by S. A. Parker
And my vagina just woke the fuck up, because he referred directly to her. She fucking loves that shit. Plus, it was this man who broke her in, who gave the bitch her first orgasm.
She hates him, but at the same time, she loves him, because she’s a trillion levels of fucked up.
She dampens herself for him, picking up where Aero’s display left her earlier.
Kroe sucks in a sharp breath. “She’s missed me, hasn’t she? She’s so ready for me already …”
Fuck my life. Fuck my vagina. Fuck everything.
I’m contradicting myself right now and I don’t fucking care, because I’m experiencing some serious identity trauma. Do I give in and enjoy this man? It’s what he wants, even if he is about a million levels of fucked up himself.
I look over to the clock on the mantle as my juices continue to flow … two hours until midnight. Two hours to get this man well and truly fucked.
You can do this, Dell, even if you hate yourself for it for the rest of your very short life.
‘Forgive me, Aero.’ I wish he couldn’t hear all this …
I set the bitch loose, tilting my hips and exposing myself to him fully.
My vagina dribbles all over herself—she loves the fact that I’m playing along. But I’m not just playing along anymore … I’m doing this just as much as she is. Because I hate this man, but I also fucking love him …
“Fuck, Dell … you’ve never been so ready for me before.” He slips his fingers through my folds, paying special attention to my clit. My hips begin their own rise and fall, a responding beat to his rhythm.
He’s right, I haven’t.
I’ve just crossed a line I swore I never would. Problem was, I hadn’t realised I was already so far over that line and living in total ignorance, pretending I wasn’t quite as fucked up as I’m now positive I am.
I can’t find my beast anywhere—perhaps I’ve scared her off? I hope she turns up later, I’m going to need her tonight.
Tilting my hips further, I show Kroe exactly what my vagina’s craving, and he obliges, slipping his fingers into me in a gentle, thrusting motion that soothes my insides while softly building that surging wave of pleasure.
“You smell so sweet. I love fucking you with my fingers. Do you like this?”
A small moan escapes my lips.
He pulls his fingers out, licks them, and slips them back inside me in one smooth, subtle motion. It’s almost too much for my little courtesan mind to manage.
“You taste so good. I can taste how close you are to coming for me. I want to put my tongue inside you, lick you straight from the pot …”
Does he mean my vagina? Nobody’s ever done that to me before …
Fucking hell.
That’s exactly where I’m going—hell. Because I’m fucking enjoying this. He’s never been so tender with me, never. I wish he’d be rough, it’s easier for me to hate him when he’s rough.
His fingers withdraw but then his mouth is upon me. I gasp into the sheets, clenching them in my fists while he works me over with his tongue like he knows what the fuck he’s doing. I don’t know what to make of it because my vagina loves it, but my heart’s screaming for him to stop. For this monster to stop doing this intimate fucking thing to me.
He thrusts his tongue inside me, lapping me up before shifting his attention to my clit, suckling it delicately, flicking it with his tongue …
I can’t take this much longer. My plan was to fuck him into a pulp, not the other way around, while he also fucks with my head.
He needs to stop this. He fucks rough; he needs to put his penis in me and slap me back to reality before I lose both my testicles and my mind in one foul swoop.
“Fuck me, Kroe. Put your fucking cock inside me!” I just spoke out of turn, but he doesn’t seem to care as he devours me with renewed vigour, my hips rising from the bed for him as I thrust myself into his face, because my mind may know what needs to happen here but my body’s too busy enjoying herself.
The heat is building, a flame in my core spreading further with each thrust, each pump of his tongue … until I can’t hold on any longer.
I moan like the monster I am as the orgasm tears through my body, curling my toes and conscience, right before I shed a fucking tear.
Fuck this man, I fucking hate him. I do … but he loves me in his own sick and twisted way, the only way he probably knows how to love.
He’s sliding into me and I groan as my still clenching channel shifts to accommodate him. Thankfully, he starts to fuck me like he always has; hard, fast, and painfully as food and cutlery scatter across the floor. He even smacks me around a bit to remind me he’s still the same old sardine eating prick.
My vagina loves it because she’s a randy hoe who has a kink for being conquered, but I fucking hate it. And that’s the important thing.
But as the orgasms tear through my body, one by one … as I put on the best fucking act of my entire life to keep him going for longer than ever, until he’s so spent that he can barely form coherent speech, I start to think that it’s not Kroe I actually hate …
It’s me.
Later, as Kroe snores soundly beside me, I hear the distant sound of scraping … as though a loosened bar is being removed from a grate. I picture the girls climbing one by one through the gap—one, two, three … on and on until I hear another sound, similar to the first but with more urgency this time, more of a thrust than a grind.
They’re rushing now, with freedom but a breath away.
I lay still, my nerves thickening, rolling against my conscience as I picture what it is I’m about to do.
Shifting my hand beneath the mattress, I run my finger along the hilt of the blade.
Fuck.
Part of me had hoped it wouldn’t be there—the fucked up part of me that’s bound to the man lying next to me.
But no, Leila pulled through. The girls trusted her, more than they’ve ever trusted me.
She did this, not me. Leila … she’s a true leader.
Me … right now? I’m a broken mess.
I need my beast, but she’s abandoned me altogether.
Fuck you beast, my vagina pulled through, why can’t you?
Sliding the blade from beneath the mattress, I urge it into my palm, having to move slowly, working around Kroe’s hand that’s clamped on my wrist. Quick movements could wake him, then I’d be dead. Instead of him.
Slow, so fucking slow …
The blade shines in the light of the stars, glinting as I bring it down to his throat.
He looks so peaceful in his sleep … I could almost lead myself to believe he’s kind. That he cares about me in the way I always wished he had, rather than the way that came easy to him.
Do it Dell, fucking do it.
My hand’s trembling. A tear paves a trail down my cheek. Moving the blade closer to his throat, I grit my teeth to prevent them from chattering, holding my breath as my entire body listens to my fucking heart, which is crying out like I’m about to murder her.
I close my eyes, sending more tears scattering down my cheeks.
Fuck you, heart. Fuck you.
Slowly, so slowly, I return the blade to its spot beneath the mattress.
A silhouette, tall, strong, familiar, stands at the open balcony doors.
Drake.
I shake my head and another tear slides down my cheek, a rush of relief enveloping me as I lower myself back to the pillow.
I’ve used myself time and again, my perception of myself slowly fragmenting with every conscious decision to play the fucking part.
This is where I belong.
Drake doesn’t step inside the room, but he does stand there, with me, until I finally fall asleep.
Chapter Eight
The first thing I notice when Kroe drags me downstairs by my wrist, after receiving a frantic message from one of the guards that sent him flying out of bed naked, is that there aren’t any girls around.
He’s still pullin
g on his pants. Me, however, I’m butt naked. Not even my scar is hidden, though I’ve been forced to become a bit desensitised to that lately.
Bleary-eyed guards rush from dorm room to dorm room in search of all of Kroe’s missing vaginas. Good luck, fuckers, they’re long gone by now. Kroe wouldn’t risk reporting it either, not after that very poignant warning to ‘keep his bitches on a tighter leash’ at my public whipping.
They eventually find twelve girls, perhaps ones who were too afraid to leave, or who were too far gone to survive the trip. Some of the girls might actually enjoy it here, I guess that’s also a possibility—everyone has their own kinks. I just hope they weren’t left behind by accident.
I’d been silently hoping to be the only one left; the Captain Vagina who goes down with the ship, or some shit.
Heroic, I know.
Kroe continues to curse the guards who look like they’re still half asleep.
I’m barely hearing anything right now, barely registering time passing. I think a part of me is dying, maybe an important part.
At some point he drags me up the stairs, into his bedroom, stands me up against the wall and, without warning, backhands me across the face, the emerald ring he wears on his ‘fuck you’ finger slicing along my cheek.
I grab at my face, reeling from the assault.
He’s panting as he lifts my chin with a harsh hand, straining my neck, forcing me to look him in the eye and huffing gross morning breath all over my face. “What do you know?”
I just want this to be over. I’m fucking done.
“They’re long gone,” I purr.
He lifts his hand to hit me again and at the same time a gush of blood red vomit sprays from my mouth, cascading like a waterfall to the perfectly white carpet. He kicks my legs out from under me and I fall face first into it. I feel the press of his knees on my lower back and the vicious tug of his hand in my hair, arching my neck away from the ground. Then the sharp sensation of a blade on my throat.
This is it, it’s all lead to this.
There’s an urgent knock on the door; loud and demanding. “Sir, members of the High Legion are here to speak with you. They found something you might find of interest.”
We don’t move for a second. Two. Three. Ten. Then he’s pulling the knife away, getting off my back. I’m gasping for air, trying not to pass out even though right now, that would be really fucking lovely.
“I’ll deal with you later.” He drags me to my feet, through to the bathroom, where he wets a cloth and dabs at my face, wiping most of the blood away with a deft hand. I wish he would leave it, it’s the only thing I’ve got covering me now, providing me with any sense of dignity.
He leads me down the stairs, towards the two waiting legionnaires with their red fucking wings puckered high, amongst a sea of men who are all fighting for the rights of the twelve vaginas left in the establishment. The girls are going to be tired by the end of the day … we all are. A small hoard of sleepy vaginas.
“Kroe, a camel has been reported roaming Hind Meadow,” says the blonde one with piercing green eyes. “It was stacked high with supplies and contraband clothing. Do you have any idea about what it might’ve been used for?”
I’m trying to speak, because a quick death would be better than a drawn out one, and these legionaries would certainly provide that if I admit to being responsible for the loss of so many women, but I can’t fucking talk! I can’t even open my mouth …
I know this feeling; I’ve had it before. Sol’s here, and he’s preventing me from talking my way into an early grave.
Bastard.
“We know nothing of that, sir. Have you checked some of the smaller establishments?”
“No, we thought we’d come to you first because you usually have your finger on the pulse of this city. Where are all your girls?”
Kroe looks around casually. “We had an outbreak, so I’ve sent all who were showing any symptoms into quarantine, just to be safe. I hate the thought of my herd of whores spreading any diseases about.”
The legionaries nod, though the one on the left—who looks more like a black-haired bulldog, has a sinister gleam in his eyes as they catch on a small, red-haired girl with a limp, pouring drinks for the men. That’s when I notice Kal, drinking in the corner and looking like a fucking regular, though he’s staring at me, his sapphire eyes sombre. His beer looks like it lost its head long ago.
How long has he been sitting there for, I wonder? Surely, he has better things to do, tending to his hoard of exotic females and what not; they looked like a full-time job to me. No wonder they get all hot and heady with each other, Kal’s spreading his penis duties much too thinly.
“Do one of my girls take your fancy, sir?” Kroe purrs.
That got my fucking interest.
“The small red-headed one over there.”
Kroe nods. “She’s yours, with my compliments.”
He turns his attention to me. “Make yourself useful and drag the red-headed wench out from behind the bar.”
Fuck.
I take a step towards her, but Kroe grabs my fucking arm, halting me in my tracks. “Answer me!”
Someone’s in a mood this morning. I guess he’s a bit sad he lost most of his pet vaginas. I swivel to face him, try to speak but … my mouth’s glued fucking shut.
Oh … shit.
I make some weird muffled sound that has Kroe practically searing, hand tightening around my bicep. My eyes dart about nervously, I shuffle, pretend to scratch and then finally, my lips part dramatically and I can fucking speak again. “Yes, sir,” I croak.
Kroe’s fist clenches at his side and he jerks his chin in the direction of the girl. “Go. Get the man his whore.” He drops his hand, leaving a bright red stain on my skin. I turn my attention back towards that mop of fiery hair.
She’s small … fragile. Her eyes are red rimmed, deep smudges beneath them that she’s tried to conceal with too much powder. She has the look of someone who’s lost the will to fight.
Goddammit.
I don’t have the energy for another moral dilemma right now—I honestly think another one would destroy me. I’ve been with one of the red-winged bastards, and I can’t let her go through that … because it would kill her in ways it possibly wouldn’t kill me. Though my mind’s on death’s door, my body seems to cope with physical abuse better than most.
I walk to the bar, towards the young girl.
Towards Kal.
He watches me draw near, gaze not once roaming my naked body. It’s admirable, it really is. Even though he looks like any regular fucker in this establishment, even though he’s dressed like one … he isn’t one.
He’s my God of the fucking Night.
And I have one wish left.
One.
“I wish for you to fuck the red-haired girl whose standing behind the bar, now, as yourself, the God of Night,” I mumble, not loud enough for anyone around me to hear, but loud enough for the fucking god right there to hear with his divine hearing abilities.
His olive skin turns a sickly shade of grey, eyes widening, studying me while I continue to stride naked towards the bar, towards the girl I just wished for him to bang.
I’m the best fucking wing-woman ever, these guys really should appreciate me for that. I’ve gotten at least two of them laid in the past twelve hours, and that’s pretty fucking impressive considering my current circumstances. They should call me Cupid and give me a sexy little slingshot for me to shoot my whore bolts about.
I swear I look positively savage right now—perfect because if I’m walking to my death, I want to look badass doing it. My scar is on show for all to see, the one from the culling of my uterus, and I’m fucking owning it. I’m a survivor, not a victim. I made it this far and managed to save some lives along the way. Even so, I wish I had some of Kal’s shit kicking boots on. They’d really give me the ultimate badass hip swing to finish off the look.
A warm wash floods over me and I feel the
proverbial weight lift from my shoulders, because I’ve done my part. I’ve used all my wishes and I’m no longer dragging the wish chain. It’s up to the men now.
There’s a flash of light just before I reach the bar. Kal disappears, reappearing next to Kroe, wearing his sexy fucking god gear that’s all black and shiny. The entire room gasps then instantly bows, including me this time. It’s nice not to be tied between two giant erect cocks for a change.
Kal signals for everyone to rise as Kal and Kroe exchange words I can’t hear, but all I’m really watching is the legionnaire’s bulldog face as he scans the crowd, no doubt searching for another vagina who might tickle his pickle. He looks a little fucked off, though he’s hiding it well. But I know men. I know their tells …
He likes small feeble women, like the scared little red-haired over there, the one Kal’s now leading up the staircase, into his own private room.
Don’t vomit. Don’t vomit. Don’t vomit.
Suddenly there’s a man standing before me, a swath of white hair … a pair of pale blue eyes I know.
Sol—he’s well disguised, tight jawed, fists clenched and shaking. His canines are extending longer than usual, coming down just shy of the bottom of his lower lip.
It’s the first time I’ve looked in his eyes since the whipping, since I wished for him to bring me back to this shit hole in the first place.
My heart almost pounces out of my chest.
Fuck.
‘I’m sorry,’ I mouth, ignoring the way his eyes widen as he lurches forward to grab me, before I take off through the crowd, because if that legionnaire notices another vagina before he notices me, then I’m all out of fucking luck. She’d probably die, because they’re brutal as shit and the only vaginas left here are ones who wouldn’t be able to stand the abuse, let alone survive it.
Working my way around the back of the crowd, I somehow avoid receiving an unsanctioned penis in my naked vulva, before I pop out behind the legionnaire and ‘tumble’ into his back like a fucking pansy, sending his wings fluttering outwards as he stumbles towards Kroe.
I peer up at him with frightened eyes, feebly pawing the air as I try to stand upright.