The Flesh Cartel, #10: False Gods

Tonight would be bad enough without making Nikolai punish him.
    Dougie was kneeling in front of him now, all perfect poise and professional disinterest. It should have made Mat feel better to know that this wasn’t harming Dougie, wasn’t hurting him at all, but that somehow made it worse. Because it meant that Dougie, his brother—who’d hurt him before but then cried with shame, apologized and kissed him and cried —was gone. And Mat couldn’t help but wonder how much of that was his fault. He’d had his chance to save Dougie, and he’d blown it, and so what if it’d been a trap—he’d still walked right into it, should’ve known better, should’ve overcome it somehow. They’d be free now if he had, but instead he’d killed whatever last vestige of hope Dougie had harbored, had caused Dougie a week of such abject brutality that Dougie had shattered completely.
    And of course Nikolai had picked up the pieces, glued them back together just the way he wanted. Glued them back into a slave who was not just willing to rape his brother, but eager . Downright mean about it. Because of course Dougie hated him now. Between Nikolai’s lies and Mat’s own incompetence, was it any wonder?
    But maybe . . . just maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe there was still some tiny seed of the old Dougie buried down deep in there somewhere. And maybe Mat could reach it. After all, Nikolai hadn’t gagged him this time. He could speak this time.
    “Dougie,” he tried.
    Between his knees, Dougie’s eyes flicked up, stared hard at him a second, and then swept down again as he let out a theatrical moan, wrapping a hand around Mat’s flaccid dick. Mat shuddered bodily at the touch, felt his nuts try to crawl right up into his belly.
    “What a big uncut cock your brother has,” Nikolai said, his voice taunting.
    “Mmm,” Dougie replied, fisting Mat slowly. In his tight grip, Mat’s dick flopped around like a piece of meat. They had to be crazy to think he’d get off on this sick show.
    “Much bigger than yours. Are you jealous?”
    “No, Master. Mine pleases you; that’s all I need. This is an animal’s dick. Only useful for donkey-shows like this.”
    Had they rehearsed this? Mat couldn’t bear to think that Dougie was speaking honestly right now.
    “Dougie,” Mat tried again, then gagged horribly when Dougie sucked his entire cock into his mouth, worked a nut in there as well, swirled the whole package with his tongue, hummed to send vibrations shooting through his flesh. Despite everything—the pain in his arms, the fucking chasm in his heart—Mat felt the first stirrings of arousal. No, not arousal. Physical stimulation, that was all. “Dougie, listen to me, please —”
    Dougie wedged his hand between Mat and the chair, pressed his palm into Mat’s taint and wiggled a finger up his ass to find his prostate.
    “Dougie, stop it!” Mat jerked so hard the chair rattled. But Dougie was persistent, followed along, even used the opportunity to work his hand further back, drive his finger in deeper.
    “You can hardly expect him to answer to someone who doesn’t even know his name,” Nikolai said.
    “Fuck you, asshole.” Mat grunted and twisted in his bonds, trying to ignore the sensation of Dougie’s finger—no, finger s now—stuffed in his ass and Dougie’s ruthlessly efficient mouth on his cock and balls ( don’t think about how he learned this don’t think about it don’t think about it ), even as his erection started to swell. “I’ll fucking kill you for this. I’ll kill you for what you’ve done to him.”
    I’ll bleed you dry. I’ll strangle you. I’ll disembowel you. I’ll beat your face to a pulp, feel all the bones in your body break in my hands. I’ll rip your cock off and stuff it down your fucking throat.
    “Be a dear and silence him, would you, Douglas? I’d hate for him to upset our guests.”
    Dougie mumbled “Yes, Master” around Mat’s half-hard cock. He didn’t pull off, didn’t pull his fingers from Mat’s ass. Just lifted his own ass off his heels, leaned against Mat’s lap, and thrust the fingers of his free hand into his own hole. What the fuck? How was that supposed to silence him? Shock value, maybe?
    Well, Mat wasn’t going silent without a fight. “Stop this! Somebody fucking stop this. God fucking damn you, all of you! He’s sick! Can’t you see he’s fucking sick? He doesn’t know what he’s doing!”
    Silence from the peanut gallery—unless