Summary: When Kurt is captured by a slave ring he expects all the darkness and pain that follows. What he doesn't expect is his roommate, sweet and caring and smiling from the minute Kurt wakes up. When you're trapped in a literal hell, it's hard not to trust the only glimpse of light, but how can Kurt know if he's deserving of that trust.
Warnings: Noncon/dubcon, slavery, foot worship, body worship, face slapping, talk of whipping.
A/N: Because I was late in posting the new chapter of Beautiful, Brave, Broken, I thought I'd give you a present of an early chapter of La Pute. It's also kind of short, so I will be posting another one tomorrow as well, but I hope you enjoy :)
Word Count: ~1,500
"Lick it."
Kurt wasn't sure what he expected when he was told kneel in front of the chair in which Sir sat. Some more face slapping, hand job training, blow job training, not… licking his shoe.
Sir crossed his legs and nudged his foot under Kurt's chin, "I won't tell you again."
Kurt's lips curled in disgust, "Shouldn't you be teaching me how to please men, not how to make sure I come down with horrible disease from licking god knows what off your shoe."
Sir's eyes narrowed, "You will be surprised how many men enjoy watching their slaves lick their feet like dogs. You better get used to it now. All your getting from me for that remark is ten lashings, a client would be likely to do much worse as he's actually paying for you to shine his shoes with that whore tongue."
Kurt glared at the foot in front of him, jaw clenching.
"Eleven… twelve… thirteen… fourteen."
Kurt's brow furrowed in confusion at the counting until he realized what it was. Lashes. Each second he hesitated he earned another stripe on his back. He reluctantly stuck out his tongue, touching it gingerly to the boot. He almost gagged on the taste but continued, covering the toe of the boot in tiny kitten licks.
"That will never do, little bitch," Sir said, "bathe it with your tongue."
Kurt closed his eyes for a minute and took a deep breath before pressing his tongue flat against the rubber and licking a long stripe up it.
Kurt sat back in relief when he'd finished both shoes.
"Good bitch, now take them off and clean my toes."
"Keep your eyes on me," Sir ordered as he started to pull his shirt over his head. Kurt frowned at the rolls of fat and coarse, bristly hair adorning his chest and stomach. He went for his belt and Kurt cringed.
"Don't find me appealing, eh?" he said, watching the look of disgust on Kurt's face grow as he slipped out of his pants. He smacked Kurt once, "I don't really mind what a slave thinks of me, but your clients will. Learn to conceal your revulsion. True, a few of your guys may have a six pack with a perfect dick and nicely trimmed hedge, but most of them won't and they don't like feeling judged by someone they're paying to have sex with. Act like they're the hottest piece of ass you've ever seen, pretend like having sex with them is a joy. You'll start by worshiping my body."
Kurt used every acting bone in his body to pretend like this wasn't the most revolting thing he'd ever done, kissing and licking his way up Sir's body. Sir kept a tight grip on his hair, holding his face again his, luckily, still clothed crotch, and keeping him there until Kurt had thoroughly soaked his underwear before finally letting him move on up his body.
When he was finished Sir put his clothes back on and tossed Kurt a bottle of water. Kurt chugged it down, grateful for something to wash away the taste of Sir's skin.
"Go to the mess hall, give them this," he handed him a slip of paper, "you have twenty minutes to eat and get back here, every second late is another lash, something I doubt you want since you're already at fifteen today."
Kurt nodded and started to crawl from the room, "You may walk, bitch." Kurt only paused for a split second before scrambling to his feet and fleeing the room. He wrapped his arms around his bare chest, grateful that Blaine had given him a pair of sweats last night and Sir had miraculously not made him take them off... yet.
Kurt wandered for a few minutes before coming to the conclusion that he had no idea how to find the mess hall. He frowned, looking around for some sign that might point him in the right direction or someone that could show him the way. He walked cautiously, hoping he wasn't going into some restricted area. When he was just about to give up and backtrack to the training room someone called his name.
"Kurt?"
Kurt spun around, tensing for a second before realizing it was Blaine coming from the other end of the hall. Blaine's steps picked up until he was at a gentle jog.
"What are you doing in the halls by yourself?" he asked with a smile.
"Sir told me to go get something to eat," he said cautiously, "but he didn't tell me how to get to the cafeteria."
Blaine nodded, rolling his eyes and Kurt was almost shocked at the show of blatant disrespect, "Starvation technique," he muttered and Kurt's brow furrowed, "they tell you to go get food, but they don't tell you where the food is. They give you a time limit so you're scared of being gone too long and then when you can't find the food, you just give up and go back, to be punished for one, not following orders and eating, and two, being gone too long, because the time limit is bull, they say you have half and hour, you really have five minutes at max."
Kurt ground his teeth together, "Of course, why would they actually want you to succeed, they don't get to whip you that way," Kurt ran a hand through his hair, wincing at how oily it felt. He was almost grateful for the fact that there were no mirrors in this place to show him how terrible he looked.
"If they let you feel like success was possible you wouldn't be scared of them. Fear is how they keep you in line."
Kurt scoffed, "You're not scared of them, how do they keep you in line?"
Blaine's eyes did something funny for a second before he shook his head, "I'm heading to the mess hall right now if you want to come with and get something to eat before you go back." He gave Kurt a smile before jerking his head to the side and turning, leading the way. For the first time Blaine's smile had seemed forced.
"This is ridiculous," Kurt muttered, staring at his plate filled to the edges with mashed potatoes and gravy, "he can't seriously expect me to eat this with my hands."
"You don't have to eat it with you hands," Blaine said slowly, "you could always just shove your face in it."
Kurt glared at him then down at Blaine's hot dog fitting so nicely into his hands. "What if I just don't eat it?" he asked.
"They'll give you a note to take to your trainer and he'll decide how to punish you for it," Blaine shrugged.
"And if I rip it up and don't give it to him?"
"You'll be punished for both infractions tomorrow."
Kurt frowned. Yeah, 'cause you'll tell them I did that, he thought before taking a deep breath and digging his fingers into the potatoes.
"How many did you get tonight?" Blaine asked quietly, working the lotion into Kurt's shoulders.
"Lost count," Kurt whispered, voice thick as he fought back the tears of pain and frustration. "Did any of them break skin?"
"No," Blaine assured him, "some of them are close, but not quite there."
"Probably will tomorrow," Kurt mumbled, "I don't know how I'm going to finish the week at this rate, I can't do anything right with him."
Blaine frowned, "Tell me about your lessons," he requested softly.
Kurt tensed under him, pulling away from his hands to sit up. "Why? Didn't you go through them too?"
"Of course," Blaine assured, "many times, actually, it's just that training is different for everyone, it depends on your personality, and which trainer you get. My training changed so much from one try to the next, sometimes even with the same trainer things were different. Maybe if I know a little bit more about your training, I can give you tips that will make it easier to bare."
"What do you mean from one try to the next? You're like the perfect little slave, why would they have to retrain you?" Kurt asked.
Blaine rubbed his hands together, not meeting Kurt's eyes, "Becoming the perfect slave takes work, Kurt. I'm pretty sure you're coming to realized that by now."
Kurt folded his arms across his chest, glaring at the floor. "I don't want to become the perfect slave," he muttered.
"Kurt," Blaine said carefully, "I know you don't want to hear this, but take it from someone who knows. Everything around here is a lot less horrible if you just give in. Maybe you'll feel sick to your stomach, disgusted by yourself, but in here, if you want to survive, don't fight it, don't fight your training, don't fight your clients, don't fight yourself. If you let yourself give in, it's a lot less painful than when they'll finally break you, okay?"
Kurt's clenched his jaw, lips quivering, "Why are you so certain there's no way out of here?"
Blaine smiled sadly, "I've looked, and searched, for years, Kurt. And I'm still here."
Kurt raised his eyes, looking at him carefully, "What do you mean years? How long have you been here, Blaine?"
Blaine licked his lips, not meeting Kurt's eyes. "Goodnight, Kurt," he said, with a tone both shaking with nerves and firm with such finality that Kurt knew he wouldn't get Blaine to talk about it any time soon.
