Warning: possible adultery, neglect, angry men, dark elements….
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: August Walker, side of Andrew Barber
Summary: You find a cold reception at your new job, but it’s not much better than your home life.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
The salad’s still in the fridge. The one you made Andy. The croutons are soggy and the lettuce is getting slimy. You wish you’d noticed before you prepped for tomorrow. At least the quinoa will keep longer.
You go to bed with the forgotten container on your mind. Did he forget or does he just not care? Each night you sleep alone and feel further and further from your own husband. You don’t know him anymore.
When you married, he told you what he wanted and you became that. Because you love him. You kept a clean house, you learned how to cook the things he likes; healthy things. Salads, pesto, consomme, all the fancy things from scratch, never from a box or a bag. Now he doesn’t even touch those things.
Or you.
You roll over and sigh. You close your eyes. You’re almost through the week. That’s something you can be proud of. Maybe even he will when you get your first cheque and let him know you can help with repair on the garage door.
Andy’s snoring beside you when your alarm goes off. Your head swirls with drowsiness as your unconsciousness sticks like sludge. He nudges you meanly with his knuckles.
You slap your hand over on the nightstand and silence the alarm. You sit up and bobble. You rub your eyes with the heels of your hand.
“I’ll get coffee going…” you speak through the frog in your throat.
You slide off the bed as he pulls his pillow over his head. His clothes from the night before are on the floor. You pick them up and put them in the hamper before you go.
You brew a pot of coffee. You hesitate by the counter. You won’t bother with breakfast. You’re not very hungry and you’ve wasted enough food.
You take a cup of coffee and drink it as you get ready for the day. Dusty grey trousers with an elastic band, a plain white blouse, and a knit vest over it in a similar shade to your bottoms. You step into your orthotic black flats and stare into the mirror.
More than Andy has changed. You’re older. A few new lines. Bigger. You have to wear the vest to hide how the blouse tugs around the buttons. Maybe with the extra money you can sign up for a gym membership. Working out at home never worked well for you.
You go back to the kitchen. Andy is drinking coffee and rubbing his head. He quickly drops his hand and blacks out the screen of his phone on the counter. He grumbles above his mug.
“How’s work?” You ask since he offers nothing.
“It’s work.” He says.
“Yeah.” You pause and watch him. He doesn’t look at you. “I think my job’s going okay.”
“Oh…? That’s good.” He intones dully. He checks his phone again. “I should get ready.”
You let him go. How are things so awkward with your own husband? You swear, your boss is easier to handle. Mr. Walker at least is blunt and direct.
Andy doesn’t take the food. Again. You take it with you. You’ll figure something out.
You get to headquarters and check in with your credentials. You continue up the elevator and shove your lunch into the fridge. You take the time as the coffee machine churns to get yourself focused.
You knock at Mr. Walker’s door before you enter. He’s inside, already scowling. He has a tablet in his hands, tapping at it in frustration. You put his coffee down. He doesn’t look up but he does thank you. His grizzled tone crawls into your ears. Did Andy even thank you for the coffee?
You go to the chair still against the wall and sit. You check the calendar in the secured phone app.
“Mr. Walker,” you pipe up cautiously as you lower the phone.
His eyes flick up.
“Is there anything you need for your meeting?” You ask.
His eyes cling to you and the corner of his lips twitch. “Nothing…” he looks back down. He sits up straight and you notice his shoulder is still off kilter. “Thank you.”
Footsteps echo from further down the hall. You listen through the wall as Walker sighs at his tablet. There’s an out of key whistling that grows closer with the slap of soles. Someone knocks at the door.
“August. Toodaloo.”
You recognise the voice. It’s the agent you dealt with the first day. Fowler. Walker growls and rubs his cheek.
“Damnit,” he growls.
You stand up and he watches you with a furrow. You don’t know what you’re doing either. You go to the door and open it only a little.
“Agent Fowler, is it?” You greet.
“Hey, there she is. You made it past the first day,” he puts his hand on the door frame and leans on one foot, trying to see past you. “Where’s Walker?”
“Busy.” You say. “I can pencil you in for later.
Fowler scoffs and eyes you up and down. “Excuse me?”
“He’s busy preparing for a meeting.” You insist. “Does one work for you?”
“Wow…” he whistles again. “Doll, I’m in that meeting too. Let me in.”
“I can’t. He’ll see you in the meeting.” Your heart pounds.
His eyes narrow and he pokes his tongue in his cheek. He rocks on his feet and drags his hand off the door frame. He nods.
“Hard ass,” he clucks. “Just like him.”
You don’t budge. You wait until he saunters away. You exhale and slowly shut the door. You turn back and sit down in the swivel chair. Walker is watching you.
“Sir, I…”
“Great job.” He says flatly and sits back, easing as he puts his gaze back to the tablet. “Guy’s unbearable.” He reaches for his cup. “Even when I have my coffee.”
You swallow and hold back a smile. You know that from someone like him, that’s a big deal. Hell, even from your husband, those words would make your day. Or any sort of acknowledgement or praise.
You wince. Don’t compare them. That’s home, this is work. Keep it separate. This is your thing. Your time away.
Maybe here, you’ll remember who you were before Andy made you into this boring cyborg.
Warnings: Weapons deal, threat/intimidation, dark flirting, dangerous tension
Words: 270 words
A/N: Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles
Prompt: June 8th - Living La Vida Loca - Ricky Martin/ “Like a bullet to your brain.”
The warehouse smelled like oil, saltwater..
You had brought August Walker for one reason.
Not to negotiate. Not to charm.
He was there to stand behind you and make your words heavier.
Instead, he stepped forward.
“The price doubled,” he announced loudly
Every head turned.
Your smile stayed fixed, but something cold slid neatly into place behind your ribs.
Across the warehouse, the broker stilled. His men did too. August remained calm, broad and silent now, like he had not just taken a knife to weeks of careful work.
You let the quiet stretch until it became painful.
Then you looked up at him.
“Did I ask you to speak?”
His gaze cut to yours. “I’m handling it.”
“No,” your voice soft enough that others couldn’t hear. “You’re failing at the one job I brought you here to do.”
A muscle jumped in August’s jaw.
“Back off,” he murmured, not looking away. “Unless you want to burn every bridge in this room.”
You smiled then, slow and sharp.
“If I have to do your job for you, Walker, will be messy, like a bullet to your brain messy.”
The threat settled between you.
His eyes darkened, not with fear. You would have been disappointed if it were fear.
No, August looked at you like he was deciding whether to kill you or kiss you.
One of the broker’s men shifted.
August’s hand moved first, barely lifting his jacket to reveal the gun at his ribs.
The room froze.
You did not look away from him, this was the moment. You weren’t backing down.
“Original price,” you called, done with male bullshit.
Warning: possible adultery, neglect, angry men, dark elements….
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: August Walker, side of Andrew Barber
Summary: You find a cold reception at your new job, but it’s not much better than your home life.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
“Mr. Walker.” You enter the office only after he calls for you to.
You approach carefully and set down the coffee cup in front of him. He squints at it and narrows his eyes. He points at the logo and tilts his head.
“I was grabbing one for myself. I figured… wouldn’t have to make a mess here.” You explain.
You didn’t think twice about it. As you sat in the drive through, the extra three bucks for a second coffee was instinct. You felt wrong showing up with only one for yourself.
He sits back. He glances at your empty hands. You look down.
“I left it in the kitchen. Didn’t wanna spill in here.” You put your hands behind you. Oh no. You feel your pants squeezing around your stomach. “Is there anything I can do to get the day started, sir?”
He looks down and clucks. He shakes his head. He rolls his chair closer to his desk and leans on his elbow, then jolts and sits up. He rubs his shoulder and snarls at his large monitor.
You back up and resume your vigil against the wall. You look down at the floor and shift, trying to cover the scuffed toes of your brown flats with the wide legs of your trousers. You hold in a sigh.
You hoped this job would help you feel more useful. It just feels like you’re just as unwanted here as at home. Despite every effort, you just can’t find a place for yourself.
Mr. Walker groans and shifts in his seat. He winces, thick neck straining, jaw tensing. He moves his arm gingerly and leans on the other. You look away before you can get caught staring.
Once he finishes the coffee, you clear away the cup. As you go to throw it away, you sip your own lukewarm drink waiting in the kitchen. You don’t take too long but as you come back to the office, the door is open and your boss is gone.
You stand by the wall and sway nervously. Maybe he’s going to talk to HR and get you tossed out. No one wants a shadow looming around and doing nothing.
A strange noise tickles your nerves. You turn and watch Mr. Walker push a chair through the door. He turns it toward you and rolls it up right beside you. He doesn’t look at you or say a word. He just points to the seat and marches back to his own.
He sits. You do too. Cautiously.
“Thank you, sir.” You say.
He doesn’t answer. You fold your hands and tap your toe anxiously. Silence fills the space and scrapes in your ears. You can hear his stomach growl and he clears his throat as he taps on his mouse.
He finally says something as the clock hits twelve. He tells you to take a break. You finish your cold coffee as you wander outside of the oppressive confidential hallways.
You don’t know this area well. There’s a familiar logo down at the corner. You head down to the pharmacy and drop your empty cup in a bin near the door. You stroll through the bright white aisles as 80s music drones around you.
Not much of a selection. You grab what you can find and pay at the counter. You can only imagine why the ridiculous thing is on clearance.
You head back to work. Hopefully you’re not so early that you infringe on Mr. Walker’s time.
You wait out the hour as you unpack your purchase and heat it up in the microwave. You take it out as the hot beans sewn into the soft sheath warm your hand. You return to Mr. Walker’s office and knock. He grunts.
You let yourself in as he stays behind his monitor. Your stomach swirls. You slowly lower the stuffed oxen with its fuzzy mane and try to hide it behind your back. This was stupid.
“What’re you hiding?” He asks without looking up.
You clear your throat and jerk in surprise. You cross the office and slowly reveal the heat bag in the form of the furry muskox. Your lips slant.
“For your shoulder.”
He slowly tears his eyes from the monitor and stares at the creature. “My shoulder?”
You bite your lip and nod. “Sorry, sir. I saw the way… you’re favouring it. I thought heat might help.”
He’s silent as he considers the animal. “Why?”
“No one should be in pain and… I guess I need something to do. I’m here to help you.” You look down and turn over the ox. “Unless you don’t want it. If I’m… I can hand in my resignation if I’m in the way. I thought…” you shake your head. “Sorry, sir.”
He taps his fingers lightly on the space bar without pressing it. He reaches over and puts his hand under yours. He touches the ox with his thumb and slowly slides it from your grasp. He looks it over then lays it on his shoulder; balancing it there.
He sits back and his shoulder slackens, just a little. He hums.
“Appreciated.” He turns his attention back to the screen.
“It’s… nothing.” You go back to the chair and sit.
It’s quiet again. You swivel a few times then stop yourself before you can annoy him. Your eyes wander around the office and you twiddles your thumbs.
“Barber,” he calls you by your married name.
“Sir?”
“If you’re… not too busy, another coffee?”
“Yes, sir.” You stand. “Anything else I can get you? Have you eaten?”
He doesn’t answer. You wince.
“I… I should mind my business. Habit.” You correct yourself and head for the door.
You leave and exhale as the door shuts. It’s something. Just a little bit of progress.
Coffee. As small as that is, it’s not nothing. If he can’t find a use for you, you’ll just need to find it for yourself.
Warnings: This will include dark elements, abuse, trauma, neglect, kidnap, food play, including non/dubcon. Please do not read if these elements or any dark elements make you uncomfortable.
Character: August Walker
Summary: a miserable situation is switched for another. (another wife-buying fiend)
Please reblog if you enjoy and leave some feedback! Muah 💋
You go back and forth through the files. The information is too much for your reeling mind. So long locked in the darkness, hiding in your own mind, and you just can't grasp this new situation. Who is this person he wants you to be?
He. August. That's his name but is that what you call him?
What if you can't be who he wants? What if he realises your defects? You've never been outspoken. You've never been remarkable. You've strived to be anything but.
Your eyelids droop and you jerk up in reaction. You've trained yourself not to let yourself doze. The moments you had in the last.... However long have been fleeting moments of exhaustion. You can never be too cautious.
The door opens again. You quickly refocus on the files. A savoury aroma tugs at your nose and stomach and your stomach roars. You try not to show the sudden thunder crashing in your guts.
The man, August, whoever, nears and sets down a tray by your elbow. Your mouth fills with saliva. Your head pounds and your muscles tense. You stare at the fuzzing words.
He takes the folder from you and closes it. He lays it down and slides the tray in front of you. You nearly gag at the sight of so much food. It takes all you have not to plunge into it face first.
You're nauseous at the scent of it all. Thick sausages, a mound of whipped potatoes, thick chunks of cheese, rolls of cold cuts, glistening grilled veggies, sliced chicken with dark seasoning, wild rice... You can't name every piece on the tray for all the excess.
You look at August as he grabs the other chair and drags it around. You sit back, hands falling onto your lap, and stare at him. He reaches for the fork and knife and slices into the thick sausage. He spears it on the tines and brings it to your lips. He smears the grease across your mouth until you open up.
He shoves it inside and you latch on with your teeth. He pulls the fork free, sliding it along your lip. You bite into the juicy pork and almost moan. Your eyes prick with a sheen of tears. Your body courses in delight. You didn't realise how much you missed real food. For so long, just a scrap of bread or handful of granola would do. Or whatever else they would scrape together.
Before you can finish chewing, he offers another piece. He doesn't wait as he forces it into your mouth. Your chest flips. He's so intent on each bite.
You look at him as his eyes cling to your mouth and the motion of your jaw. The third piece of sausage he plucks off the fork with his fingers and puts it in your mouth. He circles your lips with his fingertips then cups your jaw to close it.
You chew and swallow, your stomach gurgling loudly.
"Thank you..." You murmur and he taps your lips and tuts.
He grabs some cheese and shows it to you. Your eyes almost cross as you watch him bring it closer. You open your mouth again. He feeds you gruffly with one hand as his other settles on your thigh.
He shifts his chair even closer. He points you to the fork. You take it and scoop up the mashed potatoes. As you lean forward to take a bite, he pets your throat.
"Good girl," he purrs.
You ignore the flicker that strikes in you. You push your to tongue through the potatos and savour the flavour. You're already starting to feel full.
He takes a piece of the chicken and toys with it. He puts it between his teeth and holds it there. He grabs your chin and makes you face him. He leans in close until you can smell the rosemary.
You gulp then pinch the meat with your teeth. He hums and lets you take it. He slowly urges you away as the morsel slips onto your tongue and you seal your lips.
He kneads your thigh as you turn to stare at the bountiful tray. You swallow as his touch inches higher. You twitch as he spreads his hand over your stomach and jiggles the cushion still there despite your neglect.
You have more sausage then some cheese. Some you pick up with the fork, other pieces he feeds you with his fingers. He picks his lips and growls as he watches you.
You frown as you chew a piece of turkey and cracker. Your stomach hurts. You wriggle uncomfortably.
"I'm getting full..." You eke out.
He hushes you and offers more chicken. You groan and make yourself open your mouth. He shoves it all the way back to your throat, nearly gagging you.
He drags his fingers out and down your chin and neck. He pokes between your cleavage and hooks his fingers in the top of the nightie. You shiver as he follows the flimsy cup up to the strap and guides it down your arm. Your tit falls out and he snarls.
You fidget and he gropes your, pushing his wide thumb against your nipple. You whimper and press yourself against the back of the chair. He tweaks your nipple.
"Finish," he commands.
You pout and nod. You reach for more food, your insides screaming. As you bite into a white carrot, he bends forward and nips at your naked tit. His breath scalds you and he opens his mouth wide, sucking the pillow flesh. He moans as he does, his other hand fondling your other tit through the fabric.
You awkwardly eat over the top of his head as he eager tending twinges in your core. You can't tell which makes you more queasy; the food or him.
Warnings: This will include dark elements, abuse, trauma, neglect, kidnap, including non/dubcon. Please do not read if these elements or any dark elements make you uncomfortable.
Character: August Walker
Summary: a miserable situation is switched for another. (another wife-buying fiend)
Please reblog if you enjoy and leave some feedback! Muah 💋
You shiver as the man lifts your foot to the brim of the tub. You’re unstable as you balance on one leg. He coats your leg in shaving cream, spreading it with his large hand. You shiver as you can do nothing against his diligent grooming.
He starts with your calf. He shaves away the hair in even lines, thoroughly dragging the blades through the cream. His hand moves from your ankle to knee, angling your leg to his needs. His focus is unbreakable. You take that chance to get a look at him.
He’s big. Even as he squats at his task, you can tell. He’s burly too. Shoulders broad and rounded with muscles, hands large and thick, his chest rising and falling a calm even keel as he works. You wouldn’t even think to attempt to overpower him.
He works on your thigh, leaning in as he continues his tedious work. He puts your leg straight and turns you to get the back. You stare at the wall blankly. You feel like nothing more than an object as he twists and turns you any way he likes.
He drags his knuckle over your ass and prods beneath the cheek, along the crease of your thigh, bouncing the cushion. You cringe in embarrassment. He continues to take stock of you.
He switches legs. He’s faster this time. Less curious.
You stand still and shivering, waiting as he rinses the razor. You assume he’s done.
He’s not. He clucks and pushes two fingers between your thighs. He wiggles them until you pull them apart. He switches the razor for a pair of scissors. You close your eyes as he trims at your coiling hair.
His fingers graze your cunt as he works. He leans in as he focuses on the task. When he’s content with the length, he grabs the cream and razor. He cleans up the edges along your thighs and across your pelvis but leaves a healthy patch of hair.
He taps your hip and you turn around. He nudges your back until you hinge at the waist, bending enough to expose yourself. He continues to trim and shave from that angle.
You flinch as he pushes his fingers between your lips again. He plays with you and hums. You clench. He purrs and pulls away.
He stands up and you stay as you are. He moves behind you, the cabinet closing with a sharp click. He grips your shoulder and turns you around. He takes a towel and unfolds it. You step out and he dries you himself; rubbing from head to toe; as intent as ever, lingering along your tits and ass.
He moves you to the side and bends to dislodge the stopper in the tub. He straightens and grabs your elbow. He forces you across the cold tile to the door. He stops and squeezes your arm before he opens the door.
You let him drag you through the halls. You keep your head down. He takes you into a room with high ceilings and ivory walls. There’s a tall doorway looking into another across from you. He puts you at the center, by the white sofa facing two round backed sitting chairs before an antique fireplace. He points to the floor. Stay.
He brushes by you and disappears into the next room. You stare at the golden embroidery in the carpet. He returns and comes around you. He pulls fabric over your head without warning. You bring your arms up to poke through the straps as he tugs it down your body. The skimpy nightie barely kisses your thighs.
He leads you to the table between two chairs, at an angle from the sitting area. He sits you down. You hunch down meekly, trying not to think too much. He grabs your shoulders and pushes them back. You sit up straight and he lets go.
He walks away again and returns with a folder. He puts it in front of you. You look at him and quickly shy away. He sits across from you and opens the folder then jabs his finger onto the front page.
“Read it. Remember it.” He commands.
His voice startles you. You realise he hasn’t said a word to you. His voice is deep and harsh. Exactly what you would expect.
You nod and bend your neck to read. Last name ‘Harper’, First Name ‘Mercy’, Birthdate… You’re confused. Who is this woman? There are blank fields; no height, no weight, no hair colour. In a typeface font, there’s pages of her biography; early life, education, occupation…
You turn the pages and pause. You look up at the man. He watches you calmly.
“You don’t want to forget who you are.” He warns and points back to the folder. You look down again furrow your brow, then glance at him again. Oh. Ohhh. You’re supposed to be this woman. “Mercy.”
Your eyes go wide then you nod. You grab the folder and slide it closer, leaning it on the edge of the table. You read on.
Then you find another profile. This one is filled out completely. It has the man’s picture attached. August Octavian Walker. A rather presumptuous name. You don’t judge, you just read.
You rub your cheek as a yawn brews. Your head hurts. Your stomach too. It growls loudly as you flip another page. The man sniffs and leans forward. He’s watching you.
You try to hold onto the information but it all passes through you like wind. You get to the end and chew your lip. You turn back to the start and resume from there.
“Good.” He praises as he stands. “Continue.”
You obey. There’s safety in that task. You can hide in the pages as you can hide in the identity of this other woman.
He crosses the room and leaves through the door you came in. It locks loudly behind him. You cautiously peek over at it. It’s just another cell, even if the walls are nicer.
Warnings: This will include dark elements, abuse, trauma, neglect, kidnap, including non/dubcon. Please do not read if these elements or any dark elements make you uncomfortable.
Character: August Walker
Summary: a miserable situation is switched for another. (another wife-buying fiend)
Please reblog if you enjoy and leave some feedback! Muah 💋
The motion of the car keeps you on edge. You dread your destination. Before you were lost and confused, even curious. You were scared then, you are now too. The only difference is that you don't fight it. Fear is practical, even if futile.
The car hurtles by others. The sound of traffic around you is another walk to your captivity. You have no way to cry out for help. You wriggle but any noise could capture the wrong attention.
When thebtires stop, your chest sinks. You sit and wait. You hear everything. The locks unclick, the recoil of the seatbelt, the impact of soles on pavement. Another click and the sudden release of air around you casts a shiver that speckles your skin with goosebumps.
Two large hands grab you. You wince but don't resist. Not a whimper or a sob. Just defeated silence.
You're sat up in the trunk. He lets you go. His weight dips the back end of the bumper as he leans on it. There's a plasticy sound and a huff. Something touches your lips. The brim of a water bottle.
You drink without command. You realise then how thirsty you are. When he pulls the bottle back, you lean forward for more. He doesn't give it to you. You hear him gulp himself and twist the cap back on. The empty bottle bounces down beside your legs.
You sit in blind anticipation. Still, you can't predict him. He grabs your chest. You flinch as he feels you up, a hand trailing down your stomach, exploring the softness that remains despite months of neglect. He trails further down your pelvis and over your thigh. He scoops his large hand under you and grabs your ass. You sit paralysed as he fondles you.
He sniffs and snakes his hand along your thigh again. He tugs up the bottom of your ragged night shirt and pulls on the band of your panties. He hums.
You close your eyes beneath the fabric and bite down on your horror. He doesn't have to say a word. You know what this is. You knew back in the warehouse with all those sniveling women.
He dips a single finger down to touch your curls then lets go. He shoves you back down. You lay on your side and the trunk snaps shut.
His footsteps hammer over the road and the car shifts with him. The engine whirs back to life. You lay dormant as before, resigned to the fate that's snatched you up.
Time unfurls uncounted. Seconds, minutes, hours. Days could pass and you wouldn't know the difference from those behind you.
When you come to a stop again, the same tremor flows over you. The inevitable winds around your throat, strangling out any thought of resistance. This time, his steps are more deliberate. They echo oddly and there's noises your cannot place.
A motor buzzes. You know that noise. A garage door.
The trunk opens at last. His large arms hook under you and lift you without warning. Again, you are still and silent.
You think of all those true crime horror stories. Women locked in boxes, tortured with power tools, skinned and worse. You shiver and he squeezes you until you stop.
Your head and shoulders slump. He carries you up some stairs, his turns adding to your dizziness. He stops at last to put you down.
He sits you on something cold. You press your thighs to it and realise it's a closed toilet seat. He moves around you, a cabinet unclasping. You wince.
He cuts through the nightshirt easily. It's almost a relief to be free of it. Then your panties. You stay hunched, exposed and mortified.
He slices through the cord around your wrists. Your arms fall and you pet them hang. He pauses. You exhale slowly.
He sets something down. The scissors? You can feel him close. He reaches around to remove the blindfold.
As he drags it from your vision, you blink at the sudden brightness of the room. Your sight is hazy and overwhelming. You keep your lashes low as you squint and the details of the ivory bathroom slowly clear.
You shudder and stare at his stomach, terrified to look any higher. To see the monster who's taken you now. He tosses the blindfold on the counter and turns away.
He bends over the large oval tub and cranks on the faucet. He puts the stopper in place with the flick of a metal lever. He's dressed plainly. Black pants, a black shirt with no detail, his hair is a similar shade but you look away before you can see any more.
While the tub fills, he grabs you again. He pulls you up and guides you over the edge. You let him put you in the porcelain basin, staring at the bruises and dirt across your naked skin.
He stands over you as the water rises. The heat is soothing but the tension lingers in your bones. He rolls up his sleeves and grabs a soft loofah then a bottle of soap. It smells like rain.
He works it to a lather and drags the loofah across your neck and chest. He pulls your arms up one at a time and scrubs those too. While he might be trying to clean the layers of filth off you, you just fell dirtier for it.
He lingers on your chest, swirling around your tits. You dare too peek at him. His eyes drink in the sight of your body.
He sits back to turn off the water. He snaps his fingers then points up. You stand and he continues course down your body. He dotes on your stomach and hips, no expediency in his exploration.
He roughly forces your thighs apart. He turns you around and pays close attention to your rear. He uses both hands; one groping, the other scrubbing. You stare down at the water.
He drops the sponge then stands straight to grab the shower hose from it's hook on the wall. He switches the supply and flips the faucet again. He washes the bubbles off your skin; from shoulders to chest to stomach.
He stops lower down and pushes the showerhead between your legs. He points it up and you twitch as the sudden spray hits your cunt. He tuts before you can back away.
He uses his thumb to adjust the setting then presses it more firmly to you. Your stomach clenches and you quiver. You spread your hands across the outsides of your thighs and gnash your teeth.
He moves it subtly, rocking the pulsing flow of water against you. A squeak escapes you and your shake as you resist the coiling tension brewing in your core. You sway and curl your fingers tight.
He purrs and you bring your hands up to push the heels into your eyes. You can't fight it.
Your body overwhelms your fright and a moan unwinds with your orgasm, rolling through your body visibly. He pets your pelvis as you cum, chuckling as he coaxes it out.
He drags the hose away and hangs it again. He turns back and reaches between your legs. He swipes his fingers along your wet cunt then lifts them to show you the glossy sheen that webs between them as he pulls the apart.
He smears it across your mouth and quickly refocuses on his efforts. He takes a razor and a bottle of shaving cream. You shrink down and resist the urge to wipe your cum from your lips. This is just how it's going to be.
Warnings: This will include dark elements, abuse, trauma, neglect, kidnap, including non/dubcon. Please do not read if these elements or any dark elements make you uncomfortable.
Character: August Walker
Summary: a miserable situation is switched for another. (another wife-buying fiend)
Please reblog if you enjoy and leave some feedback! Muah 💋
The smell of fear is pungent, laced into your sweat and that of the bodies around you. Your shoulders ache and your fingers throb. The binding at your wrists cuts into the skin as the blindfold chafes across your brow.
Several of you, you don't know how many, were taken from the larger warehouse to this new space. You don't know what it is. It's not as humid or pungent as before, though you feel just as grimy.
One of the women whimpers. Not for the first time. Footsteps, one set bare, the other thickly soled cross the room and the door slams. You flinch as yet another squeaks.
"Shut up," a man growls.
You keep your head down and twine your fingers together. The most you can do to protect yourself is be silent. You learned that real quick.
When you got there, with a group of maybe three others, one of them refused to be quiet. She screamed and barked at your captors. When the gagged her, she kicked at the walls until they dragged her out and brought her back days later. She didn't make any noise after that. She couldn't eat either. Not anything solid.
Soft sniffles come from one side of you. You haven't cried at all. As scared as you've been, it feels like that would only doom you what good is crying but to give you a headache; or worsen the one you already have from lack of sleep and food.
You sit and wait. That's all you ever do. Every couple of days, you're matched around between men across tarmac you can't see. You never leave the warehouse without your eyes covered and hands tied.
Trapped with you is that old life you don't think about. That quiet existence. You never bothered anyone. Never got in the way. You did all you could to keep to yourself. How could this happen to you?
The door opens again. You can tell the other woman didn't come back. The thick soles stomp around the room. The man whispers to another.
"...not too happy..."
You lock your elbows and close your eyes. You hold your breath as he marches around again. You sense him come close.
"Up," he nudges your leg with his boot.
You don't hesitate, though it isn't easy to get up. You lean forward and get onto your knees. You're dizzy from the suddenly rush of blood.
He grabs your elbow and forces you to your feet. He shoves you ahead. "Walk."
You walk. It's disorienting without your vision. You're pushed and pulled until you're through the door, then angled down the hallway you entered from.
You're stopped again. The man sighs and knocks. He doesn't wait for a response before opening the door. He sneers. "Forward."
You cautiously step ahead, three steps before your escorts grunt tells you to stop. You shiver, the sleep shirt you've been wearing for almost months exposing your thighs and arms. A set of steps approach you and you cower.
There's a noise. The click of a tongue behind teeth. You wince but don't make a sound as someone grabs your chin and turns your head back and forth. The large hand pushes your head up and a hot breath fans over you.
He lets go but grabs you again. Lower down. Two hands grope your chest and you clench your fist around a single finger.
He sniffs and grips your shoulder, spinning you. He clamps down on your waist, then your hips, then gropes your ass. You put your head down in shame. No matter if you want it to end, you can do nothing to stop it.
A rumbling growl makes you gulp. One hand trails up your back to your neck and pinches. The unseen man bends you over, his other hand moving to your hip again. He stands behind you as he squeezes.
There's a hum as he releases you. You stay bent, shaking. You can sense movement but don't react to it.
You're grabbed by your arm and forced uptight. Before you can prepare yourself, your lifted off your feet. You're stomach rests heavy on something thick; a shoulder.
Your accoster turns and your head swims. A hand grips you firmly on one hip, the other on your thigh. You squirm but quickly still yourself. Maybe they're taking you back... Does it matter?
You jostle with the motion of your carrier. Fear courses through you. This is different. You just know it.
You're taken blindly away. You know when you're outside by the warmth of the mid afternoon sunshine. It gives you little comfort.
Finally he stops. There's a click and your body swings of the shoulder. You land on something hard and then you're shut in.
You gasp, the first noise you've made in weeks. Maybe longer. You're great pounds as footsteps hit the tarmac.
The subtle shift then the whir in of an engine confirms your assumptions. You're on the trunk of a car. You bite down on a sob. The last time that happened, you were brought to this horrible place to be caged like cattle.
Warnings: This will include dark elements such as noncon, object insertion, power imbalance, age gap, squirting, thoughts of self-harm, and depression. Please do not read if these elements or any dark elements make you uncomfortable. WARNING, THIS CHAPTER IS VERY DARK
Character: August Walker, Nick Fowler
Summary: You live a burdensome life but can’t seem to lift the weight off your shoulders. When your mother brings a coworker home, you find it even harder to bear.
Note: I hope I don’t need to tag Auggy as mean bc that’s what we’re getting.
Please reblog if you enjoy and leave some feedback! Muah 💋
The motion of the car swims in your head. You hide behind your eyelids, curled up, shivering against the cold leather seat. The brakes lock and nearly send you off the edge. The engine quiets and you tip back into the crook of the cushion.
A deep growl rolls through you like furrows of fire. You don’t move. It hurts too much just to think about trying. Inside, outside, it’s all agony. Not just your body, your mind. You just don’t understand. It’s all just torture.
The car shifts with the sudden dearth of his weight. The door slams and further jolts the frame. He opens the door by your feet. You stay entirely still, wishing you could become a part of the leather seat.
Walker latches onto your ankle and pulls your leg straight. He drags you to the edge and doesn’t even try to catch you. He wrenches you out so you fall and your shoulder slams into the metal trim, barely missing your head at the same time.
He lets you go and steps back as you keel over in the dirt. You don’t have anything left in you. You belong down here. He sighs and pokes you with his boot.
“Look at you,” he snarls as he looms over you. “Naked, down in the dirt where you belong.”
You blink up at him and quiver. You didn’t realise before he’d stripped you down of everything. You can’t even remember leaving your mother’s house.
“You’re fucking pathetic.” He hisses as he bends and grabs a fistful of your hair. “Stand the fuck up.”
He twists until your scalp burns. You screech and grasp at his thick knuckles as he pulls you up to sitting. Your legs work clumsily as you set your feet on the tarmac. He jerks you up and you hang from his grip like a puppet.
He swings you around and slams the car door behind him. You blink through the haze in your vision. All around you is green. Deep forest green in pine needles and sprawling foliage. Nestled into the rich landscape is a large house with sharp geometric corners and glass panels looking into the front floor. It’s out of place amidst the natural paradise.
“Walk!” He snarls.
You obey; not well. Your legs are wobbly and your muscles slack. He as good as drags you up to the front door.
He jabs his thumb into the keypad and unlocks the front door. He rears back then hurls you inside. You hurtle through and sprawl onto the dark hardwood floor. You groan as you settle on your side.
The door shuts and locks. You don’t care where you are. It doesn’t matter.
He takes his time by the door. You close your eyes as you listen to his subtle movement. When he grabs you again, you don’t make a noise.
“Move!” He barks.
You can’t. You’re done. You just don’t have anything left.
He jerks you by your shoulders. Your eyes roll open to look without seeing. The blur of his silhouette looms over you as he growls.
“Fuck is wrong with you, dumb slut.”
He hooks his arm under you and hauls you up. He heaves you over his shoulders and lifts you. Your head swirls as you hang over him limply.
His steps ram his shoulder harder into your stomach as he carries you like you’re nothing. You are nothing. No one cares. Not him. Not your mother. You are not a person to them. Just a burden.
When at last he slides you off his shoulder, you land on something plush. There’s nothing cozy about it. There is no comfort.
He backs up and moves along the edge of your vision. You stare at the ceiling. You can do what you always did. Let the world pass you by.
He returns and drags you up the bed. His knee pushes into the mattress and the springs dip under him. He grabs your arm and stretches it out to full length. He secures your wrist in a tight binding. He does your ankle next, the other, then your other wrist.
Your head lolls and you stare at the leather cuff bound to the best post. Makes sense. You won’t fight but he can’t trust you either.
He backs away and snarls. You sense him pacing, stomping, snarling around the space. As he comes close again, you brace yourself. He huffs and smacks your thigh. You twitch but don’t make a noise.
“You understand now? What you are?” He sneers.
You stay silent. He digs his nails into your thigh. You flinch again.
“Yes, Master,” you croak. “Under…stand.”
He drags his nails across your skin, leaving hot lines pulsing. He backs up and grips his hips as he glares down at you. Your eyes bounce around aimlessly. You can’t focus on anything.
“You’re just an object. You’re nothing.” He turns as he speaks. “You don’t belong to yourself. You are mine to use.” He opens a drawer, the friction scraping softly. “Not a toy. No. That would mean I like you.” He approaches you again. “You are holes for me to fuck.”
He presses something against your stomach. It’s cool and firm. He reels back and you get a glimpse of the leather crop before he swings it back down. He lashes your stomach and your yelp, body clenching in hot pain. He does it again. You cry out again.
He lays several searing strikes across your middle, then snaps the flat leather against your nipples. You writhe and whine helplessly. He pauses and brushes the tip down your stomach. He moves around the bed and rests the crop against your cunt.
“I gave you a purpose.” He lifts the crop slowly, hovering it over you. “You only have one. That’s to take what I give you.” He brings the crop down against your cunt and you squeal at the fiery sting. “Nothing else.”
He inhales sharply and growls. He climbs up onto his knees and plants himself between them. He pushes his thick fingers against your throbbing lips and spreads them. He slides his grip on the crop and angles his arm. He exposes your clit and whips it meanly. Your voice unfurls wildly.
“You are gonna feel me. All of me.” He snarls. “You can try to go numb but I won’t let you.”
He snaps the crop again and tears spring out of your eyes. Your limbs lock up and you tug on your restraints. “You don’t get to check out.”
He shifts and grips the crop in his fist. He leans his hand on your pelvis as his other feels along your entrance. He fishes inside you and pulls out the toy. He flings it away. He reaches down and rams his fingers into you again. You murmur.
“How long until she notices, huh? Do you think she’ll start caring then?” He slides his fingers out and adds a third. “Think she could figure it out? I know she don’t know one person that would want you–”
“Stop,” you whisper and sniffle. “Please, stop.”
He pushes into his knuckle. “You can take it. And if you can’t, I don’t fucking care.”
“Don’t… talk about… her–”
“Aw, baby,” he mocks you. “Mommy never loved you, huh? That why you’re like this?”
“Please…” you beg.
He snickers and wiggles his hand until you clench around him. He tears his fingers out of you and slaps your thigh. He clucks.
“It is because of her. So you know. The way you are. All her fault.” He stares down at your cunt then brings the crop up to examine the handle. He turns it in his hands. “She made you this way, but that doesn’t change what you are. It’s a reason, not an excuse.”
He backs up slightly and spreads his hand across your pelvis. He angles the crop with his other hand rests the end of the handle against your entrance. He rubs it against you as you tense. He hums.
“And this is all you’ll ever be.” He shoves the whip inside you and you squeal.
You squeeze your eyes shut as tears stream out unchecked and you spasm against the tension of your restraints. He pushes the whip in until it won’t go any further. He grips it, his knuckle touching your lips, and flicks his thumb across your clit. You twitch again.
He slowly lets go and backs off the bed. You snivel and peel apart your wet lashes. He lingers at the foot of the bed, arms bent as he grips his hips.
