Sex With The Beast 1

I didn’t answer the unknown number because I believed in miracles.

I answered because the hospital had called two hours earlier to say my mother’s next round of treatment was on hold until the outstanding balance of twenty-eight thousand dollars was paid by the end of the week.

The voice on the line was male, calm, almost bored, like he was reading from a script.

“Miss Sara Reynolds?”

“Yes.” My mouth went dry instantly.

“I represent a private organization. We have an offer for you. One weekend. Two days. Seventy thousand dollars. Cash. Delivered upon completion. No taxes. No records.”

I laughed — a short, bitter sound that tasted like panic.

“You have the wrong person.”

“I have the correct person. The one who used to do private sessions for select clients in the city before your mother’s illness forced you to stop. The one who earned enough in four months to cover your father’s legal fees and still keep the lights on for your brothers. The one who knows how to handle men who want more than vanilla.”

My pulse thundered in my ears.

“How do you know that?”

“Because powerful men talk. And when they talk about a woman who can take anything they give and walk away smiling, names get passed in certain circles. Your name came up again last week. We need someone exactly like you.”

I pressed the phone so hard against my ear it hurt.

“What do you need?”

“A fighter. Our best fighter. He refuses to enter the ring unless he is… satisfied first. Sexually. Completely. He has sat out three fights now. The audience is restless. The bets are drying up. We lose money every time he refuses. We need someone who can handle him. Someone who won’t break. Someone who can make him fight again.”

My stomach lurched.

“How rough?”

“Very. He is not… very human in the conventional sense. But the contract is clear: two days. You satisfy him fully. He fights. You leave. Seventy thousand dollars. Cash. In a duffel bag the moment you step out Sunday night.”

I looked across the small living room.

My six-year-old brother, Noah, was asleep on the couch, thumb in his mouth, tiny chest rising and falling. My eleven-year-old brother, Liam, sat on the floor doing homework by the light of a single lamp because we couldn’t afford to run the ceiling fan tonight. He looked up at me with those too-serious eyes.

“Who’s on the phone, Sara?”

“Just work,” I lied.

I stood and walked into the kitchenette.

“Send the contract,” I said quietly.

“It is already in your email. Sign and return within the hour. A driver will collect you Saturday at 4 p.m. You will be blindfolded for the journey. No phones. No recording devices. No names. No faces. You will not discuss this with anyone. Ever. Breach of confidentiality means the money disappears and so does your family’s safety. Understood?”

My hand shook as I opened the email on my cracked phone screen.

The document was short. Four pages. Very clear.

I read the clause about “non-human physiology” twice.

Then the payment terms.

Seventy thousand dollars.

Enough to clear my mother’s hospital debt for a year. Enough to hire the lawyer my father needed to fight the fraud charges that had landed him in prison. Enough to move my brothers out of this cramped apartment with the broken heater and the leaking ceiling.

I signed.

Sent it back.

Then I vomited into the sink.

Liam appeared in the doorway.

“You okay?”

I wiped my mouth. Forced a smile.

“Yeah. Just… good news. We’re going to be okay.”

He looked at me for a long moment.

“You’re scared,” he said softly.

I pulled him into a hug. Held him tight.

“I’m not scared of coming back,” I whispered. “I promise.”

That night I lay awake listening to Noah’s soft toddler snores and Liam’s quiet breathing.

Saturday was forty-eight hours away.

I had two days to pretend I wasn’t terrified.

Two days to pretend I wasn’t about to walk into a cage with something that wasn’t human.

Two days to pretend seventy thousand dollars was worth whatever was waiting for me.

Saturday morning I spent playing with Noah on the living room floor. Building towers with his blocks. Kissing his chubby cheeks. Telling him stories about brave princesses who always came home.

Liam watched from the kitchen table.

“You’re leaving tonight,” he said. Not a question.

I nodded.

“Mrs. Harper is coming at 5. She’ll stay overnight and tomorrow until I’m back Sunday evening.”

He nodded.

“You’ll be safe?”

“I’ll be safe.”

He hugged me then. Hard. Like he was trying to memorize how I felt.

“Promise you’ll come back.”

“I promise.”

The driver arrived at exactly 4 p.m.

Black SUV. Tinted windows. No markings. The man who stepped out wore a plain black suit, black gloves, black cap pulled low. No smile. No name.

“Miss Reynolds.”

I nodded.

He opened the back door.

I kissed Noah’s forehead. Kissed Liam’s cheek. Told Mrs. Harper I’d be back Sunday evening. Gave her the envelope with cash and instructions for food and emergencies.

Then I got in the car.

The door closed with a heavy thud.

A black cloth hood was slipped over my head immediately. Soft. Smelling faintly of laundry detergent.

“No talking,” the driver said. “No questions. No peeking.”

I nodded.

The engine purred to life.

We drove.

I tried to count turns. Tried to keep track of time. But the hood disoriented me. The air conditioning was cold on my arms. My heart beat so hard I could feel it in my teeth.

We drove for what felt like hours.

At some point the road surface changed. From smooth highway to rough gravel. Then dirt. The car slowed. Bumped. Stopped.

Doors opened.

Hands guided me out.

Cold air. Underground smell. Concrete. Diesel. Sweat. Blood.

The hood stayed on.

I was led down a corridor. Echoing footsteps. Distant roar of a crowd. Music. Shouting. Metal gates clanging.

A door opened.

I was pushed inside.

The hood came off.

I blinked against sudden light.

A small concrete room. No windows. One metal door. One narrow bed with clean white sheets. A table with bottled water, energy bars, a towel, a robe.

A woman in black tactical gear stood in the corner. Earpiece. No expression.

“Strip,” she said.

I hesitated.

She didn’t repeat herself.

I stripped.

Everything.

When I was naked she handed me the robe.

“Put this on. Wait here. Someone will come for you when it’s time.”

She left.

The door locked.

I sat on the bed.

Trembling.

Seventy thousand dollars.

My mother’s treatment.

My father’s lawyer.

My brothers’ future.

I kept repeating the numbers in my head like a prayer.

The door opened again.

Another woman. Same black gear.

“Come.”

I followed her down another corridor.

The roar of the crowd grew louder.

She stopped at a heavy steel door.

“Inside. Now.”

I stepped through.

The door slammed shut behind me.

And I saw him.

Not a man.

A beast. An actual beast.

Eight feet tall. Covered in coarse black fur. Muscles bulging under the hide. Scars crisscrossed his arms and torso. His eyes were yellow. Slitted. Fixed on me.

And between his legs… two massive cocks. Both erect. Both thicker than my forearm. Both ridged. Both dripping.

He saw me.

His nostrils flared.

A low growl rumbled from his chest.

He lunged.

The cage door clanged shut behind me.

There was no going back.