Page 34 of Dirty Tricks

All I see are mindless followers, looking to him for hints of how he wants them to behave, then dancing to his tune like loyal monkeys.

Worse, at the very edge of my vision I see Todd, standing with his cock still sticking through his open zipper, stroking it as he watches me. Jerking himself off to my helplessness. My inability to resist.

“Does your girlfriend know where you are?” I call to him, hoping to shame him, to bring him out of whatever spell Finn has him under.

But Todd laughs, shaking his head. “Jenna doesn’t mind me sleeping around. She’d rather I stuck it in some whore than bother her three times a day.”

My throat clutches, nausea churning in my gut. I still haven’t eaten unless the fruit in the cocktails I drank earlier counts. No lining in my stomach and I’m not an experienced drinker.

I close my throat, screwing my eyes shut as I fight to keep everything down where it should be. If I throw up now, it’ll enrage Finn and he’s already deranged, another screw loose will just add impetus to the ways he already intends to hurt me.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’ve got exactly what you need, right here.”

I open my eyes to see Finn’s erect cock right in front of my face. Somebody laughs, a harsh sound with no humour. Images of my father flicker through my mind, a slideshow of horror that I try to force back into its hiding place, but it won’t go. Not now I’m a captive audience. Not when the horror all around me is something he’d probably enjoy.

My lips part, perhaps to utter another platitude, a useless plea for lenience, but what they get is the head of his cock thrusting against them, trying to gain entry, and I whip it to the side, as far as the wooden cradle will let me.

“Are you trying to play hard to get?” Finn asks in a happy voice. “Gotta say, I don’t think that’s going to work out for you.”

I feel hands on my rear again, my skirt lifted to expose the cheeks of my arse, the fancy lace knickers designed more for access than protection.

They offer even less as a finger hooks them to the side, exposing me.

“Your girl’s wet already,” a voice says, oozing with pleasure. It runs from baritone through to soprano and back again, breaking like he’s far too young to have any business here.

There’s a tug at the elastic and soon they’re down at my ankles, giving me a graphic example of the difference between my flimsy underwear and full exposure.

I panic. My mind whites out a little as I pull and tug, whipping my head back and forth until I feel it thump against the wood, my wrists burning where I strain against the enclosure, my desperation no match for its solidity.

“Now, now. You’ll only end up hurting yourself,” Finn croons. “And where’s the fun in that when we’re all ready and willing to hurt you instead? You don’t need to lift a finger.”

He traps my head flat against the board, my neck screeching in protest, the muscles in my shoulder making a loud pop that makes my nausea surge again, the pain overwhelming.

When I come back to myself, I’m pleading and babbling, snot running from my nose, eyes streaming with tears. A hand caresses my arse, another loosens my blazer, my black blazer that matched so perfectly to the costume in my head I couldn’t believe my luck at finding it; especially in an op-shop with a price tag I could actually afford.

But soon it’s twisted up around my shoulders. Treated carelessly, like I hadn’t stared at it with adoring eyes for a full month before tonight, imagining how it would look paired with my braids and my kilt, thinking how to do the makeup that’s now streaming down my face.

And I’m no longer scared. Fury like I’ve never felt before boils and bubbles through my veins, a flood of effervescent rage so different to my normal temperament it’s like seeing the face of God.

“You fucking creep,” I shout at Finn, aborting my pleas in a flow of pure outrage. “You wouldn’t know how to satisfy a woman so you’re full of threats and coercion and stupid, stupid lies that everyone sees through, you pathetic little man. No wonder you had to bring your friend on board. You probably need Todd to hold your hand, to reassure you how goddamned wonderful you are, so you don’t break down and scuttle away like the limp-dicked loser you are.”

And for a second, limp-dicked is the apt description. His excitement dissipates at the speed of sound; at the speed of my voice hitting his ears, telling everyone in the room exactly what I think of him.

Telling the truth for the first time in forever.

“And Jenna won’t put out for Todd because she’s secretly shagging half the rugby team. Except it’s not a secret at all; anyone can drop by their changing rooms at the end of a match and hear her scream in ecstasy. It might just take you a time or two to recognise the sound because I’ll bet money, she’s never screamed like that with you.”

Finn punches me, my jaw defenceless against the blow, blood and pain flooding into my mouth, whiting out my vision, cotton wool damming up my ear until I can’t hear a thing on my right-hand side.

I let my mouth sag open, a line of blood and drool dripping from it in a stream, slowing to individual drops while the pain bites deeper, the numbness coming far too late to spare me from the blow.

“Sure,” I mumble, wincing at the pain but needing to speak more. “Punch the girl who can’t hit you back. That’ll show all your friends how manly you are.”

Finn’s hand moves and I flinch, a whole body reaction that makes every existing injury sing its painful song at full volume.

I spit out the last of my current mouthful of blood when nothing happens. There’s nothing I can do about the swelling closing my eye or the cramp that twists a nasty blade deep into the muscle where my neck and shoulder connect.

“Is this how your dad knocked up your mother?” I ask Finn, deciding an aggressive push forward is the only chance of relief. “Did he strap her the stocks and rape her because he couldn’t get his dick hard any other way?”

---