Chapter 61
My fingers find the delicate zipper at the back of her dress. The sound of it sliding down is obscenely loud as I part the fabric and let it whisper to the floor in a pool of crimson silk at her feet.
She stands naked before them, and the tremor in her limbs intensifies.
Her arms cross instinctively over her stomach, a futile gesture of modesty that I gently correct, taking her wrists and lowering them to her sides.
“None of that,” I chide softly. “Stand proudly. You are a feast, and these men are very hungry.”
The comments begin, as I knew they would. Charles, a man built like a bull, snorts. “Was she always this fat?”
“I don’t recall the mother being such a lump.”
“A bit too much cushion for my taste. I like to feel their bones when I snap them.”
A flicker of anger, hot and possessive, sparks in my chest but I keep my face a mask of cool amusement. They see only flesh, but I see so much more than that.
“Gentlemen,” I say, my voice slicing through their mockery.
“You mistake indulgence for neglect. I like her this way. In fact,” I continue, letting my gaze roam over the lush curves of her hips, the full swell of her belly, the heavy, perfect weight of her breasts, “I’ve started feeding her up.
Every extra ounce is a testament to my devotion.
I am her God and I’ve created her, moulded her to my exact tastes.
Her softness is a luxury, not a flaw. It means she is well-loved and well-cared for. ”
I see Grace’s breath hitch. My words are a balm and a brand, simultaneously reassuring her and reinforcing her status. She is my pet, my possession, and my praise is the only sun in her sky.
“Now, Pet,” I command, my tone shifting to one of expectation. “The bench.”
In the centre of the room I had a low, padded leather bench placed, wide enough to accommodate both her and whoever wishes to partake. She hesitates, her eyes pleading with me for a fraction of a second.
I simply raise an eyebrow, my expression hardening just enough to remind her of the consequences of disobedience. The fight, what little there was, drains from her. She walks slowly to the bench and lies down on her stomach, presenting her back to the room, her face turned away.
I sigh, a sound of theatrical disappointment. “Dumpling, must I instruct you on every little thing? Roll over. Our guests wish to see your pretty diamond studded breasts.”
A blush flames across her back. For a moment she remains still, and the room holds its breath.
This tiny rebellion is exquisite. Then, with a shuddering sigh of surrender, she obeys.
She rolls onto her back, her arms lying stiffly at her sides.
Her breasts, full and heavy with pale blue veins tracing beneath the skin, rise and fall with her rapid breathing.
Her nipples are tight, dark buds, already betraying the arousal that her fearful mind tries to deny while those pretty little diamonds seem to sparkle more than ever.
The men move closer now, a circle of sharks drawn to the scent of vulnerability. Their shadows fall over her. Charles reaches out a calloused hand and strokes the outside of her thigh. Silas traces a finger around the areola of one breast, not quite touching the nipple, making her flinch.
Konstantine sits off in a chesterfield armchair, watching this as if he is an Emperor having given an order for execution, and is waiting for it to be carried out. As I glance at him, his eyes sparkle just a little, telling me he enjoys watching and manipulating as much as I do.
This is a test for her, for Grace. She has traitors blood, and tonight our Grand Master wants to see if she can shed the sin of it.
“She’s trembling,” Viktor observes, his voice a dry rasp.
“She’s perfect,” I counter, moving to stand behind her head, looking down at her upturned face. Her eyes are screwed shut. “Aren’t you, my pet? You’re doing so well.”
At the sound of my praise, her eyes flutter open.
She looks up at me, and I see the conflict there.
The shame, the fear, and beneath it all a dark, thrilling current of excitement I know to be the drugs doing their job.
I didn’t want to resort to it, to take the easy way out, but I need her to be compliant tonight.
Besides, the more she does this, the easier it will be to marry it up in her head.
It is Silas who escalates the game. He brings his thumb to her lips, pressing against them. “Open,” he commands. She does, and he slides his thumb into her mouth. “Suck.”
Her eyes dart to me. I give a slight, almost imperceptible nod. Her lips close around his thumb, and she begins to suckle obediently, her tongue working against his skin.
Silas breathes, a smirk playing on his lips. “She is good at this.”
“She’s been trained,” I say with a hint of pride. “But a thumb is a poor substitute, don’t you think? Please, Silas, feel free to try her properly.”
The invitation is all he needs. He unzips his trousers, freeing his erection. He’s already hard. He places the tip of his cock against her lips. “Open wider, little pig,” he grunts.
Grace obeys, and he slides into her mouth with a smooth, practiced motion. Her eyes widen for a second at the intrusion, then glaze over with a kind of focused submission. As he begins to move, setting a slow, deep rhythm he reaches forward and grabs her breasts, kneading the soft flesh roughly.
Charles’s thick fingers find the slickness between her legs.
He doesn’t tease. He pushes two fingers inside her, and Grace moans around Silas’s cock.
A muffled, desperate sound that could be pleasure, could be pain.
Viktor leans in, pinching her nipples, twisting them just beyond the edge of pain.
I watch her body arch off the bench like a bowstring pulled taut.
She is teetering on the precipice of an orgasm, pushed there by the conflicting sensations and the overwhelming nature of it all.
“That’s it, Pup” I murmur, stroking her hair gently. “You’re taking it so beautifully. Being such a good girl.”
The men, meanwhile, offer a different kind of commentary. “Such a greedy whore,” Charles grunts, his fingers pumping inside her. “So wet for so many men.”
“A natural-born slut,” Viktor agrees, slapping her breast hard enough to leave a handprint, and making it jiggle violently.
With every filthy word, every degrading touch, I see her face flit from one emotion to another. I see the drugs, the training, and my total control over her.
This is what I am cultivating, this is what I need; the ability to find euphoria in her own debasement, because it is a debasement I have orchestrated. Me, her Master.
“Antonio,” Charles says, his voice thick with lust. “I want to fuck her properly. May I?”
I look down at Grace. Her body is begging for it, even if her mind is still struggling to catch up. “By all means,” I say magnanimously. “She is here for your pleasure this evening, however you wish to take it.”
Charles doesn’t need to be told twice. He moves between her legs, pushing them apart. “Never been with such a fat bitch before,” he comments almost to himself, and I feel that possessive spark again.
He is a brute, but a useful one. This is a good lesson for her, a lesson to take without complaint, a lesson that she is to be used without consideration for what her wants are in the matter.
He positions himself and then slams into her with a single, brutal thrust.
The force of it is so violent that her entire body jolts, and her breasts shudder. Silas has to grip her head to keep his rhythm in her mouth, but we all hear the scream escape her.
Charles laughs, a harsh, grating sound, and slaps the side of her hip. “I can see the attraction now,” he grunts, establishing a fast, punishing pace. “There’s so much to hold onto.”
Grace’s eyes fix on me. I can see the way she’s crying, the way she’s begging for me to put a stop to this. As if I would, as if I could when she looks so fucking magnificent right now.
“You can take it, Pup,” I reassure her. “Just lie back and enjoy this. Enjoy being used.”
She shakes her head as much as Silas allows her to with his cock deepthroating her.
I tut, slipping my hand into my pocket, finding the remote I hoped I wouldn’t need. As I switch it on, I see her body react, I see her tense up just a little and her moan a sound that’s close to regret.
Poor little thing. She really needs to just stop fighting and learn her place.
I push a button again, increasing the vibration. I need her to behave, I need her to chase her pleasure, to think only of that right now.
Be my whore. Be my mindless little slut.
Her body heaves as she kicks out, and I can’t tell if it’s in protest or need.
The contrast between the two men using her is a symphony.
Silas is a slow, deep cello note in her mouth.
Fucking her with a controlled, almost languid rhythm, telling her to “take it slow, sweetheart.” Charles is a violent, percussive drumming between her legs.
The conflicting rhythms, the rough hands on her skin, the vile praise and filthy insults while that piercing does it’s work against her clit - it’s a sensory overload that is too much for even her to withstand.
Her orgasm crashes over her with shocking speed. Her body seizes with a silent scream trapped around Silas’s cock, her back arching spectacularly off the bench. Her inner muscles clamp down on Charles, and he curses in pleasure.
“There she goes,” Viktor laughs. “The filthy bitch is coming already.”
“So eager,” Silas mumbles, his pace in her mouth quickening.
I watch, my own arousal a steady, throbbing heat. This is my masterpiece. This is my pet unravelling so prettily, so completely under my command.
When Charles is finished, he pulls out with a wet sound and steps back, grinning like a cheshire cat.