Page 28 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

“I brought all these slaves here, all these guests for you.” He states.

Yeah, who’s the one lying now, huh? We all know none of this is for me. That it’s about his ego, his pleasure, his need to degrade and belittle and prove what power he has over us all.

He narrows his eyes, strutting over to where one of the slaves is stood. It’s the one with that gold monstrosity around his hooha.

I ready myself for another round of abuse, another instance of violence, another moment that will no doubt be forever etched into my retinas and will haunt me when I shut my eyes and try to sleep.

Gunther runs his hand down the man’s chest, touching him in a way that is far more possessive than sensual. When he reaches his gold encrusted penis, he grabs hold of it hard enough that the man winces.

“Such a pretty jewelled cock, wouldn’t you say, wife?” He asks.

I blink back, my mind telling me that this is a trap. It has to be.

“Not as good as yours.” I say.

He smiles, rubbing himself with his spare hand. “My wife loves my cock.” He announces loudly. “She can’t get enough of it.” He states.

The whole room seems to react to that, as if it’s the funniest thing in the world.

Gunther grins, he grins and he grins, and then yanks on the slave’s cock again. “Suck his. Go on, have a taste. How do you know mine is as good as you say if you’ve nothing to compare it to?”

I want to snap back that he forced enough men’s cocks into my mouth the other week, but I don’t. I just shake my head slightly, knowing exactly where this is headed but doing everything I can think of to avoid it anyway.

“I only want yours.” I reply. “I only need yours.”

He narrows his eyes while one of the other wives says how sweet I am.

“She’s not sweet.” Gunther suddenly yells, pushing the slave so that he stumbles back. “She’s a fucking whore.”

The hate in his voice, the anger, it tells me I’m fucked. It tells me that this night is going to get so much worse.

“Get over there and suck his cock.” He orders.

I drop my head, hating the way everyone is watching me now as I make my way to where this slave is stood, with his gold-encrusted dick.

“On your knees, wife.” Gunther all but spits.

I sink down, wondering if it was really worth fighting. Maybe I should have just done this to begin with because I doubt this slave’s dick will be worse than my husband’s.

I can’t look him in the face as I take hold of it. Shame heats my cheeks. The gold is cool, smooth. It’s wrapped around, locked in place and I can’t for the life of me fathom what its purpose is for.

I run my tongue along it, still so reluctant to follow through.

From behind me, I hear footsteps. A hand grabs my hair, twists it, and I know it’s my husband.

“Take it. Take it all.” He says, shoving my mouth down, shoving his dick as far into my throat as it can go.

The metal makes it so much worse. It makes it so much bigger. There’s no flex, no give. I choke but Gunther doesn’t give a shit as he pulls me off then pushes me back down again.

I don’t understand what the point is. What he’s trying to achieve? Is this simply to humiliate me? Is this simply to prove that he has all the power? It’s not like I’ve questioned that. It’s not like I’ve challenged him.

He pulls me off, wrenches my head around and then spits into my mouth.

I gag. I don’t mean to but it’s so disgusting, I can’t help myself.

He kicks my legs out, letting me slam onto the marbled floor on my face. As I try to get up, he slams a foot into my back to hold me in place.

“What the fuck is that?” He snarls.

“She’s bleeding.” Someone in the crowd says, though I don’t know who.

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

I know what it is. I know what’s happened. I grab the fabric, staring at the tiny bit of stain and it feels like me entire world collapses.

Gunther drags me back up. I don’t know how the man has the strength to do it, but he hauls me to my feet and squeezes my neck as he gets right into my face.

“You’re bleeding?” He says. “You’re fucking bleeding?”

“I got my period.” I whisper, feeling like it’s pointless to deny it now.

“When were you going to tell me? When were you going to admit it?” He snarls.

I bite my tongue, afraid to answer and he throws me back to the floor.

“You were meant to be pregnant.” He hollers. “You were meant to prove a point. To prove that my actions are holy, that I am holy. That God loves me more than them.” He points to everyone else in the room as he unleashes a tirade of abuse. “You’ve ruined this. You’ve ruined everything.”

He slams a fist into my side, then lands a second. He wrenches my skirt up and stares at where I know I’m dirty.

“The fuck is this?” He spits, reaching down, pulling the string, pulling the tampon out before I can stop him. It leaves a tiny trail of blood that drips down, shaming me more.

“You used this? You fucked yourself with this?” The disgust in his voice makes me pause.

I screw my face up as I stare back at him. Fucked myself with what, a tampon?

“You were meant to be pure. To be untouched. Your mother told me you were a virgin and yet you’ve been fucking yourself with these?” His face is growing redder and redder.

What on earth is he talking about? What has my virginity got to do with how I manage a period?

He smacks me, smacks me so hard. Stars explode behind my eyes for a moment and it feels like something in me snaps.

It’s stupid to do it, so damned stupid but I’m not thinking straight anymore. I spring up and I’m running, I’m running so fast.

I have to get out of here. I have to get away from him.

I glance over my shoulder, expecting him to be right on my heels but he’s just stood there staring at me.

And then I slam into something hard. Something solid. Something so damned impossibly big.

No. No. Noooo.

It’s him. The Blake guard. He grabs my arms, grabs me and he’s walking me backwards, forcing me into the room.

“Please.” I beg. “Please let me go.”

He doesn’t even react. It’s like he’s made of stone. Like he doesn’t feel any emotions. Doesn’t know what things like empathy and mercy even are.

I’m dumped back. Dropped at my husband’s feet.

He’s still holding that tampon up as if it’s a sign of the devil.

“You lied to me.” He spits. “You fucking lied.”

He rams the tampon into my mouth. It’s disgusting. I can taste it, I can feel it, my blood, the weird sodden cotton pad as it clings to my tongue. I don’t get time to spit it out before he starts landing blows. Kicking. Punching, biting me too.

I curl up. I try to protect my face, but the blows keep coming. They just keep coming until everything, all the pain, all the fury, all the shame too disappears into darkness. Into nothing.