Athena
Dean sent me away after he fucked me, like usual.
It was extra hard tonight. He took me from behind, making me grab onto the headboard while he slammed into me, and my thighs feel soft and bruised, like the skin of an overripe peach. My pussy feels even worse, as if he might actually have torn me again. I bled like a fucking stuck pig after the first time. He was happy about that, said it was good evidence. I hadn’t known what he meant at the time, but now I do.
Evidence that he’s won. That the town belongs to him, all because he stuck his cock in me.
How very like a group of men to think that their dicks can make such a difference in the future of so many people.
If I’d known, I would have made a different choice. Hell, my first choice would have been better. Jaxon might be an asshole too, but he’d be a hell of a lot better in charge than either of the other two. But he didn’t give me that option, and now I know why that was, too.
Because he doesn’t want any fucking part of this dog and pony show, just like me.
It almost would be enough to make me warm up to him again, if I weren’t still so pissed at him for caning me, for taking pleasure in it. For lying to me. If I weren’t still so hurt.
But anger is an easier emotion to feel.
I learned after the first night that Dean is an incredibly hard sleeper. After I overheard the guys fighting, I crept back in last night to just stare at him and think about what I’d learned in the study. To think about the implications and what the fuck I can do about it.
I remember what I’d thought to myself afterward.
I’m done being played with. I’m no one’s toy.
I’ll never be anyone’s sacrifice.
I’m going to take it away from all of them.
That’s all well and good, but I’d had to go to Dean’s bed that night anyway, like a good little pet, so he wouldn’t see the rebellion brewing behind my eyes or guess at the plans taking shape in my head. I had to sink down to my knees and call him “master,” even though it was bitter on my tongue. I had to take him in my mouth and listen to him mock me for how wet I was when he finally got me onto the bed, to feel him dip his fingers in my pussy and circle them around my asshole while he fucked me.
When I get tired of your other two holes, I’ll have to give this one a ride. He’d said it so confidently, so arrogantly. As if there were no question that he’d take it. That I’d let him, even beg him for it.
He’s so sure that I have no choices when it comes to my own body anymore.
But as far as I’m concerned, the game’s not done. I’m still playing.
And now, I’m trying to think of how I might be able to win.
Tonight, he’d wanted me on top. He said he wanted to look at me, to watch me while I came on his cock. He made sure that I did, playing with my clit until there was no chance that I was going to be able to hold off my orgasm. And I know that’s what he wanted. He wanted to see me flush with shame and humiliation, knowing that I couldn’t stop myself from coming all over his thick cock, my hips jerking forward and my head thrown back while I panted and begged. He wanted to see me break all over again, knowing that I couldn’t stop myself from taking pleasure in my own degradation.
And all the while, that hard, angry knot of hate grew tighter in my belly, even while I came apart on top of him and felt him flood me with his own cum seconds later.
He’d kicked me out of bed then. He’d made me promise not to shower until the morning, said he’d know if I cleaned myself up sooner than that. He likes making me go to bed still full of him, remembering who I belong to now, as he likes to say.
Standing next to his bed now, pulling the duvet and sheet off of him, I can still feel it. My panties are soaked with it. It’s dried on my thighs, still dripping out of me, and I know he’d be hard as hell if he knew that right now. In fact…
When I yank the covers back, revealing his lean, muscular body in his black silk boxers, I see that he is hard. Rock-solid, his cock poking up out of the slit. Ready for me again. I don’t want him to wake up because I know it’ll be in me faster than I can blink if he does, but I don’t think he’ll wake up. He didn’t last night. He sleeps harder than his fucking dick is right now.
What would it be like, if Dean were in charge of the town?
He’s not going to marry me like Cayde’s father did with his pet. He’ll marry some society girl and keep me around like a toy for as long as he wants to fuck me, and then make me a housekeeper or some shit like my mother. It’s not the worst fate. The rules say he has to provide for me for the rest of my natural life—he can hurt me up to a point, fuck me however and whenever he likes. Still, I have to be fed, clothed, housed and kept in a certain degree of comfort.
Much like any other housepet.
It’s almost tempting, especially considering a potential outcome of the alternative—that I push them all too far or their fathers find out about it and decide that this year, the Blackmoor House pet needs to have an unfortunate accident. Maybe even my mother, too, although I doubt they’d go that far. They don’t care about her, past the point where they can use threats to her to control me.
If I want to keep playing the game, it means I have to fuck the other guys. At least one, if not both.
I don’t want to fuck Cayde. I don’t want to seduce him, convince him to keep playing, although I don’t think it’ll take much convincing. I could just seduce Jaxon so that Dean won’t “win,”—but that’s not going to solve anything. Jaxon still isn’t going to take the town, even if he has sex with me. The only real solution is to fuck someone who, well—actually gives a fuck about all of this.