Chapter 21 Scarlett #2
Over and over again, sliding against each other, into me, the sounds coming out of me loud and gross. I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t breathe.
“I’m gonna cum,” a voice grunted.
“Me too,” another moaned.
They went harder, faster.
In and out.
In and out.
In and out.
Tears streamed down my face, my jaw and hands screaming in pain, my head pounding, my cheeks tearing. I couldn’t breathe.
I was going to die.
I had been fine with death, accepting of it, but not like this. Never like this.
Fear tore through me in waves, my entire body shaking.
The hot semen hit the back of my throat. One after the other, all three stretching my mouth further than I ever thought it was able to open, forcing the semen to drip straight into my stomach.
I coughed and choked, some of it coming up through my nose, burning me.
They pulled out of me. One after the other, and I collapsed forward, barely catching myself on my elbows before I heaved it all up. Coughing, bile ejecting from my stomach. I didn’t feel good.
I didn’t feel good at all.
They started laughing.
Laughing.
Why were they laughing at me? Couldn’t they see that I was struggling to breathe?
Of course they could, and they liked it.
That chill in my stomach I had felt before returned. A cold burning in the pit of my stomach as I tried to breathe.
Mother always told me that hate was a strong word, that’s why I almost never used it. Well, I suppose that and the fact that up until recently, I thought I had lost the ability to feel anything at all, which hadn’t been completely true.
I hated lavender because it reminded me of Bastrom. Because when I thought back to my childhood, all I could smell was lavender, but that was it. I tried not to use it very much because I didn’t want my heart to grow cold.
However, I hated this moment. I did. I hated it with everything I was.
“Whoa,” one of them said. “Someone can’t hold onto her cum. Poor Thomas.”
“Yeah, but that tongue,” another hummed. “No wonder they think she’s the Blessed One. Thomas is a lucky guy, marrying her. At least mine’s still good. What about yours?”
I heaved, my heart slamming against my ribs. I was going to drown in semen.
“I taught mine to use her tongue,” he made a strange sound. “She’s good, but not this good.”
Saliva and semen fell from my mouth in streams. Everything hurt. I couldn’t even sit up.
I closed my eyes, tears pouring down my face. Was this how it would be after we married? I couldn’t handle it. I really couldn’t.
I wouldn’t survive.
The door opened and my fear spiked only to settle a hair when I felt the familiar warmth on my back.
My eyes lifted ever so slightly, taking in my hands as they shook. They were bright red, shoeprints on the back of each one.
“What the Hell?” one male exclaimed. “I thought you locked the door!”
“I did,” another growled.
Azrael laughed, but it held no joy within it. “Locks are a concept. I don’t believe in concepts. Get out,” he said, that terrifying lilt filling his voice. “She’s mine.”
I closed my eyes. I couldn’t stop panting.
“She’s Thomas’ betrothed,” one explained. “He gave us permission.”
“If you don’t leave, I’ll splatter the walls with your blood,” he sang.
Seconds later, the door shut again, and the sound of the lock flipping met my ears.
I tried to regain composure. I had to follow the rules. I had to.
I pushed myself up to my knees, everything shaking and trembling. I would be punished if I couldn’t sit still.
I felt the warmth grow and suddenly, I knew he was in front of me, crouching before me, not far away.
Something soft touched my hands, but I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t dare look for fear that I might accidentally see his face.
“Wipe your face, your mouth, and your chin.”
I sat there for only a second before I picked up the cloth he had placed over my hands.
My hand shook as I lifted it to my face. I tightened my grip, trying to will it not to. I wasn’t supposed to be a terrified kitten. I was supposed to be an obedient dog.
I carefully began cleaning off my face, the taste of their semen still coating my tongue, causing my stomach to twist and turn, and bile to rise in my throat.
“Your hands are bruised but not broken,” he told me, and I wondered how long he had been studying them. My mind was spinning. I didn’t trust it to tell me where his eyes were looking anymore.
“You’ll need to fix your ponytail,” he told me. “You didn’t get any cum on your clothes.”
Cum.
They had said it before, but I didn’t know what that was.
“Semen,” he said, his voice holding that icy lilt. “Cum is what the world calls it.”
Cum was semen? There was no semen on my clothes then. Good. That was good because that wouldn’t have been so easily wiped away.
I lowered the cloth when I thought I was done and waited.
Azrael was quiet a few seconds. “There is a spot on the corner of your mouth. Right side. Clean it off and then hold out your hand.”
I lifted my trembling hand to the right side of my mouth, carefully cleaning it off. My lips hurt. My jaw hurt. I suddenly felt so exhausted.
When I was done, I lowered the hand with the cloth and lifted the other, palm up.
A moment later, something fell into it. It was light, round.
“Eat.”
I lifted it to my mouth without hesitation, and slid it in.
Mint drifted across my tongue, almost overpowering the taste of the semen—
“Again.”
I held it out again.
“Something cold touched my hand, round. I felt it for a second before realizing that it was a water bottle.
My heart skipped, but I held off, waiting.
“Drink,” he said. “Swish it around to clear the taste from your mouth.”
I did it, more than willing. The water was freezing, almost painful against my tongue and the back of my throat. I swished and swished, gulping down the water until nothing remained but the taste of that mint, which was nearly gone now.
“It should worry you how little hesitation you have when someone tells you to eat or drink something,” he stated almost bitterly. “Hold out the bottle.”
I was just following the rules.
He took the bottle from my hand when I did.
“Now hold out the cloth, straight in front of you, as if you were going to drop it.”
I followed his instructions, hearing something like plastic crinkle in front of me.
“Drop.”
I released it, the crinkle sounding again.
“Your jaw will be sore for a few days, and you should keep some chapstick on your lips, the corners specifically. It will help aid in the healing process.”
My eyes started to burn again. It hurt so terribly.
“Fix your hair,” he told me before he stood.
I reached back, tearing my ponytail out, shaking my hair, and pul—
“Wait.”
I froze.
Azrael went quiet, my hands threaded into my hair at my temples, the rest falling around my shoulders softly. It fell nearly to my waist now.
I had always loved my hair, despite having not looked at it since I was a girl, I remembered how pretty it was. I loathed ponytails. What was the point in having long, beautiful hair if I was forced to keep it up all the time?
I felt Azrael’s eyes on me as I remained on my knees, hands threaded back into my hair. He was slowly circling me, keeping his distance, but his eyes remained solely on me.
I wasn’t allowed to have my hair down because it was something only impure women did. I was impure now, yes, but I still had to follow all the rules to make sure the rest of the world believed that I was still pure.
“Keep going,” he finally said, something strange shifting in his lilt. If I had to put a word to it, I would say that it sounded like death.
I finished putting my hair up tightly, wincing at the pain in my hands, and when I finished, I put my hands back on my knees, waiting.
The warmth of his eyes shifted back to the front of me and then I felt something cold touch either side of my face. It was pointed and sharp, metal, and it cupped my jaw as if it were made for it.
He tilted my head up, my eyes closed, but my body slightly more relaxed now, as if it recognized the cane as safe. “Don’t worry, little sinner, the ocean will be filled with the blood I spill.”
He crouched down in front of me, keeping my head cradled in that metal.
“We have a little mouse, a daffodil, and a wild rose to protect now. Brothers and sisters in blood and death. In carnage. This world thinks of me as nothing more than a man, but I will show them otherwise,” he hummed, the scent of the sea growing as if it raged inside of him, readying to break free.
“They let the Devil into their church. Tick tock goes the clock and all the lives I’ll steal,” he purred, the sound causing my stomach to warm and that flutter to start between my legs.
He pulled the cane towards him, forcing me to lean forward, stretching my neck.
“Tick tock goes the clock, the devil’s finally here.”
He released my jaw and stood, walking up to stand beside me, so close that I felt the warmth of his leg pressing into my side. “I have their faces. It was all I needed,” he told me. “But now I have their names and DNA too.”
I must have reacted in some way because then he said, “DNA is what the world uses to identify a person. Find out all of their little secrets. Take heart, sinning doll, I’m always watching.”
I waited until the door shut behind me before I forced myself to a stand, my legs sore, everything pained.
I opened my eyes, looking at the floor where I had just been, the pile of my bile and the semen—cum—soaking into the carpet.
He had stepped in it. Crouched down in it. That’s how close he had been to me. Willing to be soiled himself just to give me a cloth.