“Fuck!” The word spat out as he pushed deep, tightening his grip in her hair, cock pulsing in her throat as he came in twitching jerks, only able to taste him when he finally eased back. Appeased for a moment, hands still wound in her hair but no longer painful.
A fleeting reprieve.
She gentled the movement of her tongue against his softening flesh, swallowed again and again in an aching throat as he pulled his hips back, letting her mouth play with the flared head for a second or two longer — but that was all he gave her.
When he pulled himself free and wrenched her head backwards, she tried to avoid his eyes, but they filled the full frame of her vision and she knew closing her eyelids would only make him angry. Danielle couldn’t have described herself in that moment, couldn’t remember a time before this place where she might have done this for someone who cared about her.
At least she knew how to suck cock.
Like riding a bike… even though she couldn’t quite remember if she’d ever ridden one.
One hand released her hair, a thumb plucking at her lips again as he smiled. “I’ve missed that,” he hummed, tilting his head a little as he smeared more drool and traces of his seed across her chin. “Tell me, do you scream as well as you whine around a cock in your throat?”
Had she whined? It had been unconscious if she had, but she knew he didn’t really want an answer.
“Will you scream for me?” His fingers tightened on her chin, and she nodded. No use in lying. “Speak.”
He actually wanted her to answer?
It took a hard swallow to make her voice work, but she finally forced out a whispered, “Yes, sir.”
A groan left him, and his fist ripped her head back further by her hair, the sting spreading fast across her scalp to meet the ache in her neck. Then he leaned forward to hover his face above hers. “Say it again.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Nice,” he growled and then shoved her backward by the grip on her chin. She caught herself on one elbow, wondering if he was done with her, but it didn’t last as he stood and grabbed her other arm in a rough grip. Without a word, he dragged her over the floor. Knees, shins, feet scraped against the rough wood, helpless sounds dripping from her bruised lips as she tried not to fight.
Fighting makes it worse.
Fighting makes them hit you first.
She may not have the memories of her life back, but her memories of Eden were complete, and getting kicked in the ribs wasn’t something you forgot easily. Nor was a hard slap, or the impact of a fist into the soft, yielding flesh of an empty belly.
When he dropped her to the floor, she caught herself just enough that her face didn’t hit, and then she stayed still. Listened, eyes studying the grains in the wood, the tiny pale dot that could have been dust or a piece of lint embedded just beneath her.
“You know what I miss most? From before all of this shit?” His tone was disturbingly conversational, even as she heard the rattle of chain being gathered.
This was one of those times he didn’t actually want an answer.
“Coffee. Fuck. Do you remember coffee? Cream and sugar with that bitter aftertaste that you still craved day after fucking day?” The man was musing aloud as she cowered on the floor, painstakingly drawing her limbs in inch-by-inch so as not to draw too much attention. Unable to remember the flavor of coffee, even though she knew what it was. The color of it, the look, like a picture from a book. “I used to drink a few cups before I even got dressed. It made it all more bearable. The everyday shit.”
Heavy boots moved closer and she flinched, one leg jerking upward to protect her belly, chin tucking against her chest. Still just a pathetic mammal at the core, shielding vital points from a predator.
“I used to think about coffee a lot. Coffee, and fucking.” The reinforced toe of his boot pressed against a kidney with a nudge, as if to point out she wasn’t safe.
Like she could have forgotten that.
“At least I can still get one fix, right?” Still so conversational, even as he grabbed her hair in a fist and forced her upright. She yelped as he shoved her into the wall, breasts crushed against it until her ribs felt the weight of his hand pushing between her shoulders. “Don’t move.”
The pressure eased as he moved to her side, wrapping coils of clattering chain around one wrist before securing it and attaching it to the hook high above her head. Danielle was a touch too short for it to be comfortable, and he could have given her another link or two of slack if he’d cared at all, but instead he just repeated the process with her other arm.
On her toes, she already winced at the strain in her calves, the pain of the metal grinding against the bones of her wrists, even though she knew this was nothing.
Knew the second he began gathering her hair up to tie it off that she’d keep her promise to him.
She would scream.
It was the first whisper of leather behind her that made her body jerk. An involuntary reaction, a surge of fear, muscles tensing in preparation, fists clenching.
And then the world distorted with agony, lungs so stunned she made no sound at all as fire ripped across her back and her eyes squeezed so tight she saw flares of purple and green. Another crack of the whip lanced over her shoulder, and she choked on air as she cried out.
“You can do better than that,” he taunted, and then he whipped her again, and again, and again, and somewhere in the midst of mind-consuming anguish she had screamed — was still screaming.
Danielle felt her flesh split, legs giving out so that the crush of chain held her aloft, threatening to break her wrists even as the first warm trail of blood marked its way down her back, finding the groove of her spine.
He barely even paused.
Another wicked slash, another scream that tore her throat, more wet spilling down her back. Only aware of it as the air cooled it on her skin. Everything else was pain, brutal and unforgiving as she went limp, as her ears turned the crack of the whip and her own cries to a buzzing hum.
Black was closing in, blacker than the darkness behind closed eyes, and she leaned into it, pleaded for it in the scraps of thought she was capable.
Somewhere she heard the echo of a soothing voice reading aloud, felt the heat of fire instead of the burning lashes, and then she remembered thunder.
But it wasn’t thunder.
The booms that shook the floor, rattled the windows, filled the daylight with black smoke… grew louder, came closer, turned into earthquakes, and screaming, and rubble.
* * *
“Ungh!” Her voice was a grunt, guttural and choking, but it wasn’t because of smoke and dust. It was because he was on top of her, inside her, and the pain in her back was all-consuming as he thrust and rocked her against the coarse sheet. She was awake, just enough to feel everything. Including the throbbing ache between her thighs as he forced her wide, knees bent towards her shoulders. A weak cry left her, and he growled in satisfaction, fucking her harder, grinding her bloody back into the thin mattress so that the pain amplified, crescendoed, and colors swarmed on the insides of her eyelids.
“Stay awake, Danielle. It’s so much nicer with you awake.” His head lowered, beard scraping against her cheek, her neck, and then she felt his tongue moving warm and wet over her shoulder. The dark was close, this torture too much for consciousness, but he kept talking, words buzzing against her ear. “You feel good… yeah… scream again…”
Teeth clamped down where her neck curved and she did scream, weak and pathetic, body jerking as his jaw tightened, until the pain blurred with the rest of it and she felt her mind wobble. There, and then not, then back for another thrust, and then she was slipping into the dark.
Mouth against hers, tongue invading, teeth nipping her lip sharply — thankfully not enough to pull her out of the slide. Even his words meant nothing in the haze of pain.
“I’m going to keep fucking you until they take you.” A hard drive, fingers digging into the tender flesh behind
one knee. “A blood-soaked mess, covered in my seed.”
Okay. No argument as everything dissolved.
Why would she care what he did with her body?
Chapter 3
It was the chill that woke her, the water around her long bereft of its warmth — if it had ever been warm at all. Sometimes the heating vats broke down and there was only frigid water, but at least it was water. Sliding further down the sunken table she dipped her lips into the cool and drank slowly.
Another lesson she’d learned in Eden. Drinking too fast after a baptism only made her choke, vomit, but it still felt good to sate the thirst.
“This one is awake.” A male voice that promised more pain if she didn’t behave. There were plenty of things they could do to her without leaving a mark. Carefully, she took in a large mouthful of water just before they started to raise the table. She held it on her tongue as the cold water flowed off her, making her even colder as the air hit her skin. The table clicked and jerked until it finally stopped, but she stayed still, letting the liquid trickle down her throat in small swallows.
Not too much. Not too fast.
It would be worthless if she threw it all up, and then they would be angry because they’d have to clean it up. Everything was simpler if she never made mistakes. Not better, but simpler. The man to her right grabbed her shoulder, roughly rolling her onto her side to run a rough hand across her back. “All good. Mark her down.”
“Got it,” the other man replied, removing the belt across her waist with a flick of his wrist. “Take her to room four.”
That rough hand wrapped around her arm, pulling her upright, and she climbed down from the table without being asked. Dripping with water, she shivered. Pinpricks of pain stabbed at her numb feet as she walked stiffly beside the man wearing plain gray clothes.
Out of the baptism baths, into the hall, two doors down. Room four.
The man rapped his knuckles against the wood, his grip adjusting on her arm but not letting go. As if she would run when there was nowhere to run. No real memory of a safe place she might want to run toward.
The door opened and she stared at the hem of the priest’s robe as he spoke. “Thank you, my child, you may go.”
As soon as she was released, Danielle walked into the room and took her place on the chair. Knees together, hands in her lap, head bowed, still shivering, still dripping water onto the floor around her.
This was the most difficult part of it all. The rules within the insanity. It was almost easier when she performed service, because at least then there was no pretty lie over everything. No formality. Just pain and sex. Just a body. Simple.
“God has chosen you to be baptized and reborn again, my child. What do you say?”
“Thank you, God, for your grace and your love.” It was a memorized script. One she wasn’t even sure the priest in front of her believed, but wrong answers were not allowed.
“How do you give your thanks?” he asked.
“With all of my self, father.” Danielle’s teeth chattered behind lips pressed hard together to keep the sound to herself. Soon she would be on a cot, covered in the thin blanket until they summoned her again. As long as she played her role, she would have a moment to rest.
“Good. Through suffering you may find absolution.” He paused, and she could feel his eyes on her as another shiver raced through her muscles. “Now, what do you want, my child?”
To burn this place to the ground.
“To serve in whatever way God needs me to serve,” she answered, even though her throat seemed to protest the words and the lie came out tight, strained.
The subtle flicking of paper filled the air for a moment and she worried he’d caught her hesitation, but then he spoke. “Good. You’re looking thin, would you like to eat?”
All thoughts of sleeping on a cot disappeared. This was wrong. The next line was, ‘Then you shall serve God in Eden until he calls you home.’ None of the priests had ever broken the script before, and how many times had she sat in one of these chairs?
“You may answer, my child.”
Is this a trick?
“Yes, father.” Of course, she wanted food. She’d felt hunger for so long she barely noticed it anymore. Meals were infrequent, random, and always the same. Gray and grainy and tasteless.
“God wants you healthy in your service to him. I will ensure you are fed.” He paused for a long time, but she had no script for this and had learned that silence was always the better choice in this hell. “Are you grateful?”
“Yes. Thank you, father.”
“Show me your gratitude.” There was a rustle of fabric, and she shivered — but this time it wasn’t from the chill on her skin. “Come here, my child.”
Standing, she walked forward until she could see plain black shoes peeking out from the bottom of his pants. The robe was open, draped over the sides of his chair, and then she heard the zipper. Her stomach churned, but she knelt. Lifeless, even as his stance widened so she could move between his legs.
“God honors those who serve him.” He kept the gentle, docile tone that all of the priests had as his hand rested on top of her wet hair and pulled her head forward.
There were no words for this, no required responses, except to open her mouth and take the man’s offered cock. Out of habit, she placed her hands behind her back, grasping one wrist as his hard shaft slipped between her lips and over her tongue. His thumb rubbed back and forth in her hair, almost comforting, only the gentlest nudges guiding her up and down. In many ways, it was relaxing. Easy. He wasn’t violent, his flesh was clean and warm, and he moaned occasionally as he whispered Hail Mary prayers into the air above her bobbing head.
“Oh, my Mother, preserve me this day from mortal sin,” he prayed, groaning as his hips lifted to push his cock just a little deeper into her mouth. Danielle took the hint, swallowing to move him into her throat. After a moment, she choked and pulled back, but his fingers pressed into her scalp, urging her down. “…pray for us sinners…”
If she’d had enough left inside to laugh, or the bravery to roll her eyes, she would have. Instead, she teased him with her tongue, sucking just a little harder to hear him stumble in the next repetition of the prayers.
“Yes, my child, just like that. God honors”—a shuddered breath and a groan—“he honors those who serve. Yesss…” He gripped the arm of the chair still covered by his robe, and pushed her head down just as he came. The taste of his seed coated her tongue, and she swallowed again and again until there was only the masculine aftertaste and his heavy breaths above her. Clearing his throat, he spoke in a soft voice. “That was a gift, my child. Thank you.”
When he removed his hand, she pulled back and shifted to sit on her heels. Just as she settled, he caught her chin and raised her face to look at him. Soft brown eyes in a middle-aged face, cheeks flushed from his efforts. He swiped at the corner of her mouth and then traced a cross on her forehead with the mix of saliva and ejaculate.
“You are blessed to be reborn in such a haven.”
“Yes, father,” she answered. It seemed to be the only correct response, and his smile — and the lack of a slap across her face — confirmed it.
“Come with me.” A command, not a request, so she stood and waited for him to put his softening dick back in his pants and close his robe. Instead of the door to the cots, he led her through the door in the corner behind his desk. It opened to a narrow hall, dimly lit, and as they passed other doors, she knew they must be walking behind the other rooms filled with priests.
How many others had women on their knees showing their gratitude?
The hypocrisy of it all had long lost its humorous appeal, but there were always new levels of sacrilege to discover in Eden. At the end of the hall, there were stairs leading down, just as narrow, and the old wood creaked as they descended. The room at the bottom was large, and it looked older. Three long tables dominated the space with benches on either side and he gestured for her to si
t.
Obeying, she took a spot at the closest table, at the end, and kept her eyes glued to the table. Following patterns in the wood until they ended, and she chose a new line of the grain to follow. Then he slid a bowl of soup in front of her. Actual warm soup with tiny vegetables floating in it. Danielle was so enticed, she immediately reached for the spoon resting in it, but was pulled up short by a sharp tug on her hair.
“Thank God for your food.”
Salivating, she swallowed a mouthful of drool as she clasped her hands and bowed her head, reciting the prayer he wanted. Another memorized script that meant nothing. It was hard to wait after she finished, knuckles turning white as the seconds ticked by and the steam coming from the bowl started to diminish. Finally, the priest released her hair.
“You may eat, my child.”
Danielle attacked the bowl with more interest than she’d shown anything since… well, since she could remember. Not like there was much to remember, but in none of those memories lurked anything as pleasant as the warm broth sliding down her throat. It pushed back the frigid chill in her skin, ebbed the shivers, and she didn’t even care that there was no real taste to it. Bland, simple, but by far the best thing she’d swallowed in Eden.
As she savored the soup, letting each spoonful fill her mouth before she ate it, the vegetables too soft to even chew, a new memory surfaced.
Bright sunlight, green grass, a café. A young, handsome man smiling at her as he reached over the metal lattice of the table top to grasp her hand. His lips moved, but there was no sound, no voice, just a playful grin and a silent laugh.
Then it was gone, taking the kind face and the feeling of safety with it, leaving her with only a meager spoonful of broth. The shallow bowl had emptied too quickly. Her spoon scraped along the ceramic as she gently tilted it to try and get the last few drops without lifting the actual dish to her lips. Before she could get the last tiny spoonful, the priest plucked both items from her hands. “Continue to serve God, and you may earn more.”
Reign of Ruin Page 2