The Flesh Cartel, #10: False Gods

himself, all he really felt now was fear. Panic. Desperation. Those old familiar friends he knew so well and couldn’t fucking seem to escape.
    “Hello, doggie.” No, it’s Dougie , he thought, but then realized his mistake. A heavy hand landed on top of his head and tangled itself in his hair. Gave an insistent tug.
    For all his intentions, Dougie wasn’t in enough control of his exhausted body to squash the pained whine that escaped his mouth.
    “I’m Luke,” the man said. The one who killed the chicken , Dougie’s fevered mind filled in.
    He’s ruthless. He doesn’t show mercy.
    Dougie was a person, though, not a chicken.
    Or maybe he wasn’t a person after all, considering Luke had greeted him as “doggie.”
    Maybe Luke doesn’t kill dogs. Maybe he just kicks and beats them instead.
    “I—” Dougie started, but then realized he had no idea what he was supposed to say. But it seemed rude not to reply at all.
    “What was that, doggie?” Luke asked. “You’re thirsty? I bet. I hear you’ve been down here screaming your lungs out and crying and pissing yourself for hours. That’s bound to make any pup a little dehydrated.”
    Or maybe he’s kind after all. Maybe killing is its own mercy. Maybe he’s kind.
    Except Luke’s voice didn’t sound kind at all.
    “Anyway, Master wants you to spend some time with me and my boys. Teach you some basic fuckin’ appreciation for how good you got it here. But I’ll get you a drink first.”
    “Please,” Dougie rasped. Wow, his voice really was rough. Felt like he’d swallowed a big handful of broken glass. “Sir.”
    Luke nodded, and Dougie waited for him to get a cup, to unstrap Dougie’s hands. But instead, he moved closer—climbed right onto the miserable bed frame and then straddled Dougie, sat on his chest and ground Dougie’s back into the metal slats and Jesus, he couldn’t breathe with this mountain on top of him, muscles already weakened and growing weaker by the second and then Luke was grabbing his jaw and pressing something to his lips and suddenly Dougie knew exactly how this would go.
    No. God, please, no. Not that, not now.
    But he’d been too well trained, and he was far, far too desperate to claw back into Nikolai’s good graces, so he opened his mouth and sealed his lips around Luke’s soft cock, and when Luke let loose a hot salty flood of bitter wretchedness against Dougie’s tongue, Dougie swallowed like a good boy.
    Choked and sputtered and oh God it was running out his mouth, up his nose, into his fucking sinuses and he’d be smelling and tasting this for fucking ever and it wouldn’t fucking stop but he just kept on swallowing and swallowing.
    “Ahhh,” Luke sighed, and sat back again. Zipped his flaccid dick back into his mud-spattered jeans. “Good dog. Man, you must love the taste of piss to guzzle mine up like that. Guess I better remember that for later.”
    Dougie was too disgusted with Luke—with himself—and too busy trying to keep himself from puking to reply, so he just shut his eyes and nodded. I’ll be good. Whatever you want from me. Just, please, help me come home.
    “Yeah, that’s right. You ’n’ me are gonna have a good time then. Let me just grab your collar—dogs gotta be leashed on this nice property, you understand—and then we can be on our merry way. Stay .” He hopped off Dougie’s body, surprisingly limber for his size, and strolled out of view.
    The idea of wearing a collar somehow terrified and traumatized him even more than the thought of getting pissed in, but Dougie forced himself to breathe in and out, in and out, center himself, think of how worth it all this would be once he was at Nikolai’s feet again. It would all be a bad dream. Just a bad dream.
    Luke returned. The collar was heavy and thick, made of stiff new leather. Fragrant. So much bigger and more imposing than the delicate thing Madame had made him wear for the auction all those months ago. He had trouble lowering his chin in this one, and Luke was buckling it so tight he felt like he was choking, even though he could breathe just fine. The pressure against the front of his throat, that awful crush of his Adam’s apple, was near unbearable already. How would he make it through the hour, the day, the God-knew-how-long he’d have to stay with Luke before he learned to appreciate Nikolai again, learned not just in his head but in his heart and gut and soul?
    Luke hooked a leash onto the D-ring that hung