Please Note: This story is only posted to chapter 10 on Wattpad. To continue reading after chapter 10, you will need to follow my Patreon.
~.~
Content and trigger warnings:
- Sexual assault
- Physical abuse
- Mental/emotional abuse and gaslighting
- Verbal abuse and manipulation
- Substance abuse
- Death
- Guns/shooting
- Mentions and references to improper BDSM
- Stalking and kidnapping
- HUGE plot holes that have not been fixed in this version.
Please note: This story is extremely mentally exhausting.
~.~
"Useless piece of shit!" the words sting more than the slap.
I hit the floor, breath escaping in a whoosh. I don't dare look up, lowering my head until my temple rests on the floor.
Submission is key.
Clyde breathes heavily above me, fists twisted. I expect the kick against my stomach.
Expectation stops a whimper. Expectation tells me there will be more onslaught, that we aren't finished yet. Expectation allows me to hold myself together a little longer.
"Get up," Branson says behind me. My arms shake as I push myself onto my knees, inhaling slowly as I follow his command. "Apologise."
Branson rests his palm against the nape of my neck, forcing my submission. Blood thunders in my ears as I fight the instinct to run. I concentrate on his shoes, the sleek, black pair costing more than the collar around my throat.
Clyde stands beside Branson, stiff and furious. I can smell garlic on his breath from last night's dinner. That and the musky, over-powering cologne he wears every day. I shiver.
"I'm sorry, sir," I croak. Fuck. Fear grips me as I clear my throat. "Please forgive me, sir. I... I didn't mean to... to burn all of Nigel Newman's information on..." I swallow. "...Blake Anderson's whereabouts. I'm sorry."
Clyde releases air between his teeth and turns away. Branson's squeezes the nape of my neck and I can't stop a whimper from catching at the back of my throat. He releases my neck to stroke down my spine. Seconds later he smacks my ass, hard. I yelp, squeezing my eyes shut.
"Go to the room. Collect the whip. You know which one."
I scurry down the hallway. I hesitate only a second outside the ominous and threatening door before shoving the emotions down. My nerves escalate as soon as the door clicks behind me.
I grab the long nine-trail whip from one of the drawers. The weight of it in my palms gives me goose-bumps. It's heavy and thick enough to satisfy their cravings, our cravings.
Not that I have those cravings much anymore. Or, I do, but in my head it comes from someone who loves me.
They do love you.
With a quivering lower lip I carry the whip to the bed. Laying down beside it, I shrug Branson's shirt from my shoulders and hold my breath.
I bite my lower lip to stop any unwanted noises escaping when the door opens behind me. Clothes hit the floor as Branson walks towards the bed. His scent washes over me.
The bed dips, I squeeze my eye shut. The whip slides across the duvet and a second later--
I jolt upright, gasping hard. Blankets twist around me as I scramble, trying to find Blake, to make sure he's safe. But his side of the bed is empty.
YOU ARE READING
Kiss, Marry, Kill
General Fiction[MxMxMxMxM] ~ Charlie Hewitt has a secret: his past is not what it seems. He's managed to keep it to himself from the age of 18, when he left home, and buried himself in his friendship with Blake Anderson. But when his best friend found himsel...
