Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“BIG BAD WOLF” BY ROSES the boys taking the ropes coming off each and tugging slightly.
“What the fuck is this?!” he screams as they pull him down by his ankles just enough so that the metal penetrates his anal sphincter.
“Have you ever heard of the saying ‘rip him a new one’?” I ask him conversationally, and his eyes go wide at the sound of my voice. It’s the first time I’ve spoken, and if my reputation has preceded me, he knows that to hear my voice is akin to signing his death warrant.
He shakes as the meaning of what I’m saying becomes all too clear.
“Now, you can still avoid having your asshole widened further. So perhaps you’ll answer our questions?” Aeron interjects, and my smile widens when I watch our little pig’s face grow hard.
“Go to Hell!” he howls, and I can’t help the crazed laugh that tumbles from my lips. I fucking love it when they refuse.
“Time for a brief history lesson,” I tell him, tying off the rope that attaches to the hoop around his waist so that there’s enough slack for us to lower him as much as we like.
“Back in the sixteenth century, the Spanish Inquisition invented some of—in my opinion—the best methods of torture the world has ever seen.” I walk towards him, stroking my hand down the smooth wood when I reach the Cradle.
“The Judas Cradle was one such invention, and the beauty of it is that we can have you on here for hours, days even. Widening you bit by bit until you’re ripped apart from the asshole up. ”
The dripping sound and sharp ammonia scent lets me know that he’s pissed himself, and I tear my hand away just before any touches me.
My nose wrinkles as I stalk away to stand next to Aeron.
I give our guys a nod, and they tug hard, impaling him further as the point slips inside of his back passage easily.
I did him a favor and oiled it up earlier.
His scream is like music to my ears, and my dick twitches in my pants when I hear a feminine echo, imagining our pretty bird impaled on my hardness. Maybe even Jude’s alongside mine, stretching her and stuffing her with our cocks.
“I’ll talk! Please! I’ll tell you anything!”
The shout has me blinking away my fantasy, and I focus to see blood now dripping down my beautiful Cradle. He’s sweating, shaking, and sobbing like a baby. I walk over to the pulley, pulling him up so that he’s no longer impaled by the pyramid. A wounded noise leaves his lips as he dangles there.
Aeron walks up to him, looking up at the blubbering mess of a human.
“Where is the Soldiers’ HQ?”
“I–I don’t know,” the man stutters, snot running down his face to mix with the blood from his mouth. “They don’t tell you until you make Corporal.”
Aeron growls at that.
“Then what fucking use are you to me?” he snarls, glancing over to me and giving a nod before turning his back. I pull the rope, making our piggy squeal.
“W–wait!” he shouts, and I pause. “They sent me to find out where you’re keeping her!”
Aeron and I both freeze at this, Aeron slowly turning around.
“Who?”
“The S–Soldier’s Darling! The Bossman wants her back. She’s how he keeps the others in line, and things are getting messy now she’s been gone so long.”
My blood boils at his words, at the implied meaning, and my knuckles whiten with how hard I’m clenching my fist around the rope.
“What do you mean, ‘keeps the others in line’?” Aeron asks, his voice deadly and cutting. He has that stillness again, like a snake about to strike. Like me, he needs to have his suspicions confirmed.
“W–when they’ve done a good job, a–as a reward, they get a night with The Darling. To do whatever they like,” the dead man stutters, eyes flicking from Aeron’s face to my own. He’ll find no comfort from either of us.
“Who gets her?” I ask, and his head whips over to me. I barely recognise my voice, it’s full of a darkness that rarely gets to see the light of day.
“A–as s–soon as you g–graduate to Corporal. I–it’s part of the celebrations.
A–all the Corporals that graduate that night get a go.
” His words stutter out more as the blackness of rage descends upon me.
The Dead Soldiers are not a small gang and they’re constantly gaining new members with the lure of drugs, easy money, and presumably free pussy. Our bird’s unwilling pussy it seems.
With a calmness that belies the ire swirling in Aeron’s eyes, he walks over to my table of tools, placing his hands on the surface.
His chest heaves once, twice, and on the third time, he lifts the whole thing and throws it against the wall.
Metal tools and instruments go flying, the noise loud and echoing in the vast space.
Chest heaving, he turns back around, smoothing his hair with hands that have a fine tremor which most people would miss, but not me. He stares straight at me and gives a single jerk of his head.
“Split him in half.”
“My pleasure,” I reply, meaning it as I loosen the rope and let go, our pig falling back onto the cradle’s point hard.
He screams loud enough that I can hear his throat tearing, but this time it does nothing to excite me, the feminine echoes in my head now full of pain as my little bird is violated over and over again by men who will soon die for daring to touch her.
His screams become the plaintive cry of a wounded animal as our men heave his legs down, blood and bits of his insides sliding down the wood as they rip him apart.
I make a vow, watching this pig die horrifically, unmoved by the gory sight before me. Every Soldier who has dared touch our bird will die a bloody death, begging for mercy that I will not show them.
Looking over to Aeron, I can see the same promise of violence in his tumultuous eyes. The same lack of mercy. Their deaths already written in his stormy, ocean eyes.
Until this point, our Pretty Bird may have been alone, but now she has demons on her side. Ready to go to war and avenge all who have wronged her.
For she is ours, and no one else will ever touch her again.