The Flesh Cartel #1: Capture

but not for you.”
    The tip of the vibrator grazed over his prostate. Up. Down. Up again. Working him mercilessly. Mat’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t moan. He wouldn’t fucking moan.
    The masturbator didn’t move at all. It was waiting, teasing him, coaxing him deeper.
    And then the vibrator cranked up another notch, hit him just right , and his hips twitched. That was all, just a twitch, but it was enough to fuck up into the masturbator just that little bit. Just enough to send his hips into an animal frenzy, pounding into that tight alien channel, like no ass or mouth or pussy but so fucking good anyway and why the fuck was he restrained so tightly, he needed deeper—
    No , damn it, this was what these assholes wanted, for him to froth at the mouth and rut like a fucking dog and he wasn’t their dog. Wasn’t anybody’s fucking dog. But there was no escaping the vibrator, making him shudder apart from the inside out. He squeezed his eyes shut. If he was going to come on command, like hell he was going to do it moaning for the camera like a porn star. He’d make them face the fact that he hated this, hated how his body was being used, hated this complete lack of control. They’d know it was rape. Torture. They’d know he was fighting it. They’d fucking know, and he hoped their sad little dicks would shrivel in their hands, unable to jerk off knowing how much he despised them, how much he hated them, how little he thought of them.
    When he finally came—not in the masturbator but all over his own body, endless ropes of stolen seed flooding his navel, pouring rather than shooting out of him—he didn’t growl or roar in hate.
    He whimpered.
    “Well,” the doctor said. “That wasn’t quite what I had in mind, but something tells me they’ll like it all the same.” He ran an idle finger through the spunk on Mat’s belly. “Seeing the mighty warrior brought so low. Fighting his pleasure and losing. Look at you, you’re disgusting.” He smeared his sticky finger against Mat’s lips, but the gag, thank God, stopped it from going further. The doctor didn’t seem to mind, just withdrew his hand and wiped it on a towel.
    “Clean him up, Pet,” he said, and then, when nothing happened, seemed to realize he’d dismissed her prematurely. He grumbled and wiped the cum off Mat’s stomach himself, but seemed unhappy enough about it that Mat kept waiting for him to take out that displeasure on him. So it was no surprise when he tossed the towel down and grabbed Mat’s jaw in a surprisingly strong hand. Turned Mat’s head toward him. Mat stared determinedly at the doctor’s chin—he hadn’t forgotten that threat about looking the guy in the eye, and he wasn’t about to gamble his nuts for his fucking pride.
    Like he had any left after what he’d just done. On camera .
    “I need to take some photos now. Preferably not of you strapped down to a table. So tell me, if I let you up, will you behave? Or will those gentlemen glowering in the corner need to beat you into submission again?”
    Mat glowered right back . . . at the doctor’s chin. Probably lost something that way, but he did it anyhow.
    Unsurprisingly, the doctor seemed unimpressed. “You think you don’t fear pain, but that’s only because you don’t truly know what pain is yet.”
    Was he fucking kidding ? Mat was a fucking cage fighter, for fuck’s sake.
    The doctor nodded as if Mat had spoken aloud. “Or perhaps I should have them beat your brother? I think you fear that very much indeed.”
    Mat winced, bared his teeth around the bit gag.
    “I’m sorry, I couldn’t quite make that out. Just a moment.” The doctor reached around Mat’s head to unfasten the gag, and as much as Mat wanted to spit in the fucker’s face, he just swallowed instead. “Now then, I do believe you were saying you’ll behave?”
    “Yes,” he ground out. “I’ll behave.”

    Dougie was still crying when the doctor made him stand with his back to one wall.
    “This photo is going to help decide your fate,” the doctor told him as he set up a digital camera on the tripod that had held the video one. “So perhaps you can pull yourself together?”
    Dougie nodded, sniffing hard and blinking back his tears.
    “Stare straight into the camera. That’s it. Neutral expression, just like your passport photo.” Were they making some kind of fake passport? What the hell kind of place was this? It seemed so . . . organized. Official. Not like a