Chapter 13 Perverse
Chapter thirteen
Perverse
Jaga casts a weak healing spell on Nienad to make sure he won’t bleed out and flicks her fingers at me.
A chain materializes around my throat. It goes through a loop, the other end twining around her palm.
When she pulls, the chain tightens. I stumble forward, carried by the weight of my antlers.
Her narrowed eyes watch me with serpentine coldness.
She expects me to balk, but the joke’s on her.
I’m harder than ever.
She sees it, too, her brow arching in contempt. “Do you have a thing for Nienad or ruptured cocks?”
“I have a thing for you choking the shit out of me.”
I come close enough for the chain around my throat to slacken. Jaga’s lip curls.
“It’s because you like pain.”
“Only the pain from your hand, love.”
She regards me for a moment, then smiles. Cold shivers of foreboding skitter down my back, settling at the base of my spine where arousal tingles.
“Oh, Woland. Once I’m done, all your lies will tumble out, just like his guts. Come along.”
She pulls me into my throne room. With a flick of her finger, she sends the table clattering against the wall. Another lazy spell, and a large, half-translucent upright wheel appears in its place, just like the one she used to torture Nienad, only larger.
I stand with my back to it, raising my arms high and flexing my muscles. I am on display for her, and Jaga’s cool gaze slides down my body. When she claps her hands and invisible ropes pull my wrists and legs secure to the wheel, I gasp with lust.
I told her the truth. If it’s from her hand, I’ll love it. Whatever it is.
“Tighter,” she mutters under her breath as I clench my hands into fists. “And… Yes.”
My legs slide farther apart until I’m spread open, my body symmetrical within the wheel, limbs equal lengths apart.
I gasp out a laugh, the stretch in my thighs burning in the best way.
She presses her lips tightly together, watching me critically, then whispers something.
My hooves rise higher as wooden supports appear beneath them.
“Yes.” Jaga twirls her finger, and the wheel spins once, slowly. The tips of my antlers scratch the floor when I’m completely upside down, and she brings me back to the initial position.
“Play until you stop hating me,” I purr, looking into her eyes that want to be indifferent, but burn with badly concealed fury. “Do whatever you want. Please. Play until you love me again.”
“You’re precious. Let’s see.”
She reaches for one of the knives sheathed at her belt and comes closer. My cock twitches at her proximity, and she smirks, shaking her head.
“No self-preservation in that thing,” she says with contempt. “You’ve been untouchable for too long.”
She slashes at my torso. My muscles flex on instinct, and I release a shaky breath, forbidding my skin to knit back.
Jaga creates a crystal goblet, similar to the one I used to gather her blood ages ago, during that fateful Kupala Night.
My erection throbs when I realize she’s going to drink my blood.
Oh, yes. I’ll be inside her, however she’ll have me.
Slash. Cut. Slash. Jaga’s knife works industriously until my torso is a patchwork of bloody gashes. The pain grows biting, and I grit my teeth. The instinct to let it heal grows stronger and stronger, but if I do, she’ll think me weak.
At a twirl of Jaga’s hand, the blood splashes into her chalice, filling it to the brim. A trickle flows down the side, and she licks it off with an obscene stroke of her tongue. I exhale in a rush, hands flexing in the ropes.
I can make them vanish any moment. I can go to her and have her on the floor.
Jaga looks up with a private smile, as if she knows what I’m thinking.
“Close your eyes,” she murmurs. “And I’ll give it a nice, long stroke. Just one, but you’ll take it, won’t you?”
I slam my eyelids shut, swallowing an eager moan.
Her fingers wrap around my length, and I hiss, my world shrinking to my cock and her hand on it.
True to her word, she curls her palm around the root, right at the flat circle of thorns, and pulls it slowly up to the tip.
Magic is dense in the air, but I pay it no heed.
All I can think about is the slow torture of her stroking me just once.
When her hand slides off me and away, I exhale shakily. Jaga laughs, and it takes me a few seconds to realize she did something. Something…
My eyes fly open. Over Jaga’s outstretched hand hovers a crystal sphere, my blood sloshing inside like a miniscule red sea ravaged by storm. The ropes securing me to the wheel are wet. When I look up, a trickle of blood—my blood—slides down my forearm.
“Try to free yourself,” she whispers. “Go on, Woland. Show me.”
I don’t react at first. I only watch her, uncomprehending, yet also knowing. My sweet poppy girl who cowered in front of me, who bled at my sight, who was so strong but always weaker—she’s gone.
In her place stands a predator.
I attack the ropes with my magic, instantly knowing I’m doomed. They are soaked with my blood, the spell holding strong. She’s learned her lesson well, and I, like a fool, handed her the weapon. Just like before.
I remember with a bitter snort how I said she’d never jerk me around by my cock. Look at me now.
“You keep underestimating me,” Jaga whispers, trailing the knife down the deepest gash running down from my sternum. “Can you heal? Try. I’m not sure I did it right.”
I close my eyes with a deep sigh and let my healing magic run free. Nothing happens. My wounds remain open, bleeding steadily down my abdomen and thighs.
“Clever,” I say, forcing a small smile onto my face. “I keep expecting you to be that innocent girl, still. But you aren’t.”
“You stripped me of my innocence.”
She prowls, twisting her bloody knife in her fingers. When she disappears from view, I brace for a slash at my back, but nothing happens. She reemerges on the other side, scowling at me.
“I did you a favor,” I say. “Innocent lambs are the first to slaughter. Look at you now. There was never a more powerful mortal.”
“No, there wasn’t.” She stands in front of me, her bloodied hand supporting her chin as she thinks. “Nor an unhappier one. I am but a collection of pieces, Woland. I am broken. But then, it’s no surprise. I am your creation, am I not? And all you do is destroy.”
With furious movements, she sticks the knife in the side of my neck.
I choke on the blood gurgling in my windpipe, and she does it again and again, butchering my throat.
I give up trying to breathe as my lifeblood leaves my body in thick, gushing spurts.
Jaga breathes hard, pulling away once she delivers the last strike with a suppressed growl.
She points her hand at the sphere of my blood. A wave of healing power rushes through my body to the worst wounds. I gasp in a loud, roaring breath, and Jaga clenches her fist. My throat is mended just enough to let me breathe. Blood trickles down my shoulder.
“Not as fun when I’m the one doing it, I bet.” She snarls, summonsing my spilled blood into the sphere, feeding more power to the spells holding me captive. “Regret it now, devil boy?”
I shake my head feebly. My voice is hoarse, something broken in my vocal chords, but at least, I can speak.
“It’s odd, love. I regret everything, and yet, if I could go back, I wouldn’t change a thing. You’re formidable. I’m proud of you.”
“Don’t you dare!”
She waves her hand at me, and my mouth sews shut, just like Nienad’s did. But this spell is not anchored in my blood, so I work the threads loose with magic, letting them remain in my skin so she doesn’t suspect anything even as I give myself an out.
This is a dangerous game. I’ve been this vulnerable only once—when Perun chained me down. Though he didn’t need to use my blood to control me. His magic was enough, and it humiliated me like nothing else.
“Now,” Jaga murmurs, calmed by my inability to speak. “I want you conscious but in pain. Perfect combination, don’t you agree?”
More healing magic pours into me at her whispered spell, and I sigh in relief, only to jerk from agony when she jams her knife under my claw and rips it off.
I breathe hard, growling through my gag, but force my hands not to curl into fists.
She rips off another claw, then another, each burst of torturous anguish feeding my desire until I leak steadily, precum winding down my cock.
Jaga looks at it with disdain, then presses the point of her knife to my shaft. I stop breathing, dread and lust curling in my loins for a heavy, unbearable moment.
She pulls the knife away with a hiss, stomping around until I can’t see her.
She stands behind me and carves lines and shapes into my back and buttocks, muttering under her breath.
Each stroke of the knife is cold and biting, each perfect.
When she’s done, I shake with agony and stupid, unhinged mirth.
I’d laugh if I weren’t committed to letting my mouth stay sewed shut.
“Not enough.”
Jaga faces me, her contemplative gaze sliding up my body.
It stops on my chin, and she exhales softly, nodding to herself.
I can’t hold back a deep groan when she palms my cheek, angling my head down.
Her knife carves lines into my chin, and I watch her face, so focused, so very close.
I could kiss her if I leaned in fast enough.
She smiles grimly once she’s done. At a snap of her fingers, a mirror appears in front of my face, revealing a jagged, bloody version of the mark I left on her body long ago. She still wears it, right over the scar on her belly. Now I wear one, too, though her handiwork is much less precise.
“Still not enough.”