Page 246 of Bad for Me

I’d swallowed that part of myself down though, for long enough that I could almost pretend I didn’t need it.

Until one awful night, when work had been worse than usual and I’d needed to get the gruesome images out of my head.

“I found a regular partner,” I continue, skipping ahead in the story. “Somebody who helped me learn all about limits and safety.” I laugh. “I guess I shouldn’t have bothered, considering where I ended up now.”

Water runs for a moment, then Raul returns to the room with a wet cloth in hand. He wipes at his stomach, crossing back over to me. “Probably not,” he says agreeably, like it was a foregone conclusion that it was a stupid idea.

It makes anger flare within me, but I guess to him, there’s never been an issue of consent.

“Fast forward to why you decided to work for the Pierino family,” he prompts, approaching me with the cloth in hand.

“Dunno if you’ve noticed, but the economy is shit.” I give a bitter laugh. “Nobody’s hiring high school drop-outs whose resume is just a bunch of odd jobs. Then I fucking lost my car because of a DUI. Can’t even do gig economy crap now.”

“A DUI, huh?” He eyes me, but despite how much of an accomplished liar I’ve become over the years, I can’t help but feel like he’s seeing right through me. He pushes me to lie on my back again and carefully wipes my stomach clean first, then my hole. My face heats with humiliation, but I don’t react. Unsurprisingly, there’s a little bit of blood that’s stark against the pristine white of the washcloth.

Raul huffs. “Should’ve known better than to drive drunk. And I hear GEDs aren’t hard to get either.”

“Sure. You gonna dock my pay if I study during work hours?” I counter. “My old man was a drop-out, his old man was a drop-out. Why break with tradition? Don’t need an education to carry boxes or deliver packages.” I sneer. “Fuck, I thought it was just gonna bedrugs. I don’t mind transporting some coke, y’know?”

Raul smiles at me, but it’s a predatory smile, not something friendly or even slightly comforting. “Well, it’s a good thing you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about anything like that in the future, isn’t it?” he says. “You qualified for this particular job the second you decided your conscience was more important than your own fucking life. But hey, you have job security, right?”

That would almost be funny if he wasn’t a piece of shit human trafficker.

His cum drips slowly out of my hole, and he gently wipes that away as well.

“Lucky me.” I glance up at him warily. “You said something about slave quarters?”

“I’m not sure I’m done with you yet,” he says, considering me for a moment. “Maybe I’m enjoying the conversation. I’d like to get to know you, after all. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together.” He laughs. “Isn’t that so stereotypical of me to say?”

At least he’s finding himself amusing.

“Well, I’m a captive audience,” I answer. I shrug as much as I can with my arms still cuffed behind my back. “Literally.”

I guess bantering with him is as good a use of my time as any. If I can butter him up and get him to actually like me, that might get me more leniency. And it’ll certainly be easier than pretending I’m some obedient little slave.

3

RAUL

It’s beentwo days since I’ve acquired Misha.

It’s also been at least two days since he’s had a real meal, or any drink that wasn’t directly given to him from my own hand.

Misha looks up at me blearily when I enter the room. I have the usual water bottle in my hand, but I’ve also got a leash this time. He sneers at me.

“That’s definitely not the right attitude,” I say, although I’m not actually upset. I’m giddy at the prospect of punishing him and making him break for me.

It’s been the only thing I’ve been able to think of since I bought him, to the point where my father has noticed my distraction during business meetings. I’d say I have to get it out of my system, but, well…

I somehow doubt I’ll be getting Misha out of my system any time soon.

“May I have some water, please, Master,” Misha responds in a deadpan. “Unless you enjoy fucking dehydrated corpses.”

“Come here so I can put the leash on for walkies,” I tell him, my voice as patronizing as it would be if I was talking to a dog. Well. No, I’d probably be sweeter-sounding to a mutt. “Then I’ll give you some water. How does that sound, slut?”

Misha groans, but he also shuffles forward as best he can with his arms bound behind him and his legs tied together. It’s more of a worm crawl, and I can’t imagine it’s comfortable. His shoulders must be killing him by now.

It’s a good thing I don’t care.

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