Page 15 of Servitude to Serpents

“Yes, Sir,” I whisper, my eyes on the vaulted ceiling and elaborate chandeliers, a mural of debauchery and lust painted behind it all. The man blows on the wet spot once the tool is pulled away, drying it, my head still kept upturned. The sensation drives at that pressing warmth, making my stomach tighten.

“There, little Lily. By tomorrow, you’ll belong to the House of Tyet. You may look at me.” Goosebumps bubble my flesh as his lips follow the path of my jawline, gentle teasing nips in their path. The sound of the surrounding room, the music, the pleasure and whimpers, fade when his lips overpower mine. It’s the only way I can think of to describe the type of kiss he shoves onto me. Overpowering. A battle of wills, but only he is fighting.

“Overconfident as always, Harun. Stop hogging the belle of the ball. Either fuck her or pass her.”

The man breaks away long enough to laugh at whoever spoke, his dark, wavy hair tickling me as he glances back at the voice. He’s an older man, the one slowly hitching up my dress, revealing the white lacy stockings and garter underneath. Much older than his voice had implied, but not quite Master’s age. “When I am done with her, the entire venue will bewell aware.”

Whoever spoke seems to think that’s funny, settling it with anotherhear, hear, before turning toward the gathering crowd. “Harun, second son of the House of Tyet, has put his first claim on the Lily. Shall we watch how prettily she deflowers?”

I blink past the tears welling in my eyes as someone else joins behind me, a woman by the feel of it. I’ve long since shut my eyes. Suddenly, I’m not here. I'm back in the water, my sister's garbling screams filling my ears as waterlaps at my face. My dress is unzipped, left to pool at my feet before she departs. I didn’t think I could still blush as it heats my cheeks and floods down to my chest, my breasts and sex bared to the room. Men and women appraise me with various degrees of appreciation. Some are snickering, commenting on what they don’t like before joining others still lost to their own bliss and conversation. I’m on display, a fuckable piece of art, and it's every bit as terrifying as I thought it would be. And then there’s…something else I can’t quite put my finger on. A feeling that makes little sense, one already budding deep in my core, that warmth pushing and pressing until I squeeze my thighs together tightly. I don’t want to feel this way, preferring fear, but already, my core is pulsing.

I yelp, my eyes slamming open again as I’m lifted and deposited on one of the high backs of a velvet couch. I don’t have time to steady myself before the Sir who marked me shoves his penis in, bucking into me with the same blend of sloppy violence I felt in his kiss. It doesn’t feel all that good, but a breathy moan leaves me anyway. My body is already doing what Sir has trained it to do. Already, the dry thrusts are growing slicker, and I’m fighting for that pleasure. I don’t dare touch the man between my thighs or look at the spectators. Frustration fills me as I lose that faint tendril of heat I’d felt as he explored under my dress. Anxiety makes it hard to reach that blissful spot, not even the pressing warmth reaching adequate heights yet. I behave how I’m expected to: eyes closed, grinding back despite the rough, uncontrolled way he fucks, the pain and burning despite his modest cock. My breasts heave, and I’m not ready when he brings one of his wide hands down, slapping one of them, hard. I whimper as he slaps it again. The reddened flesh stings as he grips it, tugging and pinching. I’m grateful when the man comes, shooting his hot, sticky ropes all over my chest and stomach.

He hasn’t got his cock back in his pants when girls come with warm cloths, wiping away the trace of him on my chest and between my legs. It's rough and clinical. I’m left panting as I slide down the back of the couch, my fingers shaking as I gently pad at my abused breasts. My mind drifts after that, and soon, I lose count entirely of how many men and women grab me, where they fuck me and to what degree they inflict pain. The screams erupting throughout the room tell meI’m lucky to not be a carnation. The flashes of blood make it hard to keep my eyes open, especially as exhaustion presses down on me like a heavy, wet blanket. The effects of whatever Mistress gave me hits its peak quickly enough, sending me barreling into climax after climax, seemingly at the littlest touch. It barely takes the edge off the throbbing, raw, puffy spot between my legs. My inner thighs are rubbed bright red, my lips swollen and my throat screaming for a drink of water to wash down the cum coating it. My hair has long come undone, my blonde waves hanging around my face as I’m shoved off someone's cock, another one of the countless stamps pressed into my neck as I gasp on the floor, close to a pile of passed-out men and women.

I barely feel it when the girls who have been tasked with our upkeep tonight jerk my legs open, washing me quickly while the other pinches my chin, urging me to open my mouth. She doesn’t warn me before she dumps the room-temperature water in, but I suck it down greedily. She scrubs at my teeth like they’ve angered her before making me spit in a bowl. I’m shoved away and finally left to lie on the plush rug, rubbing my cheek along the soft, fur-like fabric of it. Every sensation is alluring thanks to whatever drug I was given, even the agony sending me barreling over the edge. My clit is swollen and pulsing, despite each throb bringing more discomfort.

I must’ve dozed off for a moment, my consciousness jerked back into me in the form of a cock plunging into my ass. I scream as the man fills me, tears freefalling in cascades down my raw, puffy cheeks. It's raw, bloody, and each thrust is hell as he urges me to my hands and knees, my limbs shaking with exhaustion. His cock is like sandpaper, and for a second, I wonder if I disobeyed, if I acted out, if Sir would just let me take the prod and I could be done for the night. My bad eye is in a sorry state, burning like hell from the contact, but judging by the faint light coming in through the large windows and the growing number of people passed out, we’re well into the morning hours. Again, my mind wanders somewhere else. This time, I can't dig up anything remotely positive, wondering what expression Grandma would make if she could see her prodigy now, desperately rubbing her raw cunt in a need to come, being raped and abused on the ground like a whore.A veryobedientwhore. What if she knew the way I let myself come, that the lines between rape and sex were blurring for me? That sometimes, I could no longer tell if I wanted it or not. My body rarely cared either way. In less than a year in this hell, I’d traded my will to fight like a musty pair of bowling shoes.

Hell, I’d traded it within just a few months.

She’d be disappointed.

I am too.

Movement in front of me draws my attention back to the here and now—the black slacks of a man I vaguely remember collapsing in front of before, the odd-collared women at his sides, their collars different from the others. They’re not decorative silver and gold bands sporting a house emblem, but true collars made for dogs, with shiny bone tags to match. I try to squint, focusing on what the tags say, but I quickly give up.

I watch as he makes a gesture with his hand, the back of it budging with veins. The woman climbs onto the couch, taking his cock in her mouth. No words pass between either of them. I’ve seen enough sex acts tonight to fill Pornhub’s entire library, but still I watch intently. My fingers work my clit as the man behind me groans and mumbles all sorts of odd things I block out, hoping he doesn’t mark me or hasn’t yet. I’m shocked when that pleasure builds despite the brutality of the one fucking my ass, even with sleep edging me—or maybe because of it. I moan loudly, dipping my fingers gently inside my raw core to wet them before swirling them around my clit in tight circles. My eyes widen as the man silently orders the girl off his reddened length, taking it in his palm instead. He works his cock slowly, methodically, matching the rhythm on my clit. I’m in a sorry state, so I can’t possibly look very appealing, but there's no question he's doing it for me. The girls at his sides watch the act with detachment, perhaps a little confusion.

He lifts his free hand, gesturing upward, making me frown; I don’t understand what he wants when he does it again. My eyes dart to one of the girls at his side. “Master wants your attention,” a curvy woman with raven black pixie hair clarifies, and I hesitantly obey.

I don’t know what I had expected from the man, but handsome would be anunderstatement. He’s gorgeous, in a hardened, severe way. His jawline is sharp enough to kill, with eyes ready to deliver the final blow. When I meet them, allowing myself a moment of dissidence to lose myself in their golden hazel depths, his thick brow furrows in a deep-set frown, deep enough to assume it's his usual expression. The fear that hits me is immediate, eliciting a gasp as I slam my eyes down to his chest. He works his cock harder; I do the same to my battered clit, waiting for a punishment that doesn’t come. The man in my ass becomes jerky as I’m edging my release. My moans grow in volume as the man on the couch makes a heady, sensual sound, releasing ropes of cum in my direction. I don’t know why I open my mouth, only that it sends me over the edge when the salty flavor hits my tongue, pleasure rocking me like a thousand-volt shock. I scream my release, but the man at my back doesn’t like that.

I yelp as his hand covers my nose and mouth, taking my breath as he fucks me harder, slamming into me like he's trying to split me open. “Did I tell you to come, whore? Huh?”

Panic finds me quickly, my fingers digging into the plush rug, the man at my front forgotten as I struggle to fill my lungs. I'm no stranger to the feeling, but it seems it's not something your body ever gets used to. There’s no peaceful acceptance, just pure and pungent fear. I barely feel the man in me by the time he finds his release, darkness spotting my vision as I’m dropped back to the floor, coughing and spluttering, cum and spit dripping down my chin. He doesn’t mark me, which I suppose is a silver lining. I’m fairly sure he hadn’t before, but my neck is littered with emblems. I really wouldn’t have a clue either way.

The black dress pants stretch as the man on the couch stands, his movements brimming with a lethal grace as he bends beside me, removing his own stamp from his pocket. His fingers aren’t gentle, but they aren’t harsh as he maneuvers my neck, looking for something. I don’t miss the smirk that edges his bowed lips when he finds whatever it is, pressing his stamp near where I vaguely recall getting the first one. My breath slows as he bends, blowing gently on the spot before his fingers find my lips, running the pad of his thumb over the swollen, raw flesh. It takes my exhaustion-riddled brain a moment to catch up to what he's doing: spreading his cum across them like a gloss.

He says nothing as he stands to his daunting height, and I watch him silently as he stalks away. His black suit is tailored to him as if it was painted on. He clicks his tongue twice, getting the attention of the nude, collared women still seated by the couch. “Come.” His voice is a gruff, deep timbre. They do, following behind him at a respectful distance, their own leads in their hands. I’m asleep before they clear the ballroom.

Chapter eight

To own is to… Acquire

Warrick

“Sir, the bidding has begun.”

I pull the cool night air through my lungs, treasuring breathing when it’s not filled with overpowering cologne, sex, or cigars. “Thank you, Stuart.” The older man simply nods before heading toward the doors of the balcony, letting me toss back the last of the gin in my glass. Already, the sound of bids being called fills the ballroom, a far cry from the hedonistic scene that was played out here last night. This one is reserved, more befitting the people in attendance.

“Ten grand going once, going twice-“

“Twelve!”

“Thank you twelve. Does anyone wish to-“

“Fifteen grand!”

---