THE RUIN OF CASSY BEAUMONT: BOUGHT AND BROKEN

PLEASURE IN HELL

CASSY

She's back in front of me. I feel her kneel down, putting us at eye level even though I still can't see her.

"Here's what's going to happen," she says. Her voice is soft now. Conversational, almost. Like we're friends discussing plans for brunch. "I'm going to touch you. I'm going to make you feel things you don't want to feel. I'm going to make you come so hard you forget your own name. And you're going to hate every second of it."

Her gloved hand cups my face.

"And then, when it's over, you're going to take your money and leave. And you're going to tell yourself it was worth it. That it was just one night. That it doesn't matter."

She leans in closer. I feel her breath against my ear.

"But it will matter, Cassy. Because you're going to remember this for the rest of your life. You're going to remember what it felt like to be owned. To be nothing but a pretty thing someone bought. And you're never going to forget it."

My whole body is shaking now.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Then let's begin."

Her hands move to my shoulders. Still gloved. Still in control.

"Stand up."

I stand on shaking legs. The room spins even though I can't see it.

"Walk forward. Ten steps."

I count them in my head, each step taking me deeper into whatever hell I've sold myself into. At ten, she says, "Stop."

Something clicks. A light; low, red, barely enough to see by illuminates a small area of the room.

And I see what I'm standing in front of.

A Saint Andrew's Cross.

Dark wood, padded leather cuffs at each point, standing in the center of the room like an altar. My stomach drops.

"No," I breathe. "No, I didn't agree to…"

"You agreed to one night," she says from behind me. Still in shadow. Still faceless. "You agreed to let me do whatever I want with what I bought. Or did you not read the contract carefully?"

Contract. There was a contract. Pages and pages of legal jargon I'd skimmed through with my hands shaking, looking only for the number at the bottom. The amount that would save Delilah.

I didn't read the details.

Stupid. So stupid of me.

"I can't…"

"You can. And you will." She's right behind me now. I feel her body heat, feel her breath on my neck. "Unless you want to walk away right now. No money. No deal. Your sister stays exactly where she is."

Delilah's face flashes in my mind. Sitting in county jail, terrified, waiting for me to save her.

I close my eyes.

"What do I have to do?"

"That's better." Her lips brush the shell of my ear. "Face the cross. Put your hands on the upper restraints."

I do it. The leather is soft against my palms. Everything here is expensive, even the instruments of my degradation.

She takes my left wrist first. Buckles the cuff like she has done it a thousand times. Then my right. I'm stretched now, arms above my head, vulnerable in a way that makes my skin crawl.

"Spread your legs."

I hesitate.

Her hand comes down on my ass..hard. The crack echoes in the room. I yelp.

"When I give you an instruction, you obey immediately. Do you understand?"

My ass burned, and it brought tears to my eyes.

"Yes."

Another slap, this time harder.

"Yes, WHAT?"

"Yes, Ma'am!"

"Better."

I spread my legs. She kneels behind me, and I feel her buckling cuffs around my ankles, fixing them to the lower points of the cross. I'm completely spread now. Completely exposed, and helpless.

She stands. I hear her footsteps as she circles me, examining her work.

"Beautiful," she murmurs. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to see you like this."

Something about the way she says it makes my blood run cold.

How long? Who IS she?

"You're wondering who I am," she says, reading my mind. "You're wondering if you know me. If we've met before."

She traces a gloved finger down my spine. I shiver.

"We have met, Cassy. A long time ago. But you didn't see me then. You looked right through me like I was furniture. Like I was nothing."

Oh god.

Oh god, do I know her?

My mind races through faces, names, people I might have wronged. There are so many. I was cruel in the casual way of the very privileged, dismissive, condescending, blind to anyone who wasn't in my social circle.

"Don't worry," she says. "You'll figure it out eventually. But for now..."

I hear a drawer open, then the clink of metal. My imagination conjures a thousand horrors.

"For now, I'm going to teach you what it feels like to be helpless."

Something cold touches my back. It's metal. It trails down my spine, over my ass, between my legs. I gasp.

"This is a Wartenberg wheel," she says conversationally. "A medical instrument used for Neurological testing. But it has... other uses."

She rolls it across my skin, not hard enough to hurt, but enough that I feel every tiny pinprick. It's torture and pleasure all at once, my nerves lighting up like fireworks.

"Your skin is so sensitive," she observes. "I wonder how long I can do this before you start begging."

"I won't beg," I said through gritted teeth.

She laughs. It's a beautiful sound, that’s familiar somehow.

"Yes, you will. They all do. But you…you're going to beg so prettily for me. I'm going to make sure of it."

The wheel traces up my inner thigh. I bite my lip so hard I taste blood.

"You see, Cassy, pain and pleasure, they're not opposites. They're neighbors. And your body?" She presses the wheel against the inside of my thigh, just hard enough to make me gasp. "Your body doesn't know the difference."

She's right. I hate that she's right. The sensation is overwhelming, not quite pain, not quite pleasure, something in between that makes my brain short-circuit.

"But I'm not going to hurt you," she says, setting the wheel aside. "Not really. I'm going to do something much worse."

Her gloved hands slide up my sides, curve around to cup my breasts. I try not to react, but my treacherous body arches into the touch.

"I'm going to make you feel good."

Her thumbs brush over my n*****s. I bite back a moan.

"I'm going to make you c*m so hard you see stars."

One hand slides down my stomach, between my legs. I'm wet. God help me, I'm wet, and she knows it. She hums in approval.

"And you're going to hate yourself for it."

Her fingers find my c**t, still gloved, the leather is smooth which meant high friction . She circles it perfectly, building pressure that makes my knees weak.

"You're going to hate that your body responds to me. That it doesn't care who I am or what you're doing here. It just wants to feel good."

I'm shaking, fighting it. Trying so hard not to give her the satisfaction.

"And eventually…" She slides a finger inside me, and I can't stop the moan that escapes. "Eventually, you're going to beg me to let you c*m. And when you do, I want you to remember: you begged someone you can't even see, who bought you like property. Someone who owns you."

She works me like she has done this a thousand times, her fingers slid inside my p***y, while her thumb rub on my c**t, the pressure keeps building until I'm gasping, until my whole body is drawn as tight as a bowstring.

"Not yet," she says when I'm right on the edge. Her hand stops. "You don't c*m until I say you can."

"Please…" The word slips out before I can stop it.

"Please what?"

I'm panting, desperate and hating myself for this.

"Please... Ma'am..."

"Please what, Cassy? Use your words."

"Please let me cum."

"No."

She starts again. Building me back up, right to the edge then she stops.

I whimper.

"Again," she commands.

"Please let me c*m, Ma'am."

"Why should I?"

"Because I…" I can't think or form coherent thoughts. "Because I need…"

"You need what I give you. When I decide to give it." Her fingers curl inside me, hitting a spot that makes me see white. "Your pleasure belongs to me now. Just like the rest of you."

She does it again, and again. Bringing me to the edge and pulls me back up to five times, six. I lose count. I'm sobbing now, begging incoherently, completely broken.

"That's it," she croons. "That's what I wanted to hear. Now…"

Her thumb presses hard on my c**t, her fingers moving inside me with perfect precision.

"c*m for me."

I shatter.

The orgasm rips through me like lightning, like dying and being reborn. I scream…actually scream, my body convulsing against the restraints, every nerve ending firing at once.

It goes on forever, longer than any orgasm I've ever had. She works me through it, drawing out every last tremor, until I'm limp and gasping and destroyed.

"Good girl," she whispers.

Then I hear her walk away. I hear water running, she's washing her hands.

I hang in the restraints, my legs unable to support me, my mind white noise.

She comes back. Unbuckles my wrists first, then my ankles. I collapse, but she catches me, lowering me to the floor with surprising gentleness.

"Breathe," she says.

I breathe.

She wraps something around me, a blanket, soft and warm. Pulls me against her body. I'm too exhausted to resist.

"Water," she says, holding a bottle to my lips. I drink.

We sit like that for I don't know how long. She was holding me while I am trying to remember who I am.

"That was just the beginning, Cassy."

I don't understand. "The beginning?"

"Did you think one night would be enough? That I'd pay four million dollars for a few hours?"

She shifts, and I feel her stand, feel her walk across the room.

Then all the lights come on. Bright and merciless. I blink against the sudden glare, raising a hand to shield my eyes.

"Look at me," she commands.

I lower my hand.

And my world ends for the second time in six months.

Standing in front of me, wearing a burgundy suit that probably costs more than my entire former wardrobe, her dark hair falling in perfect waves past her shoulders, her face sharp and beautiful and utterly devastating…

Is Sienna Vale.