The Flesh Cartel #2: Auction (3 page)

“You owe me two teeth, hole.”

No. No no no no no.

A brief scuffle, another grunt, the sound of a body hitting a mat.
At least the floor’s padded.
“Stay down, hole. Madame doesn’t even
want
you; you think she’ll care if I fuck you up?”

Silence for a moment, or at least no sounds that carried. Dougie strained his ears, half hoping he’d hear nothing, half desperate to know what was happening. “Open,” the guard said, and Mat must not have, because a slap rang out, and then “Open!” again, much more demanding this time. “That’s it, now
suck
.”

Oh God, now Dougie really
wished he
couldn’t
hear. Mat was
gagging
, his shouts muffled by—what? A cock? The nightstick? “You fight me, you’ll break your teeth. You want that, hole?” The nightstick, then. Dougie couldn’t decide if that was better or worse than the guard’s cock down Mat’s throat. “Suck it real good, hole. This is all the lubrication you’re going to get.”

Oh, God. No. You can’t do that, you
can’t . . .

“Please don’t hurt him!” Dougie cried. He got up despite the pain it caused. Threw himself against the door, pressed an eye to the little window, though he saw nothing through it but blank hallway. “Stop this! Why are you
doing
this?”

The guard grunted in disgust. Or was it Mat? Were they—?

“Shut the fuck up, hole. Shut the fuck up, or after I fuck your brother with this, I’m gonna bring it to you to polish. Got it?”

“Just be quiet, Dougie. It’s okay, okay? I’m—”

He cut off on a scream.

If Dougie was still making a scene over there, breaking Mat’s fucking heart, Mat didn’t hear it. Didn’t hear the taunts of the guard, either, as he crushed Mat’s face to the floor with a punishing grip on the back of his neck.
Bad dog.

Because that very big nightstick was forcing its way into a very small space, with nothing but a glaze of his own spit to keep it moving. He howled through gritted teeth, body bucking, trying to reject it, keep it out
keep it out keep it out
. Bottoming didn’t thrill him at the best of times. But being
raped
? With a hard unyielding
weapon
forced so deep up his ass his gut cramped? The pain was un-fucking-real. The humiliation might’ve been worse.

The guard pulled it back, all the way, until the tip came free of him, and then rammed it back in again. Another howl—Dougie would hear him screaming, he knew that, but he just
couldn’t
help it—clawing at the soft floor, writhing beneath the weight of the guard straddling his thighs. He knew at least a dozen ways to knock the fucker off him, pin
him
down, see how
he’d
like being raped with a fucking nightstick, but what would it get him but a moment’s reprieve? How many guards would come in to assist their pal? Take out their anger on him? Or worse, on Dougie?

So he lay there like a good dog and took it.

Another dry thrust, pain like nothing he’d ever known. He cried out again, half a
Please
buried in there somewhere before he managed to cut it off. He’d knocked out two of this guy’s teeth, blackened his eye and his jaw and his pride and maybe his standing in his boss’s eyes; no way would he give a
fuck
what Mat begged for. Would probably get off on it, truth be told. Was certainly getting off on ramming the nightstick up Mat’s ass, if the animalistic growls and grunts coming from him were any indication.

“Not so tough now, are you, hole? Moaning like a little bitch.” He was, kind of, wasn’t he? But at least Dougie had gone silent. That was all that mattered right now. He’d take ten fucking nightsticks if it would keep Dougie safe just a little bit longer.

Another thrust, more brutal than the last. Another scream to go with it. The wetness in his eyes overflowed, dripped down his cheeks. It was like a fucking dam breaking; suddenly he couldn’t stop it.

“You’re gonna taste this in the back of your fucking
throat
, hole.”

He believed it. This would be the end—this would kill him. There was no way anything could hurt this much without ripping him up inside.

“Your brother’s pretty quiet over there. Think he’s jerking off to all this screaming you’re doing? You think if I go over there right now, I’ll see him giving that little dick of his a tug? Mmm, yeah. Let’s not disappoint him.”

Through the haze of pain, Mat felt fingers at his hole, realized with growing horror where this was leading. One hooked inside him beside the nightstick, then a second.
Pulled
, stretching him until he screamed again. “That’s it, hole. That’s the sound I wanna hear. Makes my dick hard. See?”

The guard’s legs wedged between his own and wrenched them wide, and a second after that, as the nightstick torqued up at a terrible, blinding angle, the guard drove his cock in right beside it.

This time, Mat
did
beg. Couldn’t help it.
Don’t
and
Please
and
Oh God stop you’re
killing
me
, tear-choked and
desperate
and he didn’t even recognize his own voice, couldn’t stop the words from spilling out, too loud and too awful and
oh God Dougie’s listening . . .

The weight lifted. Droplets of cum hit his lower back, like the start of a rainfall. Drop. Drop drop drop. He shuddered with relief, the coolness of the cell soothing his gaping hole. Rubbed his face against the padded floor to wipe away the wet stickiness there.

The guard knelt over him, his presence a shadow now instead of a physical weight, but no less terrifying. He touched the nightstick to Mat’s back lightly, as if contemplating whether to strike him with it again. But the hit never came. Instead, the guard rolled the stick back and forth through his cooling cum, then shoved it into Mat’s ass again without warning. Mat sank his teeth into the soft padded floor and wrestled his scream into a whimper.

“There. Now everything’s in its proper place. And just so you don’t forget too quick, I’m gonna leave that nightstick to plug my cum up your slutty ass. I’ll leave a note for the guys who come on next, so you better make sure it’s still there when they come by. I don’t like being made out as a liar, you understand?” He twisted the nightstick. Jiggled it to make sure it was secure. “Keep your ass on display so they know which cell to open. I’d hate for them to open your brother’s by mistake.” And then, a little louder, “What time does shift change again, little hole?”

“M-midnight,” Dougie replied instantly.

He’d been listening in. Intently.
Mat felt queasy with the thought.

The guard checked his watch. “Wow, so long? Enjoy your evening, hole.”

A hard pat on the back of one welted thigh, a final cruel twist of the nightstick, and Mat lay perfectly still as his cell door opened and closed and locked again, holding his breath until the guard’s footsteps faded down the hall, away from Dougie’s door.

Eventually, Dougie slept.

For a while he just hunched in his corner, silently listening to Mat’s ragged cries.
The second time he’s cried today.
He’d tried to speak up, say some word of comfort, but each time, Mat interrupted him with a distraught, humiliated,
“Just go to
sleep
, Dougie!”

So he gave up, for the sake of Mat’s dignity. Pretended to sleep, until suddenly it wasn’t pretend anymore.

He woke up to Mat screaming again. Tired as if he’d never slept and aching in places he hadn’t known it was possible to hurt. Whatever they were doing to Mat, he couldn’t stop it, and though it shamed him to his toes to think it, left him hollow and queasy inside, he just huddled in his corner and kept his mouth shut, praying they wouldn’t come for him next.

They didn’t. Mat wouldn’t tell him anything, just,
I’m okay. Go back to sleep, Dougie.

He slept. Woke up next to his door unlocking, a pair of guards, two forced blowjobs and a hard kick to the belly after he’d swallowed down their cum. And when they took him from his cell, he didn’t ask where they were taking him. They wouldn’t have told him anyway. Mat raged at them, face pressed to the window of his cell door, voice carrying down the hallway as they dragged Dougie off—
Where are you taking him! Take me instead! Hey, get back here, you dog-fuckers, leave him alone!
—but they paid him no more mind than they paid Dougie.

They took him back to the doctor’s white-tiled domain. Everything in there scared him, but he went willingly enough—what would fighting get him? Where could he run in this place? The doctor looked up from his computer screen and smiled when the guards shoved Dougie through the door. “You’ll be good for me, boy?” he asked.

Dougie sniffled, resisted the insane urge to cover his nudity with his hands. “Y-yes, sir.”

He was, too. Up on the table as ordered, legs in the stirrups. The doctor removed the plug, let him use the toilet, cleaned him gently, and smoothed more salve across his burning flesh. Put the plug back in, prodded clinically at the worst of his bruising, seemed to be pleased with what he found. “You’ll heal fast, I think,” he said, and then, surprising Dougie, “There’s a toothbrush and paste in the cabinet over the sink. Use it.”

Dougie wasted no time scrubbing the taste of cum from his mouth. He rinsed, then filled the little paper cup again and drank. And again, and again, and again. God, he was so
thirsty
.

The doctor, eyes on his computer screen, said ever-so-casually, “Did I say you could do that, boy?”

Dougie froze, hands clenching in fear, the little paper cup crushing between his fingers. “N-no sir, but I—”

“Quiet.”

Dougie clamped his jaw shut so fast he bit his tongue. He wanted to explain, wanted to beg. Didn’t dare.

“I’d take a cane to you again, but Madame’s made clear the marks are bad for business with you, and they wouldn’t disappear in five days.”

Five days? What was in five days? And what business? Why wouldn’t anyone
tell
him anything?

The doctor pressed a button on the phone beside his terminal and said, “Bring in M-36-527.”

That number sounded familiar. Wasn’t that the new “name” the doctor had given him when he’d . . . what, processed him? No, different somehow. Off by one?

Mat. He means Mat.

“Sir,
please
—”

“I said
quiet
, boy!” The doctor stood, advanced a step. Dougie fell back a step, hating himself for it. He was a coward. A complete and utter
coward
.

He couldn’t even bring himself to hold his brother’s desperate gaze when they brought him in and beat him for Dougie’s mistake.

They dumped them back in their cells. Fed and watered them at what Mat assumed were regular intervals, though time seemed as fuzzy here as it often did in the ring—passing unnoticed sometimes, like after a too-hard hit to the head, but mostly slowing down,
crawling
, an endless morass of frozen seconds beneath the always-burning fluorescent lights. He tried to sleep, as much to pass the time as to escape his body or because he flat-out
needed
the rest. It was hard, though. The cell was freezing, and constant anxiety made any minutes he managed to slip under shallow and fretful, and it seemed like he’d earned a reputation among the guards as a favorite punching bag. Apparently, word about those two teeth had spread, and every fucking asshole with a nightstick in the place was looking to collect his pound of flesh.