The Bad Life Chapter 11.3 - The Dog That Bit Its Master to Death

Finally, when what I wanted was within my grasp, a scream-like shout rang out. It was a familiar voice. It was Simon’s voice.

The Lasso, which had been tightly strangling my neck, turned into a limp rope in an instant. As I collapsed onto the ground with a thud, I coughed frantically and sucked in air. Dizziness brought on nausea, and I felt like I might pass out, but neither actually happened. I just writhed on the ground like an insect.

Someone rushed over and collapsed beside me. The man pulled me into his arms, stroked my cheek, and kissed my forehead. No one in Laberham was on my side, but the moment his warm arms touched my skin, my heart calmed significantly. His warm hand wiped my tear-streaked face and kept rubbing my back to help me catch my breath.

When I finally regained consciousness, the man was, as expected, Simon. Around us stood five or six pursuers holding flashlights, with rifles slung over their shoulders. Among them, Lasso was grinning down at me, slinging the rope over his shoulder.

It was a hunt. I realized it then. I thought I had control in this chase, but I was completely mistaken. They had cleverly manipulated the direction with their pursuers, driving me straight into Lasso’s trap.

Escape was never possible today from the start. They were far more meticulous than I thought. My assumption that they didn’t know the forest was also my arrogance.

Lasso was a Laberham native. With him on their side, they had a massive advantage in this forest chase from the beginning. How could I not have remembered? I had definitely heard that Lasso, a local, knew the woods like the back of his hand. It was a desperate situation, so I couldn’t help it, but still, as I looked at Simon while nestled in his arms, a hatred that seemed to burn my very core surged within me. The target of that hatred wasn’t Simon—it was myself.

Simon said quietly. I snapped to attention. Lasso stepped forward with a sly grin. He yanked my wrists roughly, pinning me to the ground. With my face pressed into the dirt, I could only let Lasso pull my arms back and tie them. As soon as my arms were bound, Lasso grabbed my hair and yanked it back. He forced me to kneel in front of Simon. Flashlight beams poured recklessly onto my face. Simon knelt alongside me, wiping the tear stains from my cheeks.

<You escaped again, so you’ll be punished when we get back.>

Simon continued, not stopping the gentle stroking of my face.

<Mr. Acacia will make you a cripple.>

<…Mr. Acacia…>

I muttered in a hoarse voice, my throat raw from strangling. Simon nodded, stroking my short hair, which barely needed smoothing.

<Yes. Mr. Acacia will blind you and cut out your tongue.>

<If he pulls out all your teeth, your mouth might still be useful.>

One of the workers chimed in, snickering. Simon ignored the comment. I didn’t. I looked straight at Simon’s face and spoke.

<Simon… enough with the bullshit about Acacia or whatever…>

My voice was completely gone from the strangling. I turned my head and spat on the ground. I grinned, stretching my glistening lips wide. Simon’s face was expressionless. The hand on my cheek froze in place.

<Tell me in detail how that bastard Hugh died, cough.>

Even as I grinned widely, Simon didn’t move an inch. He was completely different from George. But that’s how Simon always was. Not just Simon, but Jerome too. They didn’t fall for provocations. Instead, it was the workers, unconnected to Bluebell, who took the bait. They didn’t fully understand what I said, but they clearly didn’t like my expression.

A worker standing beside Simon smacked my cheek with his flashlight. My mouth tore as it grazed my teeth, and blood dripped down. The stinging on my cheek suggested a cut. The worker tapped my head with the flashlight and said.

<What’s with this guy’s mouth all of a sudden? He was all meek and pretty after a good beating.>

<Crazy bastard, whining about my dirty ass or whatever, cough, and now you’re saying I was pretty?>

I glared at the worker, tilting my jaw. I expected to get hit again, and sure enough, the worker lifted his foot and kicked my chest hard. I fell backward. My breath caught, followed by a fit of coughing. Twisting my body, I barely regained my breathing and looked up at the cursing worker. A laugh escaped me. As I burst into mad laughter, the worker said nothing more. He just rolled up his sleeves.

Simon, who had let me get beaten thoroughly, stood up once the workers calmed down. I couldn’t stand. After wandering the forest at night, dangling from a Lasso, and getting pummeled by the workers, I didn’t even have the strength to blink. The workers took turns hoisting me over their shoulders and carried me out of the forest.

I ended up back at the log cabin I had escaped from. The cabin was empty. Only some of the bloodstains from George’s self-harm and Jerome’s beating remained. At least it seemed I wouldn’t see those two tonight.

The ropes binding my arms were tied to the chandelier fixture on the ceiling. They left me on the mattress and departed. I lay face-down on the mattress, ready to fall asleep. But one of the workers who had swung a flashlight at me returned and raped me. He sneered that since I hadn’t had it in a while, I should expect more in the morning when the sun rose. I barely heard what the idiot was blabbering about. My mind was consumed with thoughts of Hugh and George.

Imagining George watching Hugh die right before his eyes made my chest ache. There was no other way to describe it. Just picturing that scene made my chest throb and my groin tense. Thinking of George’s despair and frustration, his ugly face, his screaming and self-harming voice—it made my chest ache to the point of death. My lower belly tingled, thrilling me until my whole body trembled. I didn’t even notice when the worker finished and left. At some point, I was rubbing myself against the mattress, imagining George’s despairing face, and as I reached climax, I fell into a deeper, more peaceful sleep than any night in Laberham.

Thus, the midnight escape came to an end.

*

<You don’t need to feel too pressured about it. It’s okay, right?>

<Ugh… yeah.>

<Good. Now, tell me the three things you absolutely have to follow again.>

<Um, never take my eyes off him, and… watch if he takes drugs again…>

<And?>

<Encourage him…>

<Well done. Not too hard, right?>

<…>

<Come here. Good boy, that’s it. I’m asking you specially, so take care of it, okay? Thanks.>

The sound of a light kiss followed. It started softly but grew more intense. Soon, Matt let out a breathless moan. Unsure when to open my eyes, I stayed silent, but as the sound of their heavy breathing grew louder, I opened them.

Turning my head, I saw Jerome and Matt standing at the living room doorway. I had woken up because of their voices, so I knew who it was…

I gazed at the two young men. Jerome’s hand slipped inside Matt’s shirt, gently caressing his back and kissing his neck tenderly. Having only memories of being raped by Jerome, their gentle affection felt strange. Matt, his ears and neck flushed bright red, tightly hugged Jerome’s neck.

I looked down at my body. Last night, one of the workers had definitely raped me, but there was no trace of it. Even the scratches from wandering the forest had been treated. Sitting up, my joints ached, but I could manage. The sound of me sitting up seemed to halt Jerome and Matt’s affectionate display.

Jerome approached with a wide, beaming smile.

<How do you feel? You look okay, Raymond?>

Matt stood alone at the doorway, his face bright red. I glanced at him before turning to Jerome. In an instant, Jerome crouched in front of me. His handsome face was a mess, bruised on the cheek and with a badly split lip from my beating last night. I stared into Jerome’s sparkling green eyes and said.

<Couldn’t be better, you bastard. How’s George? Still out of his mind?>

Jerome grinned and laughed.

<Simon said he’d pluck out my eyes and tongue? What? I need to regain a healthy body and mind? Bullshit.>

Talking so much made my throat ache from last night’s ordeal. I cleared my throat and continued.

<So, plucking out eyes and tongues, with so much to do, you think you can just sleep it off and deal with me escaping again?>

<Don’t worry about that. I’m putting a guard on you.>

Jerome gestured to Matt. Matt, biting his lower lip, approached us. I stared at Matt expressionlessly, but he refused to meet my eyes. Jerome stood, pulling the approaching Matt into his arms. Kissing the top of Matt’s head, he whispered affectionately.

<Right, Matt? You’ll keep a close eye on our Raymond, won’t you?>

<…Yeah.>

<I think you two get along pretty well. Didn’t you hit it off in other ways too? Keep getting along like that.>

Jerome, clearly in high spirits, said with a grin. He positioned Matt in front of me and left the log cabin.

Matt stood with a teary face, quietly looking down. I hadn’t expected such a long connection with Matt. I stared intently at his flushed face. But Matt wasn’t important. What Jerome was doing with Matt was what mattered. Jerome had so blatantly shown his involvement with Matt. It felt like he had some ulterior motive, separate from Simon and George… What was Jerome thinking? What was he planning with Matt? Maybe he was trying to make Matt remind me of Carl, like Simon did. But Matt and Carl were polar opposites, so it was utterly pointless.

The teary Matt didn’t say a word after Jerome left, just standing blankly in front of me. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something first. I couldn’t even recall how long it had been since I last saw Matt. The damn drugs had jumbled my memory. Thinking back, I vaguely recalled Matt getting beaten by Simon once. Was that the last time?

It was surprising he didn’t escape after that beating. Was it because Jerome treated him well? Were those two lovers? Matt’s face was as fair and soft as when we first met. His teary eyes and trembling lips were almost cute. His body was completely unscarred. But his mind didn’t seem quite right. I stared at Matt’s foolish face and finally spoke.

<I thought you were a cunning bastard, but I was wrong. I can’t believe I ever fell for your tricks even once.>

Only then did he cautiously meet my eyes. Glancing warily, he crouched in front of me. I watched, dumbfounded, as he fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a cigarette.

<You’re still here after seeing this mess? You idiot.>

Instead of answering, Matt put the cigarette in my mouth. …I don’t know how long it’s been since I had one. As soon as he lit it, I inhaled deeply. My head spun pleasantly. I exhaled a long plume of smoke, keeping my cold expression. Matt let a single tear fall.

<Sorry…>

He muttered softly. Crying again, huh. I smoked, staring at him impassively.

Sorry. Sorry, huh. I mulled over his words. Sure, he had things to be sorry for. He stole my cash and car and ran off. Plus, he was the one who led Jerome to Laberham. He didn’t help me when I could’ve escaped and ran off himself. Come to think of it, things went wrong at critical moments because of Matt, so his fault was significant… But that guy wasn’t the type to think so deeply about my situation.

Come to think of it, Matt had no reason to be sorry. The ones who raped, gang-raped, imprisoned, beat, and drugged me were all the top-floor boys’ doing. I smoked the cigarette down to the filter, silently staring at Matt. Did he do something else to feel guilty about? I thought as I stubbed out the cigarette on the floor. But what could Matt have done? Mr. Acacia… George wouldn’t have let Matt get involved any deeper than necessary. The top-floor boys liked to play among themselves; they weren’t the type to let others join their game.

No. There was no need to overcomplicate things.

<You decided to side with Jerome?>

I asked, looking straight at Matt. Instead of answering, Matt smoked his cigarette with trembling hands. As expected. Matt had decided to join forces with the top-floor boys.

<I’m telling you sincerely, Matt. That’s a foolish choice.>

I said, looking at the still-youthful, flushed cheeks of the young man.

<They like to play among themselves. You’ll just be used.>

Those words seemed to strike a nerve. Matt, who had been smoking with trembling hands, looked at me. I keenly noticed a hint of defiance in his eyes.

<What? You think I’m lying, cough, cough.>

A fit of coughing erupted from my parched throat, not having drunk a drop of water. Matt hurriedly brought a bottle of water. It was cold, but drinking it made me feel much better. As I caught my breath and swallowed, Matt, his blue eyes still teary, spoke. His voice was much steadier than before.

<He said you’d do anything to trick me.>

<It’s not me tricking you—it’s Jerome. He’s the one who’ll do anything to use you.>

<No.>

Matt said firmly.

<It’s not like that.>

His face, marked with tear streaks and wet blue eyes, spoke with conviction despite it all. What an idiot. Absurdly stupid. Tricking Matt must have been easier for Jerome than flipping his hand. Matt was already half-swayed by Jerome’s face and charm, so it wouldn’t have been hard to tempt him into joining their side. It was infuriating and absurd. I never imagined I’d end up with this kind of connection to Matt. If I could turn back time, I’d never have come to Laberham with him.

But… as foolish and dim-witted as he was, he hadn’t gone too deep yet. Matt could still turn back. I didn’t like him, but I didn’t want him to end up like me either. The people who knew this kind of life—me, the top-floor boys, and my long-dead predecessors—were enough.

<There were kids like you who got caught up in this before. I was the one who dragged them in. A girl and a boy. The girl got lucky and survived, but the boy died.>

<…>

<Jerome and the others are just using you like they use the workers. It’ll never end well… Trust me. That boy…>

I swallowed. My throat hurt.

Silence followed.

Matt broke the silence.

<That boy,>

He looked straight into my eyes and asked.

<Was it Carl Pierce?>

<…>

Honestly, I was taken aback. I didn’t expect him to know about Carl. What was Jerome really planning with Matt? Was Matt truly a stand-in for Carl? Or maybe Hugh…?

No, even I found the thought ridiculous. That couldn’t be it. Jerome just wanted more thrills in the game he was playing with me. Matt was just that much. It was far more likely he’d use Matt like he used Carl. Jerome didn’t genuinely care for guys like Matt. The only one he truly cared about was me.

Mentioning Carl’s name made Matt somewhat triumphant. He was so stupid it didn’t even warrant a sigh. But I wouldn’t give up on Matt. One regret with Carl was enough.

My silence seemed to mean something else to Matt. He stubbed out his cigarette and touched my cheek.

<Jerome told me everything, Ray…>

Matt leaned his face against my chest, rubbing his head like a playful animal.

<It was tough, wasn’t it? So stop being stubborn. He said if you do, you won’t get hurt anymore.>

<…Didn’t Jerome tell you to encourage me?>

Matt looked up, startled. He seemed confused. He must have thought giving up was encouraging. I let out a hollow laugh, incredulous.

<Jerome loves it most when I’m full of energy and acting out. Didn’t he tell you?>

<So… I…>

<You said Jerome told you everything? He was really disappointed in me once. Now he wants to love me without that happening again.>

As I said that, Matt’s face turned cold for a moment. It was fleeting, but that expression was jealousy. A chill ran down my spine. I couldn’t imagine how it was possible, but it seemed Matt liked Jerome.

Somehow, I felt I understood why Jerome had brought Matt into this. To Jerome, everything was just a game. Matt’s feelings for him—no, not just his feelings, but Matt’s entire life—were nothing more than a toy for Jerome to play with and discard. Foolish, ignorant Matt was clearly being used and would be thrown away without realizing it.

But… how could Matt love Jerome? How could he, after seeing everything happening to me? He’s a monster. They’re all monsters. I couldn’t comprehend how anyone could love them.

I looked down at Matt, frozen and confused in my arms, and let out a quiet sigh. This was a much harder game than dealing with Jerome. I had to handle Jerome and save Matt at the same time. The only thing clear was that I didn’t have a chance to save him right now.

While Matt clung awkwardly to me, numerous footsteps entered the log cabin. Soon, the living room filled with a dozen workers, shirtless from the heat. Matt scrambled up at the sound of their approach and cowered in a corner. The workers glanced at Matt but said nothing, as if they’d been told not to. They approached me silently, and behind them stood Lasso, holding a rope twisted into a Lasso, true to his name.

Lasso stepped forward with a wide grin. I looked up at them, sitting on the mattress. Suddenly, I recalled the worker’s words from last night about preparing for more when the sun rose.

<You look tired. Did you stay up all night waiting for us?>

Lasso said cheerfully.

<This hustler must be excited to see some action after so long?>

<…>

Hustler, huh. I’m not a hustler. I gritted my teeth and glared at Lasso. He smirked.

<Yeah, that’s the look, Marine. Keep that face—it’s hot as hell.>

As soon as Lasso spoke, the workers rushed me. I sprang up to dodge, but I was quickly caught by claw-like hands.

<Let go, damn it… Let go!>

I shouted, cursed, and struggled, but they grabbed me and pulled off my pants. I clenched my teeth and twisted my head. My eyes met Matt’s, pale and cowering in the corner. Seeing his stupid face made my vision blur.

For a moment, it felt like this was my future. A future decided beyond my control.

No. I can’t live like this, and I can’t die like this. I can’t end it like this. The top-floor boys can’t just toy with my life and discard it.

I kept my eyes on Matt’s face as I took the thrusting intrusion. I can’t die without killing them again. I won’t die. I glared at Matt’s expression, which turned dreamy and entranced as he watched me being raped.

During the gang rape, Lasso didn’t touch me once. While the other workers took turns violating me, he stood tall by the mattress, stroking his mustache and watching everything. Despite the obvious bulge in his pants, he didn’t even unzip. He seemed to be waiting for something. Whenever our eyes met, he’d slap the thick Lasso against his thigh with a snap, grinning slyly. Facing his smug expression, I felt a weary premonition that today would be a very long day.

The workers treated me like a toilet, doing their business and leaving. Finally, only three remained in the log cabin: Lasso, Matt, and me. Matt was crouched in the corner like a ghost, barely making a sound. Lasso didn’t even glance at him. He crouched in front of me as I lay panting on the mattress and spoke casually.

<How’s your neck? That bruise is pitch black.>

Lasso’s hand touched my neck. With my bound hands, I swatted his filthy hand away. He smiled with satisfaction and obediently withdrew.

<That was dangerous last night, Marine. You’re an outsider, so you wouldn’t know, but these mountains are home to coyotes. Nasty ones, too. Some of them have tasted human flesh.>

<…For all that, it was pretty quiet last night.>

<That’s because I was there.>

Lasso said with a wide grin. His disgustingly white, even teeth were repulsive. Instead of replying, I sat up. The semen splattered on my back and hips dripped unpleasantly. When I reached between my legs to scoop out the semen inside, Lasso’s gaze turned blatantly lecherous. But he still didn’t touch me, continuing in a slightly lower voice.

<Coyotes and I have no secrets from each other. We know we’re each other’s enemies. Animals are actually far from instinct. All that talk about animal instincts, senses—that’s bullshit. Coyotes move purely by experience. They rely only on what they’ve learned firsthand. And they smell. They judge by scent. The smells I know, familiar smells, the smell of my allies, the smell of prey, the smell of fear, the smell of cold sweat… Coyotes know my smell, too. The smell of crushing the heads of unweaned pups, the smell of strangling the necks of reckless young ones running through the forest…>

Lasso thrust the in front of my face.

I stared at the rope dangling before me, then looked past it at Lasso.

<So what? You spend so much time with coyotes that you can’t understand human words, so you want me to bark like a dog? Woof woof, like that?>

His face twisted. Lasso was fundamentally different from Jerome, Simon, or George. Unlike the top-floor boys, who were immune to mockery, Lasso went berserk like a dog with its tail on fire at the slightest provocation. That was exactly what I aimed for with my words.

But today… this time was a bit different. Lasso’s face was boiling with anger, yet he suppressed it. I looked at the flushed Lasso for a moment before turning my head away. After roughly cleaning off the semen, I picked up my pants and put them on. Lasso forced a smile, pulling at the corners of his mouth.

<Ha, haha, yeah, yeah, Marine. That’s it. The problem is I can’t understand human words.>

I stood up, pushed aside the soiled blanket, and looked at Lasso. Did he really think he was a beast just because I jabbed at him? I stopped my hands in disbelief and stared at him. Lasso, his face red up to his ears, spoke.

<That’s exactly Mr. Acacia’s problem.>

I hadn’t expected George to be mentioned. I rolled up the blanket, tossed it aside carelessly, and looked at Lasso silently. He seemed to regain his composure bit by bit as I didn’t mock him further. It wasn’t quite his initial sly demeanor, but he continued speaking relatively calmly.

<Me? Like a human?>

I asked, incredulous. Lasso was clearly clueless. George had never once treated me like a human. He only ever treated me like an unruly dog.

Lasso, oblivious to my baffled tone, twisted his mouth and nodded.

<All that talk about despair and frustration, going on about revenge or whatever, yet he can’t even touch a hair on you. It’s frustrating to watch from the side.>

I roughly understood what he was getting at. Instead of sarcasm, I decided to hear him out to the end. It was a good chance to learn about the relationship between George and Lasso.

Lasso tugged the rope tied around my wrists toward him. I obediently sat in front of him. He still didn’t touch me. He just stared with eyes gleaming with blatant, filthy lust.

<I’m an expert at handling beasts. Know why they call me Lasso? I don’t use a gun. When I hunt, I only use a Lasso trap. Do you get what that means, Marine? I know beasts well. I know how to make a beast act like a beast. Shooting with a gun is easy if you know beasts well enough. But a trap, Marine, making a beast approach the trap on its own, putting its neck into the Lasso on its own—that takes more than just knowing beasts. A trap works when a beast is acting most like a beast. It’s called a trap because it’s unavoidable and subtle. I know that. I know how to make a beast act like a beast.>

<…>

<Mr. Acacia is doing it wrong right now. If you’re weighing this and that, calculating, you’ll never be a hunter. You shouldn’t be playing mind games with him. A bastard like you, a filthy dog like you…>

Lasso suddenly reached out. He grabbed my crotch tightly and grinned. For a moment, my hair stood on end.

<You start by cutting off the dick first. If we tear your ass to shreds until your eyes roll back, do you think you’d still have the wits to scheme and talk? That’s it, Marine. That’s the way. You’ve been to war, so you know, right? A human is most human when death is at their heels, right up to their chin. That’s when they get caught in the trap. That’s when the Lasso comes in. You check the very bottom of the bottom, realize there’s no way out, and only then, with certainty, do you set it—not by chance. And when the Lasso catches, you realize there’s nowhere left to escape.>

I couldn’t move, pinned by Lasso’s grip on my crotch. My body stiffened, and I could only blink and face him. This man was cruel. If George gave the word, Lasso would castrate me without hesitation. He’d damage the body first. He wouldn’t touch the mind at all. Because when the body breaks, the mind naturally follows. He knew how to make a human miserable.

<That’s the basics of hunting. You drive and keep driving until they’re too panicked to think, until their nose is numb from the smell of their own fear, and then they get caught in the trap. That’s the fun of hunting. Shooting a gun, calculating—that’s no fun.>

But that wasn’t George’s way. George was different from Lasso. He would delicately carve out despair. He’d use every method to break me, patiently watching me crumble slowly. That was George’s way. That was how Hugh and George trained their dogs. They didn’t try to break me—they tried to train me. George wanted to teach me despair, hoping I’d destroy myself under his guidance. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have let Jerome be. Jerome worked tirelessly to get me off drugs and their aftereffects, only because he wanted me to suffer in my right mind.

George was different from Lasso in every way. So, Lasso, under him, couldn’t harm me. At least not in the way Lasso wanted.

I tightly grabbed the wrist of Lasso’s hand still on my crotch. He curled his upper lip and smiled. I smiled back at him. The only reason Lasso was giving this long-winded speech was to scare me. Beyond that, all he could do was wave his pathetic dick around.

<When did I say I was curious about your vulgar head?>

Lasso, caught off guard by my response, couldn’t speak. I coldly glared at his frozen face.

<If you’ve got something to say to Mr. Acacia, say it to him, you coward. A hustler with a tiny dick, all talk and no…>

Before I could dodge, a fist smashed into my face. I nearly bit my tongue. As I clenched my teeth, punches rained down on my face. Last night, I’d wandered the forest, covered in scratches, been strangled by Lasso, and beaten by the workers. No matter how much I held on with sheer willpower, this was honestly too much.

Lasso, as if avenging the earlier humiliation, climbed onto my waist and swung his fists. I tried to block with my arms, but soon my lips split, my skin tore, and blood streamed down. I could barely breathe. With my hands tied, resisting was hard. I twisted my body to slip out from under Lasso, but he grabbed my hair and yanked, making me fall backward. I had to helplessly endure the painful kicks to my side and stomach. Even after beating me senseless, Lasso’s anger wasn’t sated.

<Ugh, this, huff, this bastard, I’m really, huff, gonna kill you!>

<Ugh… kgh…>

He looped the around my neck. My breath stopped instantly. As he gripped the knot and pulled the rope, my neck was tightly constricted in seconds. Lasso, holding the rope, stood and started dragging me. With the around my neck, I had to crawl frantically like a dog to keep up. The moment I hesitated, my neck was strangled until I couldn’t breathe.

While being dragged, I caught a glimpse of Matt’s pale face. Even in this state, I hoped Matt would snap out of it. But before he could flee, someone else stopped Lasso. A rough, sandpaper-like voice.

<That’s enough.>

In my fading vision, I saw George.

Despite George’s words, Lasso stood still. He kept a firm grip on the strangling my neck. After a brief silence, George strode over. I blinked away tears and looked at him.

On the surface, George seemed unfazed. He was wearing his usual silicone mask and wig. Dressed in a suit as always. He lightly grabbed Lasso’s wrist. Lasso grumbled but finally let go of the rope.

George said coldly to Lasso. Without a word to me, he left the living room. Lasso glared at me fiercely but followed George without protest.

As soon as they left, I collapsed from exhaustion. I sprawled my limbs and gasped for breath. The still constricted my neck, but I had no strength to loosen it. My head was blank. My face was a mess of tears and saliva. Sweat poured like rain, and being dragged had made my body feverishly hot, so I really didn’t want to move.

Matt’s face came into view some time later. Pale and trembling, he knelt beside me. With a frightened expression, he began untying the Lasso from my neck. We didn’t speak.

Struggling to loosen the rope, Matt disappeared somewhere. He returned with a wet towel. He carefully wiped my face and sat quietly, lips trembling as if wanting to say something. Finally, I spoke first in a weary, hoarse voice, strained from the strangling.

<What now? What’s your problem?>

<Shouldn’t we… clean down there too…?>

<…>

I wanted to wash myself, but after being beaten and strangled by Lasso and dragged like a dog, I had no strength to move. I let Matt guide me, crawling to the mattress and collapsing. He took off my pants, spread my legs, and carefully cleaned between them.

Lying with my arms under my head, I watched Matt silently. Surprisingly, really surprisingly, his hands were skilled and deft. It was clearly practiced. Instead of prying, I let him clean me. He wiped my crotch and thoroughly cleaned the dried semen from the workers. He even applied a cold towel to the wounds from Lasso’s beating. Completely exhausted, I fell asleep under Matt’s care.