Page 68 of Degradation

The others nod in agreement again, like they’re all little dogs uncapable of thinking by themselves.

Malik shakes his head slightly. “None of us need that.” He mutters. “You’ll be docked a week’s pay, Blake. If you keep your head down and your sheet clean for the rest of the quarter, we’ll strike the reprimand from your record.”

I grunt back, like I give a fuck about the money. Money means nothing to me; I’m not some low level nobody who needs to scrimp and save. I was born wealthier than most of these people’s fortunes combined. No, I’m not here for the money, I’m here for the honour, the prestige – at least, I was, because it turns out the reality of this duty does not come even close to what I imagined in my head. Oh, I knew there’d be shit days, boring days, days where we had to wipe people’s arses, but I expected some drama, some excitement.

The only drama here is when that bitch does something to aggravate our great leader, and he then drags her down to us for a punishment. I smirk at the thought, at the knowledge that nexttime she fucks up, I’ll be waiting. Next time she pisses him off, I’ll be the one ready to make her cry.

I’ll make her sorry. I’ll make her rue the day she decided to fuck with me. Stupid little whore, she clearly has nothing better going on in her life, but I’ll give her the drama she so clearly craves, I’ll give her pain too. I’ll have her twisted up so badly she’ll be a bleeding mess by the end of it.

And then she’ll learn her place.

Then she’ll realise not to pick fights with someone who could snap her like a twig.

Pailtyn

Iknow I shouldn’t have drunk as much as I have, but I want to numb the pain, numb whatever the hell is coming next. Because there is always a next at these parties. And they always involve me.

The servant’s screams make my ears hurt, make my skin erupt into goosebumps.

I’m stood beside Gunther’s ridiculous throne., wearing a red lingerie set that he specifically chose, and I’m watching, just as everyone else in this room is watching, as my husband is torturing the man unfortunate enough to have gotten his attention.

The whip slices through the air, practically singing as it comes down on his flesh. And as it makes contact, we all see the way his skin splits, the way blood immediately starts pouring out.

“Pretty like a river.” Gunther laughs, shoving the leather into it, smearing the man’s blood further.

“Please.” He sobs. “Please, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Chapter Lord, I won’t do it again. I won’t.”

Gunther grabs a handful of the broken glass, and he rams it into the man’s mouth. “Shut up.” He says. “Shut up.”

I don’t want to think what would happen to the man if he swallows it. Will it slice his insides? Will it rip up his stomach? His intestines?

I shudder at the thought.

Gunther’s meaty fist connecting with the servant’s jaw. The sound is sickening, creating a dull thud that seems to reverberate through the room.

The servant stumbles back, but Gunther grabs him by the collar, pulling him upright before delivering another punch.

I look around the room, desperate for someone to intervene, but all I see are faces twisted in either cruel delight or turned away in cowardly avoidance.

Gunther’s breath comes in ragged gasps as he continues his assault, each blow more vicious than the last. The servant is barely conscious, his body limp and battered, but Gunther shows no signs of stopping.

He’s grinning, laughing, enjoying every moment of his barbarity.

A sickening sense of dread washes over me as I realize what he wants, what he’s been building towards this entire time.

I can’t look. I can’t watch. But I also can’t shut it out.

We all hear the snap, the crunch of bone, and then the sound of a body hitting the floor with such finality it feels likea crescendo. The servant lays now with one leg kicking out to the right, his arms splayed, and his head stuck at an impossible angle for anyone living to make.

It feels like everything stills, like the room collectively holds its breath. Are they enthralled by this or as horrified as I am?

“Paitlyn.” Gunther barks, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. “Get over here.”

My feet feel like lead as I make my way towards him, each step an effort of will I can barely muster. I can feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on me, their eyes like physical touches, some leering, some pitying, but all of it unwanted.

I stop a few feet away from Gunther, close enough to see the flecks of blood on his knuckles, the wild gleam still in his eyes.

“Kneel.” he commands, gesturing to the floor where the spilled drink has pooled.