Page 42 of The Surrender

I can’t fathom what he means until he commands the servants into the room. These are more than just the dressmakers who have come for his fittings from time to time. No, these…these are artisans. I can guess by their individualistic and expressive clothes.

Two large soldiers advance toward the Emperor.

Thighs clenching, I hold my breath, as the Emperor dictates, “Adorn my pet.”

At first, I fool myself into believing a hint of affection graces those words. But he gives permission to the soldiers to hold me down while he brushes my cheek and says, “Make me proud, mine. Show me your beauty as I bestow it upon you.”

I’m thankful he is not aware of my greatest secret. How I grow more silent the deeper the pain goes. Tonight, I don’t make one sob, one whimper, not even a whisper. In and out of an hour, the servants follow his command to “adorn” me. If it were for his pleasure alone, it would be a lighter burden. But as he’d stipulated: this is to break me down more, to carve away at the rebellious chip inside me.

Inhaling a deep breath, I close my eyes and lean into the pain as the servants sear the diamonds and rubies into my flesh. No doubt, Kronos has countless technologically advanced methods to do this, but he has arranged for a slower technique. One he claims is to signify a bond between artist and flesh. The erection tenting his breeches suggests hisotherreasons for this.

Acid rises in my throat, but I swallow it down and hold back the burning tears as they burn my skin. I can’t deny the beauty of body modification. On my back, they branded larger gems and tiny diamond ropes to create the illusion of a chandelier. They have done the same with my front, but they’ve seared alternating diamonds and rubies beneath my bustline.

The first time I flinch is when they pierce my nipples. Blood rose diamonds—the rarest in all five realms—fixed to a barbell decorate each side of my buds. My nipples are snug between them. They pierce my navel, and it stings. I hold onto the pain.

Kronos admires once the artisans have finished and thumbs and pinches each nipple despite how erect they already are. “Such a good, little mine. Now, for your sweet nub…” he eludes, and my breath hitches in my chest.

My lungs burn from how long I hold my breath during the process. I go deep into my mind, into my soul while they pierce my clit with a ring formed of tiny blood rose diamonds. I only come back once Kronos smiles and plays with my distended clit and pulls back the lips of my swollen pussy.

“The cream…” he demands of one of the servants who oblige him.

I arch as he takes a squirt of the cream and works it into my slit and beyond, injecting it into my channel. The effect is instantaneous, tingling and tightening until I realize what’s happened even before he confirms.

“This tightens and narrows all your inner walls and provides a new lining for your cervix. You will bleed any time I fuck you or command another to do so.”

My chest tightens at the last words. What does he mean? Another? I have the beginning of my answer once he orders the artisans out and the servants to escort his guests into the dining hall. Guests mean high-ranking officials and nobles within his realm.

Each studies me with hungry eyes, predatory expressions.

And when I’m spread and chained to the table, fear surges through me in the understanding: I am the banquet tonight.

Kronos seats himself on his throne and gestures to the nobles to feast.

I brace myself, but I can’t fight it when three men battle for my sensitive breasts and stab their tongues against each hard and tender nipple. All their faces, their bodies blur. Unwitting pleasure heats my blood and prompts my body to rise when the men cover my body with their tongues and mouths, working their way down. Tears splinter through my eyes. Breaths stall in my lungs. My throat burns with hot embers.

Kronos surveys me the entire time from his throne, fist propped on his chin, a malevolent smile creasing his lips. Because I understand now just how far he will take this, how much he wishes to break me. Nor will he let me escape to some deep place in my mind. Any time I try, he tugs on that invisible bond chaining me to him and forces me back to the present.

Instead, I surrender to the pain. I take my pleasure when they swirl their tongues around my clit, taste my wet folds, and plunge their tongues into my soaked and aching slit. They alternate between laving the flat of their tongue along my clit and tasting my pussy beyond the slit. I orgasm twice.

Then, they begin to ravage me. They sink their teeth into my breasts. They pull on the still-stinging, pierced nipples. But it doesn’t work out on Kronos’ end. Instead, I get off on the pain and the ownership of the piercings, pretending I am a prized possession, a precious pet like Quintessa is to her monster gods. When my chains are loosened enough to bend my knees and thrust my thighs wider with my feet planted solidly on the table, I imagine the older man disrobing before me is a god. When he spits on his dick, fisting it, I let my vision go blind, fantasizing about someone else, anyone else. He buries himself inside me, and my scream catches in my throat.

Another gets under me. My eyes burn from tears as I feel his spit while the fluid slides between my ass cheeks. Another shoves his cock without warning into my mouth, deep and hard enough to penetrate my throat. Despite my practice with Kronos, I gag. But he doesn’t care about the saliva streaming out of the sides of my mouth. Just like the other doesn’t care when he rips through my back hole. This time, a whimper escapes. He laughs, gets his arms under mine, and grips my shoulders. I see stars. And feel every inch of the burning pain when he pulls me down hard, so his entire cock can fit inside my dry hole. The scream comes, but it’s muffled by the cock in my throat.

“Move her head,” one snarls and straddles me. “I’m taking her last place. Love those tits bouncing with those pretty gems.” He positions his dick between the valley of my breasts.

They all laugh as they fill everything, leaving no part untouched. Pain radiates into all my nerve endings. I can’t lose myself in the dark places in my spirit. So, I hold onto the pain. I rationalize it as karma for every time I tried to kill Quintessa, every time I left marks on her throat or broke one of her limbs. Or how I watched every time she cut herself, shed blood, and healed others with her vym even though she could never heal herself.

They take turns until each one gets a new hole. As if the Emperor wants to reduce me to the definition of an orifice. I can make believe I am her.

Not once does he allow me to orgasm. Not until I’m drowning in their sweat, salt, saliva, and cum. And my own blood.

With all the sated nobles watching from around the table, Kronos forces my arms and legs around him, then shoves his cock into me, fucking me so hard, the table nearly breaks.

When he commands, I kiss him. When he commands, I moan and scream. When he commands, I climax.

“Say your name, Nereya,” he growls low in my ear on the last dredges of my orgasm…my little death. Pieces of me splintering and shredding to become tattered echoes.

Stars bleed, burn, and become black holes to steal my vision.

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