Page 21 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Pailtyn

I t’s quiet. Peaceful almost.

My husband has been away, on an urgent trip, at least, that’s what the maids tell me because it’s not like I’m privy to his diary, is it?

I’m grateful for the respite, but I know when he comes back, he’ll be wanting to make up for lost time.

The only consolation I have is that our plan is working. Giving him that medicine is working. No, I don’t like the way he degrades me, but it’s better that than him failing to get it up at all and pissing all over me again.

And if I can get pregnant…I let out a sigh.

I can’t even believe that I’m hoping for that.

Why the fuck would I want his child? But that would be the answer, that must surely solve this issue.

And if I’m pregnant, there’s no way he’d hurt me as much.

Would nine months of living a pain-free existence be worth the pain of childbirth?

And the humiliation of having every Brethren Lord and Lady watching me as I do it? I’m not so sure.

The door bursts open behind me and I yelp, turning as Kora and the other maid come rushing in.

“He’s on his way back.” Kora says.

I don’t need to ask who. The fear creeping through my veins already tells me exactly who they are talking about.

They flit about, pulling things out, clearly having been given instructions to make me pretty, make me presentable.

I sit in front of the mirror, allowing them to do my makeup, my hair, to make me the very epitome of perfection.

Kora holds out a dress for me to put on and it’s sexy, too sexy. A sliver of something creeps down my spine and that old fear screams in my head to run again.

I swallow it down, force it down, as I reach for the thing and hastily put it on.

I’m barely ready in time when a knock at the door gets our attention. Gunther doesn’t knock. Gunther never knocks. I frown as a servant sticks his head around it and tells us to hurry the fuck up.

It’s curious how there’s no ceremony, no respect when Gunther isn’t around.

It’s like we’re all in this together, we all know what a horror my husband can be, so we don’t waste time with bullshit.

We all just do what needs to be done, we all help one another to ensure whatever happens, it doesn’t result in one of his fits.

I follow after him, following him through this Palace that I’ve barely had more than a few stolen glances of. The dress they’ve laced me into is a confection of silk and lace, the colour a deep crimson that seems to drink in the light.

It’s beautiful. The kind of gown that should make a woman feel powerful, desirable. But all I feel is a steadily increasing sense of dread.

As we reach the bottom of the grand staircase, Gunther is there, stood beside a man, a guest, someone I don’t recognise.

My husband’s predatory gaze crawls over me, his lips curl into a smile that sends chills down my spine. I’ve learned to recognize that look, it’s the harbinger of some new humiliation, some fresh degradation he’s cooked up for his entertainment.

I’m led through to where drinks are being served. Gunther and his friend move to lounge in huge leatherbound seats and Gunther pulls me into his lap.

The pair of them exchange idle talk, non-consequential bullshit while they puff on cigars, and I have to turn my face away for fear my asthma will turn me into a choking wreck.

“What do you think of my new wife?” Gunther murmurs, grabbing my face, pulling me out of my daydream.

His friend smirks, running his eyes over me, focusing particularly on my breasts as if he has x-ray vision and can see right through the fabric.

“Very nice indeed.” He says back.

I shut my eyes, blocking out the rest of the conversation. The insults that the pair of them clearly see as compliments.

And then, abruptly, the man gets up, giving Gunther a pointed look, before he struts off, leaving us alone.

I don’t know what this is. What is happening but it’s clear something is up here.

Gunther finishes his cigar like it’s the last one he’ll ever savour and then he gets up, holding his arm expectantly for me to take.

I don’t want to. I feel like I’m about to sign away my life, more of my life. He gives me a glowering look that makes me even more fearful, and I do as I’m bid, allowing him to lead me like a lamb to the funeral pyre at the alarmingly fast pace he sets off at.

My heart pounds in my chest as we approach the room.

Gunther opens the door and nudges me inside. The room is lit by a set of lamps, positioned around the room. There’s a bed in the middle. It’s a big bed, with what looks like freshly ironed sheets.

By the far wall is a table with… my eyes look away instantly as I recognise what those things are. Forbidden items. Prohibited things. Things that would get you a beating and more.

Why would he bring me here? Is he planning on using them on me? God, no . I swear my legs start to tremble as my mind races.

And then a figure steps out from the shadows. It’s cigar man. I can just make out his tall, broad shoulders, in the dim light, those bushy eyebrows, that leering smile.

I frown, feeling more confused, more bewildered by what this is. Cigar man reaches up, undoing his tie, loosening the cuffs on his shirt as he stares back at me with a look in his eyes that makes me physically sick.

Something fumbles with my dress, the zipper at the back is dragged down so quickly and I spin around, staring in horror at my husband.

What the fuck is this? What the hell is he doing?

This has to be a mistake. This has to be some kind of sick joke.

Only, Gunther’s voice cuts through my panic.

“Behave, Paitlyn.” he says, his fingers brushing against my cheek in a grotesque parody of tenderness. “Be obedient. Show my friend what a delicious cunt you have, and you’ll get a pretty little diamond in return.”

Horror washes over me, cold and nauseating. This can’t be happening. Gunther can’t possibly expect me to... but the look in his eyes confirms my worst fears.

I shake my head as a silent plea for mercy slips past my lips.

The slap comes hard and fast, the sting of it sharp against my skin. “Stop pretending you aren’t a whore.” Gunther hisses, pushing me back, making me stumble so much I almost fall into those eagerly waiting arms of his disgusting friend.

“It’s a sin…” I stammer. “It’s a sin…”

But he doesn’t wait to hear it. He clearly doesn’t want to. He walks out, shutting the door with a finality that makes my heart sink.

Cigar man approaches me, his eyes roaming over my body with a greediness that makes me want to puke.

“Lie on the bed.” he instructs, his voice devoid of emotion.

I’m so shocked, my body moves on autopilot. I clamber on, trying my best to keep my dress up, as if the fabric is a shield and could protect me in this moment.

This must be a dream, a nightmare from which I’ll soon wake.

But it’s not a dream. The weight of him on top of me is all too real, the roughness of his hands as they tear off my gown.

“You are a delicacy.” He groans, grabbing my breasts, kneading them with both hands.

“Please.” I gasp as guilt and disgust churn in me with equal measure. “I’m not your wife, I’m not...”

He shoves a hand over my mouth, silencing my words that he clearly doesn’t want to hear.

He lowers his face to my ear, his hot breath making my skin crawl more. “Do you think I don’t know that?” He snarls. “Of course you’re not my wife. My wife is at home, doing her duty, growing fat with my son, my heir…”

I cry out as he digs his fingers in further, as he claws at my flesh.

“…I get to fuck you anyway. Do you get that? I get to do what I want with you for a few hours and if you had any wits at all, you’d make sure I enjoyed myself.

You’d wrap that pretty mouth around my cock, and you’d imagine it was your dear husband you were pleasuring, if that eased your conscience. ”

I moan back, I gasp under his brutal grip, but it makes no difference whatsoever.

He grabs at my underwear, pulling it aside and I can tell from the fumbling what he’s trying to do.

“No. No, please.” I scream more. I kick out, but I’ve already lost this. I never stood a chance.

He shoves himself into me, jerking his hips with a snarl of satisfaction.

“Fuck…” He gasps. “You really do have a magic cunt, don’t you?”

My tears are streaming. My mind is broken, shattered. I can’t do anything but just lie here and take it as this man forces himself, as he rapes me.

It hurts. It hurts almost as much as when Gunther is forcing himself on me. I can feel my insides tearing, can feel my inner muscles ripping which each brutal thrust.

He’s not as rabid, not as big a weight as my husband.

I guess I should feel grateful for that.

That he’s not smothering me with his body while he rapes me.

That my very oxygen isn’t being forced from my lungs, only, I can smell him, I can taste him.

I can feel his odour lingering on me as he bucks away.

He tuts, coming to a stop, glaring at me.

“Tears aren’t fucking sexy.” He snarls, as if I’m the arsehole here.

But I won’t stop. I can’t stop.

I can’t do anything but continue crying uncontrollably as I realise that in so many ways, this man has damned me, my husband too has damned me. Adultery is a sin. It’s one of the worst sins a person can commit.

I don’t want to go to Oblivion. I don’t want to go to hell either.

But now I know that’s exactly where I’m headed.

He lets out a snarl, flipping me over onto my front and buries my face into the pillow like he’s trying to pretend I’m not hating every moment of this. And then he’s fucking away, using me once more before he suddenly snarls and pulls himself out.

“Fucking bitch.” He spits, slapping my arse hard enough to make me scream. “Stupid fucking bitch.”

The door opens. I’m still laying here, still in the position this man forced me into as my dear husband waltzes in and comes to a stop.

“Well?” He asks.

His friend scowls. “She does have a nice cunt, I’ll give her that, but she’s such a whiney bitch, I’ve lost my appetite.”

Gunther narrows his eyes, turning them on me. “She disappointed you?” He says in a tone that tells me I’m in so much trouble now.

“Bitch wouldn’t stop crying.” His friend sneers. “If I wanted that, I could have just fucked my own wife.”

Gunther’s rage is instantaneous. He lunges at me, his hands like iron shackles around my hair as he wrenches me off the bed and onto the marble floor. “You dare to displease my friend?” he roars, his spittle landing on my face. “You are nothing but a vessel for my amusement, do you understand?”

I can’t hold back the words, fuelled by a mixture of both shame and defiance. “It’s a sin to be with anyone but my husband.” I state. It’s the only defence I have, the only leg I have to stand on.

Gunther laughs in my face and it’s full of malice. Full of contempt. “I make the rules,” he declares, his voice booming as he points his fat finger right into my face. “I decide what is and is not a sin.”

“You’re not God.” I snap back. “And you can’t override his laws, no matter how much power you think you have.”

It’s a stupid thing to say. A stupid, foolish, idiotic statement and I know I’m going to pay for it the minute those words leave my lips.

His beady little eyes widen so much, his fury seems to explode out of him.

He starts spitting insults, calling me a whore and a heretic, as he drags me out, as he drags me past room after room.

I kick and scream, my nails clawing at the marble floor, but it’s useless. Gunther is stronger, he will always be stronger.

“I’ll show you what I can and can’t do.” He bellows. “I’ll show you who is the God in this house, in this entire fucking land.”