Page 258 of Bad for Me

No worse than all the other victims of the Pierino business go through.

Of course, none of the other victims would be getting off on it as much as I am. None of them have to deal with their body and minds wanting to give in, to submit, and just enjoy what he’s doing to me.

My cock is already threatening to harden just from this humiliation alone. It’s going to be hard to keep my cool and gather all the information I can.

Raul taps on my jaw, expecting me to open up for him, but I clamp my lips shut. Raul sighs and grips the sides of my cheeks, digging in hard enough to make pain flare up. I struggle against him, but it’s all futile. What’s the point of this rebellion? I can’t actually escape the inevitable.

When my mouth parts, he sticks a ball gag inside and fastens it behind my head.

“Now you can’t mouth off,” he says. “You should be grateful I’m protecting you from yourself.”

I shake his head, but my cock twitches despite it all. I’m so fucking tired of my body betraying me like this.

“If you don’t cooperate, I’ll deafen you, too,” Raul says.

I can handle being blinded and gagged, but if I can’t hear, then all of this is for nothing. I make a small noise, muffled by the gag.

“Kneel right here,” Raul orders, forcing me down onto the floor. “And stay there.”

The small living room had one other chair, a couch, and a coffee table too. I think I’d be able to navigate away from the coffee table even while blindfolded, but I didn’t get enough time to count paces. I just have a rough estimate of what the room looks like.

It’s not like there’s anywhere for me to go right now, anyway. My ankles are bound with a short chain between them, so at most, I’d trip a few steps forward.

I work to keep my muscles relaxed so the strain of the position doesn’t hurt too much. Unfortunately, that also means my mind is threatening to drift.

I can’t afford to drift. Not here, not right now?—

And not with Raul.

Fuck. I bury the memories of the past few days and force myself to focus on the here and now.

I don’t know how much time passes before the door opens, and two sets of footsteps enter.

Raul takes a few steps away to meet the other two who have entered the room. Men, probably; the mafia doesn’t keep many women on hand in business like this — though there are rumors that that’s beginning to change in Benton City.

I stay put — partially because I was told to, but mostly because there’s nowhere to go. Besides, if I “misbehave,” as he’d put it, he’ll lock me away and I won’t get the chance to hear anything useful.

“Good afternoon,” Raul greets the visitors. “Have a seat. Someone will be along to bring your drinks in a moment. I hope you want your usuals?”

I hear one of the men sit down not too far from me, and I can hear the distaste in his voice as he asks, “You got anything a bit… prettier? Or are we only going to be talking about men today?”

Another man scoffs at him. “I don’t mind. I’ve got a few clients who are desperate for men — well, pretty young boys, anyway, and they’re the kind of men it’s very good to have incriminating information about.”

Raul laughs, but the sound is strained.

Maybe his releasing four of the victims wasn’t just a fluke. Maybe he actually has a conscience somewhere in there.

Of course, that could be the start of Stockholm syndrome talking.

“I can bring in someone pretty,” Raul says. “But yes, there is a market for men.” He strokes my head, as if to emphasize something.

“I don’t have many connections who want boys,” the first man grumbles, still sounding disgruntled. “But I won’t deny there’s a market, especially to people who would never want their proclivities known.”

“I heard you got this big oaf the other night,” the second one says, and I can practically feel the heat of his gaze upon me. “Isn’t he a little on the old side?”

Something about his voice is familiar to me.

Raul’s hand goes still on my head. “I don’t want a kid,” he says a little snappishly.

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