Page 18 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Pailtyn

H e leaves me alone to sleep.

He leaves me alone for days.

I stay in this room, unsure what to do. Food is brought to me, but I barely do more than pick at it.

It’s nothing like the meals my mother provided.

I’m used to steamed vegetables, brown rice, simple, easy to digest. All these are thick sauces and rich spices that make my stomach churn, but I don’t dare ask for anything else.

What if he serves me stale bread? What if he decides to starve me instead?

The meat upsets my stomach, so I make a point of not eating that but with little else in the way of protein, I have a raging headache, and I feel so low in energy.

I have clothes hanging in my dressing room. I have makeup and perfumes and so many things all here but none of it is mine. It’s all new. I have nothing from my old life, not even a keepsake, not even a photograph.

I don’t see my mother again. I don’t see anyone. I’m all but locked in this room with nothing to amuse myself with. I have no books, no tv, absolutely nothing but my own thoughts and as the days pass, they start to spiral more and more.

When my husband finally returns, I’m almost grateful to see him.

I spring up from the bed, crossing the room before I collect myself.

He tilts his head, taking in the silk pyjamas I’ve been lounging in. “Did you not think to make yourself pretty for me?” He asks.

I gulp, glancing down. “I’m, I’m sorry.” I say quickly. “I didn’t know you were coming, you’ve been gone for days now, but if I had…”

He snarls cutting across me. “You think you should be appraised of all my comings and goings, is that it? You think you have a say in where I go and what I do?”

“No.” I gasp, dropping my head further. Christ, I’m fucking this up.

“You should always be ready for me. Always ready for your husband.”

I nod quickly. “I will. From now on, I will always…”

His hand strikes my face and I fall, landing on the floor with a cry.

“Why the fuck are you still stood here then?” He says, towering over me now.

“I didn’t come here for a conversation. You think I want to get your opinion on anything?

You think I want to hear your damned voice?

Get on the bed, spread your legs like a good little wife and let me sink my cock into you already. ”

I whimper, crawling across the floor and hastily pull the clothes from my body.

As I get onto the bed, I don’t know how best to lay so I copy the pose he had me in last time. I place my arms above my head and widen my thighs while I try so desperately to stop the shaking.

My cheek stings from where he struck me but if that’s the only pain I have to endure today, then I’ll happily take it.

He undoes his tie, undoes his belt, holding it out like a whip. “Maybe I should give you a beating, maybe then you’d learn.” He growls.

“I’m sorry.” I gasp before I bite my tongue to shut myself up. Speaking has only gotten me in trouble, I need to remember to keep my mouth shut.

“Sorry?” He repeats and then it’s like something softens, something he changes. He tosses the belt, climbs onto the bed and he cradles me as if all that anger has just vanished.

His arms wrap around me, he buries his face into the warmth of my neck and thankfully the bruising has gone down enough for me not to react in anyway that might just piss him off again.

“I want you to be good, wife.” He murmurs while stroking my face. “I need you to be good. I need you to understand your place. To understand what this is.”

I nod back, “I want that too.” I reply. “I don’t want you to be angry with me. I want you to be happy, I want to make you happy.”

He lifts his head, catching my face, “You mean that?”

He’s almost childlike now. I frown trying to figure what the fuck this is. A voice in my head tells me that this is the moment my mother spoke about, this is how I wrap him around my finger, how I ensure that I control him and not the other way around.

“I mean it.” I say.

His lips curl, he grabs my face, plunging his tongue into my mouth and I almost choke as he starts swirling it around. I’ve never kissed anyone. Beyond the almost chaste kiss he gave me in the Cathedral, I’ve never even put my lips onto another person.

His tongue engulfs mine. I don’t know if this is how it’s meant to be but it feels sloppy, messy. His salvia comes down onto my chin and I can feel it sitting there.

He groans, grinding against me before he takes my hand and wraps it around his soft penis. “Make me hard, wife. Make me ready for you.”

I run my hand up. He’s not particularly big, not compared to the models my mother showed me. I’d thank God for that fact, only, he’s clearly big enough to hurt me still, isn’t he?

He’s so soft. His dick flops in my hand and I try my best, but it doesn’t seem to have any effect.

He watches me, watches what I’m doing, and I can tell I’m pissing him off again.

“Should I use my mouth?” I ask. Maybe if I seem willing to suck his cock that will make him happy.

He narrows his eyes just a little. “Go on then.” He says clearly losing patience.

I roll over, crouch over him and place his flaccid dick in my mouth.

It feels even worse than in my hand. His skin feels so wrinkly, his dick just sits there as I try to suck.

I don’t want to voice the words in my head, the ones that tells me he’s too old, that that’s the issue.

That he should see a doctor, get some medicine.

He grabs my head, wrapping his fingers up in my hair.

“Suck it like a lollipop.” He instructs as if I haven’t spent the last five years learning how to give head.

I rock my hips, bobbing my head back and forth as I work away. I can taste something musty, something weird. I know it’s his dick and I don’t want to think about the last time he washed himself.

I drop my hand to fondle his balls, and he shifts to widen his legs, and I get a whiff of body odour.

His balls are small, hairy, like the rest of him.

It feels like his entire legs and groin are covered in wiry black hair.

It tickles my nose as I work away, and I do my best to not wrinkle my face up.

I’m moaning, sucking, doing everything I can, trying every trick in the book to make this man hard and it has zero effect.

I know he’s going to grow bored. I know any minute now this docile husband of mine is going to flip back into a monster.

I can’t stop it. I can’t do anything.

His grip on my hair, the milliseconds of pain are all the warning I get before I’m wrenched off, pulled back and forced to lay there as he snarls down at me.

“Useless fucking whore.” He growls. “I bet any bitch from Oblivion could do a better job than you right now.”

I stare up at him, knowing this isn’t my fault, but that won’t spare me whatever punishment is coming my way.

He grabs my breasts, twisting the nipples around and I scream. I scream so loud.

Another slap to the face knocks the life out of me and I lay dazed as he pulls my body around.

His fingers plunge inside me, I can feel the way his nails are scratching my insides. “You want my cock so badly.” He says as he thrusts away. “Needy little bitch. You won’t even let me have a moments peace. A moments rest.”

I don’t understand what he’s saying, don’t understand what he’s going on about. He was the one who initiated this, he was the one who put my hand onto him.

“Filthy fucking slut,” He spits. “That’s all you bitches are. I thought a Founder would be different, I thought you’d know how to behave but you’re just the same as all the rest of them. You’re full of sin. Full of lust.”

I’m crying again. Sobbing. His fingers are hurting so badly as he’s tearing into me.

“Slut.” He spits. “Dirty fucking slut.”

I want to fight back, I want to stop him, but I know if I do that, I’ll only make this worse.

He grabs my throat, hauling me off the bed and he throws me down onto the rug. As I land, I roll over, curling up into a defensive position. His foot slams into my spine, into my side, into my legs. He’s not kicking hard enough to do serious damage, but it hurts enough.

And then he stands over me, panting like he’s been in a battle. He grabs his cock that even now is still completely flaccid, and he aims for my body as he starts pissing.

“I’ll cleanse you.” He snarls. “I’ll baptise you right here and cure you of your sin.”

It stinks. His piss absolutely stinks as it covers me, as it covers my stomach, as it trickles down over my skin, my arms, my legs, over all of me. He starts twisting, turning, spraying it so that it covers my hair, my face too. I’m drenched in it.

“Take that, you lustful whore.” He bellows. “Take my piss, fucking drown in it.”

I can taste it. I can smell it. I think I even have it in my eyes. I’m drenched in it and the stench of ammonia makes me physically gag.

When he’s finally finished, he gives me one final hard kick and then he walks out leaving me here.

I get in the shower, wash it all over, scrub at my skin as if that might rid me of the smell but nothing, none of the fancy soaps or products, seem to have any effect. Maybe it’s in my head. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I swear it’s not water raining down on me.

When I hear movement in the room, I freeze, so fearful he’s back, that he’ll punish me now for not staying put. Or will he punish me for not being ready for him again? God, I can’t win.

My legs give way, I sink onto the tiles, and I can’t keep the wail in despite bringing my hands up and stuffing them into my mouth in some desperate attempt to do so.

The door opens, I look up, feeling my heart slam into my chest but it’s only the maid. She stares at me for a second before she grabs a towel and turns the shower off.

“You’re okay.” She says so kindly.

I shake my head. I’m not. I’m so far from okay right now and I don’t know how to fix this. How to fix any of this.

“Come on, let’s get you dry.” She says, gently pulling me out, wrapping the towel around me and then slowly drying me off.

I try to help, I try to walk, but it’s like my body won’t respond properly. She all but carries me back into the room, grabbing some pyjamas for me to put on.

I fumble with the shorts, the fabric catching on my feet and she catches me quickly to stop me from falling over and landing on my arse. When the top is on, she disappears off and comes back with a mug of hot chocolate.

I grip the drink so tightly, feeling like I need its warmth to soothe my very soul.

“Drink.” She says. “It’ll help calm you down.”

“Nothing, nothing helps.” I stammer, though I know that’s not exactly true. One thing will help me, one significant thing; my husband no longer being my husband. Only, that’s impossible.

“I’m sorry.” She replies. “He, he’s not a nice man.”

Yeah, you can say that again. I just don’t understand why someone would be a cruel, as unnecessarily violent as he has been. If I’d done something, if I’d offended him, then fine, but I haven’t. I know I haven’t.

“He…” I pause, worried about saying it, about admitting it out loud but then, what choice do I have? I can’t improve my situation if I stay here, simply taking the blows. Not that I expect her to be able to do anything about it. “He can’t get hard.” I state.

She blinks at me and my cheeks burn with the shame.

“I don’t know if it’s his age or…”

“I’ve heard the rumours.” She says flatly.

“What rumours?” God, what is everyone saying about him? Is this common knowledge?

She tilts her head, glancing at the door and then back at me as if she wants to make sure she isn’t about to get caught saying something she shouldn’t. “He used to have slaves brought here. Used to enjoy them a lot. The last time it happened though…” She gulps.

“What?”

She draws in a breath. “I don’t know the exact details, but I know he killed them, killed all of them.

He said they were poisoning him. That they’d done something to him.

A doctor was called for, but he wasn’t sick.

The rumour is, he was impotent, and instead of seeing it as his failure, he blamed them. ”

I stare back at her for a second as it registers that that’s exactly what he did with me. He blamed me.

“Oh god.” I wail, as if feels like my entire world comes down on me. There’s no fix for this.

She leans in close, her voice a whisper. “I can help if you want. I can slip something into his food. A little something to stimulate him, if you know what I mean. It will make sure he can perform his duties as a husband.”

I shake my head, my stomach churning at the thought. “I can’t, I can’t do that. It’s wrong. It’s a sin.”

The maid’s expression softens, her eyes filled with sympathy. “I understand. But you must think of your own safety. If he can’t get it up, he’ll only grow angrier, he’ll only hurt you more. This is the lesser of two evils, is it not?”

I know she’s right, but the thought of drugging my husband, of ensuring he has the means to fuck me whenever he wants, it makes me sick to my stomach.

But then, what’s the alternative? Have him beat me, have him piss all over me, repeatedly?

I have to do something, even if it means compromising my own morals.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I’m about to do. “Okay.” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Do it. Just, just make sure he doesn’t know it was me.”

The maid nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything. You just focus on healing and staying safe.”

She goes to leave and I grab her hand back. “What’s your name?” I should know it, I should know who my ally actually is.

“It’s Kora.” She says.

“Kora.” I repeat. “Thank you, Kora.”

She gives me a small nod before looking at the mug. “Drink.” She says. “He’s gone out for the night. He won’t be back till morning now. Enjoy the peace while you can.”

Peace. It doesn’t feel like peace, it feels like stolen moments, fragments of time where I’m still in purgatory, waiting for the devils to come and drag me back into the furnace again.