Page 48 of Deviant

“You will, pet.” He groans. “You will come right here for me, you will come in front of all these witnesses, and you will submit, like my good little whore.”

I can’t think.

I’m too stuffed, too overstimulated and far too fucking exhausted. The drugs are making me see things I know are not there. Flashes of colour, flickers of light. All the faces staring at us morph into gargoyle-like figures, all laughing, all mocking, all enjoying this perverse show.

And Magnus, Magnus continues his assault, continues raping me over and over, while those fingers try to make me act like I’m wanting this, like I’m getting off on this.

My body ripples, my sweat pools up my spine, collecting at my neck. I scream out, I try to roll him off and he grabs my hands holding them down far above my head.

“Come, you little bitch.” He snarls. “Give in and come.”

I bite my lip, I repeat over and over in my head that I don’t want this, that he just killed three people, that their blood is still on me, in me. That he made me fuck myself with a dead man’scock, and I’d be just as fucked up as everyone else here if my body responds in any positive way.

But my bodyisreacting.

Those awful drugs are forcing me to obey.

I try one last time to throw him off, to fight, to do anything to stop what now feels so horrifically inevitable.

His fingers bring me right to the edge of my climax, my body pushes back and my need for a release takes over every logical part of me.

I bite down, driving my teeth into my tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a moan. Blood spurts in my mouth from how I’ve practically severed the very tip.

But I am coming.

I am combusting.

I hate that I do it, I hate that I can’t stop this.

I’m screaming, convulsing, giving in entirely to the wants of a psychopath.

And then something in my mind explodes. Something breaks. I fall into the darkness. I escaped into it. I welcome it like a friend, silently praying that I won’t wake up, that I’ll fall sleep now and never open my eyes again.

She collapses. Her body slumps and all that beautiful resistance, all that euphoria at my victory, is suddenly gone in an instant.

I could keep going, could keep fucking her lifeless body, but without her reaction there’s no point to any of it.

With an angry snarl, I pull out, wiping my bloodied cock on her back, down her spine.

But as I get to my feet and start barking orders, I notice the foam at her mouth. I bend down, taking a sniff, and know exactly what it is, what the smell tells me. What went on right under my nose.

Someone drugged her.

My eyes narrow, I turn my gaze on the chained-up wretches huddled back intheir corner.

“Which one?” I ask.

A few look confused. One looks so fucking high I could be saying anything and he wouldn’t have a clue.

“Which one of you pieces of shit drugged my whore?” I bellow, feeling my rage grow and grow.

A hand raises, a woman who looks old enough to be my mother gets to her feet.

“Me,” she says in defiance, as if she doesn’t understand the ramifications of who she is coming up against.

I curl my finger, beckoning her to me and the chain that hangs down from her collar drags on the floor, accompanying every step she takes like a little singsong.

“You did it? Why?” I ask.

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