11. Magnus
I t takes everything I have to walk out and not simply fuck her again, just because I can.
Only, I shouldn’t have done it the first time. I didn’t mean to do it. I told myself to hold off, to wait a little, but her defiance was too much. Too tempting. Too damned delicious to ignore.
She thinks she’s better than me? She thinks she still has a chance to fight this? Like she’s not tied up, naked, in my cellar.
My dick stirs. Considering I’ve only just emptied my balls it’s curious that I’m this turned on already. But then Miss Goodey Two-Shoes is more than just a fuck. She’s a game. A new toy that I get to break over and over.
As I blink, I can see her, lying there, with those silent tears streaking her cheeks but her pride too great to make any pitiful sounds.
I’m pleased she didn’t ask for mercy.
I’m pleased that she didn’t try to bargain either. That even though she’s defeated, she refuses to give up.
I wonder how long that will last, how far can I truly take this? I want to break her, I want to see the very moment she cracks and watch as she crawls to me, as she begs me to use her.
But that’s gonna take time. At least, I sincerely hope it does. The last time I tried to play this game, the girl gave in within twenty-four hours, but then the circumstances were entirely different. She wasn’t a true adversary, she was merely an unfortunate, caught up in something. She was a prototype. A trial run, if you like.
It’s been years since I’ve truly faced off against a woman. Since I’ve truly had a challenge. I’m going to revel in every moment we spend together before she becomes too damaged and boring to keep.
“Having fun already?” Conrad asks, bringing me out of my thoughts.
I glare up at where he’s stood at the top of the staircase waiting for me.
“What is it?” I reply. Obviously, there is something or he wouldn’t be lurking. He’d be off, having fun.
“New meat,” he says.
“Excuse me?” They weren’t due for another week.
He gives me a knowing look before stating that the car is ready and waiting, as are apparently, our new merchandise.
“Tell Gabe to feed my pet.” I order as I head to my room to clean up. I won’t have the bitch starving to death before I’ve had my fill.
One by one they walk in. Twelve women, three men. All their faces are staring down at the floor, their shoulders are hunched over, everyone looks as though they’re trying to make themselves invisible. Only, that’s not the purpose of them being here.
I tilt my head, staring at the nearest woman. She’s got a thick, woolly, floor length cardigan wrapped tightly around her body like it’s a shield. Her black hair is a mess of tangles and the way she’s shaking tells me all I need to know about her state of mind. But she barely looks old enough to be out of training bras, what could she have possibly done to warrant such a punishment? It’s not my place to question. No, I’m the executioner, not the jury. I know my lane and I’m more than happy to stay in it.
Beside me, Conrad tuts. “Nothing of note.” he says, loud enough for me to hear, with that usual boredom dripping from his voice.
“How can you tell when they’re all so covered?” I reply, clicking my fingers and the guards around the room spring into action, yanking, clawing, tearing off fabric as our new merchandise scream and try to fight.
Within seconds, we have an entirely different view before us. One far more entertaining. Breasts and cunts are hastily covered by hands. Whimpers fill the room. Two of the men don’t even bother to hide their dicks, they just stand there, glaring.
They’ve all been tested already, had their blood taken. Those who have infections, diseases, STI’s, are quarantined until they’re clean. The Lords and Ladies who come here, who visit and play, expect a certain level of service, they’d hardly thank me if they left with an infection or worse.
I step forward, clearing my throat, and all those scared little eyes snap to me.
“Welcome to Oblivion.” I say .
A few of them react to that. One woman starts crying, shaking her head, as if this is all a bad nightmare and if she tries hard enough, she’ll wake herself up.
I don’t care for their hysterics, they’ll have time to make peace with this. I’m kind enough to grant them a week of training before my customers can have their pick. Besides, most of them are only here for a few months, six at best. They’ll take their punishment, they’ll serve their time and then they’ll return to their nice little lives, hopefully with a lesson or two learnt in the process.
But the man at the end, my lips quirk as I stare at him. He was once like me, a big name, a man to watch, before his big fuckup put him out of God’s favour and he ended up here.
“How far you’ve fallen.” I murmur.
He does me the courtesy of flinching and then he’s handed his mask. Red.
He looks back at me, his eyes narrowing, and I can see he’s already contemplating his escape. But there is none from Oblivion, that’s the point.
You’re sent here to serve, sent here to learn.
You leave when your sentence is done and not before.
But this man here, he has no limit. He has no end. He’ll stay here, he’ll be used, abused, fucked within an inch of his life, and forced to do all number of unspeakable things until he’s no longer fit for purpose. And when that happens it’ll get even worse, he’ll go to the lower levels, the ones where they don’t crave sex, where they crave blood and pain.
And he’ll bleed for them, alright. He’ll bleed, and he’ll cry, and he’ll beg for mercy just like they all do.
“A life sentence,” Conrad says, “Guess I’ll know how that feels soon...”
I roll my eyes, turning my attention back to my brother. “Don’t be so dramatic.” I sigh. “Anyone of these people would happily switch position with you. ”
“They can do it. Perhaps it would be better to be here, with my arsehole fucked for eternity than be forced to marry…”
“You’re thirty-eight.” I state, growing irritated. “High time you were married, and high time you produced an heir, not just for yourself but for me, for our family.”
Conrad glares at me. “Make your own heirs. I’m not your stud you can rent out.”
“I found you a good bride. A pretty bride. A young one too.” I add. It could have been so much worse. In many ways he should be thanking me for landing such a prize.
He scowls like none of those things matter.
“Not to mention, she’s rich. Joining our two families will strengthen your position.”
“I’m not worried about my position.” Conrad mutters.
“You should be.” He’s a reaper, he’s a Blake, and yet he has no accolades, no merits, the man is the epitome of a rich playboy, and such a reputation will not bode well with the Brethren. We both know he needs to settle down, he needs to behave, present himself as a respectable member of society, even if he does continue to play in private.
“She’s a bitch. A stuck up, self-centred…”
“I don’t give a shit.” I cut across him. “You will marry her, you will fuck her, you will make sure she pops out a son or two and then, if she’s still giving you a headache you can lock her away and be done with it.”
He grins, swigging on his hipflask as if my words have planted a seed.
“Devin is more suited to that part,” he says quietly. “Why not have him married and producing heirs?”
“Devin is not under discussion.” I retort. And for good reason too. He may be our brother, he may be a Blake, but right now, the man is uncontrollable, a liability. There’s a reason he’s not a reaper, even though it’s his birthright. Most days it’s all I can do to keep him away from the Brethren’s ever reaching eyes.
“You could do it yourself.” He taunts.
Only, we both know why I don’t. I’ve been down that particular road already. It didn’t end well the first time. I have no intention of making a second attempt.
I give him a withering look before turning on my heel. We all have our parts to play. It’s about time Conrad accepted his.