The Flesh Cartel #2: Auction Read Free Page A

an excuse. Don’t make him hurt you with that thing.
    “Don’t worry, little hole,” the guard called, laughter in the sick fuck’s voice. “Your big bad brother’s behaving like a beaten little bitch. Aren’t you, big hole.” The unmistakable sound of something hard hitting flesh—the nightstick, or maybe his boot. Mat grunted, but he didn’t curse or yell.
    Please don’t fight back. Please just take it. It’ll be over sooner if you just take it.
    “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 11
    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 12 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