Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“Yeah, I want to see. Show us those tits, bitch. Or we’ll make you, and we might not be able to hurt you, but all we’d have to do is tell Quinton you tried escaping.”
Rick’s dick is slightly bigger than his buddy’s but just as disgusting. I wouldn’t touch either of them with a gun to my head. I’d rather take the bullet. As I stare at them a moment longer, I know they’re not kidding.
If I don’t do this willingly, they’ll tear the shirt off me—and worse than that, I might not get it back. As bad as things are now, I can’t imagine going through it with no clothes. That would be one humiliation too many. My resolve breaks, and I lower my gaze to the floor while lowering my hands. I grasp the hem of my shirt, my fingers trembling while pulling my arms over my head to show them what they want.
Even now, dehydrated, tears threaten to well up in my eyes. I can’t let them. I don’t want these pigs to see me cry.
“Oh, yeah. Fuck, those are nice tits. Touch them,” Rick grunts. I don’t want to look up, but from the corner of my eye, I see the way they move their hands up and down, jerking themselves off to the image in front of them.
“Play with the nipples,” Bruno adds.
My teeth sink deep into my bottom lip, and I focus on the pain rather than reflecting on what’s happening right now. My chin quivers before I can help it while I take my tits in both hands and hold them up a little, then use my thumbs to roll circles around my nipples. They’re hard as bullets, thanks to the cold.
“Squeeze them.” Rick’s breathing becomes faster now; soft grunts escape his parted lips as I do as he says.
It makes my skin crawl, and I want to scream. I turn my face to the wall and close my eyes. A single tear leaks out and cuts a trail down my dirty cheek.
“Moan for me.” When I don’t do it right away, Bruno shouts, “I said moan!”
“Oh, yeah…” It’s barely a whisper, but it seems to satisfy them. They’re both breathing heavily, grunting like animals, and I tell myself at least it’s almost over. It’ll be over soon.
Until Rick grabs me by the hair and twists my head around so I’m facing him, his dick maybe six inches from my face. A whimper escapes my lips. What’s he going to do? I wince and struggle to get away, but all he does is pull harder, my scalp burning as I hear some of the hair tear from it.
Bruno steps up beside him. Not my face, please, God, not on my face. I squeeze my eyes tight and press my lips together. A silent prayer fills my mind.
“Oh, fuck, yes! Yes!” I don’t know who comes first, but the warmth of spilled cum on my chest is a twisted relief. I can’t believe I’m actually glad. That’s how fucked up and sick all of this is. I’m actually grateful they’re coming on my tits and not on my face.
By the time they’re finished and Rick releases me, I’m coated in their cum. The sight of it, the smell, makes me gag, and then I gag again at the realization of what just happened. I think I’m going to vomit.
“There. They look even better coated in our cum.” Rick laughs at his little joke, and Bruno joins him before sneering at me while tucking himself back into his pants. Neither of them says another word, leaving the cell and locking the door behind them.
I almost wish they would kill me and get it over with.
4
LUCAS
Over the years, I have stepped into Lauren’s office more times than I can count. Sometimes willingly, but almost always with dread following me like a shadow. That dread has never been more overwhelming than today. Today. I feel like I’m the shadow.
Without knocking, I shove the door open and march in.
“You’re late.” Lauren scowls me like I’m a misbehaving child. She sits on her sofa, wearing a casual pale blue sweater and black slacks. Her legs are crossed, and a notebook is lying on her lap. Her brown hair is pulled into a neat bun, completing her textbook therapist look. “Good thing I freed up two hours of my afternoon for you.”
“Of course you did.” I flop down on the couch across from her, getting comfortable.
“I know my patients well, and you’ve had a lot to deal with over the last few days. Tell me how you feel about it all.”
“You know I don’t do that shit… feelings.” Lauren has been my therapist for many years, but we rarely talk about feelings, mostly because I don’t have any. At least not usually.