31. Brynn
H e left me there, tied up, suspended. I don’t know how I managed to sleep, but I guess my body got so weak that I didn’t have the energy to stay awake.
The next day he unties me, and watches as I literally fall off the thing and collapse in a heap, then he hog-ties me. My legs are bent over so my ankles and my wrists are bound up together. My arse, my pussy, all of the parts of me he enjoys the most are exposed.
He carries me, dumping me onto the bed. The weight of my own body makes it hard to breathe.
I think he’s going to fuck me now, to keep me like this. Bound up and ready to receive him in whichever hole takes his fancy.
Only, he doesn’t. He disappears off, then comes back with a bowl.
My eyes widen when I realise what he’s doing. Normally it’s the maids who wash me. Who shave me. It’s humiliating enough for them to do it, but to have Conrad up that close and personal… hell, who am I kidding? He’s seen every inch of me, pretty much abused every bit he can lay a hand on. What difference does it make if he’s the one shaving me?
But it does. In my desperate, twisted mind, this feels so much more humiliating to lay there, to lay still while he’s running a blade over my most intimate parts. While he’s prepping me for what will undoubtedly be another attempt to get me pregnant.
He’s gentle at least, I can give him that. He doesn’t cut me once.
When he presses his fingers to spread my arse cheeks widen, I protest, earning another hard slap.
Him shaving my arsehole is the worst. I thought him shaving my labia was bad, but this, it’s indescribable. It only means one thing; that he’s planning on fucking me there again.
My stomach churns at the thought. Anal sex is the most forbidden of all the sins. I know God won’t forgive me for allowing myself to be used like that, for allowing myself to be continually used.
As he pours some lube onto my arse, I brace myself for it, for him . Something heavy, something metal is slipped in. It hurts for a moment, and then it’s just more uncomfortable.
“You look so pretty,” Conrad says, pushing on it, jolting it enough to make me feel it move inside.
I don’t have a reply. I simply bury my head in the sheets and pray that I can just suffocate here, that I can have a massive heart attack and just go, just end it.
He leaves me there, bent over, held in the most uncomfortable of positions and he walks out, disappears again for what feels like forever. When he comes back, I know hours have passed. My body is literally shaking from the pressure of the position it’s in.
He unties me without a comment then he pulls me to my feet, ignoring my whimpers of pain. Blood starts to flow back to my toes, to my fingers, to all the bits that went so horribly numb, and it’s like tiny needles stabbing all over me.
As I stand there, trembling, he pulls my hair up into a high ponytail and then starts lacing something else around my body. It’s lingerie, but nothing like what he’s put me in before. This stuff is latex, with thumb width straps that he wraps around, holding my flesh in place. He scoops it around my breasts, forcing them up and out, into a weird position. He then brings it down, across my stomach and around my back to where he loops it around both my thighs. When he gives it a good yank, all the slack disappears and with horror I can feel what it’s doing to my arse; how it’s spreading my cheeks, how it’s exposing me.
I don’t dare to question him, not with the look on his face, but he looks at me as if he’s daring me to.
He takes something new, something leather, and he locks it in place around my neck.
It’s a collar. He fucking collared me. It takes everything I have to bite my tongue, to hold back the hate I want to spew.
“So fucking pretty,” He taunts before fixing what can only be a damned leash to the collar.
He’s treating me like an animal. A fucking animal.
He gives it a yank and I whimper, moving my hands to try to help stop my neck from literally snapping in half.
“We’re going on a trip,” He says.
I swear the bottom of my stomach drops out. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave this place. It’s bad enough here, where the hell would he be taking me anyway?
And then it hits me; we’re going to the one place that is safe for him. The one other place where Conrad can do anything he wants without consequence.
My legs tremble as Conrad pulls me from the car.
The entire journey, we didn’t speak a word. I just stared out, seeing everything I’d never be able to experience flashing by.
When we pull up, I stare at the massive building ahead while I try so hard not to puke.
Security waved us through and those blood red walls get closer and closer. The place is like a fortress. No, not a fortress, a prison.
“No,” I gasp the word as the cold air swirls around me. I’m wearing a shirt, one of Conrad’s. I know he’s only let me cover myself so that none of the guards will see his wife naked.
But inside? I know that all changes, because why else would he have me more trussed up than a Sunday roast.
“Please…”
I don’t know why I’m begging, it’s not like he’s ever listened to me. But I know Conrad’s abuses are far better than what I will suffer within those walls.
“Come on, wife.” He says, yanking on the leash, dragging me along like an actual dog.
I don’t want to. I don’t want to go anywhere near that place.
The building might be soundproofed so you can’t hear it, but I swear there’s a ringing like the very pits of hell are beneath us.
And that is exactly what this place is, what it’s intended to be. Literal hell on earth.
The devil’s playground.
Somewhere the Lords can come and indulge their worst desires, and somewhere horrific enough to ensure the rest of us follow the rules without question.
“Conrad.”
He barely even looks at me, as I murmur his name. And he certainly doesn’t slow his pace.
I know I’m making a pitiful, whimpering sound as I’m dragged inside.
The temperature is barely warmer than outside, and my skin erupts in goosebumps. Conrad leads me into a room where there’s a small table and little else.
He picks up the masks from the top and places the black one on my face. It only really covers my eyes. My nose and lips peek out, but it’s enough to make me feel like I’m no longer a person, no longer human.
Conrad then strips off the shirt I’m wearing, exposing that awful latex strapping that covers me.
He tilts his head, thumbing my nipples, playing with my body while I shiver and whimper.
“None of that,” He says. “You’re not a slave here, wife.”
“I’m as good as,” I hiss back. Because that’s how I feel, what he’s made me into. His sex slave. His disgusting little toy.
His lips curl and he brushes his thumb over my core, as if he has a right to touch me. “Act like a slave and in here, they’ll treat you like one. Act like a Master, a Lord, and well…” His thumb pushes into me, and it’s almost lazily that he thrusts.
I gulp, already knowing that whatever the fuck he has planned, today is going to be especially bad.
But there is something telling in what he just said. Apparently, he’s not here to wash his hands of me, to hand me over. No, I’m not coming here to serve a sentence. I’m coming here as his wife – though I’m not sure that makes it any better.
He pulls his hand away, sucking the digit like it’s now covered in the finest of sauces. Then he undoes his tie, unbuttons his shirt and removes his clothes. He places them neatly onto the table, and a servant who I barely noticed steps out from the shadows and begins folding them so they won’t crease. He then picks up some long black robes, throwing them over his shoulders like he’s some sort of Roman god in a fancy tunic, and he places his own mask over his face. His too is black, and it also leaves his nose and mouth free.
He’s wearing nothing else. All his tattoos, all those forbidden pieces of art are on display, like it doesn’t even matter that he broke those rules. His impressive body is practically glowing in the soft lighting and his dick hangs down, semi-hard while I do everything I can to ignore it.
He grabs the leash around my neck, giving it such a hard yank that I fall to my knees.
“Let’s go,” He says, striding off.
I try to stand, I try to get up but as I do it, he turns and uses the end not attached to me to whip me around the head.
“Get back on your knees.” He states.
I blink up at him. What the fuck? He said I’m to act like a Master here, and yet he wants me to what, to crawl?
He crouches down, cupping my cheek and his eyes glisten with amusement. “You’re not a slave today, wife. But you are still my pet. My toy. You’ll crawl on your knees, you’ll cry and you’ll beg. You’ll do whatever I want, because that will give me pleasure. Do you understand?”
I gulp, and bile turns in my stomach. The floor is hard, cold, unforgiving. There’s some plastic surface covering it, which no doubt makes it nice to wipe clean for hygiene reasons. There’s a faint smell of bleach here. Did they have to scrub this place down, is that a regular thing? Washing away the blood, and the other bodily fluids?
I shudder with revulsion, and Conrad gives my leash another sharp tug to get my attention back.
“Crawl.” He orders before he starts walking off again.
I try to keep up. I really do.
My hands and knees can’t move fast enough as that leather around my neck tugs and tugs.
I can’t look up or around, I’m too humiliated by this entire thing. We pass by enough people to be more than aware that I’m on display here.
My breasts hang down, straining against the latex. My stomach is mercifully held flat, but my lower half…shame heats my cheeks as I realise that all of me, all of my pussy and my arse and my most intimate areas are visible for anyone to gawp at.
My hair hangs down over my left shoulder, and a few strands end up stuck against my lips.
I wonder what he thinks, what he feels. Is he enjoying this power play? This humiliation? I bet he is. I bet he spent all day planning this, planning how to make me pay for what I did to him.
As we enter a huge, cavernous hall he stops. I take the moment to try to get my breath back. My arms are shaking, my knees feel bruised.
“Do you see them?” He asks.
I don’t want to look up, I don’t want to see whoever is there, but I know he will hurt me more if I don’t. I lift my head, and what I see renders me utterly speechless.
“Wha-wha-what are they?” I stammer.
It’s clear what they are. I just can’t process them.
Skulls seem to line every inch of the walls. They’re on little plinths, all neatly on display. There must be hundreds and thousands of them, all circling us, all leering back. Some are still rotting down, some have fine golden lines trailing all over them as if they’ve been shattered and then glued back together.
But some are literally gilded. They glow gold in the candlelight, making them even more eerie.
In the very centre there’s a great column. All around it, these skulls are jewel encrusted. With neat little inscriptions as if these ones are worth more than all the others.
“Lifers.” Conrad says beside me.
“Whaat?”
He turns his head, meeting my gaze and this time, there’s no amusement in his eyes, just that harsh brutal menace. “Those who serve for life are immortalised here.” He states.
This isn’t immortalisation. This is subjugation. They’re keeping them as objects, even beyond the grave.
“Why, why are some gold and some…” my voice trails off as I decide I don’t actually want to know the answer.
“They did well.” Conrad explains. “They learned their place, served their master’s loyally.”
I blink back, then stare at a skull near us that is literally rotting. The eyes are gone, but there’s a tendril of greying hair coming down from the top of the head.
“They didn’t.” Conrad says right in my ear, answering my unspoken question.
I pull my face away from him, fighting the rising bile. I can practically taste the smell of that flesh on my tongue.
Conrad grabs my face, dragging me a few metres until we’re right up by the ornate column. “That’s where we will be.” He says.
“What?” I gasp. What the fuck is he talking about?
“The Blakes.” He says pointedly. “My family. We all serve the Brethren. Some of us through choice, some of us through action, and some through force. When we die, we two will remain here, we Blake’s never leave Oblivion.”
I blink back in horror. Maybe it would be better to be cast aside after all. At least if I’m no longer a Blake, then I won’t be put on display. But I doubt Conrad would do me the generosity of a nice grave.
He lifts his arm, pointing to a particularly fancy skull, one with huge rubies for eyes. “My mother.” He says with a hint of what could be love, as if he is capable of feeling such an emotion.
But I stare at her, at what remains of her. I know little about his parents, only what my grandfather and my aunt talked about. I know they died when Magnus was fifteen, that Magnus brought Conrad and their younger brother up while somehow managing to keep hold of Oblivion and all the family wealth. I know Devin is off on some mission for the Brethren that no one seems to know anything about.
But their mother, looking at her, at her skull. Was she happy? Was she a good parent, a loving one? Did she and her husband actually want to marry, or was she forced into it too? Is that why her son is the way he is? Did he learn that from his father, did he witness that firsthand?
I narrow my eyes, wondering what brutality that woman lived through, because at the end of the day she was a Brethren Lady, and that means only one thing, doesn’t it?
“One day, we too will be up there. Side by side. Immortalised, just like my ancestors,” He states.
My face must show my horror. My face must show exactly what I’m thinking.
He grabs my chin, raising it so I have to look at him full on. “Do you understand what I’m giving you, what you now have? We are Gods here, you and I. And we can sit here, on our thrones, and rule this place like royalty.”
Royalty? I don’t want to be a royal, I don’t want to ever step foot here again. My eyes cast about, over his shoulder, at all those awful skulls that are leering back at me. Is this how Persephone felt? Is this what she saw? At least she loved Hades, I don’t even have that. No, her story would be far less romantic if there wasn’t a happy ending to it.
“What are you thinking?” Conrad asks.
I shake my head, too fearful to articulate any of it.
Clearly, that pisses him off because he suddenly loses all interest in this ‘show and tell’ thing and drags me on, moving through the hall as if it no longer represents a mausoleum for his ancestors.
Sex.
All around us.
That’s all I can hear.
Moaning, groaning and fucking.
The sound of bodies heaving and flesh slapping against flesh.
And the weeping, the crying – I hear that too. I hear as it rings out, as it echoes through this cursed place, as it sings like a melody of horror and depravity.
I want to cover my ears, to cover my eyes too. Only, I can’t. I’m still forced to crawl beside my husband like a damned pet.
My hands slip and slide as the floor goes from the clean washed surface to one of grime, sweat and something infinitely worse.
As we reach another great hall I hold my breath, wondering if this is where Conrad intends to ‘play’.
A man strides up to him and Conrad narrows his eyes, clearly pissed at being disturbed.
“You brother…” The man continues, and my husband curses before dropping the leash.
“You even think of moving.” He threatens me before walking off to the side where they start conversing quickly, as if something awful has happened.
I sit back, rubbing my palms, trying to massage the pain out of them.
In front of me, six women are brought in, all chained to one another. They keep their heads low, and beyond the iron they’re completely naked. I stare in horror as they walk on like robots until they disappear beyond my view.
It feels like there’s some sort of party, everywhere I look people are fucking. Some seem willing enough, others are definitely not.
One girl in a red mask is clearly putting up a fight. She starts screaming, lashing out and then she tries to run. A man grabs at her, and she goes sliding.
I don’t know what makes me do it, what stupid thought gets into my head but I spring up, trying to catch her before she smashes her skull on a wooden bench.
As she recoils from my touch, I get a glimpse of her face and that scar on her lip, I know that scar.
“Clara?” I hiss.
She freezes, staring at me. There’s a strand of her auburn hair now loose from the plait. I know it’s her. I know it.
“Clara,” I repeat again.
“Brynn?” She gasps. “Jesus, Brynn, what are you doing here? What?” She falls silent as a shadow covers us.
The man that had only seconds ago been assaulting her tries to pull her away and she moves, wrapping her arm around me, using me like a shield.
“Stay away from me!” She screams.
The man pauses, staring at me like he knows who I am, who my husband is and then he strolls off, leaving me with a sense of dread.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. What the fuck happened to put her in Oblivion?
“They sent me here, they arrested my father…”
I screw my face up. What the fuck? What did he do?
“They sold, they…” She trails off, her cheeks heating as she looks away. “They put me in an auction and now…” She shudders. “Why are you here? I thought you ran away, I thought you got away?”
I let out a bitter laugh. Is that what they all think? That I got lucky?
“Brynn.”
That voice, it echoes behind me, making my blood turn cold. He’s back, whatever the fuck took him away clearly wasn’t enough to keep him occupied for long.
Clara looks at Conrad, then at me and she takes a step back. “No, no,” she whispers.
Conrad’s lips turn into a smile. “Making friends, are we?” He says in a tone that tells me I’m in serious trouble.
“He, he took me, he was the one…” Clara’s words are silenced as Conrad sends her flying with a backhand.
I scream, trying to grab her and Conrad yanks me back, using that leash to keep me in place.
She lands in a heap, her mask now slightly ajar and she looks up at us. “He sold my virginity.” She snarls. “He had me brought here, he turned me into this…”
My heart slams into my chest. Conrad? Conrad did that to her? He made her into a slave for Oblivion.
I turn to face him, and it’s clear he’s not even denying it.
He tilts his head, cupping my cheek. “Kill or be killed, Doll. This bitch and her family were selling us out.”
“No, we weren’t.” Clara screams. “My dad is innocent, my mother is too.”
“Was.” Conrad corrects her. “Your mother didn’t make it through training, and your father made a good sacrifice for my brother’s cause. Seemed fitting, considering all the trouble he caused...”
I blink back, registering what he’s saying. That her dad was the man Magnus butchered, while Conrad was assaulting me.
Clara starts howling and Conrad looks around, jerking his head for a guard. Two burly men come over and haul her up by her arms.
“Please,” She begs, and I don’t know if she’s talking to me or to my husband. “I didn’t do anything…”
Conrad tuts, “You didn’t pay attention, did you? Didn’t learn your lessons very well.”
He jerks his head, and she starts kicking out as she’s dragged away.
“No,” I gasp and I’m pulled back, slamming into Conrad’s bare chest.
“You’re making a scene, doll. And not the kind of scene I envisioned.” He murmurs into my ear.
“She’s my friend…” I state. “You can’t.”
“I can and I have. She is no longer the girl you know. She is the property of Oblivion. As the wife of a Blake, you need to understand what that means, what all of this means.”
I can feel my tears sliding down my cheeks. I don’t want to understand. I don’t want to even be here.
“Why am I here?” I whisper.
His spare hand comes up to massage my right beast. I arch my back trying to pull away from his touch but all that results in me being pressed closer against his body.
“Like I said, we’re going to play. This is all part of your conditioning.”
Conditioning. He’s treating me just like these slaves, just like another piece of property. If I give in, if I bend, what will I become? Will I lose all rational thought? Will I no longer question what this is, and simply accept each brutal thing he does without complaint?
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” He says before pushing me forward. My feet struggle to get any grip, but it makes little difference as we move out of this hall into a new space.