Chapter 57 Making Over A Monster
Making Over A Monster
The walls of the bedroom seem to move in the periphery of my vision, shadows slipping up and down, oozing like blood through a wound, dark and syrupy. The sense of being watched is so intense it prickles across my shoulders, my bare skin hyper-aware of each unsettling detail.
It’s terrifying. Alien. And the danger of it makes me wetter.
This place. These feelings. They add a layer of sensitivity and depth as Shadow continues to pleasure me where I sit on my makeshift throne.
My clit is laved and flicked and rubbed while I’m filled to near breaking point.
Tears gather at the corners of my eyes and my finger dig into the arms of the chair.
A low, insistent thrum of rumbling emanates from Shadow. His own need is building. "I want to kiss you."
"I know," I acknowledge, instead of giving permission. A vindictive smile stretches my mouth, until I’m nearly baring my teeth at him. "How does it feel to know you'll never have all of me again? Not after what you've done."
My monster’s shadows falter, and for a moment, I see the agony in his eyes, the desperation. "Evie, please... "
But I shake my head, ruthless in my desire to hurt him as he hurt me. "No. You don't get to beg. You are here to serve."
I can feel myself drip down my thighs and on the chair as he works me. My lower belly clenches and my head floats with sublime dizziness and lust.
The shadow inside me thickens, sliding faster, the pulsing rhythm intensifying until I’m drenched, my skin feverish, my thighs trembling, on the verge of splintering into pieces. A smaller, textured ribbon rubs over my clit with quick strokes.
I ride the edge of my climax, teetering on the brink, but I hold back, denying myself the release I crave. Because this is about power, about control. About taking back a piece of myself, even if it's a jagged, broken thing.
"More," I whisper.
He continues the same unhurried but persistent rhythm.
My eyes snap down to him as he watches me with crimson eyes. His claws have sunk into his own thighs until black blood slides down them. At least he understands he's not to touch himself.
"More," I command.
"Yes, my queen," he rumbles, a tension building in his pace and his words.
He obeys, but his anger surges with it, the tendrils snapping around my ankles, spreading me wider until I’m nearly torn in two, lifting my body up from the chair, holding me suspended, helpless but on display.
The shadow tendril inside me engorges again but in evenly spaced lumps.
My slick channel stretches as he pumps into me faster and faster.
His shadows fill me, relentless, pushing me to a place that’s both blindingly painful and exquisite. I can feel every ridge of him, every pulse.
"I want to stick my tongue all the way up into that sweet cunt," he snarls, his voice a dark, desperate promise.
A wanton moan escapes me.
"Please let me, Evie," he begs.
"My queen," I correct in a strangled voice.
"My queen," he repeats. "Let me taste you, let me fuck you."
My laughter is bitter, broken. "You think this changes anything?" I gasp out, my voice a rasp, yet brimming with mockery. "You think you can fuck your way back into my trust?"
Shadow's eyes blaze with a tormented heat, his shadows faltering in their relentless onslaught. "Evie, I never meant to hurt you. I was trying to protect—"
"Liar," I snarl, clenching around his shadows, using my body as a weapon, a cruel taunt. He grunts. Eyes blood-red with fury.
"You controlled me. Used me."
And now I’m using you.
The pace turns brutal, Shadow’s thick tendrils thrust harder, every movement punishment and release.
The little ribbon attacks my clit with inhuman speed.
I claw at the chair, my body arching, surrendering even as my heart refuses, and when the pleasure finally detonates, it’s a white-hot spiral, sharp and exquisite, tearing me open.
The ecstasy crashes over me, leaving me shuddering, my body slick and trembling, every nerve ending aflame. The walls seem to pulse in time with my racing heartbeat, the whole room thrumming with its own dark satisfaction, as if it too has enjoyed my release.
As I come down, he slows, his shadows easing out, but I hold myself together, forcing myself to stay on the edge, to keep the power even as my body weakens.
"Now thank me," I command, my voice brittle as I right myself in the chair. My entire body is spent, but defiance still animates me.
“Thank you, my queen.” The way he grinds the words out is intoxicating, a strained politeness that tells me just how close he is to breaking. I’ve stripped his control from him, and his fury only makes me stronger.
I swipe hair from my sweaty face, faking composure I don’t feel, and let my gaze flick over him with what I hope is an imperious derision.
"You're welcome," I say, in a lofty tone.
The horrible weight of the distance I'm keeping between us pinches my heart. All I want is to be close to Shadow. I want him in me, around me, always by my side.
But I didn't do this.
He did this.
The power I felt a few moments ago flips on its head. I invite feelings of satisfaction at having exerted my punishment. Instead, there is only a hollow sensation that eats away at me from the inside.
This is wrong. Things shouldn't be like this, and despite my good sense, my logic, I'm ready to cave and forgive everything.
My lips part, ready to beg Shadow for things to go back to how they were between us. To pretend things can be the same.
The door swings wide. Two women glide into the room, oil-like silk gowns undulating around them.
I recoil, covering myself with my hands. The two don't even blink at the scene they have walked in though my face turns hot and nerves spark in my stomach at the mess on the chair and Shadow still kneeling. It wouldn't be hard to figure out what has been taking place.
Their gowns sweep up and over their heads like black swim caps. Though I’m not sure that isn’t actually their flesh.
One of the women coolly regards Shadow before turning back to me. "We must prepare you for the celebration."
"Must the Umbral stay for this?" the other asks, her brow arching with evident displeasure.
Shadow rises, a taut, controlled motion, his face a mask of barely contained fury. "I’ll let you prepare," he bites out. "But I’ll stay nearby."
Then, he crowds close to me, his head dropping to my ear.
His warm breath spills over my skin eliciting gooseflesh to rise painfully in its wake.
"You think you can keep me from you forever, Evie?" His voice is a raw, trembling whisper. "You think I’ll let you walk away from me? You think I’ll let you go? You’re mine. You belong to me."
I fight the urge to shut my eyes, to give into him.
"I’ll walk away whenever I want," I whisper, forcing cold hard command into my words, unblinking over his shoulder. "I’ll survive. I don’t need you."
The words I deliver are like plunging a dagger into my own gut, slicing me up into a gory agonizing mess.
Shadow whips away and leaves. With each inch stretching between us, I feel our tenuous connection stretch and weaken.
My voice muscles its way up my throat to call him back, but I strangle it down.
The door slams shut, and with it the last bit of connection we had shatters and falls on the ground.
His words echo through me with menacing promise.
You think I’ll let you walk away from me? You’re mine.
I’m done with Shadow.
But apparently he isn’t done with me.
After they hurried Shadow out of the room, the two women, whom I realize are handmaidens, immediately begin preparing for the celebration. One of them turns to me, an almost maternal firmness in her voice.
"You must rest before the celebration," she says, gesturing to the massive bed, dominating the room.
"I’m fine," I insist, but even as the words leave my lips, I feel the wobble in my legs. The atmosphere is taking its toll on me, and each breath scratches at my throat.
"Sleep," she commands gently. "We will wake you when it’s time."
Though part of me wants to argue, a wave of exhaustion crashes over me.
I settle into the bed, which, despite its alien design, cradles me like a baby in the womb.
The last thing I remember is the quiet murmuring of the handmaidens as they prepare my dress.
I tell myself I have plenty of time. I’ll just close my eyes for a few minutes.
Darkness claims me almost immediately.
When they wake me, my throat is raw, and each inhale scratches like sandpaper, though the rest has restored some of my strength.
I swallow back a cough and push myself up, feeling the weight of lost time but reassuring myself with my watch that I still have more than enough time. For a party, at least.
"Is there somewhere I can... refresh myself?" I ask, my voice hoarse.
With a nod, one of the handmaidens leads me to an alcove I hadn’t noticed before, where a surprisingly normal-looking washroom waits.
The fixtures, carved from the same black stone as the castle walls, seem cold and alien, yet the water that flows from them is crystal clear—a welcome, familiar contrast to the crimson sky and thick, oppressive air.
I wash my face, savoring the cool relief, and steady myself, grateful for this small piece of normalcy.
When I return, I feel a heaviness in my limbs, the brief respite of sleep already slipping away as the air starts to wear on me again. Each breath takes more effort, like pulling in shards of glass.
The handmaidens waste no time in helping me into the dress, and when I see myself in the mirror, I hardly recognize my own reflection.
The plunge of the dress's neckline dives down past my belly button, stopping well above where is decent. Two slits up the side of the black fabric show off the lines of my legs and reveal my sharp hip bones. I had to forgo my panties, which makes me feel extra vulnerable and exposed. Modesty doesn’t seem to be a high priority to these beings.
The back skirts poof out around and behind me with voluminous waves.
I'm not sure if physics on this plane are the same as in the human world, because the strapless dress rises up over either breast in pointed ends that stick up just past my collar bones.
The backless dress fits my form perfectly, but I don't understand how it doesn't fall right off me.
The women did my hair in an updo that creates two false horns from the top of my head.
They decorate them with dripping jewels of reds and blacks.
The black lipstick and eye makeup is dramatic to say the least. My green eyes are even more luminous and bright against my pale skin.
Now I fit right in among the humanoids here.
I only need a set of claws, demonic eyes, or some real horns
It's so different from the dress I'm used to, but something about it feels... right. Like I'm stepping into a part of myself that was always meant to be. Like a recurring dream I know I am to follow the events of night after night.
One of the handmaidens draws a surprisingly human finger over the fractal birthmark that breaks apart repeatedly as it crawls down my left neck and shoulder to the top of my breast. "What is this?"
While breathing has remained a consistent struggle, the throb in my birthmark has dropped to a consistent but low-level pulse. It looks a bright red against my pale exposed decolletage.
"It's a birthmark," I say, wiggling away from her touch. Her skin feels waxy and cold. It unsettles me. Or maybe it's how her big black eyes seem to peel the layers of me away as she looks at me. It's as if one went to scrutinize a bug under a microscope and found it staring unerringly back.
"It is time," the other interrupts.
They open the doors and Shadow emerges from where he was waiting along the wall. When he sees me, he goes completely still.
I quirk a nervous smile at him, my tummy full of butterflies.
"How do I look?" I ask, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
His white eyes flash red a moment, and I don't know what to make of it.
"Like a queen," he says flatly, giving me no clue as to how he feels.
Disappointment digs blunt fingers into my gut and clenches.
What happened to he won’t let me leave?
I had started to feel guilty over making him kneel. Over making him service me like he's nothing and I'm everything.
But sick satisfaction yawns in me when I recall his blatant anger, his despair when I told him he could never have me again.
His cold indifference is a lie.
To make a point of it, I look down with false innocent discovery. "Oh, I don’t think I’m adjusted right."
I then reach into my top and pull my tits up, one handful at a time until they are swells against the tight fabric.
Shadow tentacles snap loudly and his eyes turn red. I give him a demure, yet wicked smile and turn on my heel.
Fuck you very much.
My teeth grit and grind. I don’t need his approval anyway. He’s a liar and a manipulator like everyone else.
I can do that too.
I lift my chin and turn, with a sweep of my skirts and follow the handmaidens. They lead me to the top of a staircase that leads to the obsidian ballroom I'd walked through earlier.
They step aside, signaling I'm to enter on my own.
Despite myself, I look over my shoulder at Shadow.
Without him speaking, I know what he's thinking. It's the mist of his white eyes, the tension in his shadowy tendrils.
We need to return to the human world. Now.
I lift my chin in silent response.
No. I have to attend a party. A party to celebrate me.
Taking in as deep a breath as I'm able before I cut it off to keep from falling into a coughing fit, I step forward onto the top of the stairs.
The obsidian floored room has transformed into a celebration space.
The ballroom falls silent, a hush descending over the gathered monsters. Their eyes turn up toward me, a collective gaze that feels like a physical weight upon my skin.
My confidence evaporates and sweat breaks out all over my body. Is this a sick joke?
An icy foreboding washes over me, as I get the distinct feeling I’m about to be eaten or sacrificed to a court of monstrous humanoids.