Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ella
Nightclubs in Heaven - Henry Morris
M y head is swimming, heart beating fast. Whatever they put in me has my whole body feeling strange. They could have asked me to get in the car with them. They could have sent me a message saying that I had to come and explain myself for not showing up.
But they wanted me scared.
And I am. The split moment of relief when Chris entered the room was crushed to nothingness once he approached the cage. He isn’t here to help me. He’s here to help himself.
I’m trembling as I crawl out, keeping my eyes to the floor. I refuse to look at him. The things Megan told me earlier are still rolling around in my head, making me question who the man in front of me really is. I don’t know if I want to find out.
“Kneel,” Chris orders. It’s not in the calm way he usually speaks to me. There’s a tension in his voice that tells me he’s barely holding himself back.
He truly wants to punish me, and that’s what scares me the most.
It takes me too long to kneel, and I feel a line of fire spreading at the back of my thighs. I hiss, looking back to see Chris holding a black cane. The dress I’m wearing didn’t soften the blow whatsoever, and I struggle to hear him through the ringing in my ears.
“Kneel,” he repeats in the exact same tone.
I rest my ass on my upturned feet, but keep my gaze on the floor.
Ignore him. Ignore the man you have so many conflicted feelings for. Ignore that you’re about to be punished by someone who might or might not have been planning to keep you vulnerable since you graduated high school.
Eugene Duval is somewhere to my left when he talks. “Shadows, Heras. It’s good to see some of you were able to show up tonight to witness the punishment of one of our Aphrodites at her altar.”
As he continues, I see the end of the cane coming toward me from the corner of my eye. Chris slides it across my collarbone and pushes one sleeve of the dress off my shoulder, then the second. The loose material means that the dress falls all the way to my waist, uncovering my breasts. As a reflex, my hands come to cover them, but Chris is quick, smacking one hand with the cane and forcing me to drop my hands instantly.
I bite my lower lip to keep the pain inside, but I’m shaking as Duval keeps talking.
“As we all know, Aphrodites have decided to dedicate their lives to our pleasures. They must be available at all times and come to the temple when called. ”
Chris keeps close to me, circling me like a lion ready to devour his prey. I tense every time I feel a shift in the air, thinking the cane is coming to torture me again. But he only uses it to tap my skin softly and make me move.
One tap to the small of my back makes me straighten my spine. One to my shoulders makes me pull them back. There’s the click of his shoes on the floor, and they come into view in front of me. Right by my knees. A tap of the cane to my inner thigh and I spread my legs apart.
“Unfortunately, this Aphrodite didn’t follow the simple rules that we have set up for the women in her position. And at the temple, breaking the rules is punishable. Ella.” My name on Duval’s lips makes me squeeze my eyes shut. I feel sick. “You will be punished, and refusing to present yourself to a Shadow will never happen again.”
I jolt when Chris grabs the hair at the back of my head, pulling me into a standing position. The movement leaves the dress at my ankles, and he forces me to step out. I catch the crowd by accident, and my throat tightens, tears springing to my eyes. In the back of my head, the only thing I can think about is that they might be able to see my scar despite the low light, and it lays down another layer of vulnerability on my soul. I attempt to cover whatever is left of my dignity, but Chris is quick to bring the cane to the side of my thigh, making me shriek.
I can’t do this. I can’t let them all see me naked… What is he even planning on doing exactly?
“Chris,” I whimper as he forces me to turn around and face the cage rather than the small audience.
He bends me over it, my boobs crushed by the metal crate. Leaning over me, he brings his mouth to my ear.
“Be quiet.” It’s a simple order, but I hear it this time. The hidden softness in his voice that shows he is not completely detached from this.
“I’m scared,” I whisper, the weight of terror heavier than his own body on mine.
He doesn’t say anything, but his hand caressing my lower back is a reassurance I’ll hold on to.
Straightening, he walks around. With my cheek pressed against the grille, I can only see one side of the room, and I wonder if he chose the empty wall with no one standing there on purpose. He wants me to forget there are other people. But it’s impossible when I hear Duval again.
“Christopher,” he chuckles, clearly enjoying the show. “You’re going to traumatize the girl.” Nothing in his tone says he disagrees with that.
Chris stays completely silent as I feel his presence near me again. He’s holding cuffs in his hands, and my eyes widen as he takes one of my wrists and wraps the leather around it.
Something swirls inside me. A fight between lust and reason. It’s strangely calming to see his strong hands handling the cuffs, his fingers sliding along the leather and tightening the buckle. The material is warm against my skin, tightening to a point that feels almost dangerous. It’s probably a worse threat to my sanity than my being, and when he grazes his fingertips on my inner wrist reassuringly, goosebumps trail all the way up my arm.
But then he hooks the cuff to the crate with a metal ring, and my stomach drops.
He's going to tie me to this, and he’s going to fuck me in front of these people. And I will take the punishment because I’ve been left with no choice.
The idea freezes my skin and yet makes my lower belly tighten with need. He said I wasn’t allowed to come, and I wanted to throw back in his face that he couldn’t make me if he tried his hardest. As he cuffs my other wrist to the crate, I don’t know how I feel anymore.
He repeats the same process with my thighs. Leather wrapped around them, he spreads my legs to the edge of the metal and locks them there. I’m now bent over, spread open, and locked to the cage. And behind me is an audience who has a perfect view of my ass and pussy on display.
There’s no caressing my lower back this time. No reassurance. No care, and I wonder if it’s because he doesn’t want to get caught doing it. He only brings his mouth to my ear and whispers, “I will never let you service another Shadow at the temple, just like I would never have let another man punish you today. No one hurts you but me, Sweets. I’m just sorry it has to be in front of others. Remember the real reason you’re being punished is because you still need to learn that you’re mine and mine entirely. Let this be a lesson.”
I’m almost suffocating when he steps away. I hear the swish of the cane through the air, and the next second, a searing band of pain explodes at the backs of my thighs. I cry out, my legs attempting to close and my wrists pulling aimlessly on my restraints. Barely giving me any time to catch my breath, he repeats the process, landing the cane in a line slightly below the previous one. I don’t have the strength to hold a scream back. And on the third one, I’m wailing from the unbearable pain.
How can you do this to me? my rational brain screams. This man claims he loves me.
Another hit, and the backs of my thighs burn and throb in agony, but the rest of my body isn’t trembling anymore.
This is pure torture, fire spreading beneath my skin and pleasure starting to tickle my lower belly. I can’t do this. If I don’t die from the pain, I’ll die from humiliation.
He stops after the fourth one, and it’s when his warm hand traces the welts that I feel myself fall apart. His hand disappears, and the next thing I feel is a tap on my pussy. It’s light, but he repeats it again. And again…and again. An incessant rhythm of light pressure on sensitive skin, but with enough heaviness that it resonates to my clit.
A heavy breath leaves me, and I feel myself trying to shift, my hips going back and forth, and before I know it, I’m pushing my ass out, attempting to meet the taps. I need more strength, more precision. I need him to touch my clit, or I might melt from need.
He doesn’t. The aim isn’t my pleasure, it’s to torture me. And when I whimper, ready to beg for more, he stops.
The pain comes back. He hits my ass this time. Once, twice. I push so hard against the crate to escape that I’m worried I’ll have the permanent mark on my skin. The only reason it doesn’t move is because it’s bolted to the floor. When my screams become desperate, he stops again. I’m sweating, shaking from the pain, but it’s not over. He’s back on my pussy, tapping, brutalizing me with softness.
I’m so close I can almost taste it, that ecstasy that will bring me over the edge. I just need him to touch me in the exact spot?—
I cry out when he stops this time, the sudden need to let tears fall so strong, I have to bite my lip to hold back. I expect the pain to come back, but it all stops. His hand lands on the back of my neck, putting pressure there before dragging it along my spine, all the way to my lower back, caressing my cheeks, and settling between my legs, three flat fingers tapping against my soaking entrance .
My erratic breathing should worry me, but I’m too focused on the visceral desire emanating from my core.
“What is it you so desperately want, Aphrodite?” he says behind me. His low, hypnotic voice turns me into a mess of emotions.
I whimper, squirming when I hear the zipper of his pants. His fingers caress my entrance again, and I push against them, desperate to feel him inside me.
“What is the only thing you should be begging a Shadow for?”
Don’t say it. Don’t…
His taps my clit, and my thoughts are pulverized.
“To be fucked,” I moan. “Please…I need you inside me.”
“I’m glad you know your place in this temple.”
Bending over me, he’s only speaking to me when he adds, “I’m glad you know who you belong to.”
He presses against my entrance, and the second his tip breaches inside me, a sob bursts past my mouth as my breath freezes.
He feels so good I could come instantly. The pressure of him pushing inside me, of feeling myself stretch around his girth, is like nothing else. I’m so eager to have him fuck me, I push back. He straightens up and holds my hips, stopping me from getting what I need. I nearly cry.
Then he starts thrusting slowly inside me once more, giving me a moment of relief, and the second he feels me getting close, he’s pulling back.
“No coming,” he reminds me. “Or the cane will feel like I was playing nice.” The words bring real tears to my eyes.
He waits a few seconds before pushing back in, slowly, intently.
“Oh God,” I cry out. “Please. ”
He fucks me with one purpose: driving me insane. And every time I get too close to coming, he pulls out or sits still inside me, forcing me to squeeze around him.
I become so desperate I’m shaking from the inside out, begging for him to end the suffering.
“Please, please, please,” I pant.
His thrusts accelerate, pushing so deep inside it feels like he’s pressing against my lungs. I can’t breathe, I can’t move, but I can feel every sensation and emotion he chooses. The despair, the fullness, the tingling, the helplessness.
He stops, buried to the hilt inside me, and with a husky voice, he murmurs, “Come.”
He’s not even moving when I convulse around him. And he only starts again when I’m trembling and whimpering from ecstasy. He fucks me ruthlessly, pressing my body against the metal and making me scream as he releases inside me.
It’s only when he pulls out and I hear him talk to the rest of the room that I remember we have an audience.
“I think she learned the only thing she’s good for,” he says simply.
The shame engulfs me, pulling me under, and those tears I’ve held back finally roll down my cheeks. For a second there, he made me forget what this really was.
But I’m glad he said something. And it’s a good thing he stays cold and walks out of the room with everyone else without even helping me out the the restraints. It’s a wake-up call that he doesn’t take care of me and that instead another Aphrodite comes to help me out.
Because all of this is a reminder that I can’t trust this man. And Megan’s words become clearer. After all, if I can’t trust him, why should I believe any good intention he had toward me wasn’t some sort of manipulation to get me wherever he wants me to be? Megan could be right. Christopher Murray has had a plan for me for a long time, and I’m the stupid girl who played right into his hand.