The Flesh Cartel, #10: False Gods by Rachel Haimowitz, Heidi Belleau
Authors: Rachel Haimowitz, Heidi Belleau
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Mat’s teeth and held on. Sucking and licking and finger-fucking him all the while, perfectly unconcerned—he knew damn well Mat wouldn’t bite him.
“I think that’s enough, pet,” Nikolai said, and Mat had one single glorious moment to think Oh thank God it’s over before Nikolai added, “Can’t let him come too soon.”
“No, no more,” Mat moaned around Dougie’s vile little fingers.
Nikolai clapped him on the shoulder, fingers threateningly close to where they’d caused such pain before, but not squeezing. Not yet. “But we can’t end the show without the finale, Mathias,” he chirped, like some fucking schlock ringmaster. “Up you go, Douglas. Give my guests a night they won’t forget.”
No stopping it. No stopping their audience leering, no stopping Nikolai’s pronouncements, no stopping Dougie’s sick assault on his body, no stopping the tears that had started to run down his face. And the whole time, his buyer watched with hungry lizard-like eyes, taking in every inch and every second, cock thrusting almost absentmindedly in and out of that slave’s throat. It was perfectly clear that wasn’t the throat he really wanted. Mat supposed he’d be on his knees before the fucker soon enough. Would happily do it now, in fact, if it meant an end to this cruel performance.
But that option wasn’t on the menu. No, only he was. Dougie ripped his fingers from Mat’s ass, pulled his lips off Mat’s cock and his hand from Mat’s mouth, rose to his feet with all the grace of a well-trained fighter, spun around to face the audience, and straddled Mat’s lap. He bent forward at the waist, spread his ass cheeks in both hands, swayed his hips as he lowered himself closer and closer to Mat’s erection. He was clearly conscious of putting on a good show, and though Mat couldn’t see his face ( thank God thank God ), he had no doubt that Dougie’s eyes were half-lidded, eyelashes fluttering, tongue running over parted lips. Jesus, he didn’t want to be picturing that— why was he picturing that?
Because it’s easier than watching your own brother spearing himself on your cock.
“Please,” he cried again, even though he was long past the point of hoping for mercy. Of saving either of them from this. Dougie had already raped him once, injected him with poison and then taken him rough and furious after their failed escape. But this was worse, so much worse even than that first shock of pain and betrayal and disbelief. Because this wasn’t heat-of-the-moment fury and fear. This was cold and calculated. This was using Mat’s own body against him. Making him rape himself. Making him rape his brother—because Dougie’s consent was an illusion here, no doubt about it—even as his brother raped him. Why should he hope for anything? “Dougie, you’re killing me, please!”
“Hear that?” Dougie purred, rolling his ass back, guiding Mat’s dick up and down his cleft. A drizzle of old semen ran out of his twitching hole to slick the way. Mat tried to will himself soft. Couldn’t, not with the stimulation Dougie was forcing on him. “He’s begging me. Begging for my ass, Master.”
“Any man would, my beautiful boy.” Nikolai sounded like a proud father. This sick fucking family affair. “Best not keep him waiting, then.”
“Yes, Master,” Dougie breathed, and plunged down on Mat’s cock.
Mat gasped as he sank balls deep, twisting and shouting as Dougie’s ass came to rest against his thighs. He hadn’t fucked anyone in forever, and God but it felt good —amazing, even, as Dougie expertly worked him with his muscles—and that more than anything drew out Mat’s scream, his struggles, he couldn’t let this happen, couldn’t let his body like it, he’d die if he came in his brother’s ass, he had to stop it, had to be stronger than this, better, fight harder, break free, stop it—
Dougie planted his hands on Mat’s thighs and began to rock, moaning like a cat in heat. Mat’s
“I think that’s enough, pet,” Nikolai said, and Mat had one single glorious moment to think Oh thank God it’s over before Nikolai added, “Can’t let him come too soon.”
“No, no more,” Mat moaned around Dougie’s vile little fingers.
Nikolai clapped him on the shoulder, fingers threateningly close to where they’d caused such pain before, but not squeezing. Not yet. “But we can’t end the show without the finale, Mathias,” he chirped, like some fucking schlock ringmaster. “Up you go, Douglas. Give my guests a night they won’t forget.”
No stopping it. No stopping their audience leering, no stopping Nikolai’s pronouncements, no stopping Dougie’s sick assault on his body, no stopping the tears that had started to run down his face. And the whole time, his buyer watched with hungry lizard-like eyes, taking in every inch and every second, cock thrusting almost absentmindedly in and out of that slave’s throat. It was perfectly clear that wasn’t the throat he really wanted. Mat supposed he’d be on his knees before the fucker soon enough. Would happily do it now, in fact, if it meant an end to this cruel performance.
But that option wasn’t on the menu. No, only he was. Dougie ripped his fingers from Mat’s ass, pulled his lips off Mat’s cock and his hand from Mat’s mouth, rose to his feet with all the grace of a well-trained fighter, spun around to face the audience, and straddled Mat’s lap. He bent forward at the waist, spread his ass cheeks in both hands, swayed his hips as he lowered himself closer and closer to Mat’s erection. He was clearly conscious of putting on a good show, and though Mat couldn’t see his face ( thank God thank God ), he had no doubt that Dougie’s eyes were half-lidded, eyelashes fluttering, tongue running over parted lips. Jesus, he didn’t want to be picturing that— why was he picturing that?
Because it’s easier than watching your own brother spearing himself on your cock.
“Please,” he cried again, even though he was long past the point of hoping for mercy. Of saving either of them from this. Dougie had already raped him once, injected him with poison and then taken him rough and furious after their failed escape. But this was worse, so much worse even than that first shock of pain and betrayal and disbelief. Because this wasn’t heat-of-the-moment fury and fear. This was cold and calculated. This was using Mat’s own body against him. Making him rape himself. Making him rape his brother—because Dougie’s consent was an illusion here, no doubt about it—even as his brother raped him. Why should he hope for anything? “Dougie, you’re killing me, please!”
“Hear that?” Dougie purred, rolling his ass back, guiding Mat’s dick up and down his cleft. A drizzle of old semen ran out of his twitching hole to slick the way. Mat tried to will himself soft. Couldn’t, not with the stimulation Dougie was forcing on him. “He’s begging me. Begging for my ass, Master.”
“Any man would, my beautiful boy.” Nikolai sounded like a proud father. This sick fucking family affair. “Best not keep him waiting, then.”
“Yes, Master,” Dougie breathed, and plunged down on Mat’s cock.
Mat gasped as he sank balls deep, twisting and shouting as Dougie’s ass came to rest against his thighs. He hadn’t fucked anyone in forever, and God but it felt good —amazing, even, as Dougie expertly worked him with his muscles—and that more than anything drew out Mat’s scream, his struggles, he couldn’t let this happen, couldn’t let his body like it, he’d die if he came in his brother’s ass, he had to stop it, had to be stronger than this, better, fight harder, break free, stop it—
Dougie planted his hands on Mat’s thighs and began to rock, moaning like a cat in heat. Mat’s
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