Page 3 of Degradation

He thankfully doesn’t live with us but he’s here often enough to ensure he has total control over our day-to-day existence. I know he’s trying to prove a point. That he’s in a petty little fight with my Guardian because our Grand Master deemed him an unsuitable candidate to ensure mine and my mother’s safety after my father died.

“We are learning, Pearce,” My mother says, her voice calm, placating, just like usual. “Madame Petale was just teaching Paitlyn about marital arts.”

Pearce snorts, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. “Is that so? Well, let’s see what she’s learned, then.”

He strides over to me, picking up the wooden instrument that we so often choose to ignore. It’s meant to replicate a man’s penis. I’ve often wondered how accurate the thing really is but I guess if I’m lucky enough to be married I’ll find that out for myself.

“Show me how well you can suck a cock, niece.” He says, smirking.

My cheeks flush with humiliation, but I don’t dare glare at him. I’ve felt the sting of his hand too many times to risk it.

My mother’s eyes meet mine, with a silent plea in their depths. She hates this as much as I do, but since my fatherdied, she’s almost as powerless as I am. We both know the consequences of disobedience.

“Paitlyn is very accomplished,” My mother says, her voice barely above a whisper. She looks pointedly at me, and I know what I have to do. That I have to perform.

Pearce smirks, tossing the wood at my face, only, I fail to catch it, and it clangs to the floor with a heavy thud.

“Go on then.” He says, tauntingly.

I pick up the thing, my fingers trembling slightly as I wrap them around the smooth wood. I try to block out my uncle’s sneering face, try to pretend I’m alone in my room, that this is just a silly game I’m playing by myself.

I bring the polished wood to my mouth, my lips parting as I take it in, my cheeks hollowing as I mimic the act I’ve been taught.

Pearce narrows his eyes, clearly wanting to find fault and, as I start to slide the toy further back, he pushes my hand, forcing it all the way with a brutality that makes me instantly gag.

He’s wearing gloves, he always has to wear gloves when he’s around me, but that doesn’t stop the disgust creeping along my skin at the contact.

“There you go.” He grins, with a look that says he’s achieved what he wanted. “No husband wants a wife that only puts in half the effort.”

I look up, my eyes tearing as he holds the thing there, as he refuses to let me catch my breath.

“A man wants to watch his wife choke, Paitlyn. He wants to watch her suffer. That is what gives us pleasure, that is what ensures we know you bitches understand your place.”

I can’t even nod. I can’t even respond. My nostrils flare, I try to get the air in and just as I think he might willingly let me die, he pulls the thing out, leaving a trail of saliva down my chin, down my chest.

He tuts, wiping it with his thumb, dragging the leather covered digit down between my breasts in such a degrading way.

“Do try better next time, Paitlyn. For your own sake, if not for anyone else’s.”

I want to snap back. I want to call him out. But I don’t dare. I just nod placidly and wait for him to strut back out and leave us to it.

Devin

The wind bristles through my hair, there’s a chill to it, a hint that the hot summer is almost over and winter is finally on its way.

I like winter. I like the darkness, the storms, the fact that all those damned cheery faces and happy smiles of summer are finally packed up and gone.

I can see my brother, Magnus, stood, alongside all the other elite, watching this little parade as we finish. He’s keeping his face measured, controlled, but I know inside, he’s more than furious. Around me are a hundred other men, soldiers, warriors,all trained and ready to fight, ready to do what is necessary to defend ourselves and our way of life.

My new uniform is tight, itchy. The thick fabric of my ceremonial dress clings to my muscles, and I can feel a trickle of sweat making its way down my spine beneath my shirt. My boots are so well polished I can see my face in them. I stand head and shoulders above everyone else, and I’m more than aware of the presence my physical appearance has on the people around me.

I can feel the glances of the Lords, the Ladies, all the people watching this little event. They’re sizing me up – literally. Trying to figure out if I’m as big of a threat as I appear to be. I’m a Blake after all, and not just a Blake, I’m my father’s son, in every sense of the word. I bare his semblance, his build, everything about me attests to what he was. My brother’s Magnus and Conrad look like damned mice compared to the sheer brute of what I am. And I suspect that’s the reason I’m here. Why I’ve been chosen.

Our family are reapers. We’re not meant to serve in this way and yet, if the rumours are true, the Chapter Lord chose me personally.

I can hear his croaky voice as he drones on about duty and honour. He’s stood on a dais, facing us all, wearing his long robes that billow behind him. He’s an older man, in his fifties, with sparse grey hair and a pudgy, wrinkled face. He’s been our Chapter Lord as long as I’ve been alive. And while most of that time, he’s been conservative, boring even, in his leadership, something has clearly changed of late. Maybe he hit his head, maybe he’s realised suddenly that he won’t live forever because he’s been making moves, making changes, and a lot of them have not been so popular with the masses.

It’s another reason I’m here, that all the men around me are here. He made a ruling two years ago that all the men have to go for training once they reach adulthood, that it’s compulsory, we have to learn to fight, to defend.