Page 33 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Pailtyn

W hen night comes, my husband comes with it.

I can barely bring myself to turn and face him, but I know the man will happily beat me for my insolence if I don’t.

He looks like shit. He looks like his conscience might actually be catching up with him. His face is puffy, wrinkled, like he’s been faceplanting the pillow for hours and his eyes are slightly bloodshot as if he hasn’t been sleeping properly.

He tilts his head, twitching it slightly at an angle like it’s a tic he’s developed, but I don’t recall him behaving like that before.

“Wife.” He says, in a voice that is neutral, emotionless.

I don’t reply. I just drop my gaze, playing that submissive creature, he wants me to be.

He crosses the room, taking my hands as if I’m the most delicate thing in the world, as if I’m made of glass and he’s worried he’ll break me.

He raises them up, kisses them softly but I’m trembling all the same. Trembling almost violently.

I can feel his eyes on me. Not my husband. But him. The guard.

He doesn’t usually watch me. He doesn’t usually look at me. None of them do. It’s like they’re afraid to look in case my husband gouges their eyes out.

But they weren’t afraid that night, were they? My stomach twists as I remember it, remember him, on top of me, over me, how he jerked off, how he masturbated, how he clearly enjoyed my fear and my pain and all of it.

“Paitlyn.” My husband says, bringing my attention back to him.

“What do you want?” I ask. Maybe it’s stupid, maybe I should keep my mouth shut but playing nice hasn’t spared me anything so far?

“I was cruel. Unnecessarily so. I wish to apologise. I wish to show you how much you mean to me.”

I swear my jaw drops. This is a joke. It has to be. I mean nothing to him. I am nothing to him. I’m not stupid enough to believe otherwise.

He hooks his hand under the crook of my arm, leading me out. The maids gave me a nighty to wear so at least I’m not naked as he walks me down the hallway, down through this ridiculous building and to where his bed is.

I don’t want to go. I don’t want to be there. I don’t want to smell his smell or know that he is beside me, that he is close to me.

I whimper as we cross the threshold. My feet stick to the floor, and I feel like a horse suddenly refusing to go into their stable.

“Paitlyn.” My husband admonishes me. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“But you did.” I blurt out. “You did hurt me. You beat me and you abused me, and you let them do it too.” I throw a look over my shoulder, glaring at that same arsehole who even now is caging me in, ensuring I have no place to escape to.

Gunther shakes his head. “It’s over. It’s in the past.”

“Not for me.”

He snarls, throwing me to the floor, proving everything that I’ve been saying is right. He plants his hands on his hips scowling at me.

“Look what you made me do.” He spits. “Get up, get in that bed and stop being difficult.”

“No.”

I should do it. I should give in. I should just shut my mouth, but I can’t, not this time.

He smacks me. Not all that hard, certainly not as hard as he’s hit me before. I wonder if he thinks it’ll be enough, if he thinks that a small hit of pain now is enough to make me compliant.

When he sees I’m not moving, he goes for the backup plan.

“Devin.” He bellows.

That man, that fucking guard looks at me and I realise that’s his name. Devin Blake. Magnus’s little brother. Though he’s not so damned little, is he?

He comes striding in, grabbing me by the throat and lifting me up like I weigh absolutely nothing at all. He’s so strong. So horrifically strong. I kick out, I scream as he tightens his grip cutting off my airway before he dumps me onto the bed.

My head smashes into the solid wood of the frame. I cry out but it doesn’t stop me from springing back up.

“Hold her down.” Gunther orders.

“No.” I scream. My mother was bad enough. I won’t have this man, this monster touching me, witnessing this, being part of whatever this is.

Gunther tilts his head, his mouth turning into that awful grin I’m hating more than anything else.

“You’ll stop being a bitch?”

I nod. I nod so quickly.

“You’ll stop being an ungrateful little whore?”

“Yes.” The words are barely out of my mouth before Gunther is laughing. I can hear the cruelty in it. I can hear the amusement too.

“Apparently we’ve found your weakness.” He taunts. “Does the big bad guard scare you so much?”

My shoulders hunch at his words. I hate the fact that he knows it, that they both know it. I know I’ve been a fool to reveal that secret. A stupid, stupid fool.

“I’ll be sure to keep him around more.” My husband states as he starts unbuttoning his shirt. “Every time you cause me issues from now on, I’ll know what to do.”

I don’t know what that means. Will he give me to him to use? Will he let that monster hurt me? Or will he simply let him beat me? I gulp back the bile that’s rising so rapidly in my throat. Having Devin here, having him witness this, makes it so much worse.

He’s watching me. His dark, devillike eyes are fixed on me.

I’m stupid enough to look back, to meet his gaze, and when I see the hint of a smirk, it’s all I can do not to shatter entirely.

“Get over here.” Gunther snaps. “Put those pretty little lips around my cock.”

I jump at the tone, moving quickly to obey him.

He’s hard, just as I knew he would be, because Kora is still drugging him, not that it’s working all that well anymore. He taps my mouth expectantly as I kneel before him and I open up, glaring all the same.

He grins, pushing deeper into my mouth, groaning as he slides over my tongue.

“Touch yourself.” He orders.

I balk. My eyes widening as I stare up at him.

That’s forbidden. It’s one of the first rules my mother taught me.

That self-pleasure is not permitted. Sure, she didn’t actually believe it, neither of us did.

And she was kind enough to provide me with toys, clit ones only.

No way was I going to lose my virginity that way, but she ensured I knew what it felt like to feel good.

After all, how could a good wife fake pleasure if she hadn’t experienced pleasure?

Gunther grabs my hair from behind, yanking my head back. With his other hand, he rips the nighty from my body, exposing me entirely.

“Touch yourself. I want to watch you play as you choke on me.”

I shut my eyes, I force back the tears, sliding my hand down between my thighs. I’m not wet. I’m not aroused and most of all, I’m more than aware of the fact that he is still there, still in the room, still watching this.

“That’s it.” Gunther encourages. “Stick your fingers in, I want to hear how turned on you are.”

I do as I’m told, feeling the way my muscles give way, as I slide my own fingers in. it’s curious that even this hurts a little, even as I’m trying to do everything I can to ensure it doesn’t.

His dick is so far down my throat, I have to concentrate on breathing solely through my nose but the stench is enough to make me almost gaga. I can’t decide if this degradation is better or worse than him fucking me. At least this pain is manageable.

He thrusts away into me, and though he’s grunting and groaning, it doesn’t feel right.

He pulls out, shaking his cock and he frowns.

I don’t want to look at him, I don’t want to see his manky old dick.

He’s staring at it like it’s about to fall off.

And then his lips twist.

He tilts his head, and I swear I see it, the moment his eyes change, the moment he goes manic.

“Come here.” He says, not to me, to the guard.

I stiffen, shaking my head as my tears threaten to erupt.

“Please.” I gasp. I haven’t even done anything wrong. I did what he wanted, I did what he asked.

He grins more at me, that awful twisted fucking grin he has that I hate so much.

“Take her, hold her for me…”

I cry out, trying to move, trying to stop this but that monster is so damned quick. Too quick. He must have the devil in his pocket to be the size he is and yet be so bloody agile.

He grabs my neck, grabs my body, holding me down.

Gunther mutters something but I don’t catch what it is. He’s shaking his dick like he’s trying to wake it up. But he’s hard. I can see it. I could damned well feel it too when he was halfway down my throat.

He starts gurgling, saying words that make no sense, before his eyes snap to us. To me and how I’m being held.

“Not like that.” He snaps, pushing me, forcing me backwards, forcing my body to twist over so that my entire spine is stretched out.

I’m on my knees. My legs are splayed but my back is now pulled up and over with my arms holding me down, pined by one of his hands.

Devin keeps his other around my throat, and he has my head right in his groin.

“Better.” My husband says, dragging his fingers all the way down from my cleavage to where my pussy is exposed and waiting for him. “Much better.”

He grabs his cock again, lines himself up and pushes into me.

I can’t keep the cries in. I can’t keep those pitiful sounds to myself.

Can Devin hear it? Can he see?

I shudder as a wave of revulsion creeps right up my spine.

Why does it hurt so much more than when my fingers were inside? Why does it always hurt this much? Surely, I should be used to it by now, my insides should be used to it.

My body is jerking, my tits are bouncing back and forth, as Gunther fucks me and yet, that doesn’t feel the most degrading part. That doesn’t feel the most shameful.

I look up, staring at that beast and he’s looking right back at me, holding my gaze, not even blinking.

I think he really is the devil. I think all of them are, all the Blake’s.

Gunther grunts and fucks a little more and then he comes, panting before he slumps right over, and collapses face first into the duvet.

I don’t move.

Devin doesn’t move.

We’re both here, with him holding me, pressing me into him.

I can hear my husband’s breathing; I can hear the soft sounds that tell me he’s asleep. Is his guard planning on holding me like this, keeping me in this position until he wakes? I can’t stay like it, I can’t, it’s hurting my back too much, it’s killing me.

And worse, so much worse, I can feel his semen, I can feel the remnants of my husband trickling out, working its way down my inner thigh. The very thought of it makes me want to puke, but if I puke in this position, I’ll definitely choke.

“Let me go.” I say, as forcefully as I can.

His lips curl the tiniest of bits. “You don’t give the orders around here.” He says quietly, quieter than I could ever have imagined he could speak.

“Let me go.” I repeat slower, more forcefully.

Only, instead he just tightens his grip around my throat. My eyes widen, I don’t want to react the way I do, but he’s cutting off my airway, suffocating me.

“Gonna stop being a whiney bitch and behave?” He taunts.

I spit at him. Yes, it’s stupid, reckless, but right now I want him to feel my anger, to feel my hate. I want him to realise what a piece of shit he is.

He wipes it off with his shoulder and then opens his mouth to clearly put me in my place except, Gunther grunts, making this weird little squeaking noise as he wakes himself up.

He narrows his eyes, looking from me to the guard.

“You, get the fuck out.” He orders.

I’m dropped instantly. My body slumps into the relative comfort of the bed. Devin’s great mass makes the entire thing dip as he moves to get off it.

My breath feels like it’s rattling in my chest, like I’m so close to imploding now. Gunther grabs my waist, hauling me around and he’s curling up into me, holding me as he pulls the covers over us both.

I shouldn’t do it. I know I shouldn’t, but I steal a glance at him, at Devin as he’s leaving. He’s by the sliding doors. His massive frame engulfing even that. As he crosses the threshold, I swear he pauses and turns to look at me.

And I swear I see it in his eyes. The threat. The warning.

That he will make me pay for that insult. That soon, very soon, he’s going to ensure I do.