80. Briella #2
Now, I buckle. But my High God carries me to the center of the room, pulls Vincent’s sweater off me, unhooks my bra, and locks the cuffs around my wrists. Not tight because I’m still healing from the dislocation. I can stand on my solid feet. No tiptoes.
And then, one by one, they shed their clothes.
Oh, unholy hot damn gods! Heat throbs in my pussy, and I almost orgasm from the sight alone. How can these men, these kings, be…mine?
Vincent, with his bulk and tattoos. And his ever-tortured expression and protective, bone-breaking shield.
Jude, with his chiseled muscles and burnished deep bronze skin, always so polished. Swoon worthy. And strong, healing hands.
Seth, with those lumberjack muscles that can match Vincent’s, but a dreamy and mischievous smile.
Rory and his carved-from-the-wild muscles. Rugged with a ruddy chest. And his signature unhinged smirk that stokes the heat in me.
And Raphael. The most devastating. A predator, carved from marble, sculpted in exquisite cruelty—broad shoulders, lean waist, and muscles that ripple with a vow of violence. He is god-forged, all power and blood. And he burns with the hunger of a creature who always takes what is his.
“Rory.” Raphael addresses him first.
While hugging his elbows, Rory turns to the alpha.
“Five Cat O’Nine Tails.”
Rory’s eyes gleam like a cat eager to eat the canary. “With pleasure.”
He fetches the instruments from a cabinet in the corner of the dungeon, then hands them to the others, one by one. What stuns me most is when Raphael strikes the first blow—on himself. A sharp hit to his chest that leaves a red stripe. The others follow him.
My chest pinches, an ache growing in my heart as they flagellate themselves, whipping themselves bloody. I’m about to open my mouth to ask them to stop. Enough scars until—
—Raphael swings the flail, bringing it down on my chest. I hiss from the sharp sting. Warm, wet spatters paint my upper body. And now, I understand why they went first.
They don’t take turns. The whips land again and again, painting me until I’m covered in their blood. Raphael has applied enough pressure to give me welts, pain endorphins, and then…he finally breaks skin.
The others don’t.
Like they know just how far to go.
Each lash strikes deeper, piercing me to the core. Pain and heat swell into need, into hunger. My thighs clench.
My arousal twists in my stomach, a hot, writhing thing. It’s not just the endorphins that make me wet—it’s the sacrifice. These gods bleeding for me. Because of me. Because I am theirs. And they are sharing their blood with me.
As long as the arrow scar is untouched…
There’s a reverence in every blow. And as Raphael circles behind me, breath hot against my ear, I realize, this is more than an initiation. More than punishment.
It’s worship.
And I’ve never felt more desired.
“Jude,” Raphael orders once the whippings have stopped. “It’s time. Get the item.”
Jude moves at Raphael’s word. I can’t see what he’s retrieving—my neck won’t twist far enough, and I’m bound too tightly to strain. But I feel the shift in the room. The energy draws taut, like the calm before a storm. My skin prickles in anticipation, fear, and desire warring inside me.
Seth appears on one side, Vincent on the other. They each take a breast, stroking softly, thumbing my nipples, and the pressure inside me coils tight and hot. So close.
And then…Jude is before me, slipping something inside me, smooth, wet, deliberate. I gasp, startled by the intimate intrusion. My heart pounds louder than my thoughts. I don’t look away yet.
Raphael’s hand curves around my throat, possessive, steady, grounding. Not choking, but claiming.
“Feel us. Lose yourself. Find yourself in us. Kings wage war for gods…and gods demand blood. And fire. We are at war with you, for you, our Queen. Queen of us damned souls.”
And then—I feel it.
A searing fire jolting through me.
Not like at Easthaven. Not pain that tears, but fire that burns gently. When I see Jude with a device, I understand. It’s not a vibrator. It’s an electro-shock vibrator.
Jude guides the current, measured, rhythmic. It pulses inside me, coaxing my nerves into submission and awakening. I feel all their eyes on me, but I’m only staring at Raphael out of the corner of my eye. My body arches, trembling. Each wave is overwhelming.
And Vincent and Seth don’t stop sucking my nipples, tongues mashing, licking circles around the erect buds.
My moan is half sob, half prayer. My body clenches around the sensation. Raphael’s fingers tighten on my throat, holding me steady as the trembling builds, higher and higher. I am undone.
“Raphael,” I cry out, tears blurring my vision. “Please, I can’t—”
A tilt of his head is all the warning I get before he grips my throat harder, cutting off my air, leaving fingerprints. He yanks me back from the high. Jude shocks me again. Then, the dildo starts vibrating. I don’t blink for several seconds until it hurts…until he gives me air.
He doesn’t stop. They all edge me for the next hour, bringing me so close, but Raphael always manages to rip me back. Sometimes they switch places, and I’ll see him fist himself, growing harder and thicker.
And slowly, Jude has turned up the setting.
Now, every intense shock is mine to own. They own me. I own this.
It’s nothing like Easthaven—where pain was weaponized, stripped of meaning, demanding blind obedience and hollow heart. No pleasure. No emotion. There, I was silenced. Here, I scream, and they listen. The Prophet broke me down. Here, I’m rising.
My kings don’t shock me to erase me. They ignite me. They don’t take my power. They remind me it’s mine. I submit not because I’m weak, but because I’m strong enough to choose surrender, to choose enslavement.
This pain doesn’t diminish me. It crowns me.
Three rapid-fire shocks. My inner muscles flutter.
Raphael rips out the dildo, leaving my pussy tingling and clenching. Vincent and Seth retreat.
But just as Raphael sinks his head between my wet pubic lips, probing my entrance, I shake my head and command, “Stop!”
He freezes. Every muscle in his face turns to steel. A predatory warning infests his eyes as he probes again.
“Not yet,” I plead, staring him down, then rasping, “I want…Rory.”
All this time, he’s been behind me, intermittently stroking and kneading my ass.
Now, he shifts to one side, tucks a few of my curls behind my ear, and lifts a brow in surprise.
I get just a glimpse of his length. I can’t believe I’m thinking of this, wanting this.
Part of me believes I am crazy. But I’ve been crazy since the night I bit off his earlobe.
“See something ye like, Lass?” Rory kisses my cheek, his eyes darting to their corners to meet Raphael’s.
The alpha bares his teeth in a silent growl—until I say, “Red, I want you to, need you to…fuck—my—ass.”
The others’ breaths grow labored. But I barely hear them over the growl of possession resonating in Raphael’s throat. His whole being seems to absorb the shadows.
“Uh, Briella, you said if I ever fucked your arse…well, I like my cleaver. I like it outside of my body.” He doesn’t lose his twisted smirk, and I can see the unhinged glint in his eye.
The second I look down, his cock jerks. And I face him again. “I need you to because…because he did.”
Raphael pauses, his crown poised along my entrance.
“Hmm…” Rory turns to Raphael, and they share a moment, unspoken words.
A muscle bounces in Rory’s jaw. But Raphael’s eyes are stone cold.
Finally… “Aye. I’ll fuck that sweet ass, but lots of oil.
I go slow. And ye tell me how far ye want it.
Ye ask me to stop? I’ll stop. Ye tell me to get the fuck out, I get the fuck out. Aye?”
I nod. “Deal.”
“And no piercing,” he adds.
“And I—” Raphael squeezes my throat again—“will take your cunt as soon as he’s inside your ass.”
Despite the horror curdling my blood at the idea of any of them in my pussy at the same time as Rory in my ass, I whisper my agreement.
Rory fulfills his word. He removes his piercing, then starts with the oil. And two fingers sliding inside my anus. I hiss at first. Then whimper when he adds another. And gasp when he does four fingers, pumping them in and out before pulling them out.
He spreads my cheeks and hums next to my left ear, “Big Red’s coming in, Firecracker. Relax. And breathe.”
I do. His presence, his strength, help as he slowly sinks inside, his well-oiled crown popping inside, encased by my inner walls.
“Fuck, Briella,” he groans, taking me by the hips.
I’m shuddering from head to toe, but the molten arousal finds me in intense waves, making me needy, desperate.
Raphael doesn’t move yet. I feel like I’m trapped in Purgatory, waiting for them to rail me and send me soaring into another dimension.
“It’s okay. A little more,” I tell him.
He pours more oil over himself and slides in another inch. God, he’s so big, so long. And I feel pretty damn proud of myself for taking him like this. The pride in me grows when I think of how I survived the first initiation.
Another inch, and the hot pressure inside me grows again, but when I moan, Rory pauses.
“Please don’t stop!” I raise my voice.
“Are ye my filthy, little Lass?” Rory slides in another inch.
He’s halfway now. It hurts, but the pressure with the pleasure is indescribable, filling every part of my ass and my pussy.
Especially with his dirty talk. “Goddamn, you’re gonna strangle the life out of my prick, woman.
Take it, Firecracker. Take big Red. Your Red, Briella.
Fucking love you. And love fucking you.”
He’s halfway in now. “There. Enough. Now, fuck me, please!” I cry.
He starts to thrust, moving with a slow, rocking purpose.
“Fuckfuckfuck, my crazy girl. Taking me so good and sexy.” He scrapes his teeth along my jaw.
Jude fixes clamps to my nipples, then turns them on, the electric shock sending pulses through my nerve endings. Oh, God, I’m going to die. What a way to go!
One more thrust, and then…blinding, searing, white-hot pressure from Raphael slamming inside—all the way to the back.
“Gods, you motherfucker!” Rory growls.
I explode. Convulsing all around Raphael from the inexplicable ecstasy ripping through me, I ride the powerful orgasm, my eyes never leaving the god who enslaves me.
When he circles his hips, grinding against me while Rory rocks in rapid strokes, it stokes the fire more, sending me over the edge into another wave of wild bliss.
Rory rocks once more and snaps. He bites my ear, tender but firm, shooting his release into me in hot spurts. The electroshocks in my nipples don’t stop. And then, Raphael is fucking me and touching my clit, rubbing and commanding one more orgasm to rise.
The tide takes me. I drown in the undertow. I drown in them as the climax takes me, carrying me away into a current like liquid stars soaking me in tingling, hot rapture.
My screams are swallowed by his mouth.
And then? I black out.