Page 65 of Degradation
I come with a groan, my cock pulsing as I shoot my load down her throat.
I pull out, looking down at her with a sneer because I need her to know that she’s nothing, just another whore to fuck, another thing to use.
As I tuck myself back into my pants, I watch the next guard taking his turn.
And I’ll admit I feel a pang of disappointment, I was hoping for more of a challenge, for a fight. But she just laid there and took it, like the pathetic bitch she is.
Pailtyn
I’m curled up in bed, my body aching, my mouth swollen and bruised from the brutal treatment I received. Every cut from those barb stings is a constant reminder of the torture I’ve endured.
The maids bring me soup, knowing I can’t eat solids yet, their gentleness is a stark contrast to the violence I’ve faced under my husband’s watchful gaze. As I sip down the warm broth, I can’t help but flinch because even liquids hurt.
I feel like I’ve been beaten, flogged.
I feel so much worse than I did after that awful party.
I don’t even remember how I got back here, who carried me, if I even was carried. From the bruising on my back, I suspect I was dragged the entire way back.
I feel weak, weak and pathetic. And the thing I hate most is that there’s no end to this. No light at the end of the tunnel. The only thing I can pray for is for Gunther’s demise. For him to go so absolutely insane, the Brethren are forced to step in and remove him, or perhaps, perhaps it might be as my mother suggests. That he might be sick, that he might just die.
I gasp as I contemplate that because the feelings I have, the desire inside of me, no good person thinks that way, no good person wishes for such a thing.
Maybe that’s what this is, maybe that’s the answer here, that I’m not a good person, not a good soul. That God knows what a piece of shit I really am in my heart, and all of this, all this pain and suffering is my punishment, my rightful karma.
But what could I possibly have done; how bad could I possibly be to deserve this?This?
When I’ve managed all the soup I can, Ada takes the bowl and puts it on the side. Kora helps me to sit up and I stare aimlessly at the wall.
“Why don’t we go for a walk?” Ada says quietly. “Get out of this room for a bit.”
I don’t want to. I don’t want to leave the safety of this space – only, it’s not safe, is it? Every night Gunther comes back here. He sleeps beside me. He fucks me as if he doesn’t even see all the damage he’s already inflicted on my flesh.
Even now, he could walk right in and do whatever he pleased and none of us can stop him.
So how is this room safe? How is any of this Palace safe?
I tremble, realising the enormity of my situation, how truly fucked I really am.
He’s going to kill me. That man, one day, he is going to murder me.
“Let’s go to the gardens.” Kora suggests. “A bit of sunshine and fresh air might make you feel better.”
My eyes widen as I look at her. Fresh air? It sounds tempting, but my head says this too is a trap. I’m not allowed out of this room, not allowed anywhere by myself technically. Will he be waiting the other side of the door? Will his guards be there, ready to beat me again?
When I voice that, they tell me that my dear husband has seen fit to relax the rules a little, that he’s decided to ease the bars around my cage just a smidgeon.
“Come on.” Ada says, taking my arm as gently as she can.
Kora goes to grab the robe from the bathroom, and she holds it out expectantly. I don’t doubt neither of them have ever dared be so presumptuous with a mistress before but a part of me is so grateful. I don’t need maids right now, I don’t need faceless, sycophant slaves. I need friends. I need allies. And I feel like we really are friends. That we’re all in this hellhole together.
I stand shakily. Kora eases the robe around my fragile body, and she ties the thing up in a way that makes me feel more secure than Fort Knox.
“We’ll go slow.” She says kindly.
My feet stumble on the first few steps. It feels like I have to fight my own body.
When we make it to the threshold, I still, looking around. My limbs freeze, expecting the blows, expecting the violence.
