Page 41 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

Andrew shakes his head, though, denying my request. “That’s not what I want, sweetheart. Every minute you make me wait will only make me that much more excited,” he says. “You know I never mind giving you my loving marks.” His finger finds my chin and tilts my head back. “You won’t be able to sit or stand without thinking of me for weeks.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.He’s counting down how long I’m making him wait. I practically leap over his lap, face down, ass up. Panting. Trembling. Gasping for oxygen that can’t seem to fill my lungs.

“Ah, there we are.” The belt lightly smooths over the outside of my thigh, making me flinch. “Since you were so excited, we’ll go ahead and start. Eighteen for the birthday girl, and then a few more to grow on.”

The first hit drives the last vestiges of air out of my lungs in a rush. The second burns right over the first. I can’t even cry out. They come hard and fast. At first, he focuses on one spot until my flesh fucking catches fire and I’m sure I’m bleeding. Then, he moves on to the other side of my ass. Eighteen passes and I think he might stop, but he doesn’t.

My nails sink into the soft fabric of his pants as I squeeze my eyes shut and accept the pain. Tears drip down my cheeks. Each strike feels like I’m being flayed alive. When Andrew reaches whatever invisible number he’s got in his head, I barely even notice that he’s stopped. Which means I get no warning as he unceremoniously dumps me onto the floor. Lifting his legs and shoving me off as he stands up and drops the belt. The metal buckle echoes up to my ears. I want to reach back and feel the skin of my ass, wondering if it’s even still there.

I don’t get the chance. The worst sound in the world—the sound of heavy breathing combined with a zipper being yanked down—reaches my ears. Andrew’s hand slips into my hair and yanks it back as he shoves me against his crotch and his dick flops out of his perfectly tailored pants. I close my eyes briefly. Something inside of me snaps shut. My mind turns off as I move forward. Breathing becomes easier even though the collar and bra are still squeezing my flesh, their hold like chains more than fabric and leather.

My mouth opens and I tip my head back. “Fuck.” His shuddering breath and curse echo throughout the room. I don’t respond. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. “That’s it.” His cock touches my lips and moves inside. And just like his actions before, the second he’s got me where he wants me, he starts moving.

His cock fills my mouth, thrusting all the way back into my throat in a violent movement. "Fucking whore…” The words don’t hurt. I’ve heard them and worse. They used to make me close my eyes and cry but not anymore. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

Andrew fumbles, reaching for something behind him. The rope? No. That doesn’t make any sense. He can’t exactly tie me up while he’s fucking my throat. It’s okay, though. I don’t need to know. All I need to do is turn it all off and focus on this. On making him feel good. Once he comes in my mouth, the night will be half over. Then he’ll take his time tying me up and tightening his rope until breathing isn’t the only thing that’s difficult. Once he’s had time to do that, he’ll fuck me and then he’ll leave and I’ll sleep.

I’ll just … sleep. Maybe this time I won’t wake up. Hoping for that—as foolish as it is to preserve hope in this life of mine—is the only way that I can get through this.

His dick slides across my tongue and by the first strike against my back, I’m already numb. A riding crop. That’s what he reached for. I’ve felt it before. This time, though, there is no feeling. Only emptiness.

Using his grunts and movements as a gauge, each hit gets progressively harder. Wetness slips down my back, over the lace underwear. I don’t pay it any mind. Something snaps and the crop finally stops. Andrew curses again and jerks, tossing it to the side I assume.

When his hands lock on my head and he shoves it all the way to the back of my throat, my gag is nothing but a physical response. One he ignores as he groans and shoots every last drop of his cum in the back of my throat. Absently, I feel it when he finally slows. Thumbs touch the edges of my face as he tilts my head back, his dick softening between my lips.

Happy birthday, sweetheart.

I’m not sure if he speaks the words or if I just think he does, but it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m not even here anymore. I’m somewhere far away. Where there is no Thomas Kincaid or Andrew Bennington. Where neither of them can hurt me.

I’m just … gone. Numb.

And the world is so much better that way.

18

MICKI

Present Day…

I’ve never been to a football game. Not even when I lived in Eastpoint. At the time, the only ones I might’ve even been allowed to attend were the ones at Luc’s high school. Considering I wasn’t exactly his stepsister and not a student either, Thomas wouldn’t have it and my mother didn’t care what I did so long as he was happy. With the insight I have now, I have to wonder if her catering to him so much had less to do with actually pleasing him and more about protecting herself.

Regardless, as I move past the ticket gates, following the crowd into the stadium, I realize something that I never considered about events like these. They fucking stink.

The air is ripe with the scent of burnt popcorn and flat soda. And body odor—lots and lots of body odor. Sickly sweet perfume drifts past me in clouds, the kind that the rich college girls use to hide their own sweat. I wrinkle my nose against it. I’ve never been particularly sensitive to smells, but somehow it seems to be the only thing I can focus on at present. Almost as though my mind is seeking out anything else to distract from the purpose of the night. It won’t work. I need to concentrate.

“Are you staying through the game or will you be slipping away at some point?” Avalon asks from my side, and I turn, glancing down as she scans the crowd.

The students appear to spread out once they hit where we’re standing. Smart of them. There’s a predator in their midst. More than one. I glance back and start walking forward again, knowing she’ll follow. She’s curious—not knowing isn’t something she can stand for long.

“I’d like to stay until the end,” I answer her, “but that won’t be possible tonight.”

We come up to a railing and stop. I lock my hands over the top of it and lean forward, staring down the line of people filing toward their seats in large droves. Despite the darkening sky above, the massive spotlights directed to the green field down below illuminate every crevice of the stadium. I direct my attention to the parent section—far different, I expect, from a normal college stadium.

The parents’ section is a massive boxlike structure with open glass windows high above the regular seats and far closer to the end where the speaker usually sits observing the game. I’ve never been to another school, but I doubt that most have massive lavish rooms with men and women dressed like they’re in a five-star Michelin restaurant. Despite its fanciness, however, there are few people inside. Avalon leans against my side, her gaze following mine.

“Do you see him yet?” she asks. There’s no need to ask who ‘him’ is. She’s been my shadow this entire week. Showing up early at Luc’s house when I try to avoid her and run a few errands on my own. I know it’s because she has the same fear that Luc has—that she’ll come by one day and just like the first time, I’ll be gone.

Unlike Luc and the rest of the group, she has the most insight into my plans for this evening. She’s even heard me talk to some of the men I’ve hired to help me. I know I could’ve used Luc or the others if I really wanted to, but I meant it when I said I wanted to give Dash the opportunity to be as hands-free with this situation as possible and if all of his friends disappear to help me, there’s no possibility of that.

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