Ally would never forgive herself for not fighting, for going along with what was demanded of her without complaint. She’d known from the moment she realized what she’d been dragged into that she was going to be the perfect target for people who wanted to create and train sex slaves. She’d never fought for herself a day in her life. Why would she start now?
But it was one thing to know she was weak, pathetic, and cowardly, it was another to see it play out in real time. Each time one of those men unlocked the door to her cell, giving her a different version of the same leering smile, she’d wanted to scream at them to leave her alone. Each time they’d unzipped and pulled out erections of varying lengths and sizes, she’dwanted to refuse to touch them, refuse to get them off and let them come all over her. Each time they’d pulled out that darn tube and uncapped it, she’d wanted to press her legs together so they couldn’t massage it into her already swollen and oversensitive center.
Not that she ever did any of that.
Instead, she just took them into her hands, stroking their lengths until they squirted all over her, each time her skin got stickier, itchier. Then she spread her legs like the good little obedient slave she already was and let them laugh at her as they rubbed in what felt like more of that gel each time.
Then came hours of squirming, writhing on the floor, weeping silently to herself, desperate for any sort of stimulation, heck, she’d even come with an audience, anything so long as she got herself some relief.
She didn't do it, though.
Because she’d been told not to.
Threatened with something worse, and she was too afraid of what that might mean to take any risks.
Now, though, the need was fading to just a slight tingle, but something she could easily handle. Ally was utterly exhausted, hadn't slept a wink, not that sleep came easily in this place, but usually she dozed here and there. With the constant arousal pulsing through her system, there had been no way she could close her eyes and rest.
Although Mateo had been down with breakfast a while ago, he hadn't stopped at her cell to drop off food, hadn't even bothered to glance her way. It was like she meant so little to him that he merely stopped thinking about her when he wasn't actively engaged as her trainer.
“Get up, one four zero,” his voice spoke, and her gaze snapped to the cell door, finding him standing there with that blank expression on his face.
Despite how exhausted she was, how tense and shaky her muscles were after trying to restrain from touching herself, Ally pushed wearily to her feet. This morning, her brain felt hazy. Still ashamed, still hating herself, still terrified out of her mind, but there was a haze of distance between herself and what was happening around her.
Maybe she was already learning to dissociate.
Now there’s something that would be helpful.
Following along after Mateo as though she were an obedient little puppy, he led her back down the corridor and to the same room they’d been in the day before, only now there were two chairs in there as well. Expecting a repeat of the day before, starting the cycle all over again, Ally whimpered and rubbed her thighs together, already anticipating how horrendous this was going to be.
“Sit,” Mateo ordered, and a tiny spark of anger flared inside her. She was sick to death of being ordered about like she was a dog. It was only because she feared the consequences of not obeying were death that she did as she was told.
Then again, surely death was better than this.
Still, coward that she was, she didn't say anything, just shuffled across the floor and sat down in the padded chair.
Once she was seated, Mateo prowled toward her. It was so hard to figure out what he was thinking because his expressions were unreadable, but he was here, he was actively participating in what was being done to her, he’d touched her yesterday without her permission and made her get him off. Everything he’d ever told her about consent, and wanting her to grow in her self-confidence and self-worth, wanting her to see herself as he saw her, were clearly lies, but was he enjoying this, or was it just a job to him?
One of his large hands circled her ankle, his thumb caressing her skin with small circles that would have been soothing underany other circumstances. Ally was so focused on those soft touches that she didn't even realize he’d slightly positioned her leg so that he could strap her ankle into a leather cuff attached to the chair’s leg.
Why was she so stupid?
Why was she so desperate to believe that Mateo wasn't a monster when everything he’d done these last few days showed her that he was?
Switching to her other leg, he offered the same gentle caresses as he shifted her into position and likewise restrained it. In this position, her legs were once again spread wide open before him, and she could see him staring at her center.
Trailing a fingertip along the inside of her leg, Mateo stopped when he got to her most intimate area, and then, after a moment, ghosted a finger across it. Still sensitive, the last of the arousal still lingering even if it was much less potent now, her hips rocked forward of their own accord, seeking more than that featherlight touch.
But there was no more. Mateo simply trailed his fingertip down her other leg to the strap on her ankle, then stood, took a step back, and crossed his arms over his massive chest.
“You were a good girl, weren't you?” he purred in that voice she recognized from when they were in the bedroom together.
Was she supposed to answer?
Was it a real question?
Since she hadn't been given instructions on whether she was allowed to talk, Ally decided it was safer to keep her mouth shut. So instead, she just sat there, trembled, and stared at him, waiting to see what he would do to her next.
“Good girls deserve rewards,” Mateo added.