Trials and Errors (2 page)

Mat went to rise to his feet, and Nikolai barked, “
No
. You
crawl
before your master.”

Mathias’s sigh was downright theatrical, but he dropped to his hands and knees. Minute tremors ran through his arms as he shuffled toward the dresser. He’d eaten a dozen tiny meals in the last twenty-four hours, but clear juices and soft bland foods only went so far after the way he’d abused himself. He was still hungry. Still weak. Nikolai would feed him up again, have Roger oversee his exercise routine. Make him strong like before.

But first he’d have to earn it.

Crawling was way harder than it should’ve been. Not mentally—he barely even felt the humiliation after all the other, bigger humiliations that’d come before—but physically. He wasn’t used to being weak this way, and he didn’t like it one bit. Couldn’t wait to get back on his feet—literally as well as figuratively. Now that he’d decided not to die, he’d need his strength. Now that Nikolai had given in and promised to let him see Dougie.

Dougie, God.
Maybe, somehow, he could convince Dougie how sorry he was, get Dougie to forgive him. He’d figure out a way. He
had
to. He could scarcely believe that Nikolai had given in so easily to his demand, but since he had, there was no way in hell Mat was going to waste the opportunity.

He reached the dresser, panting a little, and lifted tired arms to open the third drawer. Saw the black case right away. It was disconcertingly large and heavy. What the fuck was Nikolai hiding in there? What would he end up having to endure to convince Nikolai he was sincere? To see Dougie again? To fix the biggest fucking mistake he’d ever made?

“Oh, and fetch the lube, as well—the bottle next to the case. You’ll be needing it.”

Sick fuck
. Mat bit his tongue to keep from saying it aloud. There was no doubt in his mind that Nikolai would want him to keep up the argumentativeness in the long run, but not today. Today he had to prove he could be a good little slave.

So he grabbed the lube.

Crawling back with the lube in one hand and the case in the other proved something of a challenge. The floor was hard beneath too-bony knees, he felt tired enough to sleep for a week, and he
didn’t want to do this
, whatever it was. Fear was an insidious thing, and if he were stronger he’d shove it away like he always did, but shuffling back toward Nikolai now, toward the man who was no doubt about to rape and beat him half-unconscious and make him say thank you for it . . . well, he figured nobody would blame him for slowing down a little bit.

Nikolai said nothing, just watched him, expression empty of all but a vague expectation, a ghost of haughty triumph, and a shade of doubt—not in himself, no, but in Mat. In Mat’s willingness and ability to keep playing along.

Well, he’d fucking see. Mat would do it all, no matter how painful, no matter how depraved. To protect people weaker than himself, like Roger. To protect the only person he loved: Dougie.

He could hardly believe he’d be seeing Dougie at all. How the hell had Nikolai agreed to that? Fuck, he didn’t care. Dougie was like a fever dream now, a memory as sweet and painful as their parents, but he was getting his brother back. He was getting Dougie
back
, and that was worth anything.

Unless Nikolai was lying. Just saying what he wanted to hear. Stringing him along.

But . . . no, If nothing else, Nikolai was a man of his word. As sick and twisted and horrible as he was, he hadn’t ever lied—not that a man in his position needed to. Besides, what would the point of it be? He knew Mat wasn’t bluffing, so why risk it?

Nikolai snapped his fingers and said, “Give me the case, Mathias,” and Mat realized he’d stalled out, lost in his own weakened mind.

He shuffled the last little way and rose up onto his knees. Laid the lube on top of the case and picked up the whole shebang with both hands, held it aloft on his palms, bowed his head. “Master,” he added, and managed not to make it sound too much like a sneer. Yeah, he could play along.
Woof woof, look how well I learn new tricks.

Nikolai, the fucker, left him hanging, left the case in his outstretched hands until his arms began to tremble, then outright shake, then cramp, and he gritted his teeth and locked his elbows and tried not to hyperventilate or pass out or fall over or drop the thing as sweat formed on his brow and under his arms and between his shoulder blades and dripped down his skin.

“You’ve weakened yourself, Mathias. For shame.”

“I’ll get strong again, sir. You’ll see.”
Now please just take this fucking thing.

“I’m sure I will.”

But still he just
stood
there. What was he waiting for?

“Ahem,” Nikolai said, a sort of half cough into a loosely curled fist. Mat twitched an eye up and saw the fucker holding back a smile. “Don’t you have something you want to say to me, Mathias?”

Oh. Of
course
. “I’m, um, sorry, sir?” God, even his voice was shaking with the strain now.
Take the case. Please take the fucking case.

“For what?” Nikolai prodded, way too fucking smug.

Which . . . good question. Just what imagined slight was he supposed to be fucking sorry for?

The case. Your weakness. Trying to escape this place and this life in the only way you knew how.

“For damaging your property, sir.” Spoken with proper deference and everything, never mind how fucking
sick
it made him, because if Nikolai didn’t take this fucking thing from his
damaged property
in the next five fucking seconds, he was going to drop it, and he didn’t even want to
think
about what might happen then.

Nikolai nodded once, sharply, and took the case from his hands. Mat dropped his arms like lead fucking blocks and struggled to rearrange himself into some semblance of proper position, ass to heels, thighs spread wide, hands resting atop them. He couldn’t quite manage the straight back and squared shoulders, but Nikolai wasn’t paying any attention to him anyway. He was opening the case, rummaging around inside, up on the table where Mat couldn’t see it.

He heard the click of lube, and then Nikolai handed him the opened tube with one hand and a giant black and silver butt plug with the other. Fucking
huge
. Like, size-of-his-fist huge at least, and heavy too, and there was no question about what Nikolai expected him to do with it.

He almost,
almost
said “I can’t.” Because, seriously, it kind of didn’t even look physically possible. But he knew it was—he’d taken that expanding plug at Madame’s, after all—and he
wouldn’t
fuck this up before it’d even begun.

Even though he hadn’t spoken, Nikolai must have seen the protest on his face, because he said, “You can and you will, Mathias. Your brother regularly plugs himself without complaint.”

No, please, don’t say shit like that to me. I don’t want to hear it. It’s not true.

God, maybe Nikolai
was
going to let him see Dougie, but when he did, would Dougie even
be
Dougie anymore?

It didn’t matter. Mat would love him just the same. Always. Forever. And one day, when they got out of here somehow, Mat would help him heal. That was who he was. The big brother, no matter what. He just needed to hang on to that. Through whatever was coming.

So let’s get through this thing.

“Yes, sir,” he said, surprised to find himself swallowing back tears, and where the fuck had those come from? It was just exhaustion, that was all. It would pass.

He placed the huge plug on the floor and drizzled lube down onto the top of it, squeezing the bottle with both shaking hands, nearly emptying it. It was . . . different than the usual lube. Thicker.

You can do this. You should be thankful he’s letting you do it to yourself, because you can take it slow. Take it slow and easy, deep breaths, just relax and let it happen.

He rose up onto his knees, spread his legs a little. Scooted forward until he was straddling the plug. No way to do this without spreading himself first, so he reached around with both hands to do just that. He hadn’t been fucked in so long he wasn’t quite used to the sensation anymore. It made his skin crawl. He closed his eyes.

“No,” Nikolai said. “Eyes on your master. You’re putting on a show for
me
. Never forget that.”

So much for trying to pretend Nikolai wasn’t here.

He met the man’s eyes, let his mouth fall open a little and licked his lips, nice and slow. Remembered a far-off place and a far-off time when he’d pick up a fan after a match and kiss him hard, pinch his nipples, and squeeze his balls, then lick his lips just like this, just before kneeling and giving the guy the blowjob of his life, so hungry to make someone feel good after an evening spent trying to smash people’s faces in.

His performance now was just a hollow imitation, almost a caricature of lust, but whatever, it seemed to make Nikolai happy. He stared right through Nikolai, held the image of the post-match blowjob in his head, spread himself as wide as he could, and lowered himself onto the plug.

The tip, slick and dripping, breached him easily, and he gasped a little at the sensation, no pain yet, not even pressure or fullness, just that first lick of once delicious pleasure, irrevocably tainted now, as twisted and disgusting as everything else here. He had to let go of his ass then and brace his hands on the floor, legs too weak to hold him suspended for long, and the last fucking thing he wanted was to
sit
on the plug, drive it into himself too far too fast with his body weight. Instead he wiggled his hips a little, reminded himself he was supposed to be putting on a show and gasped again, let his eyes flutter briefly closed before returning his gaze to Nikolai’s face. He remembered the lesson Nikolai had taught him earlier about lying, about faking it, about convincing the master that Mat’s pleasure was
his
pleasure too. Maybe, just maybe, if he did that well enough now, Nikolai wouldn’t force him to hurt himself too badly.

Except Nikolai seemed utterly unmoved by Mat’s show. No hard-on. No dilated pupils. No parted lips or speeding breaths or anything but mild interest and maybe boredom. “Faster,” Nikolai said. “This is
supposed
to hurt, remember?”

Sick fucking bastard. Did you get off on beating poor Roger, too? Do you get off on hurting my brother this way?

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about how Dougie is suffering right now, just focus on seeing him soon. That’s all that matters.

He sank an inch or two down the plug, which got hugely wide way too fucking fast, until the burn made him hiss and he had to stop for a second to breathe through it.

“Keep going,” Nikolai ordered.

Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you, you bastard.
Even in his head, his inner voice seemed to be panting with exertion. Or maybe that was just his brain shorting out. He sat back a little further, his weight driving the plug in a little more, splitting him open wider until he just
couldn’t
anymore, too much resistance from shrieking muscles and he’d fucking
tear
if he went any faster, and somehow he didn’t think Nikolai would appreciate that.

Or, fuck, maybe Nikolai wouldn’t care. The memory of a baseball bat ripping up his insides came back so fresh and visceral he actually panicked for a second. Hard to push it aside when the plug didn’t feel all that different and he was pretty sure it wasn’t even halfway in yet.

“Oh, just
sit
on it,” Nikolai snapped. “No more dawdling. Hands off the floor.”

“I’ll bleed, sir,” Mat choked, blinking sweat from his eyes.

Nikolai shrugged. “You might.”

God, when had he become such a fucking pussy? Since when had he gotten so afraid of a little blood? A little pain? This was
Dougie
at stake here.
Suck it the fuck up, Carmichael.

He picked his hands up, curled them into fists on his thighs. Let his muscles relax. Sat. Screamed a little, maybe, as the plug drove in deeper, ripping him open, and he was suddenly sweating so hard he had no idea if it was blood or just perspiration he felt dripping down his taint and to his balls. The pressure and burn were fucking
unbearable
, and he growled through it, eyes clenched shut and teeth gritted, just waiting for the moment the widest part would pop through and he could close around the neck of the plug.

But it kept. Not. Fucking. Happening.

He was going to fucking pass out and Nikolai had barely even begun.

Dizzy, he pried his eyes open just in time to see the fucker folding his arms across his chest, raising a smug eyebrow—and
yes
, there
was
such a thing as a smug eyebrow—and saying, “Stuck?”

Would it ruin things if he told Nikolai where to shove it?

“If you need help, Mathias, all you need to do is ask.” Nikolai took a single step forward, shrugged with one shoulder. “Well, your brother need only ask.
You
would have to beg, a little, perhaps. Convince me you mean it.”