The next part of @painful-pooch and I's From Tyrant to Martyr
Masterlist HERE || Previous part HERE
CW: referenced nonconsensual tattooing, noncon, pet whump, starvation, emeto, medical whump, degradation, humiliation, mentions of training in a torture environment, 18+, dead dove do not eat, this is a really rough one so mind the warnings
***
Traditionally, the victim would be questioned by OSI agents. However, these are special circumstances. General Liam Keizer has been given a list of questions and will question the victim at the OSI office with an OSI agent in the room to supervise.
Marlow’s heart is beating out of her chest, and she knows this is only going to get harder. Liam just finished asking her the most basic questions, so it’s time to move on. She was transported to the secure OSI office via an ambulance, transferred to a wheelchair, and taken to the interrogation room with her heart monitor and oxygen and all her IVs. She’s grateful that Liam is the one doing this…even though the female OSI agent in the corner seems terrifying.
“Okay, Marlow. Ready to start?” At her nod, Liam flips to the next page in the packet given to him by OSI. “While you were held hostage at Hunter Bianchi’s manor, how were you dressed?”
“I was not,” Marlow responds. Just breathe. Hunter is in jail, not standing behind her. “I was kept fully nude, unless Hunter wanted me dressed in a sexual costume for a party, and that was torn off quickly. I was even naked when he had me go outside into his backyard, regardless of the weather.”
“Okay.” Liam checks the notes, then asks his next question. The whole interrogation is being recorded by multiple cameras, so he doesn’t need to write down her responses. “Tell me about how you were fed.”
Fuck, this is getting harder. She’s humiliated to say this, she lowers her head and feels her face heat up, trying to hide behind her oxygen cannula. “I wasn’t fed often. Hunter liked skinny girls because he said I looked younger and it made me more beautiful when I was hurt. He had dog bowls for me, one with water and the other…he fed me dog food. Literal…dog food. Sometimes the hard kind, sometimes the mushy kind from the can. Occasionally, he’d hand feed me small amounts of people food at parties to show his guests I would eat out of his hand.”
“And did you do it?” Liam asks, his voice suddenly cold. That question didn’t come from the sheet.
Marlow picks at her hospital bracelet, but remembers what Bruno told her. You did what you needed to come home to us, and there’s nothing wrong about that, kiddo. She straightens up, looking right at Liam. “Yes. When Hunter Bianchi offered me real food from his hand, I ate it. I was starving to death and anything helped keep me alive.”
His gaze softens, and he turns back to the list. “Were you ever restrained?”
A million memories flood her once, and Marlow takes a deep breath to calm herself down. Her answers will help Hunter rot in jail forever. “Yes, I was restrained at least once daily in a variety of ways. There was a dog cage I was often kept in, especially while Hunter was at work. He also had sexual restraints, like BDSM devices and metal poles used to force my body into certain positions. There were leather things like cuffs and armbinders, and spreader bars, handcuffs, and just a lot of rope. He sometimes didn’t want to restrain my hands though, so he found another way to keep them out of the way while binding my legs or breasts.”
Liam is doing a remarkable job not showing any emotion. He told her before this that he’d need to seem impassive, but he’d be sure to hug her and love her when today was over. “What do you mean when you say that?”
She still feels the pain in her knuckles, her joints, feels it every day when she tries to even move her hands. “When he didn’t want to use physical restraints on my hands, he would take a hammer or baseball bat or crowbar and shatter my hands. This was done…” She can still feel the blows as if they happened yesterday. No matter how many surgeries she has, her hands will always be warped. “More than ten times throughout my captivity.”
Liam pauses, opening his mouth, but when the OSI agent shakes her head at him, he sighs and looks at the next question. “A bloody metal dog cage was found in the basement. Here’s a picture.” He slides it across the table and Marlow wants to vomit…so she does. She grabs the bag next to her and throws up, gagging and wiping her mouth. Liam winces, but asks his question anyway. “Were you kept in this cage, and if so, what was the longest duration you spent in it? As many details about the cage as possible.”
The cage. She could never forget the cage. It used to feel like a safe space, but now…she’s shaking so bad, her heart monitor going wild. “The longest I was in there was eighty straight hours. He left me there on a work trip. The cage was also used in videos to start or end a scene, and if he wanted me to sleep in his bedroom instead of the pet room, I’d be in the cage up there. Also if he had a work meeting in his study, I’d be kept in the cage for viewing pleasure until Hunter took me out to service them.”
Liam is starting to look nauseous, his eyes scanning the heart monitor. He pulls the cage picture back, folding his hands on the table. “Just a few more questions and we can call it for the day.” When the OSI agent tries to protest, Liam snaps, “My goddaughter needs to go back to the hospital with her competent team of nurses and doctors so they can reduce her pain and make sure her body doesn’t fail. We are doing three more questions and then we are done.” He turns back to Marlow, smiling at her. “Let’s continue. How frequently were you raped by Hunter Bianchi?”
Stick to the facts, focus on the numbers. She pulls the emotions out of it, takes away her screams and cries as she was defiled and humiliated. “I was raped by Hunter Bianchi at least once every day. He sold me to other men at least five times a week, and at his weekly parties, I could expect to be raped more than thirty times, depending on how extensive the guest list was.”
“Did he start with the clients and the parties from the beginning of your captivity?”
Marlow shakes her head. This question is much easier to answer. “The first party was a week after I arrived. It took two months for him to start sending me to clients. He wanted an opportunity to train me and ensure I wouldn’t bite. I fought hard, General Keizer. I made it really hard for them for as long as I could. Until…” She stares at her hands, chewing on her inner lip. “He raped me so hard my pelvis cracked. That was when I started to comply with the training.”
“And this training…” Liam wipes his eyes, but his voice is firm and authoritative. He has to be her general here, nothing else. “Please briefly explain what this training would entail.”
“He would do it when he was working from home. He had a dildo mounted on the wall, and above it was a clicker. I had to hit the clicker and deepthroat the cock one hundred times.” She can’t stop shaking. The room is closing in on her and she’s reliving all those awful days as she speaks. “He had a fucking machine. I would be strapped in for an hour. Then he would force me to...myself... on camera to the point of overstimulation. Then we’d practice positions and commands he wanted me to learn, and then I was made to take preventative punishments, normally just the wooden paddle on me. And then puppy training…where I’d act like a dog and have to fetch.” She grabs the bag and throws up again, her skin pale. She’s shutting down, going into a dark place of her mind that no one can save her from, and Liam notices.
He shuts his folder, standing up. “Okay, we’re done. Tell EMS to pull to the entrance of the building and be ready with a full oxygen mask and the EKG machine.”
Just as he’s about to grab Marlow’s wheelchair, the female OSI agent pushes him out of the way and throws a picture on the table in front of Marlow. “Tell me about this,” she snaps, and Marlow’s world falls apart.
She recognizes herself in the picture, although she doesn’t remember it being taken. The flash is on, making her pale body stand out against the dark wood and the puddle of blood she’s lying in. Her brown hair is in a tangle around her head and a litany of bruises and cuts cover her body, her face half hidden by her arm. There are new wounds over old wounds, indented scars and raised scars all on a stick thin body, so small and twisted that she doesn’t look human. Come and blood smear around her mouth and between her thighs, a few drops of come on her shoulders. There’s a muzzle on her face and shackles on her ankles, but the main focus falls on her back area. She has whip marks, so many whip marks both old and new, but there’s something far darker than that. A tattoo, bold black letters written across her back. A reminder that she will never escape from. A reminder of who she was to Hunter, to Kovacevic, and to most men who look at her.
Dog.
It’s tattooed on her back and she’s tried her absolute hardest to hide it from the team, but she’s seeing it and Liam is seeing it and the whole world is falling away. She hears her heart monitor’s rapid beeping but it’s like it’s coming from an underwater tunnel, the main thing she can hear is herself hyperventilating and a voice in her head: what’s the matter, little Starshine? Did the stick up your ass finally fall out? Are you going to be my good cocksucking girl or a bad worthless doggie?
The team does not know the full extent of Hunter Bianchi. They do not know how good he was at creating pain. And they do not know how good she was at receiving it.
Liam is shouting in the distance, or maybe that’s just the wind. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know anything anymore. She forgot how to read in that seven months save for two things: HB, for Hunter Bianchi, and Dog, for her.
It’s too much. There isn’t enough air in the world to make her breathe, to make her stay awake, to make the reality of this situation any different.
Marlow passes out in her wheelchair, medical alarms echoing through the interrogation room as Liam screams for help.
The next part of @ocean-blue-whump and I's collab From Tyrant to Martyr.
Masterlist HERE || Previous part HERE
CW: Military, lady whump, broken bones, medical, mentions of abuse, guns, and slight violence
Beware this is a long chapter (5.5k words)
***
It’s been a long time coming, and Richie, codename ‘Demon’, is more than happy to finally bring Marlow home after ten months. It took countless months for Oscar to work on figuring a way to track her and Hunter’s location, but once it was found, the plan then got set in motion. He is sitting in the helicopter now, tapping at his tablet on his knee, making sure to memorize every nook and cranny available at the mansion if he is going to feel confident enough to go in and clear it room by room. Richie isn’t the kind to make mistakes that can cost the team an unwanted casualty or a hindrance where it could cost them valuable time. He takes a moment to look out the window, seeing the vast expanse of the forest, thinking about the very meeting he had just hours ago with Bruno and General Liam.
“What the hell do you mean I have to bring Hunter Bianchi back alive? Have you seen the shit he’s been doing to her? You want me to show mercy?” Richie’s voice rang out in the room, glaring at Liam and peeking over at a distraught Bruno.
Liam’s face was gaunt and he waved his hand. “I said what I said, Lieutenant Commander. You are to bring back both Lieutenant Marlow and Hunter Bianchi alive. That doesn’t mean you can’t use force or rough him up, but the idea is that he has to face justice.”
“Face justice? What kind of fucking justice will be served to a monster like him? Huh? He’s violated her and mocked her in videos. He’s attempted to murder her countless times. Look at Bruno, for God’s sake!”
Bruno barely had the will to look over at the men. “The longer you two bicker… the less likely the chance is that my daughter is going to live.” His voice, hoarse and tired, added onto his previous statement, “I don’t want him alive either, but… I want my daughter back.” He started to cry brokenly into his hands, shoulders shaking from the emotional distress caused by his daughter’s absence.
Liam sighed despondently and rubbed at his own face. “Marlow comes first. If Hunter does try anything, you can neutralize the threat, but I know you have it in you to do the right thing, Richie. Do it for her and Bruno, won’t you?”
“I’ll do it for both of them, but the right thing is to put a bullet between his eyes. I can’t believe you are letting me take Reaper and Khrystyna with me. Khrystyna especially. She’s her best friend. Are you really going to make her see Marlow in that state, Liam?”
“She is our best Medic, and you know that. Anything that needs immediate attention, she could do, and it can very well save her life. I suggest you go now before I have someone else go. Other’s that won’t have Marlow’s best interest as much as you all. You’re dismissed.”
Richie’s eyes were glued onto Liam’s, both men having their differences, but they both knew the stakes of the mission enough. Eventually, he saluted and spun on his heels to gather the resources and teammates he needed to make this mission a success. Before he made it through the door, he felt someone grab his sleeve. He didn’t need to look back to know who it was, but he turned his head enough to give Bruno his full attention.
“Whatever you do, just make sure she knows she’s loved, okay? I know she’s scared and traumatized. Don’t treat her any differently, please. From a father to you… save her.”
Richie forced an understanding smile. “Of course. She’ll be in good hands. Don’t stress about it. She’ll be back with us in no time.”
Truth be told, when he replays that memory in his head, he doesn’t know how close he can keep his promise. He’s seen the most recent video Hunter published, and in there, Marlow’s state was abysmal; Marlow was emaciated to the point her ribs were protruding, her bruises from videos ago still as prominent as ever, her eyes appearing with that thousand yard stare and dull, and her screams sounded even more agonized than prior ones. He has no idea if she’s still going to be alive when they reach her, the fear now clawing at his dark heart. What if they are too late? What will he have to tell her already deteriorating father? That his kid didn’t make it because they weren’t fast enough?
He rolls his shoulders and forces the sinister thoughts out of his mind, wanting to instead focus on the mission planning and possibly check on the others going on the mission as well. Running a quick hand through his hair, he stands up in the helicopter, holding onto one of the safety ropes once he addresses the group. “Alright, people, we have an ETA of roughly ten mikes. Mission is simple if you follow the right steps. We land in the clearing posterior to the mansion, obscured by the forest. We will each take an exit and enter through, looking into each corner and room like never before. Hunter Bianchi will be brought back alive, so if he is violent or tries anything, put him on his face and neutralize him. The main goal here is to find Second Lieutenant Marlow Stenberg and get her back here ASAP.” He watches each face carefully, settling on Khrystyna’s worried expression.
“She will most likely need life saving support, so when one of us finds her, it is detrimental that we call out the location and get back up. Is that clear? We are not bringing back anyone in a body bag. Not on this mission.” Richie gets a resounding roar back from the group, but he isn’t paying too much attention. It’s how Reaper is trying to console Khrystyna, whispering into her ear and offering a handkerchief for the young pararescuewoman. He still can’t imagine what it must be like for her, having scrutinized many videos so she can be prepared for what injuries and illnesses poor Marlow may have.
It doesn’t help either that Reaper, practically Marlow’s more sane brother, unlike Chevy, is also going with them. The man, religious and pious as ever, forced himself to watch over five hours worth of videos, each time retching and sobbing that his poor sister doesn’t deserve that fate. Chevy was originally supposed to attend the mission, but upon further inspection, the man wasn’t deemed safe enough to go due to his rage and the high likelihood that Hunter Bianchi would have been killed on the spot or tortured heavily. Not that Richie minded the thought of it, but he has orders, and if anyone makes a mistake today, that will be on his conscience and Liam will beat his ass for insubordination.
“Khrys? You want to have a chat with me?” Richie pops the question into reality, adjusting his rifle and clearing his throat. He watches her every move, needing to be ready to make the decision if she will really be going in with them or not.
Khrys stands up fully, forcing a smile and walking past Richie to a more secluded part of the helicopter. “I am all ears, Sir. What’s going on?”
One more sweep with his eyes, and he finally can find the words he wants to tell her. “I know this is a lot for us, but I need you to promise me that you won’t freeze up or let your emotions get in the way of this, because Marlow needs us to get her help. If I can’t trust you to do your job, I will ground you from this mission and I can get one of the other medics to step up and follow us in.” His voice is both sincere yet commanding. He has his own feelings too, but he can’t let it cloud his judgement nor his mind.
She looks him in the eye and purses her lips, letting out a small sigh. “She is my best friend, Richie. You think I want to be stuck in this damn plane when you damn well know I am the best medic we have here? I want to be there for her.” Her eyes well up with tears and she wipes them away with the palm of her tactical glove. “I can’t bear to know that I could have helped her and I was stuck here because I miss her so much. It’s been far too long and lonely without her. I am going in there.”
He swallows and nods his head slowly, musing over every word and action Khrys has done up to that point in time, and he looks out the window. “It has been a long time without our little Tyrant, hasn’t it? Just don’t let it cloud your judgement and do the job you are great at, exceptional even. Be there for her and save her life as best as you can. Okay? When you take a seat, have Reaper come over here so I can have a word with him.”
She doesn’t say another word and she heads back to where she and Reaper are sitting, tapping his shoulder and pointing to where Richie is standing. Both Reaper and Richie stare down one another, trying to get a read from what they can see, and it doesn’t take long for Reaper to make his way to Richie, standing tall and broad. “Sir.”
“Reaper…” Richie licks his lips and tries to think of what he can say to him, but Reaper beats him to the punch.
“I understand that you are worried about my relationship with Marlow, but I know what I have to do here. Hunter won’t die and neither will Marlow. That’s a promise from a brother to a sister. I promised her a while back that I would look out for her and teach her about dia de los muertos. I swore to her I would teach her how to make a quesadilla without a spatula. I swore to her that I would be a good brother, so if you try and ground me here, I won’t listen, because in my heart, she comes first.” Reaper’s voice is lower than usual, almost holding back the unimaginable amount of emotions he must be feeling.
Richie understands what it is like to have someone you care about get hurt, but never in this situation would he have been able to be like Reaper. He can’t afford to let his emotions get in the way of saving her life. He reaches out and places a warm hand on Reaper’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. “You are a great brother for Marlow. I know she’s going to be in great hands. Don’t forget the mission details, and let’s bring her home, okay?”
Reaper smiles back at Richie, and it’s a genuine one of hope and love. “She’s coming back home today. My sister is coming back home.” He turns to meet up with Khrystyna, hugging her tight and helping her do some final preparations for the landing.
It’s almost time. He checks his watch and walks over to the pilot, seeing it’s Sebastian. “Any change in plans or are we still green for the mission?” Out of everyone on that aircraft, Sebastian seems to be the only one holding himself together so well that he doesn’t feel the need to worry about him as much as the others.
They glance over at Richie, half scoffing, “You think I would turn this heli around if things weren’t green?” They focused back on the controls and cracked their neck. “I miss Marlow too, but I know you guys will get her back here in one piece. Plus-” he gives a cocky grin that Richie knows pilots have- ‘if you don’t bring her back, then I am leaving all your asses here until you do. So no pressure. Have fun.”
That makes Richie laugh for the first time in weeks and he shakes his head. “You are too much to deal with, Seb. How long do we have now?”
“Yeah, but I am one hell of a pilot. We got about two minutes. I would get everyone rounded up for landing. Once you are all inside, I will move the heli closer to the mansion so we can get a quicker evac. Sounds good?”
“That sounds perfect to me. Alright, I’m off. If you need anything, call us or use your survival pistol.” Richie gives one helmet tap to Sebastian and makes a hand motion for everyone to round up and get ready. “This is it, people! You know my expectations of you. Everyone is coming home at the end of the day, so make it happen. Good hunting.”
The landing comes so quickly, that within seconds, everyone disembarks towards the mansion in different directions, flanking every exit, their sights aimed at any movement. Richie speaks into his comms, his voice low and gravelly, “Top priority is locating Marlow Stenberg. If you run into Hunter Bianchi, handle it as swiftly as possible. On my mark, we head in.” He makes it to the back door by the kitchen, inhaling slowly and settling into his demeanor for the mission. His heart will have to be locked away for the duration of this until they make it home. Maybe then he can ponder over the events.
“Alright, mark. Get to work.” He uses his shoulder to bust through the wood and glass door, forcing his way into the mansion, eyes scanning the area followed by this rifle. The moment he steps inside the mansion does something deep in his gut tell him something is wrong. It’s this eerie feeling he gets when there’s death in the air, his jaw tightening when his brain tries to tell him they may be too late.
“Irrelevant. I’m bringing her home,” Richie whispers to himself, adjusting his grip on the rifle and trudging along both slowly enough to not miss any key details, but quick enough in case Marlow is in dire need of attention. He’s been around Marlow ample times to understand she’s a strong, stubborn, and resourceful woman, but even with the training she has from Valdemar’s resistance training, no one could handle Hunter Bianchi for as long as her. Not without shattering like some fragile little porcelain doll. No matter how much he trusts himself and is confident in his own abilities, Richie is well aware he would have been in a body bag or worse.
This only hastens his mission in looking around the area, clearing each room he runs into, every closet he tears open just hoping for a chance to shoot the monster that has been hurting Marlow, his sister in arms. He checks his watch and exhales through his nose, counting the minutes passing by. Every sixty seconds that passes by without an update is as good as Marlow getting more than a foot through the door of death. Two hundred and eighty four seconds since the mission launched. That’s four minutes and forty four seconds that Marlow has now lost.
The next room is different now; no longer a guest bedroom or a utility closet, but now a surveillance room, multiple screens along the wall, some playing videos of Marlow in… various positions, all demeaning and sexual in nature. Others, however, showed a live feed, from seeing Namdar and Damien, both his teammates, scouring around the mansion in hallways and passages, to then seeing a small blip in the center of a tiny room. He approaches the screen, eyes narrowing to focus in on the image until realization hits him like a truck.
It’s Marlow.
Adrenaline rushes through his veins, the objective now clear in sight. His next item is to see where she is exactly so he can route his way to her, and in the corner of the video, it’s labeled ‘Pet-Room 2F4R’. Second floor, fourth room. His options were now going to the East or West wing when he’s on the second floor, and he focuses on the window, seeing the slight outline of the moon in the back. Room is facing East, so the room is in the East Wing. He has his mark.
Another glance at his watch. Seven minutes, thirty three seconds. Time is ticking, and it’s not in Marlow’s favor, seeing how she’s motionless in the room. It’s not looking good, but he will be the one getting to her. His voice finally breaks through the silence as he rushes through the mansion, getting to the grand staircase headed to the East Wing. “Found a hostage target. Second floor, East Wing. Should be the fourth room. Await confirmation. Aggressor not spotted yet. Assume he’s dangerous and armed until neutralized. Patches, I need you at my location. Ranger, Gator, and Reaper: Hunt him down. Surveillance room is in the West Wing, ground floor, three doors from the kitchen. Make it happen.”
He doesn’t care to listen to their acknowledgements, making it to the second floor, instincts kicking in and raising his rifle to face down one side of the hall before spinning to face the other side. Taking care not to make unnecessary sounds, he nimbly navigates the hall, the scent of death and decay nearing, growing far stronger. He’s headed in the right direction until he arrives at a door with the lock on the outside, facing the hallway. Just that little fact alone that someone would go out of their way to change the orientation of the lock tells him his answer.
Reaching out and taking the handle by the hand, he turns it, hearing the click of the lock undoing itself in the process. He pushes the door open, rifle at the ready in case there’s someone waiting for him. In all his years of being a Navy SEAL and seeing the atrocities the world has to offer, none of those situations came close to this. There she is, Marlow Stenberg, on the floor, exhaling her last breath, body in such a state that she is basically a living- more so dying- corpse.
“Medic!” He screams into his comms, snapping into action within milliseconds of seeing Marlow’s decrepit body. He slides to her side, setting the rifle to the side and getting his bag ready, fingers at her neck to find a pulse. It’s barely registerable, and his voice is quick, “Carotid pulse negligible. We’re losing her. I needed a medic fucking yesterday, hurry your ass up, Patches!” He commands into the earpiece, leaning down to tilt her head by lifting her chin, bringing his lips to hers so he can provide a few rescue breaths.
Seconds feel like centuries to him, but he won’t stop until he’s dead or somebody tears him off her. His hands interlock just above her chest, his eyes grazing over all the injuries scattered throughout her body just before pressing down two inches in succession of another press. The sickening sounds of ribs and her sternum snapping under his force will stay with him for many years, he is certain, but he refuses to give up. Having practiced CPR in the past prepares him for this, working at around one hundred to one hundred and twenty compressions a minute.
After thirty compressions, he once again provides rescue breaths, his eyes darting to the side to see Khrystyna just standing there, her own eyes wide with terror. The way her body is tense tells Richie that the medic is in shock, and he doesn’t have the patience to deal with her hesitation at such an awful time. “Khrystyna, get your fucking ass over here before she dies on us! Give me an epi IV right this second!”
Khrystyna still stays frozen in time, her eyes glued onto Marlow’s body being shattered by his attempts to resuscitate her. Richie wastes no time and gives the command one last time, “Get over here or she dies! You want her to die?! Then. Get. Here. NOW!” Somehow that’s what finally snaps the girl out of her fearful stupor, Khrys coming over with newly-found haste, her medic bag in front.
It only takes a few seconds to get the needed equipment out, from the IV bag, IV catheters, and start kit to the antiseptic, local anesthetic, and gloves. Khrys finally holds Marlow’s arm, eyes grazing over the bruises, cuts, needle tracks, and the rest of the evidence proving a horrible situation that has gone on for far too long. “There’s signs of drug use… I don’t know how good her veins will b-”
“Can you do it or not?” Richie asks in between compressions, locking gazes with the flustered medic. “I did not bring you all the way to the end just for you to find excuses.” He gives Marlow a few breaths and resumes his work, sweat finally building up on his brow. “So get me vein to work with. If not, she’s not making it another minute. You signed up to be here, you raised your right hand, now do it.”
The medic ducks her head and focuses her efforts back on Marlow, using her fingers to look for the most suitable vein. Fortunately, it doesn’t take long to find a vein on the back of her right hand, working the needle and IV catheter in. She sets the IV bag on a portable stand, prepares the saline push and epinephrine, pressing the plunger down so Marlow gets the dosage she needs. “D-done, Sir. Now what?”
Richie nods his head, groaning slightly and jutting his chin over to the bag. “Get me some way to monitor her vitals. We need to track blood pressure, heart rate, and anything else we can get. Actually, I am going to have you switch with me. Take over and I can get her hooked up with the monitoring equipment.” The way her eyes widen at the prospect makes his jaw set tight, but he’s been mad for far too long. “I can’t keep doing this alone. I need you to pick up the slack. So take care of her, and we can get her home. The boys are finding Hunter.”
Khrys, once beside him, gives a quick nod, her hands ready to land on Marlow’s chest to provide her own compressions. It’s different when it’s someone you love and care about, so when she feels Marlow’s sternum and ribs give way, crumbling under the pressure to keep her alive, a choked sob escapes Khrys’ lips. “Oh, Marlow… oh my God, Marlow… Don’t die on me, please don’t,” the medic begs with each press.
Richie’s voice breaks the momentary silence, “Keep going. One, two, three, four, repeat. Keep it up, darling. Marlow, don’t give up on me.” He stands up, finally able to take the second of respite Khrys is giving him, taking another sweep of Marlow’s body, trying to find any other injuries that need immediate action. The extremely dark bruising around her intimate areas, hips included, indicate something to him that forces a bubbling rage to ensue. “The… this fucking son of a bitch,” he growls lowly, digging his fingers into his face and dragging it along to his jaw, using the pain to bring him back to focus. Khrys gives him a quizzical expression, to which he responds softly, “He fractured her pelvis. Discoloration matches the possible diagnosis, along with sexual battery.”
Gasping from the shock of the revelation, Khrystyna falters in her compressions but doesn’t need Richie to tell her, returning her full efforts to keeping Marlow’s weak heart going. “Her pelvis… how… are we going to move her?” Tears fall down her face at an unprecedented rate, falling on the marred-up woman’s body as she jolts from the life saving actions being taken. “Is she going to make it?”
“We’ll move her with a stretcher. I’ll have one of the boys grab it here once she is stable. She will make it. She is the best fighter I’ve ever met. She won’t give up so easily. Not if she made it this far.” Richie is telling himself that as much as he is telling Khrystyna to not give up hope. He makes sure the fluid is getting into Marlow, his eyes narrowing at the missing skin on her arm where her tattoo used to be. He was forced to memorize any bodily marks she has in case he would have had to… identify a body. It’s not something he wanted to do, but it is an avenue he is prepared to go down.
His character and ability to hold down his emotions is what separated him from Bruno, the courageous yet stubborn man unable to think about his daughter in such a light without shattering. Believe me, old man, you wouldn’t have survived through this. No one else could do this. Someone is going to have to brief you on this later, and that will be me.
He helps set up the heart monitor on Marlow, being careful to not disturb Khrystyna’s movements, seeing the number pop up on the portable screen. “Not great, but you are doing good, Patches.” His wondering about how the search is going gets answered when gunfire rings out in the manor, his eyes darting to the door, rifle unslung and aiming just in case things go wrong.
“Someone give me an answer of what the hell just happened,” Richie calls out into his comms, giving the standard five second wait when Damien responds back.
“We found him and he started firing at myself and Reaper,” the naval NCO speaks with a clear voice.
Reaper adds to the mix, “Target neutralized and restrained. Currently having Namdar escort them to the aircraft for detention. Do I need to do anything else, Sir?”
Richie looks to Marlow, seeing some color return to her, but they aren’t out of the woods yet. “Get me a stretcher for Marlow. We need her evacuated while she is stable enough. Hurry. The other two: keep an eye on our target. I don’t want the fucking weasel finding a way out of this.” With his orders given, he knows they will be followed to perfection, kneeling next to Marlow, focusing on the monitor. “Stop compressions.”
Khrystyna’s face falls for a brief second, the young pararescueman hesitating and pulling her hands back, holding them up to see how Marlow is doing. To both their shock, she’s actually keeping a fairly decent enough rhythm without assistance, and there’s a collective sigh of relief. For the moment, Marlow is going to be okay. “I’ll work on wrapping her pelvis if you help me with that, Demon?”
Right. Her pelvis.
Her shattered, pulverized pelvis has to be held together with bandages and wrapping so the surgeons can go in to fix it in the operating room. The dark bruising along her fair skin shows the level of damage and blood simply pooling underneath the surface, but with how emaciated she is as well, it’s the fact Richie can see where some of the fractures occurred, the subtle swelling barely trying to hide it. “I can help. Just tell me what to do, Patches.”
Going along with each instruction Khrystyna gives him, he holds her legs together while they work the bandages underneath her posterior hips and at the level of… the great trochanters. Richie knows a lot about killing people, but he will leave the medical jargon to Khrystyna. All he can do for Marlow is help her pelvis get wrapped with what they have on hand, helping tie it off so it stays still and stable. When he tightens the bandages, he hears an audible whimper, and his blood boils, wanting to spend ten unsupervised minutes with the weasel that did this to her.
Hearing footsteps behind him, he glanced back to see a worry-stricken Reaper, the SEAL operator wiping his eyes quickly with his gloved hands and bringing the stretcher over. “I… I brought it, Sir. Is she…?”
“She’s alive, Reaper. I wouldn’t lie to you. She was close to going through the doors, but I am too stubborn and Patches here is a great medic. She’s going to pull through,” Richie replies back in a softer tone, but there’s still business to be done. “Now do you want to help get her on the stretcher and carry her to the chopper?”
Reaper can only force himself to nod, his eyes slowly looking over the poor girl’s body, taking in the horrors that afflicted her for almost a full year. He crouches by her head, hands working under her shoulders. “Ay, mija… ¿Qué te pasó?” He asks in a horrified voice, picking her up with too much ease along with Richie. The only guess they have is that she is under 90 pounds, which for a woman of her age and height, is abysmally low.
Her heart monitor only spikes for a quick moment, but it goes back to normal, and Richie can only attribute that pain to her pelvis… among other things too. He doesn’t have an issue helping Reaper and Khrystyna lead Marlow’s limp body down the stairs, through the manor of horrors, and eventually out into the grassy yard, where the helicopter is now idling about. A few feet away, there’s an individual cuffed, in between Damien and Namdar’s rifles.
The fucking weasel is smirking and laughing at Marlow. Richie clenches his jaw so tightly, his teeth might break under the pressure, but he is on a mission right now to get Marlow into the helicopter. That’s exactly what he, Reaper, Sebastian, and Khrystyna do, locking her stretcher in place and hooking her up to far better medical equipment and IV fluids. The whole debacle lasts a few minutes, and Reaper finishes it off by tucking in Marlow, making sure she is covered and that it doesn’t disturb the intubation they have set up for Marlow’s breathing. Richie places a hand on her forehead, giving her a small kiss on the head before stepping out of the helicopter and whistling at the two remaining SEAL members to step away from the bastard.
Time for business.
Richie pulls his gloves to be taut on his hand and without even wasting a breath, swings a fist right into Hunter’s jaw, sending the weasel sprawling on the floor. He places his boot on Hunter’s head, applying pressure down, forcing his head into the soft earth. “If I see you smile one more time, I am going to make sure you drown in a puddle of blood. Damien? Did this waste of life fire at you guys?”
Damien clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Five times. Three missed, two hit the vest.”
“Five. I can do five. How’s five more counts of attempted murder sound?” Richie chuckles down at Hunter, who is now glaring at the Navy SEAL commander.
“How was it seeing my masterpiece? She’s gorgeous, huh? My little Starshine,” Hunter groans out, writhing in his restraints.
Richie’s eyes darken and he pulls Hunter up by the handcuffs only, his voice low. “You are lucky I care enough about the law and justice. That woman you have been tormenting is a Second Lieutenant of the United States Air Force. She may not have had anyone to protect her while she was here, but she has me now. I am going to be that girl’s wall, her protector, and her personal demon. That being said, you call her by that sick name again, and we are going to have problems. Just to make it crystal clear-” he punches Hunter in the stomach, keeping him up while the weasel coughs relentlessly.
Hunter looks over at Khrystyna, humming. “I could have had a pair of puppies.”
Richie tosses him over to Damien, snarling, “Tape his mouth shut and keep him away from anything important in the helicopter. Now.” He steps away, trying to collect his emotions, upset at himself for letting Hunter get to him, but what kind of a man would he be if he didn’t care about Marlow? He rubs his face and stares out at the stars in the sky, knowing Bruno is worried sick about the mission. He pulls out his phone, and dials in a number, holding the device to his ear, the ringing tone cutting out to a hoarse voice.
“Where is she, Richie?” Bruno’s voice gives away the audible fear laced in the words, almost like a serpent coiled around its prey.
Richie smiles proudly, responding with the simplest answer he can muster, “We got her back, Bruno. We got our Marlow.”
He doesn’t know why, but hearing Bruno’s cries of thanks and gratitude warms him up, and just the amount of love Bruno has for his daughter gives him his reason.
The reason why he risks his life for others.
It’s not for himself or for the military. It’s not even a reason to kill. It’s for the little moments of telling a grieving father he’s found their long lost daughter and they can have a reason to hope again. “Mission complete.”
The next part of @painful-pooch and I's collab: From Tyrant to Martyr!
Masterlist HERE || Previous part HERE
CW: creepy/possessive whumper, lady whump, noncon, age gap, implied pet whump, 18+
***
Marlow kneels in the guest bedroom, hair in a high, tight ponytail and eyes cast down at the floor. Hunter has started selling her out to his guests for extra money, not like he needs it. He says it’s making up for all the money he spends on dog food. Not like she wanted the dog food in the first place, but he’s still making her get more money.
“Here she is,” Hunter says, opening the door to the guest room. Marlow doesn’t look up, but she hears the two sets of footsteps entering the room.
“Gorgeous.” A hand lifts her head up by the hair, and Marlow’s juniper green eyes meet steely blue grey ones. Faraday Abernathy. He’s her most frequent client, like he has some kind of obsession with her. “Absolutely gorgeous. Hunter, here’s the money.” He passes Hunter a stack of cash, but his attention isn’t on the man. “Close the door on your way out.”
Marlow doesn’t dare break her gaze from Faraday, even as the door slams shut. She trembles in his grip, her mind racing through all the possible scenarios of what he could put her through. At least there isn’t a video camera in here tonight. At least her utter humiliation won’t be caught on camera.
He releases her hair, walking over to sit on the bed and loosening his tie. He hums in appreciation at her soft, submissive position, patting his knee. “Come up, flower. I want you close enough to touch.”
He’s got to be at least thirty years older than her, and yet he speaks to her like he’s in love. Marlow crawls along the floor until she reaches the bed, then climbs into Faraday’s lap, straddling him. His hands are so gentle that she almost forgets the violence he’s wrought on her body. The way his fingers trace circles on her hips almost makes her forget that he’s beaten her into a bloody pulp.
He leans close to her, his breath at her ear. “He took it easy on you these past few days,” he whispers. “You’re lucky, flower. It was my request that Hunter didn’t harm your pretty little face for a week. I wanted to see you more…pure.” He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, chuckling softly. “I wanted to see your eyes without bruises around them. You have gorgeous eyes.”
Marlow is at a loss for words. He’s raped her, whipped her, drugged her. He’s spat on her and called her vile names, and yet he acts like none of that ever happened. She can’t even find the words to reply, other than the burning urge to tell him exactly what she thinks.
That was a mistake. Faraday slaps her hard in the face, knocking her head to the side and drawing out a gasp from her. “You’re beautiful, flower. What do you say to that?”
“Thank you, Master.” A cold revulsion runs down her spine, but she knows she has to cooperate with him or face his wrath. Hunter is capable of great violence, but Faraday is…unpredictable, and in a way, that makes him worse. His desire for her makes him unstable, and she doesn’t know quite how to handle that.
“You’re welcome, flower,” Faraday says, pressing a soft kiss to her jawline. “See? I can be nice when you’re well behaved. You should know that by now, hmmm?”
“Yes, Master.” Marlow adjusts herself on his lap, sliding forward so she’s closer to him. “I know that. I’ll be good tonight, I swear.” She reaches out, running her finger down his chest, and the movement disgusts her. She doesn’t want to be doing this to her rapist. It feels like a perversion of the romance between her and her fiance. “What do you want me to do tonight, Master? Did you pay Mr. Bianchi for penetration?”
He grips her chin hard, rage filling his eyes. “Don’t you dare ask me what I’ve paid for. I’m owed every single part of your body. You’re just property, flower. And if I could make you mine, I would. But Hunter refuses to sell you to me. It’s a pity. Maybe I should make you feel that anger.”
“Or…” Marlow rests her finger between his pecs, forcing a flirty smile. “Or we could fuck, Master Faraday.” She feels sick to her stomach. She hates giving in like this, but she knows that it’s the only way she’ll survive.
“I like the sound of that,” Faraday says with a chuckle, and he throws her back onto the bed, forcing her legs open.
She goes somewhere else when this happens. She has her own place, she imagines a wide open field full of flowers and Val by her side. She does not face the reality of what’s happening between her legs. No, she doesn’t want to go there. She wants to stay in the warm sun among the flowers with Val at her side.
The next part of @painful-pooch and I's From Tyrant to Martyr!
Masterlist HERE || Previous part HERE
CW: 18+, infection, flashbacks/hallucinations
***
The fever rushes through Marlow’s body, rendering her incapacitated on the pet room floor. The horrible spot where he cut off her tattoo is shining with pus and infection, along with a few other wounds on her body. She shudders and jerks around, her mind desperately trying to compensate for the infection growing steadily inside her. All she can do is let her brain flash back, taking her on a ride through her past.
“Kiddo?” Bruno asks, his voice trembling as he takes in Marlow’s beaten form. “Kiddo, what happened?”
“I’m done, Bruno. I can’t do it anymore.” Marlow looks up at the man who’s been taking care of her all these months, biting her bruised lip. “I can’t fight anymore. I’m tired of being beat up and hurt. I’m so tired of it.”
“Okay, kid. I’ll get you out of this situation. Just take my hand and trust me.”
She remembers the day Bruno saved her from the Arena like it was yesterday. He pulled her out of the gang life and brought her to the team…where she met her true family.
Marlow tosses and turns on the floor, sweating profusely. The fever is in full control of her mind, and she’s so close to developing sepsis. On top of that, her pelvis…her pelvis has been snapped and each movement brings her pain, each slight breath wracks her broken body. She’s never felt pain this unique, this exquisite agony that takes over her entire brain. All she can do is hold onto her weak heartbeat and follow along with where her mind goes next.
Marlow flattens Chevy onto his back, her arm at his neck. “Yield,” she says, her face mere inches from his.
“Fine, fine,” he groans, tapping the mat three times with his outstretched hand. “I’m out, Pip. Fuck, you got me good.”
“I always do.” Marlow stands up, holding her hand out to Chevy to help him off the floor. She pulls him to his feet with her classic arrogant smirk, laughing softly. “It’s okay, big brother. You’re just rusty. And a weakling.”
“A weakling?” Chevy puts her in a headlock, ruffling her hair. “Come on, Pip. I’m not a weakling. But you’re right, I am getting rusty compared to you.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. After all, fighting is how I survived.”
And now, she can’t even move. She used to be a fighter, but Hunter stole that with her along with her pride, dignity, and will to live. Instead of fighting like she’s meant to, she’s kept naked and chained and collared.
At the beginning, she was capable of fighting back, she was capable of standing up to Hunter and his guests, but now she’s nothing more than a corpse. Without medicine to treat this infection, it might very well kill her.
Sepsis. That’s what it’s called, she remembers Khrystyna teaching her about it. If the infection spreads, her organs could fail, it could tip her already weak body over the edge. She has to fight this, but she doesn’t know how.
All she can do is lay on the pet room floor and let the fever burn through her memories.
Part 3 of @painful-pooch and I's collab: From Tyrant to Martyr!
Part 2 HERE
TW: pet whump, noncon, dissociation from trauma, some pretty extreme humiliation and degradation, sadism, 18+
***
Low just keeps getting lower. Dressed in a pair of cheap angel wings, a halo headband, and streaks of blood and come, Marlow Stenberg, just known as ‘Star’ to the cheering guests surrounding her, lowers her head to the bowl of putrid dog food in front of her and takes her first slow bite, gagging the second the rancid taste hits her tongue.
Hunter keeps his foot on her back, on the dozens of whip marks he’s scattered there in the first days of her captivity, all in various stages of healing. He’s threatened her with a tattoo gun, but so far the worst he’s done is brand his initials on her upper arm. It’s ugly and she hates it, but she knows Reaper has a good tattoo guy who can fix her up.
One day at a time, even in this perversion of beauty. She finishes chewing the bite of dog food before Hunter allows her to sit up. She opens her mouth to show him and the guests that she swallowed, and she hates their cheers. What sick people cheer to see a woman eating dog food?
“Pretty bitch you’ve got there, Hunter,” one of them comments, smirking down at Marlow. “Nice and young looking. Harder and harder to get these gorgeous younger ones that are still legal. You breaking her in good?”
“You know me, Amos.” Hunter hasn’t taken his eyes off his angle, the crooked fuzzy halo on her head and the askew wings, kept on her back by thin pieces of silver elastic. “I always break them in good. She’s giving me trouble, but that means she’ll last longer than the others. Or at least, I have a feeling I can keep her longer.”
Others…what the fuck does he mean by others? He’s…taken other girls before her…that’s the only logical conclusion and it terrifies Marlow. He’s done this before, and based on the way this conversation is going, it seems like he kills them quickly. She can’t have that happen, she needs to get back to her dad and her fiance and her team. She has a reason to fight.
Without being told, she stands up, clenching her hands into fists and relaxing them. This is just like the Arena, fight to survive. And she’s not going to sleep with torn holes and a beaten body tonight. She’s Marlow fucking Stenberg, not Star. Not some fucked up angel. Marlow. Fucking. Stenberg.
Hunter tilts his head to her, his hand going to the remote. “Something the matter, sweet Starshine? You still have a whole doggie bowl of food. Dogs aren’t wasteful, you know. They eat everything given to them unless they’re sick and need to be put down.”
“I’m not a dog,” she responds, voice smooth and even and calm. Sudden aggression will only earn her a shock. “I’m going upstairs, Hunter. Fuck this. I’m not a dog and I’m not a spectacle for these monsters to watch.”
Just as she turns to go up the stairs, someone grabs her by the arm, and as she whips around, she sees…not Hunter, but a different man. Cold, blue gray eyes meet her soft juniper ones, his red hair and beard are peppered with gray, and there’s nothing but lust and anger as he throws her to the ground. She cracks her head on the wood floor, everything ringing for a few moments before the man steps back over her, straddling her and crouching down. “So this is her, Hunter,” the man says, a thick Scottish accent clogging his voice.
“This is Star,” Hunter says. “Still working on the attitude problem, Faraday. She’s not a very grateful dog.”
The man, Faraday, laughs. “I don’t know if she’ll make it as long as you claim, Hunter. If she doesn’t learn to behave…” He grabs a handful of her tit, squeezing so hard she yelps. “You’ll probably kill her within the month.”
“No. She’s a natural masochist. She’s too valuable to get rid of.” Hunter just casually shares her biggest secret like it’s nothing, and Marlow wants to cringe back and hide. He found out on the third night, and since then, he’s been exploiting it to the maximum. “She’ll be my puppy for a long time. But as for her bad behavior…”
Faraday grins, and it sends a chill down Marlow’s spine. Whatever this man is capable of…it’s just as bad as Hunter, maybe even worse. “Want help disciplining her?”
“Always.”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. Marlow tries to squirm away, and she manages to escape Faraday’s clutches, but she just runs right into Hunter. He slams his fist into her face, and the force of that plus her weakness from barely eating or drinking sends her careening to the floor. She hears the snap of one of the angel wings as she hits the floor, but she also hears the snap of her shoulder popping out of place. She screams in pain, but she doesn’t get a second to take it in or fix her shoulder. Faraday kicks her hard in the ribs, and she feels the bones cracking there. She rolls over, and just finds herself at the feet of Hunter, who kicks her in the stomach.
She wants to throw up, but she holds it in, reminds herself that she can take a beating and more, that she’s stronger than what they can do to her. But is she?
Hunter pulls her up by the hair, one of the angel wings hanging limply beneath her while the other is twisted. Her halo is askew, brown hair wrapped around it. He laughs, and the sound is so cold and haunting. “Look at this. A shattered angel.”
Blood drips from her nose, her abdomen is bruised, her right arm hangs limply from her socket, the old cuts littering her body have opened back up. She can’t feel…anything. She remembers her lessons from Val, that numbing out is her brain’s way of keeping itself, but she can’t feel anything except panic rising in her chest. This isn’t Rico. This isn’t pain to teach a lesson, this is just…pain. Pain and more pain and sadism.
Hunter drops her to the floor, putting his foot on the back of her neck and smashing her face into the bowl of dog food. She can’t breathe around the foul smell, she can’t take it. She cries into the bowl, her body shaking with sobs, and that was all it took for Hunter, because a few moments later, ropes of come hit her back and Marlow, the shattered angel, lets her mind leave her body face down in the dog food.
Hunter’s in a bad mood tonight. He came home from work still on a phone call, shouting at someone at the top of his lungs. Marlow, huddled in a small ball on the floor by the couch, gets a sharp kick to her back before he disappears into his office, the shouting continuing through the door.
Marlow hates when he has a bad day. He takes it all out on her with his hands, weapons, or with his cock, and she can’t take much more. Seven months. It’s been seven months, or at least that’s what she thinks. She doesn’t know, all the pain makes time blend together.
She knows her time is running out. She can barely move anymore, she’s so skinny. Her wounds aren’t healing, the only way her skin stitches itself back together is when she glues it back together. She reeks of infection, blood, and come, but she can’t clean herself anymore. She doesn’t have the energy or the ability. Some clients clean her off, maybe guilt or something else, but that’s the most.
She’s going to die here. She’s going to die without telling Val she loves him, she’s going to die without having a playdate with her and Lukas’s plushies, she’s going to die without hugging her dad.
But she doesn’t want to die.
Marlow is doing everything she can to keep going, to keep her wounds from getting more infected, to keep her mind in one piece while Hunter tries to tear it apart. She’s doing everything she can to prevent Hunter from getting angry and hurting her, knowing that one more serious injury could be the end.
Hunter is so damn angry. She hears glass breaking, swearing, objects being kicked, wood being broken. Panic is building in her chest, this awful slinking feeling that won’t go away. It tightens around her lungs, it suffocates her. She’s learned to be terrified of his anger, of his sharp mood swings. She whimpers even harder when she hears a chair being thrown into the wall, and then the door swings open.
“Puppy,” Hunter snaps, his cock already out. “Bedroom. I’m not going to fucking ask twice. Get your stupid ass upstairs!”
All the parts of her that wanted to fight back have gone away. Now, she just wants to make Hunter happy and stay alive. She crawls up the stairs, but she only makes it a few steps before she feels Hunter’s belt on her ass. “Faster!” he screams, and Marlow drags herself even faster, the belt hitting so hard it draws blood.
She barely makes it to the top step when Hunter grabs her by the hair, dragging her into his bedroom. She can’t fight back, she just takes a breath and tries to calm down as much as she can. “Daddy,” she whines, acting as submissive and small as possible. “You’re scaring me. Can we have nice sex?”
He backhands her so hard her head spins, snarling at her. “Nice sex? What the fuck do you think this is and how the fuck did you get so fucking comfortable asking stupid shit like that?” He’s roaring at her, stepping closer to her and backing her into the corner. “You. Are. A. Dog! A fucking dog who only has worth because of its holes. I don’t want to fuck you nicely, bitch. I want to rip your ass open until you forget your name.” He seizes her and tosses her on the bed, not giving her a second to breathe before he grabs her by the hips and slams into her.
She tries to dissociate during it, but she notices something hard beneath her and Hunter putting pressure on her hips, pressure that just keeps getting stronger…she wants to warn him but the second she opens her mouth, he shoves a sock in it and keeps going, keeps pressing harder…
The snap echoes around the room and the pain immediately follows, soaring agony that Marlow has never felt before. She screams and sobs into the sock, her vision whiting out. This is unlike anything she’s ever felt before. It’s pain beyond words, it’s indescribable yet it feels like it takes over her whole world.
***
“Fuck,” Hunter mumbles, noticing his pet’s pelvis has cracked, visibly broke and practically turned to rubble underneath his hands. He wonders if he really is that strong or if it’s just the malnutrition that turned her bones to ash, but it doesn’t matter. He holds her together as he fucks into her, finally coming and pulling out amidst the pet’s screams and cries.
“Shut up,” he mumbles, wiping himself off and sticking himself back in his pants. The pet doesn’t seem to be able to hear, still screaming and arching her back like that’ll make it better, like that’ll stop the pain. “Fine!” he snaps. His heart is racing, but it’s not from anger. Star wasn’t his first pet, but she’s the only one who’s lasted this long and the only one who…this happened to. He reaches into his bedside table and pulls out a syringe full of sedatives, jamming it into the pet’s neck. “There…sleep,” he murmurs, watching her eyes close and her body go limp on his bed.
“Fuck,” he says again, watching his come leak out between the pet’s bloody thighs. She really was his favorite plaything, which makes this a real shame. The vet won’t be able to fix her, not without major changes to her abilities, which means it’s time to let her go. It’s time to bury Star with all the other bodies, and Hunter doesn’t know how he feels about that.
He does know what to do with the video, though, he thinks as he turns the camera off. Edit this part out and it’ll be a great seller. It might be one of the last videos the pet was ever in…a last memory of her to her family, if you will.
The whumper's POV in @painful-pooch and I's From Tyrant to Martyr
Masterlist HERE || Previous part HERE
CW: gross whumper thoughts, noncon, noncon video sharing, really gross man, human trafficking, 18+
***
Hunter sits at his desk with his feet up, counting the cash he earned at the last party. He runs his fingers over the crisp hundred dollar bills, smiling to himself. None of his other girls made him this much money in one night. There’s something special about Star, something different that makes her more alluring to his guests.
Maybe it’s her natural masochistic streak, maybe it’s her looks or her screams. Either way, Hunter loves how much money she brings in, between parties and selling her out.
He finishes counting the cash, almost two thousand dollars, and places it in an envelope to bring to the bank. Next up, he logs onto his computer and pulls up the money he makes on his video sharing site.
The most popular video of Star has over three hundred thousand views, with most videos averaging around ninety thousand. The money from those videos gets deposited right into his bank account, an offshore one in the Cayman Islands. He’s arrogant enough to believe it won’t be tracked, and brash enough not to care if it does get tracked. With a sadistic grin at the latest payment made to his account, he scrolls through the webpage and opens up the latest video.
It’s not too bad for a new video, sitting at over ninety five thousand views. The video starts off with Marlow tied to a bench, Hunter behind her and wearing a mask. Her brown hair spills over her shoulders, and her face is contorted in pain as the electric pads placed all over her skinny body delivers another shock to her.
‘Skinny Whore Gets Electro Torment.’
He comes up with the titles himself, normally using some degrading name and what he does in the video. He charges a membership fee for people to view his videos, but the comments don’t seem mad about it. They’re praising Hunter for punishing the slut, and that goes right to his ego. He must be doing something right if all these people like his videos. It means Star deserves what she’s getting.
He exits out of the video just as Star has begun to cry, feeling uncomfortably hard in his pants. Last time he saw Star, she was fast asleep on the floor of the pet room in a tangle of limbs, the bloody sheet wrapped around her legs.
He would wake her up…but sometimes, the videos are better than dealing with the real thing. Besides, the girl is already close to death, and he needs to keep her alive for as long as he can. He scrolls on his computer, going to the most popular of all the videos.
‘Stupid Tiny Slut Takes Whipping and Hard Ass Fucking.’
He’s particularly proud of the title on this one. It caught a lot of attention, and brought in so many new subscribers to his account. He starts the video up and undoes his zipper, taking his cock out and slowly fisting it.
He has videos of the other girls on this account, too, but none that have done quite as well as this one. None have done quite as well as Star. He moans softly, watching her cry and shake on video as blood drips down her back, and when he comes, it’s all over the surface of his desk.
The next part of @painful-pooch and I's From Tyrant to Martyr!
Masterlist HERE || Previous part HERE
CW: noncon, pet whump, torture, 18+
***
Marlow loves her brother with her whole heart. Even though she and Archer, also known as Chevy, aren’t biologically related, she sees him as her real brother. He’s a Stenberg just like she is, he’s her big brother and having him around is one of the most important things to her. They spar together, they work out together, they do so much together. She looks up to him like any little sister does with their big brother, which is why seeing him in these circumstances is so painful.
Chevy looks at her with wide eyes, seemingly haunted by what he’s seeing. He’s on the screen of Hunter’s laptop, looking down at Marlow and Hunter. “Please stop it,” he whimpers, pressing his knuckles to his teeth. “Stop hurting her, fucker! I’m going to tear you apart.”
Hunter laughs, delivering a sharp kick to Marlow’s ribs. She’s bound in a hogtie on the floor, a cloth gag tied around her head. No matter how hard she thrashes, she can’t get free or loosen the gag…she can’t reassure her broken brother that she’s fine.
“Don’t do that!” Chevy shouts, jolting so abruptly that the whole camera shakes. “Hey, fucker! Get your hands off my sister. I’m going to kill you slowly for what you’ve done to her.”
“What I’ve done to her? Which part?” Hunter grins, resting his foot on Marlow’s head. “There are just so many options to choose from. Fucking her gorgeous throat or her tight pussy or her little ass…humiliating her and making her a dog…torturing her…stripping away all her dignity…I can keep going, you know. I can give you so many details, like when I raped her ass when I was slicing her open and she squealed like a baby cow…”
“ENOUGH!” Chevy roars, visibly trembling. “You’re a rapist who’s touching my sister. The things I want to do to you…I want to cut off your penis and carve your organs and rip you apart with my bare hands. Let me talk to my sister.”
“You know what? Why not.” Hunter leans down, undoing the gag. “Go on, dog. Talk to your brother puppy.”
Marlow swallows a few times, trying to clear her throat from the taste of the gag. She sees Chevy looking at her desperately, and she knows she needs to say the right thing to calm him down. Her brother’s emotions are volatile, especially with his schizophrenia, and she’s responsible for making sure he doesn’t spiral down into madness. “Archer, I’m okay,” she says, even though she’s lying through her teeth. “Just hurry up and send someone to rescue me, yeah?”
“Yeah Pip, we’re trying,” Chevy murmurs, unable to meet her eyes. “We’re looking for you everywhere, but we haven’t found you yet. I…I want to know what he’s doing to you, but I’m scared to find out. I miss you so much. Dad hasn’t been the same with you gone. He’s breaking.”
“Hey, take a deep breath.” Marlow forces a smile, but knowing about Bruno kills her inside. She hates thinking about him breaking just because of her absence. “You don’t need to know what’s happening to me, you just need to know that I’m gonna be okay. I’m strong enough to hold out.”
“He’s torturing you!” Chevy snaps. “He’s raping you! My precious baby sister is getting hurt!”
Marlow twists in her restraints, wishing she was free so she could make a comforting gesture. “Calm down. Archer, you need to calm down. The more agitated you get, the more ideas it’s going to give Hunter.”
“That’s Mr. Bianchi to you, bitch.” Hunter kicks her hard in the face, her nose breaking with a sickening snap. Blood gushes everywhere, and Marlow cries out in pain. “Mr. Bianchi. Not Hunter. Use some fucking respect for once in your pathetic dog life.”
“She’s not a dog!” Chevy punches the camera, cracks splintering across his side of the video. “Don’t do that to her! Fuck, Pip! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she says, her voice choked from the blood. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve been through worse.”
“Do you think that makes it any better?” he asks, practically screaming. “Do you think it makes it any better knowing that this monster has done worse to you, Pip? It fucking doesn’t! God, I just…fuck! Shut up, Jericho!” With one final punch to the camera, Chevy’s line goes dead.
Marlow holds back her tears, the image of Chevy’s fearful face frozen in her mind. She looks down at the puddle of blood forming underneath her, her neck straining to keep her face out of it. “Fuck you, she mumbles, earning herself another kick to her ribs. The bone breaks under the blow from how weak she is from malnutrition.
“No swearing,” Hunter says. He’s smirking down at her, looking so amused by what just happened on the phone call. “I’ll leave you here in your mess to think about what you’ve done.”
Marlow watches him walk away, resting her head in the puddle of blood. Her family…her family is falling apart, and she’s stuck here watching it from the sidelines.
