Pup (Bratt)

Chapter Twenty-Six: And Hell is Like This

Author's Note: Content warning. This chapter contains themes of rape and abuse. If you are uncomfortable reading this, please don't endanger yourself to triggering or any other harmful experience.

-foREVerADeathbat

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Matt woke up with a pulsing headache and an aching body. He groaned, blinking up at the ceiling for a moment. Where the hell was he? He looked at the strange stripes on the ceiling for a moment, then gasped, looking around him.

Those stripes were bars. He was in his crate in Sterling's dungeon.

Matt let out a sound in between a whimper and a keen. His breathing became rough and ragged. He couldn't get enough air, he felt confined and terrified. He closed his eyes tight; maybe he could pretend he wasn't here if he thought hard enough.

"Well, well. Lookie who's awake."

Matt was going to throw up.

"I didn't fuck you while you were unconscious, if you're worried about that." Sterling scoffed. "I wanted to wait until you were awake so I could hear you scream."

He sounded far away and distant. Waves were crashing in Matt's ears. He was vaguely aware of the crate being opened. Sterling grabbed Matt's arm and hauled him out of it.

"S-Sterling, p-please."

Right off the bat, Matt was kicked in his side. "It's Master, bitch! And I don't want to hear you utter a fucking sound."

Tears wet Matt's face as Sterling tied his hands above his head with rough, chafing rope. He was yanked to his feet, and Sterling pulled him to the bed, where he was shoved down roughly. Matt watched with wide eyes, whimpering as Sterling finished tying his hands to the headboard.

"Oh, I am going to fuck the hell out of you, slut." Sterling chuckled, slapping Matt's face hard, before tying the blindfold over his eyes. A ball gag was forced in his mouth, causing Matt to choke and gag until he got used to it. In no time the blindfold was sopping wet. Matt tried to take a deep breath, but when he felt Sterling grab his legs and jerk them apart harshly, he let out a sob.

His body was not used to this. The initial sharp burn and then the harsh, deep throbbing left him screaming around the gag, digging his fingernails into his palms. Sterling slapped his face hard with a "Hush, fucker!" and Matt whimpered, lying limp and defeated, chest heaving.

The pain was intense, almost unbearable. Blood ran down Matt's palms from where his own nails bit through his skin. All he could hear was his own whimpers and his pulse crashing in his ears and Sterling panting, laughing, "Oh, you like that, don't you, bitch?"

Through deep, calming breaths, Matt eased his way into his headspace. It was easier this way. He could handle things more as a beaten dog than he could as a terrified man. He was able to quiet down, head lolling, bordering unconsciousness as his hind legs were wrenched apart.

It was easier this way.

Sterling's seed was hot on Matt's insides, and Matt squirmed at the foreign feeling of it. It had been a long time since this had happened to him in his headspace. He spat some sort of phrase at him, but Matt didn't understand it. The fist on his jaw hardly jarred him.

Sterling left him like that, soaked with sweat and tears and blood and Sterling's come, paws tied up, eyes covered. He was exhausted. He let out a feeble howl around the gag between his teeth, and then Matt fell asleep.

~*~

He fell into the routine easily.

Matt spent seventy, maybe even eighty percent of his time in his headspace. He was a tortured puppy, but it helped ease the pain. If he were not in his headspace so much, he could almost trick himself into believing he had never been to Brian's. All of that was a dream, an intense one that he had had after a particularly difficult fuck.

But he hadn't spent this much time in his headspace before. He cowered away from Sterling, always on all fours, growling at him, then whimpering as he was kicked. Sterling throat fucked him, and he hung his jaw like a good dog, trying not to gag and choke on Sterling's cock, swallowing the bitter come like a good boy.

Matt was in a haze. He slept when he was allowed to, ate when he was allowed to, stood up on his hind legs when he was told. He did tricks for Sterling, when he was jerked out of his headspace he said "Yes, Master" and "No, Master" and when Sterling brought over guests, he served them in whatever ways he could, sexual or otherwise.

The minutes stretched out like hours and the hours, like days. Had Matt only been here four nights? It seemed like it had been so much longer than that. He was out of his headspace, lying on the dungeon floor. Sterling and a friend of his had just finished fucking Matt. His friend had dislocated Matt's shoulder, which had been a terrifying, painful experience. Sterling had popped it back in, but it was bruising and swelling like no other.

Matt knew the dungeon door was locked. It wasn't like he could get to his feet and see if it was, anyway. He was so tired. His ass was sore, his throat was raw, his shoulder hurt so bad he could hardly see straight.

He did what he had grown accustomed to doing when he was hurt too bad for him to handle: get into his headspace.

He licked at his paws, they were bloody, cleaning them up as best he could. He nuzzled his nose into his paws, remembering his master, the one who played with him and gave him treats and belly rubs and kissed his forehead. That was a good master, he thought. Where was his good master now? Why wasn't Matt with him? He had been abandoned, and now he was with his old master and things were never going to be right again.

Matt let out a whine, feeling tears wetting his paws, and he shook with sobs, crying until he was a sniffling, hiccupping mess. He was a bad dog. That's why his master didn't want him anymore. He was a bad puppy and this was his punishment. He was going to have to live like this for the rest of his life.

Sterling returned some time later, tossing a sandwich at Matt. It came apart in the air, and he scuffled after the bread, the ham, the cheese, scarfing it down as Sterling laughed at him.

"You're a filthy mutt, Matt, you know that?" he asked between fits of laughter, "You're fucking disgusting."

He fit the choke chain over Matt's neck, and Matt yelped as he was dragged to the crate in the corner of the room. "In you get, bitch." He hissed, shoving Matt into the tiny space.

Matt closed his eyes tight, his composure cracking. There was plenty of room in here, he was just a little puppy, there was plenty of room. He had to hunch his back and tuck his paws under him in order to fit. He accidentally knocked over the bowl of water Sterling left for him in the corner of the crate, which spilled all over the floor, causing him to be wet and cold.

Matt closed his eyes. This was where bad dogs go to die.