17. Lars

17

Lars

A haze clouds my mind. Thoughts of Billie, my rage, and self-pity collide, making logic impossible.

Cain steps close and wraps his hand around my throat, subduing me by forcing me to my knees. “Calm the fuck down.”

“Cain, what are you doing?” Billie screeches, kicking out at him. “Cain, stop! Look at him. He can’t breathe.”

“Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” Cain spits. “He’s not doing himself or anyone else any good breathing right now.”

Billie lowers her head, sinking her teeth into Cain’s arm. She doesn’t let go, and blood trickles from her mouth, gliding along his skin.

Cain laughs as he grabs her. “You forget that shit turns me on. Is it an invitation to fuck you?”

Billie kicks out again, missing his legs with each swing. “Put me down, you moron. What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you on something other than weed?”

Cain holds her with one hand as if she weighs no more than a feather. If it comes to it, Cain could subdue us both. “I don’t touch chemicals. I’m so sick and tired of his bullshit. He needs to heal, and I’m gonna make him. If any part of you still cares about him, Tinkerbell, you’ll sit on that chair over there and keep your mouth shut while I deal with him.”

I expect Billie to tear into him. Call him names and storm out of the room. But to my surprise, when Cain puts her down, Billie nods and sits in the chair.

Cain’s focus returns to me, where I kneel before him. “Now, to deal with you. Your mouth has been off the rails, so I think it’s time to fill it.” He pulls his pants down and his cock bobs in front of my face. “Open up, baby boy.”

Parting my lips is difficult because of Cain’s grip on my throat, but I like it. My dick is hard and ready at the idea of losing consciousness from strangulation. I’ve often wondered why I get off on asphyxiation. When I was younger, I assumed it was because I was fucked in the head, but that’s not the case. Being choked out allows my brain to shut down. When I’m clamoring to draw breath, I can’t focus on the other dramas infesting my life. The act centers me. Guess you could say breath play is my personal method of therapy.

“Cain, he can’t breathe.” Billie’s voice is a gentle whisper in the background.

“He needs it,” Cain answers her. “Trust me, I’ve been doing this shit to him for ten years. Grab the belt on the dresser.”

Billie looks uncertain. “Why? What are you going to do with it?”

“Goddamn it, Billie, if you don’t grab that belt, I’ll stop what I’m doing and turn your ass black and blue. Now be a good girl, shut the fuck up, and do as you’re told.”

Billie jumps out of the chair and hurries to the dresser, grabbing the belt and placing it in Cain’s free hand. I’m not surprised she didn’t sass him. In her heart, Billie is a sub and Cain a true dominant. She doesn’t stand a chance.

I gasp for breath as Cain’s fingers loosen on my neck. But my relief is short-lived as he replaces his hand with the cool leather of the belt.

My mouth closes, and Cain pulls the belt, constricting my airway.

“I didn’t tell you to shut your mouth, baby boy.”

Gasps explode from my mouth, bombarding the room, and my hands instinctively fly to the belt.

“Cain, stop!” Billie screams.

“Billie, you think I’d do this if we had nothing put into place? He knows what to do if it’s too much.”

“What if he doesn’t?” Billie asks, her voice barely a whisper.

“Oh, Billie, you’re not that special. Don’t get me wrong, we fuckin’ love you, and we’ll do anything to get you back. But he’s not gonna kill himself for you. He knows what suicide does to the people you leave behind, and he’d never do that to you and me. If he did, I’d chase him to hell and torture him for all eternity.”

Cain’s right. I would never off myself. Suicide doesn’t stop the pain; it simply spreads to those left behind. Trevor killed himself because life’s burdens were too much for him, but he never thought about the void once he was gone. His memory is a tear in our existence, something we’ll never forget. Even the band name is in remembrance of Trevor, something to hold on to, a little piece of what we could’ve been.

Cain’s large cock slaps my face and my lips open for him. I gag instantly as saliva fills my mouth. Cain likes a sloppy blow job, the wetter the better. For him, spit is an added layer that feels good and fosters my humiliation with little effort. Light-headedness and the notion that I’m going to barf or pass out invades my mind. I ponder the many times Cain knocked me out. It’s one of his many perversions as he records my unconscious humiliation.

“That’s it, baby boy. Take what you need, like a good boy.”

Cain’s words are soothing. They comfort me and lull my self loathing.

“He’s always been like this,” Cain says, holding my head down with brute force. “Lars gets in his own head and spirals. He acts out when he’s hurt or confused, causing more harm instead of fixing what’s wrong. Loving Lars isn’t easy. He’ll lash out. He’ll send your world into utter chaos. But he’ll also jump in front of a moving car for you, give you the shirt off his back, and never be disloyal. He’s always been dominant with you during sex, but he’s what we call a switch. He needs to be in charge and be used. When he spins out, it’s the only way I know to settle him. So at moments like this, I push his boundaries, invade his space, and take control.”

Billie frowns. “Does it work?”

Cain gazes down at me and the last thing I hear him say is, “It has in the past.”

Then everything goes black.