“I don’t like it when you show others my cunt. I’m sure you’ve realized that by now?”
“Yes, please. I need it.”
“Need what?”
When I open my mouth to tell him another hard swat lands, robbing me of my words. I groan, grinding harder against him, needing more, so much more, “To feel something.” It’s not the ones I meant to say, but my mind is foggy and we both know the truth behind them.
The stinging on my ass is quickly erased as he notches in my entrance. My eyes burst open as the wide head of his cock slips inside me. The slight burn is an omen of what’s to come. Egging on my already sore and aching center. The blood-spattered mirror does nothing to dampen the effect of his heady gaze as he wraps his hand around the chain. I yelp as he jerks up on it roughly, forcing me to brace on my hands and knees, keeping my head upright as he holds the length taunt, “Look at the others, Reverie.”
Above help me, I do. I don’t even hesitate.
The women are a mangled mess of gore, one blending into the other. “Why’d you do that?” I breathe out, trying to rock back on him.
“I had to make a point to you. Don’t make me do it again. Be a good girl,mygood girl.”
“I’m-“ My words end in a shriek as he buries himself in me. The sharp split of pain has me digging my nails into my blood slick palms, but my eyes never leave his. We don’t even blink. The heavy chain tickles, caressing my bruised skin as he drags the end across my back, the length still firmly wrapped around his hand. The cool metal is a welcome distraction from the sting between my legs, and the overwhelming urge to rock back on him despite it. Nine is still, letting me adjust and part of me wishes he wasn’t.
I don’t want your kindness.
I want to be brutalized by you, killed by you in any way you’ll have me.
His eyes narrow on mine as his hand reaches its path to my clit, but he doesn’t rub it he pinches. I scream as my arms give out from underneath me, fireworks of pleasure and pain ripping through my vision as the collar around my throat steals my breath, all my weight supported by it. His hand around the collar is the only thing that stopped me from kissing the ground. When the last sudden and violent wave of my orgasm passes, my vision is spotting, my lungs straining for air, but I make no move to relieve the pressure.
This…
This is a lovely way to go.
My hair dangles to the ground, making swiping passes in the coagulating blood like an end of a paintbrush as he finally rolls his hips. My name sounds like silk in his mouth. A fabric I’ve only ever touched once. I loved the way it felt. My chest constricts in tune with my sex as he plunges in and out of it, his cock, his touch erasing the strain in my lungs. That alarm sounds again, but it's distant. I’m lost to the pleasure until the sound of chain hitting the floor threatens to pull me back.
No, let me stay just like this.
He grinds into me, hitting that place inside that makes my toes curl and thoughts disintegrate before his hand grips the back of the collar, wrenching me upright. My back flush to his chest, my lungs waste no time, dragging air I’d robbed them off. My head is light as it lolls backwards, resting against him. The weight of my breasts heaving is alleviated by his free hand as he palms one, his thumb edging out to toy with my nipple, “Nobody is allowed to kill you but me, that includes you.” His words are like honey, but they don’t stop the disappointment in my gut as the world starts to come back with blinding clarity. The smell of copper and filth washed away by the minty musk of him. I try to respond, to argue, but the words leave my mouth in a string of guttural moans as he pistons up into me violently.
“Look at yourself sweetling, crying on my cock. Such a good girl.”
His words are my undoing, my eyes snap open, meeting half lidded umber ones in the mirror. His smooth pale flesh makes mine look striking in comparison. The contrast is severe in a beautiful way I’d never noticed before, even smeared and splattered with blood, mottled with bruises. His length disappears into me, his free hand working my body over in a way that will change it forever. The other one still grasping the collar, holding me hostage against him.
“Such a perfect little sheath for my cock.” He murmurs against my neck, his eyes trained on me in the mirror, “Look at how well you stretch for me sweetling. Your cunt was made forme, only me. If you ever forget that…” he laughs, it’s a sick… unsettling sound that drives me to the brink again. My belly and core thrumming, tightening, “I’ll see how well you take my blades. I’ll rip you open and sew you back together so nobody… nobody will stand the look of you but me. You’d be disgusting to them, but not me. You’d always be beautiful to me.”
I scream so loudly I almost miss the sound of my name leaving him in a moan, his come spurting off deep inside me, filling me even more thoroughly than he did. His thrusts become jerky as he rides out the own waves of his pleasure. Using me as I sag in his arms. My legs trembling, exhaustion hits me like a bullet train dragging my consciousness so far from my body when he abruptly releases me. I make no attempt to catch myself but the bite of the floor never comes. Only the unnaturally quick bite of a metal arm banding around my waist before hauling me up against warm, soft flesh.
11
A Wrong
Nine
Reverie murmurs to herself, her eyes flicking around inside her eyelids as she sleeps. She curls in on herself, her long hair casting over her nude frame. She keeps fidgeting… her eyes have been shut for nearly half an hour and the whimpers and tossing haven’t stopped. Even when I released her from my arms, sitting her down on the only kind of clean spot I could find in the room, she tossed and turned her way back to the bodies. My hands twitch to grab her, to just hold her in my arms until she wakes. My thick brows knit together as I glance at my reflection. I’m covered in gore and blood. I watch, careful not to get caught staring into my own eyes. This isn’t a place for memories, not that kind anyway.
My mechanical arm flexes, tubes and inner workings stretching and pulling like tendons. I can still feel the thrum of pain in the real limb like it was yesterday. I hacked it off in front of the Officials. I was naïve then, untrained, and my first cut missed the joint. Making a second long decision last minutes that felt like agonizing hours. Even when my vision blurred, and blood splatter made my hand slip over and over again, I hacked away. I proved to them that there would be no soldier, no killer above me. No one better to bring about their downfall, although that part I kept to myself.
When I awoke again, it was to him…Ten. I had proved myself, yet my agony and suffering had only just started. I spent the next few months in and out of consciousness. In and out of mind-bending agony. He… altered me. Of course, I got the basic implants, my new arm, reader tech, nano infusions. What I hadn’t agreed to was the cranial implant he’d wedged in my brain, the way it had changed my thoughts. Made the idea of working against the Officials seem… hopeless and unworthy of my time. It took me the better part of a year to override those codes. To win my mind back from the alterations he made. I never saw him again after that, other than a glimpse in the corner of my eye, but he gave me a gift he’d never intended to. In those horrific times I awoke to him implanting, cutting and operating, my tech… the techhechose to give me was analyzing… watching and learning. Decoding.
He sought to keep me a perfect soldier, a perfect little worker bee for the fucks in charge. Instead, he gave me a way in, showed me how to obtain everything I’d ever needed. The access that seemed impossible to obtain was the fuck himself.
He was the access. Or at least the tech lodged in his wrist was.
Reverie groans, her hands reaching up to bat at the torso she’s rolled against. I watch her. I study every curve of her spine, every dip in her skin and the way she smells. She’s changed everything, taken-I’ve given upmy chance at taking his position. Given up the long game I’ve been playing at for years. I never wanted his position, anyway. I needed the access codes it gave me. The… proximity it offered to the Officials. It was a long but easy way in. In the end, all I really need is his wrist and the irreplaceable tech inside it. I don’t even blink when the blank umber pair of eyes I’ve thrown nearly twenty years’ worth of killing and planning away for turn on me. She watches me in the soulless, unfeeling way she does. Everything about her face being trained to give the illusion of emotion, or maybe her muscles just remember what it felt like to display those commands. Like Michael’s… her eyes never change. Like something inside them had been reset and never powered back on completely. I remember the day his eyes never came back on. That one wrong move set off a series of events that ended in slaughter.