24. Conrad
S he laughed. She fucking laughed.
Even now, even hours later, I can’t contain my rage.
I’ve a good mind to go back and hurt her more. But that won’t help, will it?
No, apparently my fists seem to have little impact.
I storm through the hallways of Oblivion, feeling like this is already getting out of control. Who even is she? She was meant to be fucking meek.
That woman back at my house wasn’t meek.
My nails dig into my palms. My fury feels insurmountable.
What would Magnus do?
I hate that thought. And more than that, I hate the knowledge that my brother would probably have broken her by now. He’d have had her so twisted up she wouldn’t be able to think without him putting the very words in her head.
But I’m just as good as him.
Just as fucking good.
I snarl, slamming my fists into a slave that just happens to be walking past. I don’t know where the girl is headed but as her body crumples, I tilt my head and slam my boot into her ribs.
Why won’t she just give in? Why is she making this so damn hard?
All I wanted to do was love her, spoil her, treat her better than she’s been treated up until now. Why is she rejecting me? Why would she not want that?
The slave cries out, her hands grasping my leg, but it’s not enough to stop me. I bring my leg up, this time slamming it down on her face. In my mind it’s not this pitiful creature, in my mind it’s her, my wife. And I’m teaching her a lesson, one she’ll never forget. One she’ll never move on from.
My boot crushes her nose, and blood sprays out. Her screams turn more and more high-pitched, but it doesn’t stop me. Nothing can stop me.
“Why won’t you love me?” I snarl out. Doing it again, hurting this useless excuse for a human. “Why am I not good enough for you?”
My boot comes down. I crunch the heel right into her mouth, grinding it against the very bone and this time it’s her jaw that gives way. Those screams seem to falter. That fight seems to subside, as if she doesn’t have the will power anymore.
I lean down, yanking her up by her throat. Her neck hangs at an angle so her blood pours down, covering her chest, covering her nipples. There’s a broken whimper coming from her lips. It tells me she’s still alive, still breathing.
Well, that can be remedied just as easily.
I toss her back onto the concrete, and then I’m slamming my fists into her. Crushing her skull.
“You will learn,” I seethe. “You will fucking learn.”
By the time I’m done, her face is pulverised. She’s unrecognisable. Not that she was anything of note before. Two guards appear behind me, and I jerk my head, ordering them to clear up this god damn mess.
And as I walk away, I can feel it. Her blood under my nails, in-between my fingers.
“Again,” Dustin says, looking just as bored as I feel.
Some days work is easy, entertaining even. Some days, it’s sheer monotony.
The slave dips her head, acknowledging his words without a show of emotion and she raises the whip up, striking hard against another slave’s back.
We all hear the crack. The hiss. The sound of flesh ripping apart.
It’s a good technique, having them torture and train one another. It ensures there are no friendships, no alliances. They get rewarded for reporting on one another. They get punished arbitrarily to keep them on their toes.
We’ve never had an uprising here, never had a rebellion. New stock is brought in, separated into temporary and permanent and then we condition them, we teach them, we give them all the skills necessary to please our Brethren Lords. Of course, even if they follow the rules, even if they’re the best slave alive it won’t guarantee them an easy life, a pain-free one. They exist now for the whims of the free. Their every breath must be to grant our desires, our wants, not theirs.
The exercise hall is packed. Enough of them are obedient enough to be left alone, but we always make an example of the new starters, put them in the middle. It’s more degrading that way, more amusing to watch how they shy away, how they try to hide, because they haven’t yet accepted the fact that their bodies belong to us now. Decency doesn’t exist within these hallowed walls.
To the side, we keep the cages. Where our most precious cargo is kept.
I glance over and see that same girl standing, wide-eyed and clearly terrified as she stares out.
“Are we all set?” I ask Dustin.
He looks over, seeing the five girls and two boys all in the cages. All individually chained up so they can’t get at one another, so they can’t spoil themselves before their big day.
“We’re all set,” He states.
The auction is tonight. Already the high levels are filling up, and I know more than a few Lords are standing behind the glass screens, getting a good look at the stock as we speak.
I stride across, coming to a stop before the Upshaw girl’s cage. She’s naked now, completely exposed. I can see her fat, chunky thighs, and her nice round belly. It makes a change from most of the starving ones we have here – I reckon we’ll get a fine price for her this evening.
She grits her teeth, visibly shaking when she realises who it is.
“What’s your name?” I ask. I could ask Dustin but it’s more fun to toy with her.
“Clara,” She snarls.
Silly bitch. I press the button on the top of her cage and she screams, grabbing the collar around her throat.
“What is your name?” I repeat again, emphasising each damned word.
She gasps, glaring up at me with such a look of hate. I let out a laugh, squatting down and reaching through the bars to grab her face, “You’re lucky I have a wife now,” I state, “Because if I didn’t, I’d take great delight in breaking you in,”
“Fuck you,” She spits, “You think I’m scared of you? You think I’m scared of any of you?”
I grab her nipple and I pinch hard, twisting it around as she screams. “You’re a whore,” I state. “If you’re not scared, then you’re a fool. By the end of tonight, you’ll no longer be fucked and be back for training. You’ll learn to ride as much cock as your mother is right this second. You’ll choke on it, you’ll beg for it, you’ll become an addict. Just like every other slave here…”
She sobs, shaking her head while I step back, sneering at what a pathetic excuse for a person she really is.
I turn to leave, wanting to wash my hands, wanting to remove the taint of another woman’s flesh.