The Flesh Cartel, #10: False Gods

Starting with whoever was tying him up. Way too tight, rough rope, elbows and shoulders twisted miserably, knots pinching his skin.
    “Remember”—Mat lurched at the sound of Nikolai’s voice so close behind him—“he needs to be able to perform.” Perform? Perform how ? “Don’t hurt him too much.” Oh. Nausea flared low in Mat’s gut. Perform like that . So Nikolai expected him to get it up in front of this sicko crowd? What for?
    “Yes, Master,” Dougie said, and nausea burst so violently through Mat’s middle he almost hurled right then and there. So it was Dougie tying him up with so much force. With so much anger. And now he knew exactly what for.
    He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away— don’t cry in front of the perverts don’t cry don’t let them see you cry —but there was no escaping the oily crawl of their gazes across his skin.
    And no escaping this chair, either. When Dougie circled around him to tie his ankles to the outsides of the front legs, he couldn’t fight. He wouldn’t kick his brother. Wouldn’t hurt him, not even knowing how much Dougie was about to hurt them both.
    “See how docile the beast becomes around the boy?” Nikolai announced to the gathered crowd. “How well he behaves for his brother? This was what attracted me to them in the first place. They put on a lovely show at Madame’s, and that was before they’d had a moment of training.”
    Dougie’s face barely twitched, even though he must have been remembering that night. Mat had assumed the guilt at what he’d done at the auction had torn Dougie apart, yet here he was, not even registering.
    “Before they came to me, their only loyalty was to each other. Now Douglas answers to me alone. Isn’t that right, Douglas?”
    “Oh yes, Master.” No mistaking the joy in Dougie’s voice, the only emotion besides anger at Mat he’d shown tonight. Dougie wasn’t checked out. He just didn’t care anymore. Like Mat wasn’t his brother anymore, but more than that. Worse than that.
    Like Mat wasn’t even a person anymore.
    “Shall I give you all a demonstration?”
    Enthusiastic murmurs from the crowd, leering eyes on the both of them. What kind of sick fuckery inspired people to cheer for forced incest? Mat started struggling in earnest, but the ropes were tight and the chair was bolted to the floor. All he was doing was hurting himself. Nobody seemed to care, except the man-who-would-be-his-master, who stared at Mat’s straining, sweating body as if devouring Mat with his eyes, licking his lips and breathing way too fast. He was getting off on this. On Mat’s pain. Mat’s panic. Mat’s struggle.
    Nikolai let it continue for a minute or two, then clamped a hand down on the jointure of Mat’s neck and shoulder, fingers digging hard enough into a pressure point that Mat’s whole arm went tingly. He was too disgusted, too enraged, to be meek about it, and shouted, “Ow, you fucker , get off me!” Tried to shake free. Nikolai only pressed harder. Mat’s next cry was wordless, whimpering. Nikolai didn’t let go. If he was waiting for Mat to beg in front of all these people, he’d be waiting a long fucking time. Even if he got out the serum injector.
    Not that he would, Mat didn’t think. Nikolai needed Mat to get hard sometime this year.
    Mat squeezed his eyes shut. When he pried them open again, he saw the extra-special sick fuck right there in the first chair, cock out of his unzipped pants and shoved down one of the waiter’s throats. He was fisting the guy’s hair so hard that Mat half expected it to come out by the roots. He wasn’t letting the guy breathe at all.
    Maybe letting Nikolai break you would be better.
    No. No. Who would save Dougie then?
    Didn’t matter anyway. It was too late for him change the outcome of the evening. He was already tied down, helpless not to obey.
    Finally, Nikolai unclenched his hand from Mat’s shoulder. “Get him hard,” Nikolai said, softly, but the eyes of the crowd let Mat know they’d heard.
    “Of course, Master.” Dougie’s reply was faux-sweet, edged with something that wasn’t disgust, wasn’t fear, wasn’t shame, most fucking certainly wasn’t apology. “With pleasure.”
    Mat shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut, tilting his head until his skull smacked the back of the chair.
    “Watch your brother work,” Nikolai warned.
    “Fuck you, you sick fuck,” Mat snarled back, but lifted his head all the same. Opened his eyes.