Page 46 of The Secret Job: Into the Depths of Depravity
“You ask permission to speak, to move, to eat, to drink, to piss. Do you understand?”
“I understand, Master,” I reply, feeling a heavy ball of dread rising from my stomach.
“Everything you do here is for our satisfaction only. You are our pleasure slave and nothing more. Is that clear?”
“Yes Master,” I reply but I can’t help the spark of pleasure that alights between my legs. That shouldn’t be right, I already despise this man to my core, and I haven’t laid eyes on him yet.
“I am going to be your god whilst you are here. I am going to push you to the edge of your very fucking mind and limits. You know what you have signed up to, I am here to take every last morsel that you have to give. And when you’re done, I am going to dig deep into your very soul and take what the fuck is left of you. Because that’s how I like my slaves, sucked dry and so submissive they don’t think they just do—they do everything in the world to please me. Do you understand?”
“Yes Master.”
“Good, you continue with your ‘Yes Masters’ and we’ll all benefit greatly from your stay. But let me warn you once, and only once. If you disobey for even a second, I will make youregret it, your punishment will be for my pleasure and believe me, I like to hurt my slaves if they’re not good little whores. Do you understand?”
This time my reply comes out as a stammer, “Y-yes Master,” as the full force of what he has just said to me hits me like a freight train. My lip quivers at the words, and my eyes fill with tears that are absorbed into the fabric covering them for worry of my safety, my sanity and my everything. How far will this man go?
“Now we understand each other, I think it’s time to play.” I feel the eye mask being tugged from my eyes roughly and light that is too bright tries to filter in. I close them and gradually try to peek them open, trying to get used to seeing again but when I do, I wish I was still in darkness. My eyes focus on the man standing next to me holding out a long flip knife that is reflecting the overhead lights as he twirls it in his hand. I freeze and look between him and the knife, my eyes wide in panic.
The man has almond shaped hazel eyes with an old scar running over his right eyelid. Despite the sinister look of his eyes, he has strikingly chiselled features, a strong jawline and defined cheekbones. He would be unsurpassably handsome if cruelty didn’t radiate off his very being. He has dark cropped hair that is slightly longer at the front that sweeps across his tanned forehead. He looks Scandinavian or European in some way. I can’t really tell from my position, but I would guess he’s the same height as James and possibly a similar age. But what is more horrifying than the look in his eyes is the approaching knife he’s now holding against my cheek. I feel the cold of the metal and stop breathing entirely. My eyes pleading with him to stop.
“Be a good little whore and stay very still, I wouldn’t want to cut our toy so early on in your stay and ruin all our fun games we have planned.” He chuckles to himself and climbs onto whatever I am strapped to and straddles me like his brother didearlier. The difference in the two men despite me not having seen Angus is worlds apart. “You are going to need to not move a muscle, slut. Do you understand me?” he bites out.
“Yes M-master.”
Satisfied I understand his instructions, he reaches for the collar of my top and nudges the knife under the fabric and it tears seamlessly as he runs the blade all the way through until my top is cut open like a cardigan. He parts the fabric and gazes at my white lace bra. “Now for the fun part,” he says as he pulls up the centre of my bra with his fingers and threads the knife under the lace and flicks his wrist. In an instant my bra is in two and my breasts fall heavy and exposed. “Well well well, look at that tattoo. Someone has branded you. Your pimp, I would assume,” he cruelly remarks eyeing the rose tattoo at my breast. It boils my blood for him to even make the suggestion about James.
“There we are,” he says to himself, before reaching for the bra straps in quick succession and slicing the knife through the elastic so there are only pieces left. I let out a breath and he notices, the side of his cruel lips curve up as he reaches for the arm of my top and begins to cut it off my arm, getting so close to my skin as he nears my wrist and the end of my top. I almost can’t look. Do I need to use my safe word? Is this too much? I’m terrified but almost hypnotized to see what he is going to do next. What is wrong with me?
This man, Master, moves over to my other arm, and I watch with bated breath as he slices the fabric from my skin, not even nicking it as the fabric falls away around me leaving the remnants stuck below me, I’m completely exposed from the waist up. “Look at you, cuffed and ready to give yourself over to us, a beautiful offering,” he says as he touches the flat of the blade to the underside of my breast and moves it along my skin. Goosebumps raise across my skin as I tremble below him. My clit explodes with need as I watch this man hold my life in hishands. I’m afraid, I’m turned on. I’m in too deep but I don’t want to be anywhere else. The situation and my emotions are in complete contradiction on how I should be feeling right now.
Master lifts his wrist and lightly draws a circle around my nipple. I can feel the tiniest of scratches but all that does is heighten my arousal. His focus is laser, and his skill is undeniable. This man knows his way around knives and despite his cruel demeanour, he is not hurting me. In a way, he’s saving me from himself right now, without the skills he clearly has I’d be sliced to pieces by now. Moving his attention to my other nipple, I try my hardest to breathe shallowly and not move my chest in the slightest. I feel every scratch encircling my nipple and despite my best efforts, my chest still has to rise and fall to let air into my lungs. Just as he’s moving away, the tip nicks my pebbled nipple and I see a tiny bubble of blood form. Master’s pupils blow and he lowers his mouth to lick at the bead of blood. “Delicious,” he breathes out, “I cannot wait to suck down more of your blood when the time is right.”
A shudder runs down my spine at his words. Never once in my entire life have I ever wanted someone to suck my blood. Never that is, until now. The way he is looking at my breasts with his knife discarded on the table is erotic. I want to see what he’s like when he really plays with my blood. I’m not sure how to do that safely, but I’m here for it if it doesn’t kill me.
As though shaking himself out of a daze, Master returns to what he was previously doing. “Now for the juicy bit. Good job you’re strapped down, it’s time to remove these jeans.”
I suck in a breath and true to his word he shuffles down my legs, opens my button, then my zip and picks up his knife. “Don’t move a muscle or things will get interesting very quickly.” He smiles maliciously.
Pulling the fabric taught and away from my skin, Master picks up his knife and runs it from the bottom of the zip, oh sounbelievably close to my mound. The fabric tears apart like he’s running his knife through butter. Holding the fabric as he goes, he edges the knife further and further down my right leg until it’s two open flaps at my foot. He goes back up and does the same to my left leg until the only things on my body are cuffs and my lace panties.
Placing the knife down, he lowers his nose to my pussy and breathes in deeply. “I knew you’d get off on this, slut, I can smell your arousal from here.” He sneers up at me, a look of disgust across his cruel face. I’m not sure if I should answer or stay quiet. I decide the latter might be more appropriate. Grabbing his knife, he slices both sides of my panties in quick easy twists of his wrists and the front springs open and my juices follow.
“Well would you look at that? Are you dripping for my knife, Whore, or me?”
I don’t want to answer but I don’t want to disobey. “You, Master,” I answer as I feel the humiliation wash over me, everything he has done to me has turned me on until I could feel my own arousal flood my panties.
“Good fucking answer,” he replies, picking up his knife once more and bringing it dangerously close to my open pussy. He uses two fingers to open me up and then lowers the flat of his knife over the sensitive skin to rest on my bundle of nerves and pushes it against my clit. That pressure tips me over the edge and into an oblivion of ecstasy pulsing and racing through my bloodstream like a drug I need more of. I try my damned hardest not to push and thrust into his knife, not wanting to create a bloodbath with my climax but I moan and close my eyes, fisting my hands as the orgasm engulfs every cell in my body but I lay motionless.
Smirking, Master lifts the knife from my pulsing bundle of nerves and sneers at me, “That one was for free. You will earn the next one, I just wanted to show my Father what a dirtywhore you are that you are turned on by a deranged man holding a knife to your body. I knew you were the right fucking choice.” Looking over his shoulder at something I cannot see he says, “See Father, this slut is going to be the best one of them all. We are going to have some fun playtimes over the next few days.”
Shivering from his words, my climax recedes, and my mind returns to the man in front of me. He sits back between my legs and looks up and down my body. “It’s time to mix in a little pain with the pleasure I think, don’t you agree slut?”
“If it pleases you, Master,” I reply and he looks up quickly, searching my face to see if I’m fucking with him. Noting my serious expression, he smiles evilly.
“Yes, it fucking will please me. Nothing pleases me more than your suffering.”
19
Climbing off the table I am still strapped to, he moves to the back of the room and for once I take in my surroundings. I’m in an attic room. The room is painted white, the floor is a fake wood laminate. There are lights glowing from the ceiling and two wide windows in the roof letting natural light in. There is also a bar and chains hanging from the celling in front of where I’m currently laying. There is a bed to my left under one of the skylights, I can just see the end of it. I can only hope there is a bathroom of some sort behind me. I lift up my head and see Master has walked out of the door at the end of the room. And that’s it. No one else, nothing else to see but the white walls of an asylum attic room and washable floors. What will they do to me inside these walls? If Master likes my pain, what will his brother and father like to do to me?
