CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains scenes of non-consensual sex

He feels his breath being knocked out of him as he’s thrown onto the ground, the sharp pebbles digging into his already bruised flesh and dust entering his lungs. He coughs, pain shooting up his chest, but he makes no move to get up.

He no longer counts how many times he’s been in this position. Lying inside a dirty cage on his stomach, familiar pain flaring up in different parts of his body, and sticky white remnants staining the skin between his thighs and stomach. He remembers feeling the bone-chilling fear the first time he was tossed here and remembered how paralyzing it felt. Now….he barely feels it. That sharp fear is as faded away as his spirits. Nothing but a low humming whisper in the back of his mind, destined to be long forgotten and buried under heavy dirt. It’s there but it’s only a short matter of time before it disappears and he’s left as nothing more than a thoughtless doll.

A foot nudges his side, turning him over to his stomach. His vision is blurry and barely works anymore but he can see the shadows dancing above him and he feels the strong, vulgar, and dirty emotions the figure above him is feeling.

“So ugly, but he’ll do.”

Oh…

His mind is barely able to think as he feels meaty hands pinching the flesh of his thighs, fingers poking at his bruises and scars like it’s a game. His legs are pushed up and his insides are spread open. All familiar gestures, nothing he hadn’t experienced. He’s familiar with the filthy lust in the vile man’s eyes, he’s familiar with his wandering hands bruising his flesh, and he’s familiar with the pain of the man invading him.

As the low-lit dirty cage begins to fill with the sound of skin slapping against skin, the man’s groans and the slave’s low moans and whimpers, that hum he tries so hard to ignore slowly becomes a little bit harder to ignore. He feels like crying over…so much. Over how this feels so painful, how it’s all just so bleak and hopeless, how he’s no longer himself.

When he can’t handle it and a sob breaks free from his lips, he’s met with a sharp backhanded slap and the man thrusting against him even harder.

His feelings died once more.

It feels like so much time has passed when the man pulls himself out, cleans himself up, and closes his pants. The slave stares blankly at the ceiling, his lower half throbbing from the pain, his cheek stinging from the slap, and his wrists aching from how hard the man had gripped him. The man doesn’t even look back, leaving the slave filthy and alone.

As he lies there, head blank and body in pain, he wonders how long could he last before his consciousness just completely vanishes. Or does he have to endure this for longer? The questions flow through his mind emotionlessly. He remembers when those thoughts used to feel a bit more…desperate. Now it feels like nothing.

Slowly, he reaches up and touches the wetness of his cheeks. How strange. He thought he didn’t have any more tears to spare like this.

He closes his eyes.

Then he jolts awake.