Brutal will update once per week beginning in early February. Enjoy this chapter! UNEDITED DRAFT. Content notes apply only to this part.
It’s three men this time.
I don’t like it when it’s more than one man at a time, but I don’t get to complain about that.
I used to. I tried to beg, I tried to cajole, but it didn’t make a difference. I exist just to be used.
I brush back my bright orange hair and glance up at the two men who approach me. I don’t bother to talk to them. They don’t want to hear me speak. At most, they might want to hear me cry or moan.
What a change. I remember when I used to be the most vocal person in my college classes. I would share my opinions and argue with classmates, whether anybody cared about what I had to say or not.
“Her mouth or her cunt?” the thinner of the two men asks his friend.
The bigger one shrugs. “Which do you think is cleaner?”
While they debate on how they want me, I glance at the third man. He takes a seat in the armchair in the far corner. A Rolex watch gleams on his wrist, and his seemingly simple button-down shirt and trousers look expensive. I recognize the sunglasses perched on the top of his head as being pricy, too, and overall he just looks like another rich douche.
Except the rich ones don’t come in here to play with me, not anymore, which makes his appearance stand out even more to me.
He catches me looking at him and offers a cocky, self-assured smirk. He’s a big man — muscular and tall, with dark hair and eyes I can’t tell the color of in this dark, dank room.
All I know for sure is that he definitely does not belong here.
The thinner man glances over his shoulder at the rich guy. “You just get off on watching, then?”
He wouldn’t be the first man to come in just to observe.
I think I like the voyeurs. At least they don’t touch me. They’re still creeps, but the fewer men’s hands on me, the better.
“Something like that,” the guy says, that same smirk lingering on his lips. “Please, go ahead. I’m definitely interested in seeing what she has to offer.” His eyes lock onto mine. “I just know she’s going to impress me.”
The thin guy shrugs. “Whatever. More for us.” He reaches down to stroke my jaw.
I try not to flinch, but I must have given some sort of reaction because the guy starts grinning.
I wish I could shut everything off. I wish I could be detached from all of it and pretend it wasn’t happening to me.
But it has been happening, for so long that I’ve lost track of the days. I used to count, back when I was still in the first month of all of this. I gave up when it became clear that I wasn’t getting out of this anytime soon.
The only thing that keeps me going is the festering resentment I have for my sister, for getting me into this mess.
It’s her fault that I ended up getting taken.
It’s her fault that I’m suffering now.
“I’ll take her cunt,” the bigger man says. “Get on all fours, sweetheart. You’ll be taking us both at once.”
One in my mouth, one in my cunt. That’s preferable to the times I’ve had a dick in both my cunt and my ass, or that time two men squeezed into my cunt at once.
I obediently move to accommodate the men. I even spread my legs to make it easier for the man to slot in behind me.
“Such a good little bitch,” the rich guy says from the corner, and my eyes flick over to him again. For all that I’m exhausted, and for all that it’s damn near impossible to muster up much energy, I glare at him.
It only makes him smile wider.
The thin guy grabs my hair and pulls on it to force me closer to his crotch. He grinds his clothed cock against my face, and I scrunch my eyes shut.
“Mimosa, right?” the thin guy says. “Did the hair or the name come first?”
My bright orange hair, which I hate.
The guy behind me slaps my ass. “Answer him, bitch.”
Fuck. I don’t want to talk to them. But it’s always easier to give in. “The name.”
They laugh about that. “What kind of a parent names their kid Mimosa anyway?”
Do they really think that’s my real name? I resist the urge to roll my eyes at the stupidity. I guess it’s better they believe it’s my real name than try to guess what I’m actually called, like some of the men do. A few of them try to force it out of me, and I just give them a random name instead.
I don’t have a lot left, but I can keep this, at least.
“One who wants their kid to grow up to be a stripper, obviously.” The one by my mouth snickers.
“I heard there’s a stripper named Champagne at the club,” the other guy says. “Wonder if they’re related.”
The mention of my sister has me tensing despite myself. From the threats my “boss” has made, I know it’s only a matter of time until he has us… performing together.
The thought of it makes me sick, but these dickheads would get off on it.
“Are the both of you all talk and no action?” Rich Guy asks from the corner, crossing his arms against his broad chest. “You sound like a couple of schoolgirls.”
Thin Guy grips my orange hair hard, growling a little. “Don’t be a buzzkill. We paid for our time with her.”
“Yeah, well, so did I.” Rich Guy taps the expensive watch. “Tick tock… gentlemen.” The disdain in his voice is palpable, and the men about to use me are clearly very, very aware of just how much he’s looking down on them.
It makes them handsier, and it makes them crueler in the way they touch me — grabbing and pinching, forcing me to spread my legs wider as my mouth is pushed up against the jean-clad cock of the other man.
The guy in front of me uses one hand to unzip his jeans and pull his cock out. It’s average in size, and I almost laugh that I’m well-versed enough in cock now to have a general idea of sizes. I remember when I was completely inexperienced, saving myself for some nebulous real relationship.
Well, now I know that real relationships are a pipe dream, and I’m going to keep taking cock after cock until my body gives out completely. I don’t dare hope that my “boss” will get tired of punishing me for my sister’s sins.
I open my mouth for the guy’s cock, because I don’t relish the sensation of cock being forced in. At least this way I have a small bit of control over things.
The guy behind me thrusts in too, sending me forward a few inches. I swallow quickly so I don’t choke on the cock.
“Be glad you’re just watching,” Thin Guy says over his shoulder to the voyeur. “Even her fucking mouth is loose. What a dirty fucking whore.” He spits on me — right on my head, and I can feel the globule of saliva as it tracks down my forehead and onto my cheek.
I don’t know why that shocks me. Other men have spit on me before. Not usually on my head, though, and definitely not while calling me a whore, too.
Fucking hypocrite. If he didn’t want a loose, used up whore, why is he paying for me? Why did he come to this run-down building with its dank cells, where all the women are used up and dirty and haven’t seen the light of day in months?
The spark of anger makes my mind blank out for a second, and before I know it, I close my jaw.
Hard.
The guy yelps loudly, sounding more startled than pained, but as he tries to pull out of my mouth and I refuse to unclench my jaw, that all changes. “She bit me!” he says in blatant disbelief as he hooks his filthy fingers in the corners of my mouth to try to dislodge me. “I’ll have your ass for this, you stupid little bitch!”
To my surprise, I hear laughter from the corner. I don’t turn to look at the source of it, but I know the rich guy is sitting there cracking up laughing about the whole thing. It’s enough to make me let go of the thin man’s cock, and he slaps me hard enough across the face that I see stars.
“The fuck is so funny?” the man seethes.
The man in my cunt has stopped thrusting, and he pulls back with an unpleasant squelching sound. “Thought they said she was tame,” he says, and it’s almost funny how fucking alarmed he sounds — like I’m a wild animal who’s going to go for him next.
I lick my lips, and I realize I taste blood. I huff a small laugh about that. Serves him right. I hope I did permanent damage to him.
“You’re laughing?” the guy I bit asks, outraged. He wraps his hand around my neck. I gasp and grab his wrist, trying to dislodge him, but of course he’s stronger than I am.
Maybe this is my out. Maybe this is the only way I’ll ever escape this hell made of disgusting men and unwashed cocks.
“I’ll bite you again,” I rasp as I struggle. “I’ll bite it off completely.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Rich Guy says — and I think I hear him stand up — “there’s no sense in choking her to death. Just fuck her ass until she cries or something. Or go run off and tell management that his whore bit him and demand a refund. I’m sure that’d go over just great.”
The guy in my pussy groans and pushes forward again. “Or just keep choking her. She keeps seizing up when you do.”
That would be one way to go. Naked, dirty, with a cock in my cunt and drying spit on my face.
But I don’t actually want to die, I realize.
I don’t want this to be the entirety of me. I don’t want to be another corpse they dispose of in a shallow grave in the middle of nowhere, with nobody to identify me or even care that I’m gone.
“Please,” I beg with what little breath I have left.
The guy loosens his hold on my neck. “Fuck!” He slaps me again, this time so hard that I end up dislodged from the other man’s cock. I tumble off the bed and onto the hard floor. The pain is nothing compared to the relief of being able to breathe again, and I gasp hard.
“I wasn’t done!” the guy who was in my cunt complains. “Ugh. Now I’m not even in the mood.” He tucks his cock into his pants and fastens them, stalking toward the door.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll give you an IOU,” the rich guy says, sounding amused. He comes over to me, crouching down next to me then grabbing me by the hair so I have to look up at him. “That wasn’t very bright, you know.”
“I’m not done with her!” Thin Guy snarls. “You know what, fuck you. I am going to find a goddamn manager.” He storms off too, leaving me with the man holding me up by my hair.
I meet the rich guy’s eyes. They’re hazel, which I somehow didn’t expect. They seem warmer than anyone who visits this kind of place should have.
“You want me to bite your cock, too?” I ask, and I don’t know why I said that. I’m being an idiot.
I’m just so fucking done with all of this, though.
“I’d be a lot more creative than just whining to management,” he says, though his smile doesn’t reach those pretty eyes. “Wanna find out?”
Is he trying to be funny? Because I’m not laughing.
“I can’t stop you from doing whatever you want to me anyway,” I answer.
“I know.” He shrugs, finally letting go of my hair.
I collapse back down onto the floor, my cheek against the cold cement, and he rests a heavy, booted foot on my lower back. For a moment, I wonder if he’s going to just crush me and leave me in pieces.
Instead, he moves his foot and forces me onto my back instead so I have no choice but to stare up at his imposing form. I think he’s about to speak again when I hear two sets of footsteps approaching.
The door opens, and the guy I’d bitten storms in. Behind him is a woman with a veil covering her face. She’s carrying a crop in one hand.
Elena, the ‘manager’ here. She wears the veil to cover a nasty scar that spreads across half her face. Rumor has it that she used to be one of the women forced to work like this. If that’s true, her experiences haven’t made her more sympathetic toward anyone.
I almost hate her more than I hate the men who run this place.
“I want her punished,” the guy I’d bitten growls.
Elena nods in agreement. “Of course. We don’t harbor disobedient girls here.” She raises the crop. “Would you like to do it? Or shall I?”
“I’ll do it,” the rich guy interjects.
The man I’d bitten stares at him like his favorite treat had just been stolen from his grasp. “No,” he says mulishly. “She bit me. I get to do the punishing around here.”
“As much as I’d love to watch,” Rich Guy drawls, “I have a feeling it’d be a pretty fucking pathetic show. I said I’ll do it.”
“You rich guys are all the same,” the other man says hatefully. “Think you run the world just because you have a little more cash than the rest of us.”
“A little more?” Rich Guy grins at him. “That’s just wishful thinking, man.”
Elena considers Rich Guy. After a few seconds, she nods. “Of course, Mr. Brutal.” She hands him the crop.
Mr. Brutal. I almost laugh, because I recognize the fucking name.
Drake Brutal is one of the big finance guys in New Bristol. He runs one of the biggest investment firms. I don’t particularly care about finance, but it’s hard to escape the name when you’re reading the news—or when you’re at university, surrounded by people who wish they were hotshot finance types.
I knew he’d be a dick, but I didn’t figure he’d be the kind of guy who slums it with cheap whores.
“Oh, come on, Elena,” the other guy whines. “I’m here all the time. Why should he get to punish her?”
“For fuck’s sake. Can’t you take a goddamn hint?” Brutal complains, only to turn around and punch the guy right in the jaw. “Get out of here before I do worse to you than you should’ve done to her.”
The guy cries out, stumbling back a few steps. “What the fuck? I should—I should sue you!”
Elena seems to realize the situation is getting out of hand, because she steps between the two men. “Please calm down. Nobody is suing anyone. Unless you truly want to tell law enforcement that you were soliciting sex?”
The guy seems to realize that he has no leverage at all. He growls and straightens again. “Fine. But I want to see the bitch get what’s coming to her.”
It won’t be the first time I get punished. Back when this all started, Elena’s crop was an almost daily occurrence. I don’t know when my brain had finally decided that enough was enough, that I didn’t need to subject myself to pain just to prove something.
I stand up and lift my head to look at Drake Brutal. “How do you want me?” I ask steadily.
He can hurt me. He can make me cry.
But maybe I can hold on to this small sliver of dignity.
Delight makes Brutal’s face light up in sadistic glee, and he makes a gesture with his wrist to test out the crop. He knows what he’s doing with it, and I don’t know if I should be afraid or relieved.
Afraid, probably, especially when he turns so he’s facing me head-on. He towers over me, and I’m not short or particularly small — or at least, I wasn’t before I ended up half-starved and drugged to the gills in this hellhole.
“Face down, ass up,” Brutal orders me.
I obey as steadily as I can, but I’m trembling by the time I have my feet planted on the floor in front of the bed.
If he’s bothered, he definitely doesn’t show it. “So Elena,” he begins, as conversationally as if they’re old friends — and who knows? They might be. “Does Mimi usually cause a commotion, or was I just lucky enough to catch a show this evening?”
Mimi?
I can’t decide if that’s worse than “Mimosa.” At least it sounds like a real name, even if it isn’t mine.
“No, Mimosa is usually very obedient.” Elena pauses, then adds, “Nowadays. She was much more vocal when she first started working for us.”
I bite my lip not to respond. They’d love it if I sassed back at them now. I could point out how I am not working for her, that I don’t get paid, that I have never been here willingly.
I’ll focus on not giving Drake Brutal the reaction I’m sure he wants.
“Vocal?” the guy who got me into this whole mess scoffs. “Mimi here is a hell of a lot more than vocal. How many guys did she bite, huh? She should come with a warning — and a hefty discount!”
“You’re the first she’s bitten,” Elena lies. “Mimosa knows the importance of keeping her teeth to herself, if she wants to keep those teeth.”
I’d bitten quite a few men when this had all started, but the punishments for that had been too severe. It was never customers, anyway, just men who’d been brought in to “train” me.
Mostly, it changed when the “boss” had come in with a set of pliers and threatened to pull my teeth out one-by-one if I didn’t start complying.
Brutal chuckles, seeming entirely too amused, and for a moment, there’s only silence. They must be staring at each other.
Or at me.
Then the crop comes down onto my ass with a hard thud, and I jerk, crying out in what’s mostly discomfort… at first.
He starts off slow, like he’s warming up, but steadily builds into a rhythm that puts more and more pressure on spots he’d already smacked with the crop before.
Fuck. It hurts. The crop is thin, and each strike almost feels like a sharp cut. I try to relax into it so that it doesn’t hurt as much, but even when this was happening regularly I was never any good at simply accepting the pain.
It’s not as bad as it could be, though. He isn’t attacking my back at all, focusing only on my ass and thighs. And the pace he chooses means I have time to get used to the pain before it ramps up another notch.
It’s almost like he’s holding back.
That’s impossible, though. He has no reason to hold back.
But it still feels like he is.
The idiot guy whose cock I’d bitten is into it, though. When I turn my head to look at him, I can see his hand back in his pants — pity I hadn’t maimed him more — and he’s cheering Brutal on like he’s doing something truly heroic.
Brutal grits his teeth, finally stopping. “Can you get rid of that clown?” he demands. I hear rustling, then a few footsteps before the familiar sound of cash being pressed into someone’s hand — Elena’s, maybe?
“Of course,” Elena says. “Could you please leave, Mr. ‘Jones’?”
The way she emphasizes the name, I think we all realize it’s an alias.
“What the fuck? No, I’m not leaving. I paid to be here! And it’s still me she bit!” Jones complains.
“Usually I like an audience,” Brutal says, smacking the crop into the palm of his hand. Even though he didn’t touch me with it, I still flinch. “But you’re just fucking annoying. Mimi isn’t for you, not anymore. You blew it.” He laughs. “Or didn’t blow it, which is your own fucking fault, limp dick.”
“You dick—”
“Please, Mr. Jones,” Elena interrupts. “Leave quietly, or I’ll be forced to call security to kick you out.”
Jones makes a frustrated noise, but he must know he doesn’t have a chance. If he causes a scene, he’ll piss off the owners of this operation, and everybody who comes to visit me must know exactly how dangerous this mafia group is.
“Fine. But you’ve just lost yourself a customer,” Jones mutters.
Brutal bursts out laughing, the sound mocking as Jones zips up his pants, then I hear Jones’ footsteps as he storms out.
“‘You’ve just lost yourself a customer,’” Brutal repeats between his laughter. “Man. My friend Chase’ll get a good kick out of this. Chase… Oh, right. Tell your boss I’m ready to make my purchase.”
I turn to look as he hands the crop back to Elena.
“Purchase?” I say, dazed. I accidentally put pressure on my ass, and I hiss when I push against the welts.
Purchase doesn’t sound like the right word. Purchase sounds like something you do at a grocery store, not a run-down building with cells that hold dirty, beaten women.
“Oh, yeah. Guess I forgot to tell you, what with you biting the dude’s dick and all for what I’m absolutely sure was the first time,” Brutal drawls. “You’re coming home with me. Doesn’t that sound like fun, Mimi?”
“No,” I answer honestly. I realize what I said a second too late, but thankfully Brutal doesn’t appear to be insulted.
If anything, he’s more amused.
“Good!” he says. “Get your shit together. I want to grab a burger on the way home.” He stops, seeming to really look at me, and he makes an aggrieved sound. “Delivery, then. Whatever.”
While I numbly get dressed in the only outfit I have, Brutal and Elena confer quietly. Five minutes, probably less, and the whole transaction is done.
Is going home with this man going to be better or worse than this hellish existence I have now?
I’ll get to see a different set of four walls.
I won’t ever have to see Elena and her false sympathy ever again.
I’ll be away from the men who brought me here.
But I suspect that Drake Brutal isn’t going to be a kinder slave owner than the rest were.