In the Land of Gods and Monsters, Part II (Gods & Monsters, #2)

by Jenner, Carmen

  Violet rummages in several drawers before coming back with her loot of lube, condoms, and a Hitachi magic wand. I try to close my legs instantly, because I know how powerful—how agonizing—they can be. She laughs. “You’re not afraid of a little vibration, are you?”

  I shake my head, but I know the opposite is written in my pained expression.

  “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

  “I won’t,” Atticus says, snaking strong arms around my waist and lifting me as his wife unzips his pants and slides his cock free. It’s big, with thick veins and a rosy tip. He groans in my ear as Violet rolls on a condom and covers it with lube. Then she takes her sticky fingers and teases the taut flesh of my ass. Fear and dread are at war inside me. It’s Ares all over again. Why won’t anyone fuck my goddamn pussy?

  Violet plunges her fingers in deep, twisting her hand so that her thumb can stroke my clit. She fucks me fast, the way Ares would, hitting that raised spot inside me that always makes me squirt. My orgasm builds, and just when I think she’s going to let me come, too soon, she withdraws her hand. I whimper.

  “Shh, baby girl.” Atticus’ voice is rough with desire as he says, “You’ll get to come, but I want to feel your hot little ass squeezing my dick when you do.”

  Violet rubs my clit furiously, and I pant, my orgasm building again. So close. I’m so close to coming, but I slam back into the present as Atticus’ hot cock butts up against my ass and he tries to inch inside. I squirm, trying to alleviate some of the tension, wishing they’d just fuck me already and take me to that place where I’m no longer in present-day New York, but instead am floating in the ether.

  My impatience earns me a sharp slap to the clit.

  “You will be patient, and you will behave, baby girl.” Violet’s gaze is cold and cruel.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress. I need it. I need to come.”

  “You come when he says you come,” she chides, teasing my clit with a series of hard pinches. It’s so difficult to keep still and not writhe. Atticus holds me while Violet takes his cock and eases it inside me, working the shaft with her hands. It feels incredible. It hurts, but it’s insanely pleasurable too. He doesn’t give me time to adjust. Instead, his thrust are punishing, brutal, and they drive me closer to orgasm, especially when Violet eases her fingers back inside my pussy and begins stroking my G-spot.

  The moans that come from my mouth are not human, surely not. They’re feral, wild, and all animal. She picks up the Hitachi and turns it on, pressing it hard against my clit. Pleasure and pain meld into one another. My legs shake. My whole body quivers. “Please, Sir, may I come?”

  “No. Just a little more, sweet girl.”

  “Please, I can’t—”

  “Don’t you dare fucking come. Not until I allow it,” he commands, thrusting harder. Violet’s fingers work alongside her husband’s cock, and I can’t help it. I come so hard I squirt all over their hardwood floors.

  “Naughty, naughty girl.” His hand wraps around my throat as he thrusts deeper in my ass. “Our needy little slut should be punished for that. Don’t you agree, Violet?”

  “Oh, yes, Boss.” She nods and vigorously pumps her fingers in and out of my body. “She really shouldn’t be allowed to get away with disobeying orders.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so . . . oh, oh god, I’m going to come again.”

  “You come,” he groans in my ear, “and you do so with the knowledge that afterward your ass will be red raw.”

  “Yes, Sir. I look forward to it.” The pressure builds within me. Atticus squeezes my throat, cutting off my air. My heart races, fear carves out a hollow in my chest as I remember all the ways Ares choked me, beat me, tortured me.

  “Don’t be afraid, he won’t hurt you. It just makes the orgasm more intense,” Violet says, as she puts the Hitachi back on my clit. My eyes roll in my head, and a silent scream rips from my throat.

  “Your ass is so fucking tight. I plan to bury myself in here as often as I can.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I mutter but I don’t know if it’s audible. I don’t know anything anymore. All I know is the pleasure in my body, and the torment in my heart. Ares set me free, and I hate him. With everything I am, I hate him.

  I wish he could see me now. His perfect little pet, fucking not just one new Master but two. I hope he’s miserable. He never should have let me go. He should have taken me away from this life, from his brother, and from the auction where he’d intended to sell me. I hate that he let me go.

  “He’s a fucking idiot,” Atticus says. And I realize that I just said that out loud. “He was a fool to let you go, little ballerina, but his stupidity is our reward.”

  Tears prick my eyes and spill over my lashes as Atticus comes in my ear, his brutal thrusts pulling another orgasm from me. My new Mistress licks my pussy, tonguing the place where her husband and I are joined, and as I come all over the polished floors of their office for a third time, I vow to forget my Sir like he’s no doubt forgotten me.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Pet

  The comedown has always been the worst part. I can’t control my emotions. I’m a shivery, quivering mess. I don’t fall into that dark and beautiful abyss that I always found with Ares. I don’t find my oblivion. Only more heartache, more feelings, and I hate them all.

  And when Atticus pulls out of me and lifts me from his lap, I crumple to the floor, kneeling in the mess we made. I cry, and Violet strokes my body as Atticus brushes my hair out of my face.

  “I know this must be hard for you, so I’ll give you a minute to recover, but then I want you over my knee.”

  I nod, but I can’t meet his gaze.

  “Violet, clean up your Sir.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  I stare at them in confusion as Violet slides the condom off her husband, ties the end, and discards it in the trash. Then she wanders over to the en suite and pulls a washcloth from the countertop. Soaking it under the faucet, she returns and cleans his cock. Violet wanders to the basin and comes back with a new cloth. I bring my knees into my chest, suddenly self-conscious as she runs the warm fabric between my legs. Ares bathed me like this once. Having someone else do it now feels wrong.

  Atticus leans forward and takes my chin in his hand, tilting my face up to his. “When was your last spanking?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

  “At a guess, little ballerina.”

  “Three . . . three weeks. I think. I can’t remember exactly. Every day without him . . . with his beatings . . . has run into another.”

  “Thank you for being honest with me, Camille. I’m going to hit you five times for every orgasm you took without permission. I like to use my hand. It will hurt a lot. But if it gets to be too much, use your safe word. You remember it, don’t you?”

  I nod.

  “I need to hear it, baby girl. What’s your safe word?”

  “Swan.”

  “Swan. Good.”

  He points to his knee. “Now, it’s time for you climb onto my knee and take your punishment like a good girl.”

  “Yes ... Sir.” I almost can’t bring myself to call him that. He’s not my Sir, Ares is.

  I crawl across the floor and stand, then I fold myself over Atticus’ lap.

  Violet grabs my ankles, spreading them apart. “Show us that beautiful cunt, baby girl. I want to see it dripping with need.”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “She’s so good.” Violet strokes the back of my thighs, gently raking her nails over my skin. “How did an angel like her land in our laps, Sir?”

  “Technically, she’s in my lap, and her squirming is making me hard again.”

  “Will you fuck her again afterward?”

  “If she wants me to. Though I’d love nothing more than to see you fucking her.”

  “Hmm, that would be fun.” Violet’s accompanying sigh is wistful and dreamy. “I’m going to play with her clit between each blow.”

  “Whatever makes you happy,
darling.”

  “I love you, Sir.”

  “I love you too, Violet.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to her striking hair. “Now stop talking. You’re distracting me, and our little ballerina needs a spanking. Don’t you?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I want you to count, Camille.”

  I nod, but before I can verbally acknowledge his request, his hand comes down on my ass.

  It’s not hard. It’s a warmup slap. He’s getting me used to the sensation before he really works up to something brutal.

  “One, Sir.”

  “Good.”

  “Two.”

  Slap.

  “Three.”

  Slap, slap, slap.

  “Four.”

  I’m panting and writhing in his lap. I fling my hand back to ease the sting of the next blow, but he interlocks his fingers with mine, folding my arm behind my back and keeping it steady. He leans into the beating, his heavy forearm holding me down while the other hand smacks my ass.

  I count. I count and I long for that sweet abyss to swallow me up, but it doesn’t. I close my eyes and squirm as Violet touches me between slaps. I swivel my hips, trying to both get away from his painful beating and the infuriating pressure on my clit. I hate this feeling. I love this feeling. I love being held down. I love the attention, and if I close my eyes and block out the sounds of Atticus and Violet, I can almost imagine it’s my Sir’s hand punishing me, bruising me, marking me as his while he brings me to the brink.

  When I get to fifteen, I’m a mess. Sweat sticks to my skin. My flesh burns where Atticus has spanked me, but I’m pliant and half-dazed when he pulls me from his lap and walks me to the leather bed at the end of the room.

  “I think we broke her,” Violet says, tucking the hair back from my ear. The leather is cool against my flaming skin, though the scratchy stitching hurts. I writhe against the itch and then Atticus rolls me over and begins smearing my hot flesh with a cool salve.

  “We didn’t break her, love, but she needs rest. We have to pace ourselves.”

  “Thank you, Sir.” My tongue is thick in my mouth, my speech slurred. There’s nothing like the high of a good, hard spanking.

  “It’s my pleasure, sweet girl.”

  “Okay, that’s it,” Violet says, throwing her hands up in an overly animated gesture. “We are definitely keeping her.”

  Atticus chuckles, and I laugh too. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. It’s more than I’ve been capable of in weeks. I miss him. God, how I miss him. Tears roll down my cheeks to pool on the leather. I didn’t even know I was crying, but eventually a sob tears free, and then they don’t stop.

  Violet strokes the hair away from my cheek. She climbs on top of me, straddling my hips and lying down against my back. She’s tiny, so it’s not as if her weight is crushing me. I like the comfort it brings, and my tears finally stop.

  Atticus climbs onto the bed beside us. He’s still fully dressed in his sharp grey three-piece suit. His hair is perfectly quaffed—if a little sweaty—but not a single strand has fallen out of place, despite the hard fucking and hearty beatings to both me and his wife. “You’re very enchanting, little ballerina.”

  But not enchanting enough to keep.

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “I fear you’ll be a danger to me and my wife.”

  I frown and study his face. Mistress Violet presses soft kisses to my neck. She’s still straddling my back, and gently rocking her hips against my ass. It’s arousing, but I have no desire to come again so soon. “How so, Sir?”

  “We have a tendency to love broken things.”

  “And what do you do with them, Sir?”

  He exhales, a long, slow breath. “We destroy them.”

  I swallow hard and search his gaze, praying he’s not serious.

  “And then we remake them,” Violet whispers. She’s stroking my hair, and silence falls thick and heavy around us.

  Atticus takes his wife’s hand and kisses it. She slides off my back and climbs over him. He looks up at her with so much adoration in his gaze. It’s beautiful and devastating all at once. Ares used to look at me like that.

  This couple is so strange, so enigmatic. I feel like it’s only a matter of minutes before they cast me out too because I’m a slave. I’m nothing. My own Master whom I loved, whom I still love, discarded me like trash. Why should two people I’ve only just met show me anything different?

  CHAPTER TEN

  Pet

  One week later, I stand outside the theatre where I danced my first and last principle role as the Swan Queen. It’s been months since my debut as Odette, months since I set foot in a ballet studio. I’m afraid to try, lest I’ve forgotten how.

  There’s a new ballet showing now, The Sleeping Beauty. Dimitri is playing the principle role of Prince Désiré. I promised I would come see him. Tonight was supposed to be that night, but as I stand outside the theatre looking up at the twelve-foot banners lining the foyer, I can’t bring myself to go in.

  It’s too soon.

  I don’t remember my abduction, but the reports show this is the place where Ares first took me. I stand at the entrance of the theatre, one of many in New York, but it isn’t just a theatre. It runs much deeper than that. This theatre is the gateway to a world I’ve been locked out of. If I enter, he won’t be there. If I enter, I won’t be reunited with my Sir. This place and the house on W 47th are the only two portals that might have led back to him, but there is another way to enter that world—I’ve just been avoiding it. Since my first encounter with Atticus and Violet, both shame and guilt have kept me away.

  He set me free, so why does it feel like I’m cheating on him every time I give my body to someone else?

  You’re mine. You will always be mine. I want you to remember that.

  I remember. It seems he’s the one who forgot.

  I turn away from the theatre and hail a cab, and I don’t look back.

  ***

  I’m overdressed. Way, way overdressed for sub, I realize, as I stand outside looking at the neon sign and the blank-faced security guard.

  “You know, most people have to enter the building before they find reason to stare.”

  A humorless laugh escapes me. “It’s Tony, right?”

  He nods. “It is.”

  “I don’t know if you remember me, but—”

  “I’m under strict instruction from the Mistress and Master to grant you immediate entry.”

  “You are?”

  “Just said as much, didn’t I?”

  A smile creeps over my face, and I bite my lip to hide it. “Are they mad?”

  Atticus had suggested I visit them every Tuesday and Thursday. It is now Friday, a whole week since I’ve seen them, and I’ve missed both appointments.

  “Does it look like anyone confides in me? I just man the door, lady.”

  “Okay then, I’ll just . . .” I motion to the stairs, and he steps aside. I descend and exhale a long deep breath before opening the door.

  Inside, there are people everywhere in various states of kink attire and undress. I make my way to the bar and wait for the man in front of me to be done ordering. Once he moves past, the bartender—a gorgeous Asian man with a spectacular jawline—grins when he finally looks up from the cocktail glass he’s putting on a rack.

  “Hello, fresh meat.” He leans over the bar and playfully yanks on a lock of my hair. “Are you playing tonight? Because I get off in an hour, and I’d happily get you off too.”

  “Playing?”

  He raises a brow, as if the words were self-explanatory. “You do know you’re in a kink club, right?”

  “Right. I’m ah . . . I’m here to see Violet and Atticus.”

  “Who isn’t?” He straightens, as if I’m a lost cause. “Well, you’re in luck with at least one of them. Mistress Violet’s just about to go on.”

  “Go on? Is she . . .” I trail off at the man’s “Oh, honey, how are you this clueles
s?” expression.

  “You’ve never seen her perform, have you?”

  Not in public. “No.”

  “Then you’re gonna need a stiff drink to whet your appetite.” He grabs a glass and pulls a bottle of whiskey from the shelf lining the wall behind the bar. “Here. Drink this to bolster your courage. If you’re planning on playing later, you’ll need a yellow wristband. We don’t allow heavy drinking and playtime at sub. It’s one or the other.”

  I sip the whiskey, and press the cool glass to my flaming cheek. “Then I guess I need a yellow band.”

  He rewards me with a crooked smile and snaps a yellow bracelet around my wrist. “Good girl.”

  The lights dim, and the music starts. I don’t know the piece, but once the melancholy vocals begin, I recognize the voice from a song I heard on MTV this week. Lana Del Ray. The curtain goes up on a circular stage in the middle of the room. I didn’t notice it on my last visit. Then again, I was following Violet through the club, so who could blame me for not noticing anything but the deliberate sway of her hips and her voluptuous curves in her velvet dress?

  Much like now. Violet is draped over an ornate emerald green chaise. It’s shaped like a Tantra chair with a high, rounded back that forces her breasts forward as she lounges. She’s dressed in only a nude lace corset beaded with crystals that catch the light, stockings, and suspenders. Even her crystal-encrusted heels are flesh toned. Her purple hair is set in 1940s old Hollywood waves, and her dark plum lips are just as kissable as they were the last time I was here. Desire arcs through me as I remember those lips on my pussy, licking my clit and tracing the place where her husband’s flesh met mine as he pumped into me.

  Violet moves around the stage, all fluid grace and sex on legs. She takes off her corset, teasing the audience in time with the music. When the lyrics talk about putting on a show for her Daddy, Violet drapes her body over the chaise again and artfully loses her stockings and heels, discarding them on the stage floor where the thigh-highs are snatched up by eager audience members. She swings her hips to the beat and removes her corset and strapless bra. The crowd roars as her natural breasts are exposed, and she toys with the tassels on her pasties.