Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 89925 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89925 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
The red-hot sting on my skin is evidence that his thick leather belt is licking my ass. Again, and again. He’s grunting with every exertion of the smooth weapon of choice this time. He whips me countless times. I can’t feel anything but burning, the heat of liquid trickling down my thighs, and I know I’m bleeding.
I don’t cry.
I can’t.
My eyes are dry.
My lips are parted in a silent scream.
He rips the elegant dress I’m wearing from my curves, and then I’m filled painfully with his thick cock. He’s rock-hard, sliding into my dry entrance, causing a lone tear to trickle from me.
Three, four, five.
On the sixth plunge into my body, he groans as pleasure rockets through him. When he pulls from my body, he grips my hair in a harsh hold and shoves me to my knees. His cock, dripping with his sticky white release and the crimson liquid from my body, he shoves into my mouth.
“Clean me.” His words are venomous. “You deserve this for trying to leave me. Stupid little cunt thinks she’s too good for me.”
He fucks my face, the tip of his cock sliding into my throat over and over again until he slaps me to the ground and stuffs his shrinking, almost flaccid dick into his slacks. Before he leaves, he spits on my face and chuckles when cower.
“That will teach you.”
And then I’m alone.
I watch as the sun slowly sets from the small hole against the far wall, the orange glow turning to a deep red then purple. The colors like an artist’s brush on a canvas. It only reminds me how far I am from my old life. I don’t remember much. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen someone who I recognized as something other than a monster — someone other than him, Drake Savage.
His father, Malcolm, was the reincarnation of the devil himself. I remember the old man who made me watch those videos. The horrific scenes still haunt me, playing in my mind like movies on a never-ending loop.
Then I remember Drake, and I wish he were here. For some reason, he offered me solace in his cold, harsh words. And I wonder if he’ll ever find me again.
My captor, William Thanos, has given one of the guards an order to teach me to fight. I wondered why he’d do that until I realized it wasn’t to protect myself, but to hurt others he brings down here. Last week, it was an eighteen-year-old boy.
William threatened to steal my sister and make her do things that made me sick to my stomach if I didn’t comply. So, I did. I slit the throat of an innocent teenager because the man who holds me prisoner told me to.
So many days have passed, and I wonder just what month or year it really is. All I want is to spend time with my sister, to see her again. Harper was my light. All I wanted was for her to be safe. But when I saw the video of her and our father . . .
I’m bound to the chair. My head is secure, and I can’t turn away from what’s happening on the computer before me. My mouth is gagged, so no sound can escape besides my mumbling.
The wand vibrates against my clit as I’m forced to stare at the white images onscreen. It doesn’t take long before the video plays, and I realize I’m being tortured once more.
A man walks onscreen, but I can’t see his face. Slowly, he unbuttons his shirt. And as he removes more of his clothes, my tormentor’s low rumble is sadistic as he laughs, while the vibration is still poised at my clit, which sparks every nerve in my body.
The object being forced into me is rough, and I can’t help crying out around the gag that’s bound around my head keeping my lips parted. The sound is accompanied by the video playing before me.
When the sound is turned up, it’s all I can hear, as if it’s in surround sound. I want to block it out, but I’m unable to. My eyes are wide with shock as I take in the horrific scene before me.
I’m met with the sounds of the old man onscreen as he grunts in pleasure while he violently forces himself inside the throat of a girl who looks so familiar. It’s a girl I’ve known my whole life. And as if my eyes are glued open, they tear up, and the image onscreen blurs, but nothing can stop me seeing it. Nothing can stop me recognizing the girl whose teary gaze meets the lens. The man moves to offer us a view of her pretty brown eyes — the image of my sister. It’s Harper. There’s no mistaking her beautiful eyes that shimmer with pained tears.