Page 24 of Yours to Break

“Don’t shake so much. You look like a chihuahua,” Hudson said as he wrapped himself around our prey and walked him out the door.

“S-Sorry, just s-scared…” Oliver whispered, his voice breaking, eyes downcast.

I smiled brightly at him. “We aren’t going to hurt you if you stay quiet while we get you to our car. Think you can do that, or do I need to gag you?” I held up the ball gag that I’d stashed in my jacket. Oliver’s eyes widened at the gag as he shook his head.

“No, I-I can be good,” he said.

“Good.”

The three of us descended the stairs, meeting the black sedan we’d parked in the small alleyway. Hudson helped a shaking Oliver into the backseat as I sat behind the wheel. Before starting the engine, I turned in my seat to see my brother cuff Oliver’s wrists, then pull him onto his lap with Oliver’s legs straddling his thighs.

“I’m not sure this is a s-safe position if we crash,” Oliver nervously said under his breath.

Hudson leaned forward and sucked Oliver’s earlobe into his mouth. Oliver spluttered and tried to wiggle away from my brother. His wiggling only resulted in Hudson’s cock grinding against his crotch, causing him to gasp and bite down on his lower lip.

Hudson purred directly into Oliver’s ear, “You might be more comfortable after coming, pet.” He slid his hand under Oliver.

Oliver whined, “Stop it, Hudson! What are you—No, no, stop it! Don’t—Stop—Ohh…Oh my god.” Need swirled in my gut as I watched Hudson’s long fingers thrust in and out of our pet’s front hole. “N-no–Hudson, stop! Stop, please,” he panted, his head rolling on my brother’s shoulder as his hips began undulating.

“Come on,” Hudson demanded, quickening the pace of his thrusts, “You need to get used to coming for us, little pup.” His thumb found Oliver’s clit—or teeny-tiny dick, as I had begun thinking of it as—and began rubbing circles into it. Oliver’s panting and bitten-off moans became louder as he neared his climax.

Suddenly, his body stiffened. A long whine poured out of his slack mouth as he collapsed onto Hudson.

He clung onto Hudson, his hands bunching up the fabric of his shirt. Hudson wrapped his arms around Oliver in a hug and gave me a nod to start driving.

I pulled out of the alley, heading towards our house, listening happily to the small cries and hiccups coming from behind me.

Our trip lasted about thirty minutes, and by the end of it, Oliver had cried out all of his tears. I think he even fell asleep for a moment.

Hudson lifted him out of the car, carrying him in a bridal hold through the garage, into the house, and down the stairs to the basement. As Hudson was holding our precious cargo, I assisted in putting in the codes to our security system and locked doors. Our quaint torture room was located behind three of the heavy metal doors.

I heard a small whimper from Oliver as we entered the cement room. I understood why–the room was eerily empty besides a metal chair in the middle, a locked glass cell in the back right-hand corner, and a wall of various torture implements.

There were a few ominous dark stains underneath the chair that Oliver’s eyes focused on.

“I’m going to die,” he said dejectedly, voice so small.

“No, no. No, you probably won’t. We aren’t planning on killing you,” I explained, locking the restraints around Oliver’s wrists, ankles, and stomach after Hudson had gently placed him down on the chair.

“Why…Why am I here?” Oliver clenched his eyes closed, close to hyperventilating.

Hudson answered, “Well, I guess the main reason is that Grey’s pissed at you, but we always wanted to do this anyway.”

“H-he’s mad at me? Why? I know I wasn’t nice to Lane earlier, but I’ve been beating myself up about it all day, and I was g-gonna apologize. I really didn’t mean what I said! I’m so sorry,” Oliver wept, shaking.

“We don’t care what you said. Well, at least Hudson and I don’t care–Grey probably does. But that’s not why you’re here. He wants to know where Lane is,” I explained.

“What do you mean? He’s at Greyson’s apartment, isn’t he? I was just over there earlier.”

“No, he apparently left after your conversation. Where is he?” Hudson questioned, running his fingers through Oliver’s brown hair.

“He left? Really?” Oliver tilted his head back so that he could look up at Hudson.

I pulled a small butterfly knife from one of my pockets. Standing directly in front of Oliver, I flicked the blade open and just barely let it touch underneath his chin. As soon as he felt the pointed tip, he froze.

As I softly ran the point of the knife from his chin to his chest, he gradually returned his head to its normal position. I held the small blade at the center of his rib cage, pressing into the skin just slightly.

“Please don’t,” Oliver blurted, searching my eyes. I enjoyed the desperation, confusion, and fear in his gaze.

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