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So I jam myself into her tight, slick pussy in one brutal thrust. I pump into her like an animal, pressing her against the marble shower wall. Her nipples are stiff little peaks pressing into my chest, and she’s wet for me even after I whipped her senseless. She moans into my mouth as I kiss her ferociously.
When she comes, her pussy spasming and squeezing my cock, it sends me over the edge. I ride wave after wave of pleasure, pumping my semen into her, and she clings to me, dazed and shivering.
The rest of that day, I’m brutally short with her, shoving her, snapping at her, and she shrinks in on herself. The only clothes provided for her were see-through lace dresses cut off just below the crotch and slutty maid’s uniforms. So she wears one of the lace dresses with crotchless panties that frame her pussy obscenely.
I want to cover her with my own clothing, but I can’t. Any gesture of kindness on my part threatens us both. Periodically, we share a look. One that I try to use to convey for her to remain submissive. Now is not the time for her to grow a backbone. Not that I think she could. She’s so thoroughly damaged, I think the fight has permanently left her.
That pisses me off.
I’ve grown to respect her fighting spirit. To crave her combative sparring. If they’ve ruined her for good, I will exact revenge in ways that even these sadists couldn’t imagine.
That evening, I eat dinner in my room in front of her and make her wait until I’m done before I put a plate on the floor for her at my feet. She has to eat the pasta without using utensils or her hands. She barely touches it.
She’ll need her strength, so I force her to eat every last piece until she’s bent over, throwing up on the floor.
After I’ve made her clean up her own vomit, I order her to come outside with me for a walk. When we’re finally in an open field, where I’m confident nobody can hear us, I speak to her in a low voice.
“Just stare straight ahead and keep your expression neutral. There’s a fight coming up in a couple of days. When I win the fight, we’ll be safe again.”
Her gaze flicks to me fearfully. “What if you lose the fight?” she murmurs. “I mean, I have every confidence in you, but…these people…they aren’t like you, Bastien.”
I’m stunned speechless at her words. Aren’t like me? She says it as if I’m good.
I’m not.
No matter how sorry I am for what I’ve been forced to do to her, it doesn’t make me a good man.
“We’re all going in armed with nothing but a knife. I’ve never lost a fight yet, and I’ve been up against men who outweighed me by a hundred pounds. I’ll win.”
I can’t let myself think of any other outcome, but I’m up against multiple enemies who share my psychotic bloodline and my lust for murder. It’ll be a fight unlike any I’ve ever been involved in.
“Who are they?” she whispers. “What is this place? All those women being raped…” She shudders, and tears stream down her beautiful cheeks. She’s trembling all over, her eyes wide with panic.
“Cut it the fuck out,” I growl, and she stares at me in shock. “We have to play our parts for the next couple of days. You will survive this. You are the strongest person I’ve ever met, Camille. You’re stronger than me, even. And I need that strength to get me through this. If you don’t believe in me, if you don’t believe in us, then I’ll have nothing to fight for, and I’ll fail.”
She sucks in a breath. “You don’t believe in us. You sent me away.”
“I was an idiot. I was wrong.” I take a deep breath, preparing to say something I didn’t think myself capable of. “I’m sorry, Camille. I’m sorry about everything. I was wrong to punish you. When I win this fight, I’ll make it up to you, I swear on my life.” I’m staring straight ahead as I say that, keeping my face blank when what I want to do is stare into her beautiful emerald eyes and pour the truth of what I’m saying into her soul.
“I’ll be fine. I can compartmentalize. I’ll play my part,” she says very quietly.
I take her back to my room and order her to lie next to me naked on her back. I know it hurts. I see it in every wince and stray tear that rolls down her cheeks.
I have no choice.
Under the covers, I brush my fingers against hers. Her eyes close on a sigh, and I can only hope that means I’ve provided some semblance of peace for her at this moment. I grab her hand and hold it all through the night. Silently making promises that I will fight heaven and earth to keep.
To care for her.
To love her.
To make things right.
Eventually, we both give in to exhaustion, closing our eyes. I dream of happier times. Things I never wanted before recently. I will have them.
* * *
For the next couple of days, Camille and I mostly stay in our room. I do little things to show I’m a changed man. That I’ll keep my promise to take care of her. It’s all done under the covers. The only place it’s safe.
