pain.
Donato was sweating, his hair wild and disheveled. His cock was hard. A string of pre-come hung from its tip. “Fucking disgusting little slave,” he hissed as he turned his hand again. “Nasty little slave. Pathetic slave. Begging me to hurt you.”
And beg the boy did.
I watched them, at turns fascinated and disgusted, aroused and nauseated. Could I call this rape when the boy was begging with every breath for more? Could I call it wrong if he was bought and paid for?
Yet how could I call it right?
Suddenly, Donato turned his gaze upon me. I’d never seen him so violently, horribly aroused, his lust making him base and obscene and depraved. “Fucking stupid, lazy whore!” he yelled. “Get over here and make me come!”
I jumped to do his bidding, relieved that I only had to touch him, that I wasn’t expected to hurt the boy. I got down on the floor and took Donato’s cock in my hand, ready to suck him to his climax, but I didn’t have the chance. As soon as my fist was around him, he thrust into it, screaming out in rage as he came. I took his end into my mouth and pumped his length hard and fast with my fist, and he screamed again as he filled my mouth with his seed. I swallowed, because I knew it was expected, stroking him, thinking to finish him, but he pushed me away. “Fucking whore!” he yelled. He spasmed again, and another shot dribbled from his penis, splattering my cheek.
I glanced up at him in surprise, and instinctively flinched back from the expression on his face. He was livid. I’d never seen him so angry. His skin was red and splotchy, his hair wildly askew, his tattoos a lurid mark against his flesh.
“Fucking filthy slave!” he screamed as he pulled his hand out of the boy. “A begging, pathetic slave and a disgusting little whore!” He stood up and kicked me in the stomach, driving the air from my lungs. He spit on the slave before storming out of the room.
I curled into a ball and tried to force my lungs to breathe. I shook and gasped, and finally, I found my breath. When I could breathe normally again, I stretched out on my back, massaging the sore muscles of my stomach. I hated the fact that my cock was still hard.
Then I heard a sound that nearly broke me. It was the boy. He was sobbing now, this time not from pleasure, but in earnest. “More,” he whispered. “Why do I still want more?”
***
“A Dollhouse whore?” Anzhéla asked in astonishment. “Are you sure?”
Not a whore. But I resisted the urge to correct her. “I’m sure. Donato was quite proud of it.”
She shook her head, looking over at Frey, who sat at his table. I couldn’t read anything in his dark expression.
“I wasn’t even sure the Dollhouse existed,” Anzhéla said.
“Neither was I, but apparently it does.”
“Genetic manipulation and neural implants.” She winced. “It’s horrifying.”
“I don’t think those are even the worst parts.” Because much of the slave’s behavior, I was sure, was a product of the other thing Donato had mentioned: response conditioning. I shuddered to think what they must have done to him to make him react to pain the way he did.
“I knew Donato was rich, but this is unbelievable. I can’t imagine what it would cost to buy a whore like that.”
“Not a whore!” I snapped. “He’s a slave , Anzhéla! He doesn’t get paid, and he doesn’t have the option of walking away!”
She sat back, her eyes wide in surprise at my anger, but she chose not to react. “I stand corrected. Another thing: you can’t come here anymore.”
“ What? But I live here!”
“Not anymore you don’t. You live at Talia’s.”
“But, Anzhéla, I don’t belong there. I belong here. This is only a job. It doesn’t mean I’m becoming a permanent resident!”
“Talia has reason to believe one of her girls is spying on you.”
My anger quickly gave way to alarm. “Which one?”
“If we knew that, it wouldn’t be a problem. But we
Donato was sweating, his hair wild and disheveled. His cock was hard. A string of pre-come hung from its tip. “Fucking disgusting little slave,” he hissed as he turned his hand again. “Nasty little slave. Pathetic slave. Begging me to hurt you.”
And beg the boy did.
I watched them, at turns fascinated and disgusted, aroused and nauseated. Could I call this rape when the boy was begging with every breath for more? Could I call it wrong if he was bought and paid for?
Yet how could I call it right?
Suddenly, Donato turned his gaze upon me. I’d never seen him so violently, horribly aroused, his lust making him base and obscene and depraved. “Fucking stupid, lazy whore!” he yelled. “Get over here and make me come!”
I jumped to do his bidding, relieved that I only had to touch him, that I wasn’t expected to hurt the boy. I got down on the floor and took Donato’s cock in my hand, ready to suck him to his climax, but I didn’t have the chance. As soon as my fist was around him, he thrust into it, screaming out in rage as he came. I took his end into my mouth and pumped his length hard and fast with my fist, and he screamed again as he filled my mouth with his seed. I swallowed, because I knew it was expected, stroking him, thinking to finish him, but he pushed me away. “Fucking whore!” he yelled. He spasmed again, and another shot dribbled from his penis, splattering my cheek.
I glanced up at him in surprise, and instinctively flinched back from the expression on his face. He was livid. I’d never seen him so angry. His skin was red and splotchy, his hair wildly askew, his tattoos a lurid mark against his flesh.
“Fucking filthy slave!” he screamed as he pulled his hand out of the boy. “A begging, pathetic slave and a disgusting little whore!” He stood up and kicked me in the stomach, driving the air from my lungs. He spit on the slave before storming out of the room.
I curled into a ball and tried to force my lungs to breathe. I shook and gasped, and finally, I found my breath. When I could breathe normally again, I stretched out on my back, massaging the sore muscles of my stomach. I hated the fact that my cock was still hard.
Then I heard a sound that nearly broke me. It was the boy. He was sobbing now, this time not from pleasure, but in earnest. “More,” he whispered. “Why do I still want more?”
***
“A Dollhouse whore?” Anzhéla asked in astonishment. “Are you sure?”
Not a whore. But I resisted the urge to correct her. “I’m sure. Donato was quite proud of it.”
She shook her head, looking over at Frey, who sat at his table. I couldn’t read anything in his dark expression.
“I wasn’t even sure the Dollhouse existed,” Anzhéla said.
“Neither was I, but apparently it does.”
“Genetic manipulation and neural implants.” She winced. “It’s horrifying.”
“I don’t think those are even the worst parts.” Because much of the slave’s behavior, I was sure, was a product of the other thing Donato had mentioned: response conditioning. I shuddered to think what they must have done to him to make him react to pain the way he did.
“I knew Donato was rich, but this is unbelievable. I can’t imagine what it would cost to buy a whore like that.”
“Not a whore!” I snapped. “He’s a slave , Anzhéla! He doesn’t get paid, and he doesn’t have the option of walking away!”
She sat back, her eyes wide in surprise at my anger, but she chose not to react. “I stand corrected. Another thing: you can’t come here anymore.”
“ What? But I live here!”
“Not anymore you don’t. You live at Talia’s.”
“But, Anzhéla, I don’t belong there. I belong here. This is only a job. It doesn’t mean I’m becoming a permanent resident!”
“Talia has reason to believe one of her girls is spying on you.”
My anger quickly gave way to alarm. “Which one?”
“If we knew that, it wouldn’t be a problem. But we
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