Page 38 of Bottoms Up
I closed the compartment, locked it from the outside, and sat on the floor, my back against the wall, breathing through the emotions I could finally let out.
A few minutes later, a knock came at the door and Cora spoke through it. “Marco says you need salt. I’m leaving what he says you need outside your door. Get it when you’re ready.”
I couldn’t help my smile. Marco was looking out for both of us. He’d made us do this terrible thing, but he was keeping an eye on us — letting me stop hurting Julian a little early, making sure I have enough salt.
I hoped the worst was behind us, but I worried it might not be.
Chapter 13
Julian
The first three days were absolute hell. I wasn’t surprised. It’s exactly what I would have done, in Silver’s place.
On the fourth day, I was allowed to walk instead of crawl. Still paraded around naked on the leash, but walking felt like a reward after three days on my hands and knees.
Every evening upon rising, as soon as my hidey-hole was unlocked so I could exit, I was whipped. No warmup, no ceremony — just ordered to hold the top of the doorframe, expected to remain in place while the horsewhip lashed my back.
Day after day, the cruel braided leather, knotted throughout, tore into me, opened me, and I bled more than I was fed, but that’s the life of those who are owned. Property, rather than person.
Slaves accept what we are given, no matter how pleasant or unpleasant, so I drank the six ounces of bagged deer-shifter blood I was given each day. Docile blood. Submissive blood. It’s my least favorite shifter to drink from, but it wasn’t about preference. It was about obedience. It kept me on my feet,barely, and that was enough to do my job for Marco and serve my Master, despite the fact I wasalwayshungry.
Marco never treated me any differently. For him, nothing had changed. I still managed his schedule, answered emails, intercepted calls I could likely handle, ran meetings whennecessary. Now I did it naked except for the ever-present cock cage, my body marked up something awful from the whip and the cane, but my duties were the same as always. I was allowed a shirt and tie while at my desk so I could handle video calls, but never pants, shoes, or even socks.
And the ever-present pepper-lubed plug lodged in my ass, stretching me painfully wide, meant Ineverforgot my place.
On the third day, my new Master replaced my cock cage with a much smaller one, with sharp prongs that poked into my dick if I dared get hard, and a fat penis plug that probed deep into my urethra, so I was reminded of it with every movement, every fucking twitch. It was impossible to stay soft, but there was pain when I couldn’t manage it — and as it grew sore from the spikes, the pain intensified, hurting more every day than it had the day before.
It would’ve had to come off a human due to the risk of infection, but that isn’t a concern with vampires, so it stayed on despite the irritation, the open wounds.
With so little blood, my body had no spare energy to heal my wounds. My poor destroyed balls hurt worse every day — sharper pain, deeper throbbing, and anunfathomableache. The damage was thorough.
The ball spreader built into the cock cage only made it worse, but I didn’t complain.
Silver had a plan. I trusted the plan.
Two weeks in, the leash came off. That same night, Silver gave me ten ounces of his blood in wine. Rich and dense and heady. It was decadent, and I went to my knees to thank him for his gift. I mean, I always did that, but this time it was more than protocol. I meant it.
The next day, Silver came to me as a woman — halter top, micro-mini skirt, super-long hair flowing around her face, sky-high wedge heels that made her six inches taller, and makeup that made her cheeks look sharp enough to draw blood.
She’d been a man for weeks, since the night we validated the contract, and my dick tried to swell in its cruel steel prison the moment I saw her.
Andmoreblood surged into it when she ordered me to my knees.
The spikes didn’t pierce, but they pressed deep, unforgiving. The urethral plug shifted inside me with every pulse, every twitch, and it felt like fire being stoked under my skin. I stayed still and silent, though. It wasn’t my place to cry out. To complain.
My cock jerked again as she circled me, all confidence and authority. The way she placed those amazing heels — like they were extensions of her will. Unshakable. Deadly. Beautiful.
“Tonight is Girls’ Night Out,” she said, voice smooth as sin, “and it will please me to know you’re in pain while I’m out having fun with my friends. Crawl to the dungeon, slaveboy.”
No leash today. Just me, crawling naked in front of her like the thing I was. I knew she could see the damage — my balls still pitiful and horribly discolored. They were a little better, but they still hurt and ached something awful since they’d been so restrictive with my blood allowance. My assholehadfinally healed, thankfully.
When we arrived, she locked the door, shackled my wrists behind my back, and had me stand beneath the winch.
Two minutes later, I hung by my right ankle from the ceiling, high enough that my left foot barely touched the floor, and I couldjustmanage to stand on tiptoe. She chained the supporting ankle to an O-ring embedded in the concrete floor, so I’d be stuck in what amounted to the splits.
The pain bloomed fast. Ankles stretched far apart, hips twisted, back screaming. But I stayed silent.
I hadn’t understoodjusthow much she wanted me to hurt until she drove the first bamboo skewer through my right ball.
