CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The eerie mood around the castle continues. There hasn’t been another murder, but it feels almost inevitable at this point.
The girls and I keep to our pact of staying together, chaperoning each other to classes and regularly checking in. There are no signs of the rogue shadows that attacked Lily and me, which, given who orchestrated them in the first place, comes as no surprise.
Still, I go over Gran’s grimoire between classes, jumping between that and the book of Shadowcraft. If Mortis appears again, I want to be as prepared as possible, especially if it’s more than my own life at stake.
I break our arrangement when it comes time for my midnight meeting with the Professor, walking as calmy as possible through the dim hallways pulling the peacoat tight around myself, shifting from shadow to shadow so as not to be seen.
Damien examines me cooly when he opens the door, rolling up his sleeves because apparently, we have “much to prepare.”
What follows is almost an hour of running through the spell and the exact inflections required, my place in it all. There are black candles to be lit, incense to be prepared, and the whole time I’m working in my birthday suit.
The Professor makes it quite clear how ancient and dangerous this spell is, though I fail to see how after what I’ve been through. We’ve been working up to this, yes, but how bad could it be?
What I really want is to question him further about my parents, about his part in all this, but he’s deep in concentration. It will have to wait.
Preparations complete, we move through the wall, down the stairs and into a new space. I don’t recognize this room, but it’s far colder than the Professor’s chambers, his dungeon, pretty much any other room in the castle.
Darkwood lays out five fresh black candles, a silver dagger, and a vial of his own blood on the small altar by the wall.
His eyes meet mine as we chant the incantation together, his voice deep.
"Sanguinem meum dividitur, Corpus meum multiplicatur."
My blood is divided.
My body multiplied.
With a swift motion, he slices his palm and drips blood into a spiral drawn on the stone floor.
Dark, viscous magic gathers around us. The candles flare, casting dancing shadows over his sharp features, shifting over his pale skin.
We repeat the incantation, louder and more forceful.
The blood sizzles and pops, splitting into five glowing streams that snake across the floor and converge into five identical figures taking shape before my eyes.
I know this is what is supposed to happen with a cloning spell, but seeing it made real before my eyes is quite the spectacle.
Five Darkwoods now stand in a semicircle, regarding me with curiosity. All of them focus on a different part of my body. They seem to share the same hunger as their master.
Cloning spells have long been outlawed in the greater magical world. There were issues about the rights and autonomy of cloned beings. If clones are considered sentient and capable of consciousness, they might be entitled to the same rights and freedoms as non-cloned individuals, or so went the argument. That’s not even delving into fears of abuse, exploitation, a potential loss in cultural and genetic diversity, social disruption, violation of identity…it’s a serious can of worms.
But if Darkwood has concerns, they don’t seem obvious as the clones stand before me.
If anything, the thrill of danger only heightens my arousal.
One Darkwood almost broke me.
But five?
Maybe he’s right. Maybe tonight I will be broken beyond all comprehension.
I lick my lips, anticipation building as the clones approach. Raw power and lust radiate from them, their eyes glowing an unearthly green seemingly brighter than the Professor’s own.
My breath hitches as they close in.
The original Darkwood stands back, a smug half-smile playing on his lips.
He knows what's to come.
Tonight, I'll be taken to the heights of ecstasy and pushed past the limits of pleasure—all according to his design.
I will ascend once more.
Provided I’m still in one piece, that is.
The clones are upon me, hands grasping, mouths claiming. Some of them grope my ass. Two are on my chest, squeezing my breasts. Another one is running up my inner thigh, mapping out my skin. The one in front of me claims my mouth in a long, passionate kiss. They are more like animals than their master, acting purely on primal instinct. It’s like being attacked by a pack of rabid dogs.
I surrender myself to the magic, as instructed.
Hands roam my body. Lips trail hot kisses down my neck, teeth nipping at my skin.
I’ve never harbored a desire to be taken by more than one man. I never even had single man satisfy me until I crossed paths with Damien.
All his doing, I remind myself.
A strangled moan escapes me as two clones cup my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples.
Another kisses me fiercely, his tongue dancing with mine, as two more trail lower. I whimper in this clone’s mouth, desire already gathering between my legs.
"So wet already," a clone rasps in the Professor’s signature baritone, sliding a finger through my slick folds. "And we've only just started."
He thrusts two fingers inside me, crooking them just so, while another lavishes attention on my clit.
Writhing between them, I clench around the fingers pumping into me, chasing the building pleasure. The knowledge of being claimed by all of them at the same time is by far the biggest turn-on I’ve ever felt. Being on the receiving end of their touch, becoming their very own sex doll, having them play with my body and mind…I am being spoiled by five men who know exactly what they’re doing. I clench around the fingers pumping into me, hungry for more.
As if reading my thoughts, they position me on hands and knees, working as one symbiotic organism. My palms land firmly on the floor, my ass is hanging in mid-air.
Three clones kneel before me, rigid cocks level with my mouth.
I see all facets of the Professor’s member have been retained. They are the same length and girth, the same, bulging veins present.
"Suck," the original Darkwood commands. Not that I need encouragement.
I take them into my mouth one by one, lavishing each with broad strokes of my tongue. Their sheer size stifles my moans.
Behind me, the head of a cock presses at my entrance, teasing me with shallow thrusts.
I rock back, trying to take him in, but firm hands on my hips hold me in place.
"Patience," a clone rasps, delivering a stinging slap to my ass.
I whimper around the cocks, trembling with need.
Finally, the clone sheaths himself fully inside me, groaning in response.
I cry out, the sound muffled by the cocks filling my mouth. I move from right to left and vice versa, cupping balls and rolling them in my palm as I savor the fullness in my mouth.
It’s crazy. One Darkwood is enough, but so many? It’s the absolute height of sensory overload.
The clone behind me pounds into my backside without mercy. His hips are slapping against mine, cock pulsing deep in my pussy. Another clone spreads my ass open, thumbing my taint. More grunts and groans rush through my ears. I see yet another Darkwood stroking himself out of the corner of my eye. He stands on my right and presses the head of his cock into my cheek, seeking my attention.
The shaft of another clone makes a popping sound as I take it out of my mouth. I turn my head in the direction of the one who had been worshipping my ass and devour the head. Soon he’s halfway down my throat.
Another clone gets behind me as the one who had been pounding my poor pussy steps away, slapping my ass cheeks one at a time. Each time his palm lands heavily on my flesh, I release a sharp whimper of pain, the sting working in tandem with my arousal.
I’m in heaven—there’s no denying that. I am drowning in sensation, losing myself to the rhythm of these bodies claiming my holes again and again.
The clone behind me mumbles gibberish and grips my hips hard enough to bruise, slamming into me with punishing force. Another pulls him off and slides deep, fucking me even harder.
I let myself go completely. Fuck manners. You want me? Take me.
This clone leans forward and runs his tongue up my shoulder blade before throwing his arms around my breasts from behind. With him curled up around me, my moans quicken. I release one shaft and shove another cock into my mouth, keeping my eyes shuttered to focus solely on the myriad of sensations surrounding me.
I scream, the sound cut off as another clone guides my mouth onto his cock.
They work me without mercy, using my body for their pleasure. I snarl in a delirium of sensation as light bursts behind my eyelids and a powerful orgasm rips through me. I surrender to the waves sweeping through me, loosening my suction around the cock in my mouth. Need floods my core, milky desire staining my thighs.
The clone fucking my mouth spills down my throat with a rasping moan. I swallow desperately, struggling to breathe through my nose as he softens between my lips.
The clone pounding into me follows soon after, warmth flooding my core as he collapses over my back.
Panting, I collapse onto my forearms, muscles quivering. But my reprieve is short-lived.
More clones come forward, lifting me and carrying me to a table on the far side of the room.
One takes me by the ankles and flips me over. My breasts compress against the tabletop, cheek against the grain. My upper body slides across the table, my ass hanging over the edge.
Another holds my ass cheeks apart, my sex splitting open pink, wide and soaking wet.
Are there more of them? I wonder, even the air growing warmer.
Yet another comes behind me, lowering his cock towards my folds. His balls are heavy as he places himself at my opening. He thrusts forward to fill me easily, my cunt stretching around his fat shaft.
My mouth opens wide as he begins to rock in and out of me, my head sliding across the tabletop as I’m taken from behind. The original Darkwood, I think, watches on—ever the manipulator.
The last clone’s seed makes the passage easy for the next intrusion. My poor sex has been so well stretched it easily accommodates this new Darkwood. The position, however, allows for a different kind of pleasure, the head of this cock rising up against the roof of my sex and eliciting a deeper, more penetrating passion.
The man at my ass pulls my cheeks a little wider, slapping one and then the other until they blossom red-hot under his blows. I roll my head away, unable to take his calculating eyes any longer.
There is a fleeting moment of shame where I see with clarity what is happening here, what it must look like from an outsider’s perspective.
A slut.
A whore.
Cheap.
Fuck.
My body submits. Pleasure streams through me as the first clone bends in half over my back and adds his seed to the mix. More sperm coats my insides, a strong grip on my ass cheeks not allowing my poor flesh to cool down.
He pulls out and another swings in behind me, the rest continuing to beat themselves off around me, eyes hungry and dangerous. This one wastes no time burying his length into my depths. He insults me as he holds my ass, his thumb slowly working its way down into my crack and the hidden pucker there.
Others gather around the table stroking and pulling at their own shafts and urging their fellow man on.
They call me worthless.
They tell me I should die.
I moan, conflicting emotions and feelings powering through me.
It’s not right, being fucked so brutally, taken by so many. Yes, they’re technically the same person, but it’s unnatural. But then, what’s natural about any of this, about this entire place?
The clone lets go, spanking my ass hard as he pulls free to eject his own hot load over my backside and thighs.
The alkaline stench of cum is thick in the air, cooling already over my skin.
I tilt my head and see a long line that has formed behind me, all eager faces and hard cocks wanting nothing more than to fuck me senseless. The thought gives me power, power that a simple girl like me could be so desired. That all of them are desperate to pound me to oblivion and give me their seed. Nevertheless, with that power comes fear of what being taken like this will do to my body. Maybe Damien was right. Maybe this really will be the end of me.
Another clone leaps onto the table and lifts me roughly by the hair, driving his member between my lips. I take it as the next in line runs me through from behind, my sex squelching as he works himself in and out of the hot mess between my thighs.
I’m dizzy with sensation and shadow, the cloying scent and smell of masculinity and earth heavy in the air, flames flickering over my skin as I’m assaulted from both ends.
I concentrate on my breathing as my body prepares to betray me. It won’t be long now before I climax again.
This is what I’ve been reduced to.
A common whore.
Nothing more.
The clone behind me doesn’t last long, coming fast and soon replaced, but the clone in my mouth seems to have unlimited endurance. He runs deep into my throat until I gag and splutter around his length. Rather than dissuade him, it only heightens his excitement, stuffing himself with vigor down my gullet. Only when he is at the very end of me, the seam of his balls pressed against my lips, does he release. I swallow fast, even the taste of his sperm identical to that of the real Darkwood.
He withdraws and is replaced until everything becomes a blur of flesh and sex.
I lose count of the cocks that disappear inside me, each one coming free sloppier and wetter than the last until the puddle around my feet has grown to a sticky pool. I don’t bother counting how many have been satisfied and how many are left. I don’t care. I won’t stop before I’m through all of them. Until they’ve all had a piece of me.
I climax again and again, each time the pleasure stretching out longer and more intense.
The dizziness grows until it’s like a swarm of bees has replaced my brain, everything a mishmash of awareness and debauchery.
It’s only when a clone places his member against my asshole that I sit up. “Wait—”
This is where I draw the line. I can’t have them destroy my ass too.
But the clone presses forward anyhow using seed gathered from below to steadily bury himself.
I groan long and deep as he slides into my backside. He pulls back and thrusts forward again, my buttocks gathered tight in his fingers as he stretches me open from the inside out.
“Please,” I beg, but my words are weak now, lost of all meaning. I say more, but it dribbles out little more than nonsense. The clone’s pubis presses flush against my asshole as he buries himself completely to the hilt.
It continues endlessly as the original Professor watches on, lightly stroking himself in the corner. His fist is lazily moving up and down his shaft, his intense gaze not leaving the scene of my destruction.
I’m taken over and over in the mouth, ass, and cunt, constantly violated and penetrated until even the energy to shift myself is lost and the clones are forced to move me around like a rag doll to their whims.
Another shoots his seed over my beaten breasts.
My head is lifted, yet another cock pressed between my tender lips.
I drift in and out of consciousness.
I’m going to die, I consider. I’m going to be fucked to death.
There’s a sharp clap.
“Enough.”
It’s him.
I’m lifted from the table and placed onto my knees.
The original Darkwood drags a chair before me, the other clones parting. He hauls me up and maneuvers me onto his lap, lowering me onto his rigid length. After god knows how many clones have had their way with me, now he wants a piece of me?
He lifts and slams me down onto his cock. He’s not in the mood for tenderness. His pace is punishing, announcing his desire. He’s too turned on to consider foreplay or care about more than his own selfish satisfaction. He hits that sweet spot deep inside me with every stroke, and free of discomfort, shame and pain, I can actually focus on this and enjoy myself.
I thrash in his grasp, torn between escaping the overwhelming pleasure and chasing yet another release.
Emerald eyes watch me from every angle, the shadows’ excitement building beneath my skin.
“Come for me again, my pet.” His voice is rough, strained, as he loses control.
I clench around him, vision going white as I come once more, grinding down on his cock.
With a groan, he pulls me down hard and holds me there, finding his own release, cock twitching inside my depths.
Breathless and spent, I slump against his chest, still barely conscious as the clones merge back into one.
Darkwood strokes my hair, a surprisingly gentle gesture. “You did well, little lamb.”
Pride suffuses me at his praise, intensifying the bone-deep satisfaction thrumming through my body.
My limbs are jelly, but thick desire still simmers in my blood. I nuzzle the Professor's neck, inhaling his scent of spice and smoke.
He gathers me close, our breaths slowing. "How do you feel?"
"Tired," I whisper, too spent to come up with anything more creative than the truth.
His lips curve against my temple. "As you should."
I trace idle patterns across the tattoos on his chest, savoring the warmth of his skin against mine.
"Will you stay with me tonight?" I ask softly. “I want to fall asleep in your arms, to wake with you beside me."
I may be overstepping here but fuck it. What’s the worst that’s going to happen? I’m rejected, sent scurrying away like the fucktoy I am?
Carried away, more like it.
I’m not sure my legs are even going to work.
A flicker of emotion crosses his face before he schools his features. But it's enough.
"Then stay." He kisses my forehead, a tender benediction.
"Rest now." He pulls me closer, his heart beating in time with my own.
My chest rises and falls with steady breaths.
A certain contentment seems to settle over him, and I wonder if those sharp edges of his soul have been blunted.
If only a little.