Chapter Two
Astra
I’ve spent the entire morning being prepared by the servants for my chosen husband.
I’ve been washed and shaven extensively, leaving me more annoyed than when I woke up.
I tried to find positivity among the unknown, but it has only left me with anger.
Why can I not choose my husband for myself?
It is my life that is being affected, so why would someone else choose that for me?
I don’t believe I am supposed to be questioning these things.
Once I am dressed in my chosen outfit, the group home caretaker leads me to the sidewalk.
It is their job to take me to my husband, but I presume this is to ensure that I do not attempt to escape.
I walk silently with my head bowed, just as I have been trained.
The closer to the center of the city I get, the more apparent it becomes that I will be married to a government official.
We stop in front of a home, and the placard reads ‘Vinny Black.’ This is likely the worst possible selection I could have received.
Vinny Black is the offspring of Aaron Black.
Usually, infants are taken from their biological parents and placed with civil servant caregivers.
Government officials of higher ranks are allowed to keep their children so that they may take their position when they reach the chosen age. The chosen age for men is thirty.
When I don’t move, the caregiver pushes me in the direction of the home.
“The punishment for disobedience going forward is death,” she warns.
I sigh and nod before walking to the door.
Vinny Black is well known for his cruelty among those who see the world as I do, but is also held in high regard by the blind.
I slowly enter the house, and it is scarily quiet.
Am I allowed to call out for him? Do I just stand here and wait?
I am supposed to present myself to him, but how?
I decide to present myself where I stand now.
I sink to my knees and bow my head. My ankles are crossed, and my hands are clasped behind my back.
This allows my long, curly brown hair to fall forward and conceal my face.
I sit like this for what feels like an eternity until it dawns on me.
If my husband plans to take me for pleasure after my branding, I am supposed to be present in his sleeping quarters.
I rise from the ground and make my way to the master bedroom.
All homes in Ossara are built the same to avoid prideful and greedy owners, so I know where it is.
When I enter the room, he is standing at the end of the bed. “It didn’t take you long at all to figure it out, Astra. Good job,” he says. At first, I see this as praise, until he keeps speaking. “Maybe you aren’t a dumbass after all.”
I avoid rolling my eyes and return to my knees in front of him. He stands there for a moment before grabbing a fistful of my hair and jerking my head back. “You are to refer to me as Master Vinny. Understand?”
“Yes, Master Vinny,” I say softly. I was taught to speak gently and not to appear overzealous or masculine. Gentle voices aid in a gentle life.
“Stand, Lavender,” he orders. I let the confusion slip through, but I do as I am told.
“What’s the face?”
“I am just confused, Master Vinny. You referred to me as my color grouping,” I say softly.
“Yes. It is a reminder of your place in this society,” he says. “You are my property now, Lavender. I will call you whatever I want, and I can assure you it won’t be Astra. Names are for the worthy, which you will never be.”
“Yes, Master Vinny. Thank you for gifting me this knowledge,” I say, keeping my sarcastic and annoyed expressions to myself.
“Arm out,” he says. I extend my left arm with my palm up so that I may be branded. He steps away to grab the tool he desires before pressing it to my wrist.
Vinny presses a button, and I whimper in pain as the brand is applied.
Once he pulls the device away, he lays a wet cloth over it.
As he wipes my wrist, the pain dissipates.
“Thank you, Master Vinny,” I whisper. I am thankful that he took away the pain, but the brand is fucking atrocious.
I should cut it off. Who needs both limbs anyhow?
“You’re mine now, Lavender. It’s time to serve your master,” he says. “Undress.”
“Yes, Master Vinny,” I say with a shaky voice. I pull off my dress and remove my undergarments before neatly putting them on the end of the bed.
When he shoves me on the bed, I start crying.
It’s taking everything in me not to fight as he bends me over the end of the bed.
The sound of him undressing is deafening.
He ignores my sniveling and whimpering and grabs me by the hips.
“Let’s see how tight my pretty little wife is, hmm?
” he asks. I nearly choke on my tears, and he laughs before shoving himself inside of me.
His deep groan and my shrill scream echo through the room before the sound of skin slapping against skin takes over.
He grabs the back of my head and pushes my face into the mattress before quickening his pace and pushing deeper with each excruciating thrust.
Despite my sobbing, his thrusts never falter. A weird feeling is emerging amongst the pain, and he must feel it too. My body is growing tense, and my tears mix with an uncontrollable moan that I cannot seem to hold back.
“Don’t you fucking do it, bitch,” he growls.
I don’t understand what is happening. I can’t make it stop, but I have to.
He has commanded me not to do something, but I can’t identify what it is that I’m doing wrong.
His growls turn to moans, and he continues to quicken his pace until my belly is riddled with pain and pressure alike.
Like an explosion, something breaks inside of me. A deep guttural moan floods out of me, triggering his moans. They overtake everything as he makes rapid strokes.
I am abruptly rolled to my back, and he grabs me by the throat. “I never gave you permission to come,” he screams.
“I’m sorry, Master Vinny. I don’t understand,” I sob.
“You lying whore,” he yells as he starts to hit me.
I try to shield my face, but he pulls my arms above my head and continues to hit me.
The strikes rained down from my face to my abdomen.
His punches and slaps are like knives stabbing through my body.
I scream and beg for mercy, but he doesn’t stop.
Eventually, I grow weak, and my body is limp.
His anger subsides when I start to struggle to keep my eyes open.
I can already feel the pressure from the swelling starting all over my body.
What did I do wrong? I don’t understand.
“I’m sorry,” I whimper.
“It’s not good enough,” he growls and rolls me to my belly.
I can’t move a muscle, and I am unable to force any more sounds out of me as he abruptly shoves himself into my ass.
I lie limp on the bed as he channels all of his anger into fucking me as hard as he can. Is this what sex will always be like?
Vinny leans into my body and covers my mouth. When he pinches my nose closed, I welcome my death. It isn’t an ideal end-of-life declaration, but I am accepting. “Come now, whore,” he growls in my ear. “I fucking own you, Lavender.”
He moans again as he finds the pleasure he is after before moving away from me entirely. I curl myself into a ball to try to protect myself from any more hits, but he disappears instead. I don’t dare move until someone touches my shoulder.
“Ma’am,” a gentle voice says. I jump and move away from the soft, feminine voice, but she catches me. “Let me help you clean up and address your injuries, hmm?”
“W-who a-are y-you?” I stammer.
“I am your caretaker, dear. My job is to keep you healthy for your master,” she says. I nod weakly, and she helps me stand. We slowly walk to the bathroom, and she has me stand facing away from the mirror.
I watch as she pulls wipes from a container and starts cleaning me from the face down.
As she cleans the blood off me, the pain is taken away from me as well.
Sometimes technology can be obnoxious, but these simple luxuries are ones that I will never take for granted. Rapid healing means rapid pain relief.
“What did I do wrong?” I whisper.
“You had an orgasm, dear,” she says. “It is beyond your control.”
“Why did he hurt me then?”
“Because women are not allowed pleasure,” she explains. “The Master has expectations that you are required to follow, even with him knowing that it is beyond your control.”
“He wanted to hurt me?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says simply. “You will learn how to take the pain.”
“Are you allowed to talk to me?” I ask.
“No, and you are not supposed to question your master,” she retorts quietly. “Sometimes we are wiser than our surroundings, yeah?”
She is like me. How many others are like me?
I’m concerned about the surveillance, but I’m more concerned that he won’t kill me quickly enough.
I don’t want to live like this. I understand now what Margot meant when she said that death would be preferable.
I would rather die than be touched by my husband again.
Maybe I can make friends with the cannibals and savages?