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Everything in this place suggests lewd, deviant purposes. Am I in a luxurious brothel? That horrifying prospect isn’t preposterous, given the last things I remember. Junis, and his punches, and his pencil cock that tasted of mud and ash.
My stomach threatens to heave, and if there was anything in it, I would have vomited it. As things stand, I'm only coughing up air, and I manage to keep the bile down.
My gaze falls on my wrist, expecting it to see it swollen or at a wrong angle, but it’s fine. Actually, it doesn’t hurt at all, even when I test it, moving it in slow circles.
What the fuck?
If only I'd woken up in my own bed, certain that all of last night had been a fucked-up a dream, or one of my vivid visions, erased like the pain of my twisted bones.
Mortals don’t know not to thank a fairy anymore. They don’t even believe we exist!
I was enslaved, then molested by a fairy. That’s the simple, yet startling truth.
I barely remember how we got here. I think I must have passed out. We went through a door down in that strange basement, and somehow, passing over the threshold felt overwhelming, like free falling. There's nothing after, however much I scrub my brain trying to summon details.
Taking a full account of my physical state, I note no ache at my core. I’m mostly fine. A little hungry, which is uncharacteristic: I eat because I know I should, or because I want to, when it’s cream and cake. Today, I really feel like I must. Hunger has been a foreign concept, yet I’ve heard about it enough time to identify the hollow rumble deep in my tummy.
My body feels okay, other than the hunger and the headache, so Junis must not have used my body any more than he did last night. At least I wasn’t fucked while I was out of it.
Of course not. He'd want me conscious, so I can fight.
“Ah, you’re awake.”
I shiver, sitting up and crawling back, gathering the covers against me.
I hadn’t realized I wasn’t alone, but I recognize that voice to my bones now.It's infuriatingly nice. Deep and pleasant. Polite.
My head snaps to my left, and I find Cissa’s cousin standing by an archway so high I couldn’t guess how tall it is. Though there’s no glass and we’re in the middle of the winter, I don’t feel any cold.
Junis is wearing another silly costume, this one dark blue and silver, just as elaborate as the one from yesterday, his silver hair brushing on his back.
What if it was all a dream? Or at least some of it. It could have been. I know my head isn't always reliable. I have visions; vivid ones. Maybe I just had a vision where I happened to participate.
It sounds silly, but I am desperate to stupidly cling to that hope.When I was younger, I didn't know how to distinguish the visions from reality. Maybe that's what's happening here. But even as my mind formulates that flimsy reasoning, I remember his hand pulling my hair. His cock hitting the back of my throat. His cum all over my face. I’ve never felt so helpless, filthy, fearful, enraged.
No, no, no.
"Let me go." I've never begged in my entire life. Not once. I do now, holding in a sob. It’s against my very nature. He’s nothing, scum under my shoes. I shouldn’t have to plead for anything. But I beat my pride back into a corner, choosing self-preservation again. "Please, let me go."
He laughs, polite and lovely as ever. "Now, why would I? You're mine to command for a year. Believe it or not, it's not that easy to procure slaves over here."
Slave.
That word doesn't even compute in my mind; slaves don't exist in my world. Not really. Of course I hear about cartels trading human flesh and all that, but it's only something in the news, far removed, happening to some poor victim who is most definitely not me.
I open my mouth to repeat my useless plea, but just as the first word crosses my lips, he says, “Silence.”
Once again, I immediately comply without any argument, without so much as a thought of dissent.
Just like yesterday, his word is law. Because I am indeed, his to command.
My stomach roils in dread and disgust.
“Your body remembers, at least." He sounds intrigued, curious. "It is rather strange that your mind isn’t under my control, even for a true-sighted mortal, but no matter. It is your body I need.”
I’m going to be sick.
Insults and threats come to mind, and I want to spew all of them at him, but they choke my throat, leaving me weak. Pain intensifies in my head as I fight to protest, to reject him.
