Prologue
Unknown
The remains of long-dead weeds crunched under his bare feet, the blades stabbing into the hardened soles with each step. The small bites of pain were welcomed, amplifying the anticipation that already flooded his veins. His heart raced, thundering against his chest as he drew closer to the dilapidated wooden barn and what was hidden inside: the one thing that would calm the waves of rage that nearly drowned him on a minute-by-minute basis. The one outlet where he could be his true self for a few short hours.
Cold dense steel burned his warm palm as he cradled the lock and slipped the key inside. A small smile tugged at his lips, dried from the whipping fall wind, at the sound of the mechanisms disengaging, offering him access to his prey.
He wet his lips in anticipation. It was almost time. His time to play and allow the stress of the day to slip away with each whimper and cry of anguish.
A forceful gust of wind tugged the rotting wooden door in his hand, nearly pulling it from his grasp. He tightened his hold on the edge to keep it from banging open, possibly alerting others who might be close by. Not that anyone would be since the barn was long forgotten, but he hadn’t gone this long without being caught by being careless.
The first step across the threshold eased the built-up stress, draining it from his veins like an open wound, the tainted blood flooding to the hardened dirt floor.
After securing the inside lock and barricade, he turned. Excitement made his throat dry and fingers twitch where they dangled at his side. They itched to be wrapped around the small fragile neck or toy of punishment.
Soon.
Inhaling deep, he calmed his overexcited self and marched across the barn toward the play room. It was once the tack room before being reinforced and outfitted for his playthings. Taking another key from his pocket, he began the tedious task of releasing the four different locks and dragging the chain through the braces.
When the last lock popped and the heavy chain rattled to the floor, he shoved the door open with his shoulder. The stench of human waste, body odor, and infection smacked him in the face. It would worry him, but after so many, the permeating scent of despair was ever present no matter which whore filled the room.
Across the small area, the current filth waited.
Head bowed, scraped and bleeding knees pressed onto the hardwood plank floor, she waited like a good girl. Not that she was one. The ragged hem of the filthy, yellowed shift dress draped across the upper part of her thighs. The threadbare straps barely held on to her bony shoulders, making the front sag. The blisters and lacerations from yesterday’s fun decorated her chest, arms, and thighs.
Yesterday had been a particularly difficult day. Much like today, and yesterday, and tomorrow. Every day would be the worst until The One came home. Until she recognized where she belonged and who she belonged to.
Until then, history would repeat itself over and over and over again.
Every toy was nothing more than a filthy, unworthy body to use for his release. Like the trash who trembled before him.
Even from where he stood several feet away, the twitch of her weakened muscles and tremble of her slender shoulders was clear. Outside, the wind gusted a warning that winter was near, but in here, the only sound was his labored, excited breaths. The room wasn’t as comfortable as his home, but here he was allowed privacy. Away from curious eyes and ears. The others wouldn’t understand this need, the daily urge to inflict pain and the joy it brought him.
That was why he kept this place a secret. For only him and his toys.
Whores. That was the appropriate word for those who came before this one and all the others who would come after. And they would continue to come until The One came home.
Soon.
Soon she would understand they were meant to be together.
Until then.
He paused, the ends of his clean toes brushing against the dark, dirt-streaked skin of hers. Bending at the waist, he withdrew another key and unlocked the steel cuff binding her wrists and keeping her tethered to the rusted, antique bed frame.
“Off.” His voice was gruff from the long day and desperation for a release from the anger and rage bubbling inside him.
Her soft whimper was lost to the anticipation thundering in his ears.
He smiled greedily at his handiwork along her skin as she slipped the shift off her shoulders. It puddled around her too-thin waist.
Purple, green, and yellowed bruises littered her stomach and ribs, the aftereffects of the many times he’d disciplined this one. It took her three days of severe punishments and no rewards to understand her place.
And come to terms with her future.
Teeth marks covered each of her tiny breasts, some still raised and seeping clear fluid. He sneered at the small mounds that were barely enough for a mouthful. Unlike The One’s full, large chest that begged to be bit and marked.
A large blister from prolonged use of the cattle prod during yesterday’s therapy session appeared slightly worse. He would need to treat that before leaving for the night to ensure his fun with this one wasn’t cut short due to septic shock.
That was an amateur move. One he hadn’t made in years.
What could he say? He was taught by the best, but even the best made mistakes.
Agitation overtook his excitement at her lack of movement. She knew what was expected of her.
“Don’t make me ask,” he commanded, glaring down at the broken female.
Head still bowed, her shaking, bone-thin fingers crawled up his thighs, avoiding his crotch before blindly tugging at the cotton string that secured his loose pants. Blood caked beneath her jagged nails, a few still bleeding from where she’d bitten them to the quick.
Anger bolted through him, heating his skin.
“You’re still biting your nails.”
A loud whimper sounded, echoing off the bare walls. He snatched the dirty hand and squeezed. Like a good toy, she held back her scream of pain, but still her face contorted in a silent cry. “I told you that’s a dirty habit.” He’d thought the thin gag would keep her from gnawing at herself. Throwing her hand down, he sighed and looked to the single overhead light in exasperation. “You’ll pay for that later.”
Thumb hooked into the damp cotton gag, he yanked it down. It caught the edge of her split lip, making her wince in pain. He held back the urge to roll his eyes. After a week with him, she knew his expectations yet still wasn’t acting on her training.
First she would suck his cock, then be punished when she failed to get him hard.
This was the cycle. Yesterday, last month, last year, and the years before. It wasn’t until he saw The One that he knew his dick worked without inflicting pain, though he knew he’d enjoy delivering painful pleasure once she was with him once again.
Tired of waiting, he yanked his pants down; they puddled around his bare feet, leaving him in bright white briefs. Gripping both her hands, he forced her to drag the elastic band down his thighs until his underwear was around his ankles.
“Now,” he growled, impatience filling his gruff tone. Not waiting for her, he gathered his flaccid cock and balls into her ice-cold hand. Taking a handful of greasy hair, he forced her head forward. “Open.”
He closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her hot mouth and soft cries. But it wasn’t enough to invoke a single flash of desire. He sneered down at her.