Page 2 of Bathed in Blood

I’d rather be called cunt. Hearing my name from their lips is so much worse. That name is special; someone who loved me gave me that name. It being spoken in a place like this dirties it, ruins what little I hold of who I was before. I glance down at my feet, arched higher than natural in my sky-high heels. When my eyes hit the branded bit of flesh on my thigh, I avert my eyes. Among all the things done to me here, being marked like cattle was my least favorite. They’d carved their names into a circle on my thigh with a wood burner. For a moment, I wonder what their father would say if he knew, if he was aware of his billionaire sons’ lucrative side hustle.

The Sullivans come from a long line of old money. Oil, naturally. The three brothers never did anything for themselves except this, a little business venture they’d started two years before they met Lewis and loaned him money, even though they knew he’d never be able to pay them back.

There’s not much sexy or scary about kids born with silver spoons up their asses, endless bank accounts, and bone rattling boredom. Vince told me one night that they’d first seen a snuff film in their father’s office, a VHS one of his bodyguards had taken the liberty of making, featuring another oil tycoon's six-year-old daughter. The way his eyes darkened and his cock hardened against me made vomit rise in my throat.

Vince watches me from behind the camera, setting up the stream, and my fist tightens on the speculum I had grabbed when we entered the room. The man’s throat tearing screams play like background music in the room. I hate it when they wake them up too early.

Anton is still holding onto me, his heavy arms draped over my shoulders as he nestles into my neck like a child would with his mother. That’s what Anton likes, the mommy thing. It’s what he calls out to me as he ruts into me, whimpering like a child. My throat tightens when I think about that first night, when they came into the cold, concrete room we stand in now. By the time they left, they’d killed a part of me I had saved for someone who I loved deeply, a person I hadn’t met yet but knew I would one day. I never doubted it, not for a second.

“One minute,” Jax announces from the sofa set up behind the camera and large, pull-out projector screen they like to watch from.

“How many?” Anton asks, finally releasing me so I can get ready.

“One hundred and seventy-two…no, seventy-six. Mostly regulars, a few new faces.”

I pull on the PPE gloves, grateful they got the longer ones this time. Our last trial run of this scene was around a year ago, a custom request from a longtime watcher, and I ended up being splashed by the acid. It scarred my lower arms, despite how quickly Vince rushed me into the bathroom to wash it off. The stuff works fast.

I can’t breathe past the nodule of excitement budding in my chest. I don’t know when it went from disgust to curiosity to downright excitement for me. I hated it at every stage, and the excitement doesn’t make it any easier afterwards. They didn'tpermit me any stimulation for the first year—no books, TV, games, nothing. I was allowed to eat, bathe, murder, and spread my legs.

My frown deepens, pushing me to enter the scene early, and Jax’s forced husky voice chimes in as always: “Who pissed off the cunt today?”

Anton chuckles at his stupid little joke, ever the obedient follower.

At some point, I was grateful for the walk down to the basement. Their unwanted touches were welcomed reprieves from the nothingness of that room. It took a little less than a year for them to move me up from their cells in the basement. It was more comfortable to rape on a California King bed than a dirty cot in the corner of a dark room. Anton and Vince acted like it was a favor, one they expected me to reciprocate constantly.

“Ten seconds,” Vince announces.

The man bucks against his restraints, his ass tugged high into the air, bare and spread as he begs. Three years ago, I begged too. Three years ago, he and I weren’t much different. Three years ago, I still hadn’t accepted that I would never be more than the disgusting monster they’d made me. I’d never see Mom’s smiling face again or know how Lewis was doing. That revelation was somewhat recent, and it still tastes like shit in my mouth.

“Live in five…”

“Four.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

I run my hand down the man’s spine, feeling him tremble beneath my palm, none of my usual giggling or twirling around. He’s begging again, or maybe he never stopped. He lets out a heady sob when I remove my hands from his spine, reaching over to coat my fingers in the spit that’s rolling down his chin,spewing from between swollen, red painted lips. I never really understood the lipstick thing, but funders usually pay more for it.

“Please. Please. I have a family, for fuck's sake!”

So did I.

He starts to wail, and my anger gets the best of me. I’m not angry with him, of course. He can’t help his cries any more than I can help what I’m about to do. Some days, I feel more…bitter than others. My mind wanders as I round the table he’s strapped to, the side of his face pressed into the metal surface, the stained wood of the rigging keeping his ass presented to the room.

I make a show of slapping his ass, each movement grand and exaggerated before working his puckered hole open. I know what’s expected of me. When his cock inflates despite the horror he must be feeling, Anton bursts out laughing, earning him a smack to the back of the head. It’s involuntary, but somehow, it makes this feel worse, more… disgusting. Again, my anger edges my self-control, pushing and pushing as I pause to glare over at Anton. What could possibly be funny about this? There’s no excitement anymore, just bitter, never-ending frustration. I'm going to get in trouble if I end it too soon. I just…I don’t have it in me today.

The speculum doesn’t go in easily, but they don’t want it to. I try my best to hide my wince as he screams despite me working him up to it. He’s already tearing. I step aside, showing off my hard work to the camera, picturing all the nasty basement dwellers pumping their tiny dicks to my little horror show.

My patience finally hits its limit, the bitterness choking me as Anton gives me an approving nod from behind the camera. When I finally lift the jug of acid, I go entirely off script. No drizzling it along his back, no making him taste it, none of my usual showmanship, punishment and privileges be dammed. At least I know Vince won’t let Jax take my books. That’s all I reallyneed. I tilt the container and watch as the clear liquid works down the funnel spout, sliding inside the speculum's opening. His bottom is opened wide, ready for me. I know the instant the acid hits; the man starts making sounds I’ve only ever heard from animals. When the gallon glugs, I can barely hear it, ignoring the top view camera winding closer for a POV shot.

Please, just pass out.

My guilt grips me quicker than usual, my stomach churning more with each of his frantic wails for help.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper under my breath as his ass is filled to capacity, brown and red bubbling flesh working its way back up the funnel. It pops, and the smell makes my dinner curdle. The man’s gasps trail off as his body goes slack in the rigging. At some point, those screams had been traded for vomit and a mouth gaped in agony. My breathing comes out roughly as I face the camera, giving them my signature curtsy, slamming the jug down on the cart.

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