’s more, having her desperate for an orgasm will help the next step in her training.
I untie her and carry her back to her cell, where I lay her on the mattress and cover her in blankets. She blinks up at me a few times before her eyes fall shut. Her breathing deepens as she drifts off, her chest moving calmly beneath the blankets. Wanting to touch her one more time before I leave, I brush my knuckles across her cheek. But as she leans her head slightly toward my hand, I sit down on the mattress and keep stroking her instead of getting up. She’s fast asleep within minutes, a few quiet snores passing over her parted lips.
I carefully lift her arms, one at a time, and close the iron manacles attached to the wall around her wrists. I don’t want her touching the piercings and disturbing the healing process, and I don’t trust her to stay off them of her own free will quite yet. She might be sinking into her submissive side surprisingly fast, but her mental struggle remains strong enough to sometimes override the instinct.
She’s a pretty girl. Not in a classical, gorgeous kind of way with high cheekbones, sculpted features, and defined contours, but rather in an innocent way with full lips, round rosy cheeks, and big eyes that are almost child-like when fear and submission blend in her green orbs. She’s just the kind of girl I would have chosen for myself when I was back in the States. But then I came here, and looks became inconsequential. The fear and the screams looked and sounded the same on every girl, and that was what I fed off.
But as I watch her sleep, I find that I crave that sweet innocence again. I crave those pleading looks when I tarnish and tear at the innocence. I still want the screams and the mind-numbing fear, but they’re no longer enough.
***
My cock is rock hard when I get back to my office, and I have this strange itch in my bones. But Mikhail coming in with an icy-cold expression on his face is like having my mother barge into my teenage room in the middle of a good porn scene. Instant boner kill.
“Why the hell did you give Dorin the teeth-pulling job?”
I shrug. Most people get all quiet and apologetic when Mikhail turns his angry gaze their way, but it has never fazed me. “He wanted it more than I did.”
“The girl is unresponsive. Two days before her buyer comes to get her.” He stabs a finger through the air. “Go fix it.” Then he’s out the door, his hard steps sending loud clicks echoing through the hall.
“Grouchy bastard,” I mutter and get up to go check on the girl in her cell.
She’s lying on the mattress on her side, eyes blank and staring into nothingness. They don’t even move as I walk across the floor, and she doesn’t even twitch when I place a hand on her head.
A month ago, I would have pumped her full of benzodiazepines, then put her in the chair—the one with attached toys that I use for orgasm denial. I’d drive her to the peak repeatedly until she was so desperate for release that she’d beg and plead and forget about her missing teeth. Or simply try and bring her back with new pain—shock her system to force a reaction.
But at this moment, I don’t want to do either.
I pick her up in my arms and carry her to the bathroom that I bathed my sub in a few days ago. It’s meant as a place to reward the girls, but we rarely use it since our type of training is punishment-based.
I draw a bath for her and lower her into the hot water. I have to keep an arm around her chest to avoid her sliding in as I grab the sponge and start washing her.
Slowly, she comes out of her comatose state. It starts with a few tiny mewls, then her head moves slightly as her eyes regain focus, and finally, she breaks into deep, sorrowful sobs as she realizes why she dissociated in the first place.
The sound of her crying gives rise to my protective urge to the point where I lift her out and take her in my arms. The girl is so starved for comfort that she will take any she can get, even from the man who stripped away every ounce of her dignity in a matter of an hour when I first got her on my table a couple of weeks ago. I hold her tight and rock her with gentle motions, but it doesn’t quell my need to provide comfort. If anything, it intensifies it.
It’s because I’m holding the wrong girl, I realize.
Fuck,I’m going soft. First, the top drop, and now this. It’s been too long since I had a sub at my feet, and I no longer have the prowess to control my reactions. This submissive training is going to my head, and it’s getting in the way of my responsibilities. The smart thing to do would be to pull the plug on this new project, but I’ve come too far with my little sub to quit now.
So I’ll see this through. A few more weeks and she’ll be the most obedient, gracious girl anyone down here has ever seen. I’ll find her a good master, who will maintain her subservient mindset, and we’ll make a fortune. Then I’ll go back to training girls the way I’ve always done here. If Mikhail wants more subs, he can train them himself, and I’ll be happy to pass on whatever knowledge and methods I’ve found useful in this process. He might get all pissy about me not wanting to continue this wallet-feeding project, but I’m sure he’ll come to his senses when he realizes it’s either that or losing my medical skills. Because I can’t do both.
As I keep holding the girl, she slowly comes back. She begins to move a little, pressing herself into me and holding on to my T-shirt as the grief racks through her body. Finally, she even speaks.
“I don’t have any teeth,” she whimpers in a weak voice, slurred by the reality she just stated herself.