by Rebecca Grey
Using his knees, he nudges my legs further apart. Hot against my skin, he slips a hand under my top, pushing against my back until my face is pressed against his desk, ass lifted over the edge. The smooth plain of his palm is soft against my skin. For now.
“Had you waited I would have rewarded you,” he growls through his teeth. The sound hums against my flesh. “Now I can’t give you any pleasure, only pain. I’ll use your body as my own fuck toy.”
I close my eyes, welcoming the idea. Pain isn’t foreign to me. Pain revives me. Pain reminds me to take my next breath.
Give it to me. Give it to me. My thoughts chant.
With his free hand, he reaches for his pants, undoing the button and tugging the zipper down. His belt jingles and then whispers as he pulls it from its loops. “Nilsa, I’m going to hurt you and you aren’t going to make a damn noise. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” I swallow.
“Say it again.”
“Yes. Sir.”
A stinging searing line slashes across my ass and partly up my back. The force surges me forward, banging my knees against the desk. My hands reach for anything to hold onto, sending pens and paper rolling or drifting off to the floor. I dig my teeth into my already bloody lip. Another red droplet rolls down my chin.
Joss inhales the aroma. A needy rumble quickly falling from his lips.
Then the belt strikes against me again. The strength of the leather, the force behind its hit, calls forth a whimper I try to contain. It’s hardly a hum, but it’s enough for Joss to be on me.
He sticks his fingers into my mouth, pulling my face back toward him. The length of his boney fingers is enough to gag me. Behind me, his cock presses to the warmed, red, and swollen marks he has created.
“I said don’t make a fucking sound. Your unfaithfulness disgusts me. You’ll listen to me now.”
My cheek hits the desk as he drops my face to arch back and deliver one last fever filled strike. The pain is akin to being loved and being hated by the very same person. I don’t have time to dwell on it. Not when he grabs my hips and shoves his full length into me. I’ve always found Joss to be impressively endowed, both in length and girth, but there is no denying it now. The force of his thickness grinds against my slick folds until the building pressure inside me edges on pain. With vigor he forces all he can inside of me, ramming quickly in and out with no concern for my satisfaction or comfort.
Not bothering to ease me into our session today, he stretches me deeper and strikes me quicker than what feels possible. It’s achingly delicious. His skin smacks repeatedly against mine, the only sound filling the room other than my rapid breathing.
He pauses his relentless pounding to slap the marks he’s made on my ass. I clench my teeth to hold in a hiss. Joss’s fingers climb up my back, digging into my shoulders, pulling me down onto him with every single thrust. His cock hits painfully, too deeply inside.
“I’m the only one who gets to fuck you. Just. Me,” he says it in rhythm with his movements.
My eyes water. I cling to the edge of the desk, holding onto the lip of it as best I can.
“Answer me!” he bellows, bringing his hand back down to my sore cheek.
“Just you. You’re the only one.” My voice is weak. Embarrassingly so.
Joss presses into me, burying himself as deep as he can go. His hands pull me down onto him as he rolls his hips against me. I purse my lips hating and loving the agony that follows.
It only lasts a moment longer before he pulls out of me and I let go a breath I hadn’t realized I’d held onto. With the strength only an Immortal Hybrid could have, Joss flips me onto the desk. The back of my head bounces off the wood. He doesn’t apologize. Joss never apologizes until after, sometimes not even then.
My pants are still hanging from my feet, caught on my boots. Joss snarls as he pulls both shoes off and yanks my pants the rest of the way free. I can’t hear him as he walks, silent and deadly, but every hair on my arms rises as I sense him circle me. He stops at my face, dragging me until my head dangles off the desk, my shoulders too.
The heat of his body warms my torso as he leans over me, pushing my legs apart again. His hand comes up then quickly back down, slapping against my exposed and most sensitive parts. Air pushes from my lungs at the strike.
“This is my pussy.” He slaps again, a wet smack sounding out. “Repeat after me. This is my pussy.”
Slap.
“This is your pussy.” My teeth clench together so hard my jaw muscles become sore.
Slap!
“This is my pussy.”
“It’s yours. This is your pussy.”
Slap! He hits so hard I jump underneath him. It’s the reaction he wants. It’s enough to make him stop. With every sharp inhale, blood surges toward my dangling head. My pulse pounds in my ears.
A primal growl, one that draws moisture between my legs, even as my sex burns, reverberates inside of his chest. His palms, one with the metallic scent from between my legs, hold either side of my head.
Still throbbing, he pushes his cock against my mouth until I open for him. He doesn’t allow a breath. Doesn’t care. Forcefully, he pushes as far back as he can, pausing there. My air flow is cut off, my gag reflex retching again and again.
Joss pulls back, dragging salvia across my face as he does. Tears form along my lash line, involuntarily. Though he’ll like to see it when he’s done. Joss loves it when I cry.
He moans, thrusting into my mouth. Every plunge is as deep as it can get, my body riots with heaves and vocal chokes. Joss is relentless. My tongue traces the veins of his dick as often as I can, wiping away my own taste.
Joss inhales the scent of my want. At this moment I’m cursing myself for not being patient enough for his return. I’m craving his touch, wishing for my body to shake with the violent orgasms he always brings me to. Not today. Today is all about him.
I’m his fuck toy.
I relish the thought.
His cock hardens just a hair more. Enough for me to know he’s near finishing.
Spit runs down my red face. A headache pounds worse with every brutal plunge toward my throat.
His pace quickens. His breathing raspy. Then hot cum slips down the back of my throat. I swallow quickly, trying to take it all in as the salty taste lingers in my mouth. Joss holds my head tightly, pushing all the way in to let me gag on him a few more times. He groans when his cock slips from my lips and runs down my face. My cheek stings as he slaps me before reaching for his belt buckle.
“Put on your pants,” he says sternly, “Don’t touch your face. I want to see you more.”
My tears track over my cheeks as I slowly rise to sitting on his desk. The moisture between my legs runs gently down, making the wooden surface damp. Blood rushes from my head. The lights flicker on and my vision tilts the room from side to side. I take a deep shuddering breath and ease myself from the desk.
With the light on I can see the two sitting chairs we’d stumbled by when we entered. On either wall a few pieces of decorative art hang. All of which is stolen. I toe at the old worn floorboards.
My lips feel swollen, my throat raw. The taste of his cum is still sitting on the back of my tongue.
Joss already has his pants back up, pushing his belt through the loops with a satisfied smile. I’m hollow inside, in the best way.
My thin, holey socks managed to stay on my feet for the entirety of my punishment. Now, I’m careful as I push them through the leg of my pants. Easing the waistband over my ass, the skin on leather stings where my thong doesn’t shield my cheeks. There is pain, but I don’t show it. Not now that we’re done.
Well, almost done.
Joss steps in front of me while I finish buttoning my pants. He runs his thumbs from my forehead over my eyes, and then drags them over my lips. A soft happy sigh relaxes his shoulders.
“You better clean yourself up before you leave.”
Roughly, I gather the loose material of my s
hirt in my hand and drag it over my face, wiping away the excess moisture. Nothing could soak up the unsatisfied want between my legs. Without another word, I step around him with the intention of boarding myself up in my room and angrily masturbating till my body tires with exhaustion.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Joss grabs my shoulder. “We have a very particular job that suits your very specific talents. Highly rewarding.” He sings the last half of the sentence. His everyday demeanor, as snide as he can be, still differs from the angry beast that lives within him that he releases only for the pleasure of sex.
“You have my attention.”
Dramatically, he opens the rolled-up paper, holding it out in front of him. “Genovese along with Parlakey,” Genovese, my most recent employer and owner of Geno’s Bar and Parlakey, the Vampire district owner. “and Spects,” The owner of the casinos down the street from Genovese. “Are looking for someone to enter The Oasis Games.”
“No,” I deadpan.
“You’re the right bitch for the job.” Joss rolls his eyes. “Listen, they want you to enter and win the games.”
“That’s not possible.” Especially for a Human. I want to point out, but I’m not much for sharing my weaknesses. All of that is not even to mention the strangeness of him being the second person to ask me to join the games tonight.
“It is. You just have to find yourself aligned with the Prince. Get on his good side, or better yet, on his team. Then… after you win, you take the heart of the king.”
The king. They want me to kill King Caspar.
“That better be one hell of a reward,” I seethe.
“Oh, it is. Not only do you get the rewards of winning The Oasis Games, if you have the king’s heart, they’ll make a surge for the crown. Your name, Nilsa, your Human name will go down in history for saving The Bend from the poverty they have subjected us to. Genovese, Parlakey, and Spects will reward you with much more than money. They’ll give you power. A new home. You won’t have to kill anymore.”
“I enjoy the kills.”
“That’s beside the point. You wouldn’t have to kill just to get by. It would be more for sport.” He shrugs.
“You know, you’re not the first person to proposition me into joining The Oasis Games, right?”
“Tell me more.” Joss rolls the paper with the job offer on it up, inclining his head.
“A boy found me tonight. He offered me a ticket,” I say it slowly. “He came looking for The Ghost to join his team.”
“I knew that stupid nickname would get you somewhere, Nilsa.” Joss slides his hands down my arms and folds the paper into my pocket. “Think on it. You have the night to consider. Though I hardly think there is much to ponder on. You’ll be set for life.”
But is this some trick? A Purist Human is little to these Hybrids. I’m hardly more than a blood bag and sex object to my own boss.
“Think on it,” Joss says in his stern voice, that does little good for my dripping pussy.
I offer him the smallest of nods before turning away. I can still smell our sex in the air, even as I close the door behind me. Without Joss beside me, the other mercenaries turn and smirk.
“Pathetic, Human girl. She needs to get fucked by the boss to hold her ranking.” An Orc girl, Calliope, sneers from over her hand.
I lick my lips, keeping my eyes locked on hers until the tilt of her mouth falters. She’s sour because I’m better than her. More willing to toe the line of right and wrong which gets me more jobs.
Looking at the table of mercenaries, my mind drifts back to the power that Joss is promising me with this next job. My mind ticks over the same thought. I’d be an idiot to join the games. But how big of a fool would I be to refuse a position of power?
I’m not joining the games. There has to be another way.
… But if I win The Oasis Games, none of them will have any room to talk.
Folded messily, the scroll of paper burns a hole in my pocket. It sears its way into my thoughts throughout the night. If I had power, true power, I could enforce a punishment for the mistreatment of Purist Humans. I could fix the wrong of The Bend’s poverty.
Power has never tasted so… so promising.
It’s different from the power I usually hold. This job earns me the respect I deserve. This power rids me of the mockery that is my Human existence. The only risk… is death.
Sleep doesn’t come as easily as I wish it would. My mind weighs the pros and cons. Not to mention I still have an unfinished job. Marcello Torres. The dead man is still walking around down by the docks.
Light from the rising sun enters through my shattered window and a few cracks along the wall. It pushes away the night and along with it, the few hours I had for sleep. With a growl, I fling my thin blanket off of me and stand. As they do most mornings, the flooring and my walls glisten in the morning light, sticky with dew. The floorboards creak as I try my best to brush off the dust collecting in the cracks and folds of my leather pants.
Instead of sleeping, I’d mainly spent my night thinking or praying. I didn’t want to waste the precious time away trying to think of every Saint and form a prayer for them, however with the pressing decision now only moments away, there was no other choice. I’d started the prayers to the nicer, kinder Saints; Luck, Self-Control, Patience, Courage, Strength… and the list goes on. After them I moved on to the darker Saints, the ones I more commonly pray to; Death, Judgement, Sin, and Punishment. If any of them are bound to answer, I have no response as of yet.
Sleep still stings in my eyes. I rub away the gunk along my eyelids before I pull my mattress up, glaring at the bound notebook underneath. I don’t need to put Marcello’s name in it just yet, but if I accompany him to The Oasis Games I could kill two birds with one stone. Quite literally. Next to the journal is a small burlap pouch. I grab it, letting the mattress bounce off the floor.
Small coins chime together in my palm as I count my legends. The lifespan of this outfit is coming to an end, and I’d have to invest in something new soon. To spend the money could mean that I don’t eat. Air pushes from my lungs. I shouldn’t have to choose between eating and wearing clothes that aren’t falling apart.
Arron wanted a better world than this. I want a better world than this. I think back to my gray-haired friend, the pure Human man who found me with my slaughtered parents, shaking and cold. I had been without food for days at the innocent age of five. Innocence doesn’t last long here.
Those years feel so long ago now. Arron had been old, fragile even, his Human bones betraying the muscles he worked so hard for. He’d taken me in, brought me to Joss. He cared enough to house me, to teach me in the ways my parents no longer could, until old age finally came for him. Arron had seen humanity in my young eyes, often telling me how much he admired it. My humanity died with him when I was eleven, then there was no one to protect me from the cruelty of the Hybrids.
I shove a few legends into my pocket, a payment to Joss for my boarding and a few meals here. The paper crinkles as I push the coins down. I stare at my hand, scarred and calloused, wondering if I really have any choice at all. Staying here as I am now, that’s just as bad as risking death.
If I don’t, then what does my life even mean? I’m fighting for something, right? Even if it’s all to spite the Immortals.
Brick is exposed along my wall, anything left of the plaster, or whatever materials they used to cover them once, has fallen to a heap against the old stained tile. My every movement echoes in the space. The only things to absorb any sound are my bed and an old guitar I’m self-taught on. Even the instrument is stolen. I could never afford something like that.
Above me, the inhabitants on the next floor have already begun to stir. I have yet to bother learning their names. At this point, Joss is the only person I work with that I should be worried about. Having friends is a thought that came and went in my youth. Now at twenty-four, I’m creeping toward my mid-life. That’s assuming I make it to sixty, or even fifty.
The hallway isn’t lit. The barest means of electricity are too much to splice together in such an unnecessary part of the building. For most Hybrids like the Vampires or the Elves, it’s of little concern. Their perfect eyesight in both the day and night makes things like that irrelevant. Orcs and Dwarfs are worse off with their eyesight, but still under them are the Humans.
Arron had been the only other Purist Human I’d met so far in my lifetime. He’d relished the similarities we held. And it would be my duty, if I meet another Purist Human man, to produce an offspring. Many offspring. To keep my race intact and alive.
I start my descent down the flights of stairs to the ground level. I try to push down the repulsion that someday I’d have to give my body over to a child. A world like this isn’t kind, and I’m not sure I want to subject anyone else to it.
To get pregnant, to bear a child, would be of my own selfish desire to not allow the Immortals to overtake the world. It wouldn’t come from a place of want for my own offspring. Arron would think me wrong for it. But he isn’t here to scold me anymore, is he?
My boots hit the final step, the door to the common area has long since been removed from its hinges. Mercenaries are already milling about. Their chatter carries to me. They talk of their jobs, joke about the games they play with one another, and flirt shamelessly. It quiets as I enter. Their way of not allowing me the chance to overhear something and enter the conversation with them. It’d be too much to ask for them to just fucking shut the hell up completely. That would give me far too much attention. Far too much power over their actions. Not to mention protect me from getting a massive headache.