Page 32 of Break Me
I feel him studying me closely for a moment before saying, “I like her struggle. It makes me hard. But it’s not her lips I imagine around my cock.” He slides his warm hand onto my thigh. “Do you know whose lips I want around my cock?”
My eyes dart up, wide and hopeful. I give a slight shake of my head.
“Let me show you.” Getting up, he holds a hand out to me, oddly gentlemanly for his brusque appearance.
I take it and let him lead me toward the table and the woman. I try to stop a couple of feet away, but he guides me straight up to the table, between the stirrups, and orders me to kneel.
“Take out my cock,” he says, pushing the stool away to stand in front of me.
I tentatively reach up to open his jeans and take out his massive length. It’s already rock-hard, and I have to remind myself of his words as I start stroking it. It might be the struggles of the woman on the table that did this, but it’s not her that he wants.
He removes the muzzle and sets it aside. “Take me in your mouth.”
The taste and the feeling are exquisite as I open my mouth wide and take him in. I eagerly suck and lick as I fall into the rhythm I’ve grown quite used to and more than comfortable with.
I barely notice the sound of latex snapping into place as he gets ready to proceed with the girl, but once a new moan rings into the room, I tense again. Not as much as before, but enough for Dax to notice.
Taking a step back, he pulls out of my mouth. “Would you prefer it if she didn’t like it at all?”
Unable to think about anything but the gnawing jealousy, I nod. And all I feel as he retrieves a leather-bound cane is relief.
The woman on the table doesn’t moan again from there on as Dax starts whipping her while continuing to work on her ass. However, her screaming grows a lot worse. Shrill and agonized. But I don’t care. I must have gotten used to it. Or maybe it’s that I’m too focused on pleasing Dax to consider the hell she’s going through. It doesn’t matter. Especially not when Dax comes in my mouth with a loud groan and asks me to lick up every last drop of his cum. Then he puts the muzzle back in place and lets me cuddle up against his legs while he finishes.
***
“Let’s go get you a warm bath,” Dax says as he tosses his gloves aside and helps me off the floor. “You did good today and deserve a reward.” He doesn’t cast a single glance at the woman in the chair as he guides me out of the room, but I do. The look on her face is utter defeat. Her eyes gleam with tears, her hairline is sticky with sweat, and her expression is empty—hollow. Her breasts and stomach are covered in swollen red welts, some of which are bleeding.
A strange mix of guilt, pity, and a twinge of fascination mix inside me. Those marks look painful, and I hate that I caused her all that pain, but most of all, I can’t help but wonder how I would feel if Dax did that to me. Would I be able to handle the pain for him? Would I feel proud for carrying his marks like that? And would he even do such a thing to me?
I want to ask Dax that last question, but he doesn’t remove the muzzle until he has washed my body in the hot water of the tub and is about to wash my hair. By then, I’m drifting in a peaceful world and have forgotten all about it.
I’m sleepy and relaxed when he herds me into the hall to take me back to my cell for the night.
He’s about to shut the door when he says, “I forgot the muzzle,” and goes back inside.
The door falls shut behind him, and quietness descends over the empty hallway. But it’s not completely silent as a sound like music drifts through the air.Singing,I think.The faint sound of a woman’s voice. But unlike all the other women here, she doesn’t sound desperate or like she’s in pain. She sounds calm. I’ve never heard or seen signs of any other women in this particular corridor before. It always seems quieter here, and I was under the impression that the cells here were unoccupied, but I must have been wrong.
Listening carefully, I take a couple of steps toward the sound that seems to come from one of the cells across the hall. Sheissinging. And not just singing like a regular person trying to pass the time or humming along to a song stuck in their head. This woman knows how to use her voice. The notes soar through the air with the ease of a bird born to sing.
“Let’s go,” Dax says, grabbing my arm as he comes back out.
I’m of half a mind to dig my heels in or jerk free and run toward the sound, but I want his praise more than I want the music, so I stay at his side.
But the curiosity keeps prickling, and I can’t hold my tongue when we get to my cell. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Who’s the woman in that cell close to the bathing room? The one who sang.”
He seems to think for a moment, then remembers. “Oh, the girl in cell one. I have no idea. Some little project of Dorin’s—the big guy with a scar across his face.” He draws a finger across his left cheek, and I shudder at the thought of the man I’ve seen with such a scar. He’s enormous. Even taller than Dax and just as brawny. And the look in his eyes isn’t just detached like Dax’s can be. It’s dead.
“What kind of project?” I ask, gulping.
“I don’t know. He won’t let anyone near her except the guards who bring her food and give her bathroom breaks.”
“Bathroom breaks?” I glance at the toilet and the sink in the corner of my cell.
“He keeps her in a padded cell. God knows why. He must have fucked her up good when he brought her in. Honestly, I’m starting to wonder why he hasn’t gotten rid of her yet. She’s been in there at least a week.”