Page 61 of Degradation

How prettily she’d cry.

How prettily she’d moan too.

The little bitch.

I’d keep her on her knees for hours. I’d draw it out. I’d ensure she was begging me to come down her throat by the time I was done.

And I’d have her fucking herself the whole time too, have her fingers so deep in her cunt she’d be gasping for mercy while her arousal dripped down her thighs.

Little whore.

Little fucking whore.

I snarl again, twisting my cock, making sure the barbs do their job and slice up the slave’s mouth good and proper.

My hands twist in her hair, my nails claw at her skin. It’s not enough. It will never be enough.

That Paitlyn bitch has ruined me, she’s got into my head, she’s colluded with them, with the whispers, with the darkness. She’s become part of it, part of the place I’m not allowed to go, the part of myself that I’m not allowed to explore. She’s the ultimate forbidden fruit, only she’s not so forbidden, is she? Her husband is happy enough to share her around and I figure that that’s why she’s done it, why she’s manipulated me.

I bet she’s done that with all the guards, turned her pretty little eyes onto them, cried those pretty little tears and all of us are now under her spell.

My jealousy spikes with the notion that it’s not just me she wants, that I’m not enough for her. She thinks she can get better than me, she thinks she can do better, stupid little whore, I’ll show her, I’ll make her understand. Sooner or later, I will have her and when I do, she’ll realise what the consequences are for playing such silly little mind games. I’ll hurt her, I’ll fuck her too, I’ll leave my mark on her permanently, in a way she can’t wash off or remove. I’ll ensure every time she looks in the mirror,every time she catches a glimpse of herself, she sees me, she sees my claim on her, she sees who owns her, she’ll see it all.

I throw my read back as a wave of euphoria hits me. My body physically shakes, pleasure explodes in my head, and all I can think about is her, how good it’s going to feel when I finally get my hands on her.

The slave screams out, slapping her hands against my thighs, trying to get loose and as I pull my cock out, I can see her face is almost purple. Stupid bitch, did she not learn to breathe through her nose when she’s sucking a man off?

She falls to the floor, gasping out both blood and come. I don’t bother to check if she’s okay. There are minders enough for that. No doubt they’ll come across her soon enough and if no one’s around, I’m sure they’ll have a little fun too.

I do my trousers back up, fix my belt, and let out a low, rattling breathe.

It feels good to purge, it feels good to let the demons out. I know I could have done this back at the Palace, that enough of the maids are fair game, but being here, embracing my true self has always allowed me to feel freer, to be freer.

I glance at my watch, seeing how little time I have left and head for the exit. If I ride fast, I might just manage an hour’s shuteye.

As I make it up to the final gate I spot him, lurking. Of course the fucker knows I’m here. Bet he was watching on the surveillance, counting down the minutes.

“You’re here again.” Magnus says with such a tone.

I don’t reply. What can I say?

I’ve been coming here too much. Too many times. I know that. I’m more than aware of that. But what else can I do when those voices are growing louder. When her voice is almost constantly screaming, constantly begging.

I shut my eyes, and she’s there, lying on Gunther’s bed. Only, he’s not in the room. It’s just us. Just me and her. I can see the fear in her pretty eyes. I can see how much she’s trembling.

But she’s doing it all the same. She’s moaning my name as she fucks herself. She’s pleading, begging, desperate for me. Me.

And she wants me to hurt her. I know that. I can see it. She likes my kind of pain, not her husband’s. She wants to spread her legs and let me break her, let me ruin her, let me make her bleed.

“Devin.” Magnus snaps.

I blink, pulling myself out of my head.

“You’re taking your meds, right?”

That question alone pisses me off more than anything. Does he still see me as that, as some stupid little boy he can control? I clench my fists, itching to slam them into his self-satisfied face.

“You know you…”