Until someone from the past came back. We’d promised if neither of us were married by the time we were thirty we’d marry each other.
But then I’m taken captive by someone else and told I am the sacrifice, that I’m now property. A payment for a debt that has nothing to do with me.
Now I wish I could go back to that boring, safe life. Because this can’t possibly be my fairy tale.
NOTE: This is a dark contemporary standalone in the Dark Wedding world.
I’ve tried to deny it, but I’ve always known this was my fate. In certain families there are duties, and some of those duties are more unsavory than others. I’ve been kept pure for this, and tonight, I am their sacrifice.
I’m led blindfolded down a long hallway and through a door that creaks ominously as we pass through. My breath catches when I hear the men. I can’t see them, but I’ve been prepared for this. I know what to expect.
They’re young—ten of them, all close to my age. We went to private school together. The oldest is five years older than me. They are the future titans of industry, and they’re here to fulfill their duty—to impregnate me and continue tradition. And may the strongest sperm win.
The blindfold comes off, but I keep my eyes cast down on the floor. My naked body is barely covered by a white cloak that ties at the neck and then a couple of places beneath that so my modesty is protected. My modesty. Such a joke. No one will care about my modesty as soon as the initial formalities are over.
There’s another man, this one older—one of the fathers: Mr. Kingston. We’ll call him the Master of Ceremonies.
“Do you understand why you’re here, Macy?”
“Y-yes, Sir.”
“I’m glad you were prepared for this, though tradition requires me to explain it to you anyway.”
Of course it does.
The coming narrative isn’t for my benefit. It’s for the benefit of the young men here, who will each get to touch me, taste me, claim me, bury their seed inside me in an attempt to be the victor. I will marry whoever is successful, whoever’s heir I end up carrying, which will be determined by paternity test. I can’t even begin to imagine how this was done before modern technology.
Maybe the ritual was different then.
“Each of these young men will please you. You are required to come for each of them. Do you understand, Macy?”
“Y-yes, Mr. Kingston.”
“Sir was just fine,” he says, his stern forest green eyes boring through me so that I find myself looking back down at the ground.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl. After that you’ll be allowed a break. The entire ritual will take hours, you see, and we wouldn’t want you to get light headed from hunger. Each of them will fuck you, and you are once again required to come for them. All of them. We’ll know if you’re faking. What happens if you fake or if you fail to come for them, Macy?”
“P-punishment, Sir.” My face is hot, flaming, but the place between my legs flames more.
“That’s right, Macy. Punishment. And we want this to all be about pleasure, don’t we?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Mysterious hands seem to come from nowhere to untie the cords that hold the cloak in place. Then the lush fabric is pushed from my shoulders to land in a pile at my feet. This entire speech is for the entertainment of the spoiled rich men who are about to enjoy their sacrifice. Though I will enjoy it, too. It was designed for my pleasure, after all.
Though I’ve been told it isn’t really about my pleasure but about ensuring a pregnancy results from the ritual. Orgasms open the cervix. And I’m ovulating, so this is happening now. I’ll be carrying the child of one of these men tonight. Fate will decide who I’ll spend the rest of my life with, based only on the strongest swimmer.
I know every single moment of what’s supposed to transpire. I know every move, every part of this ritual by heart. Mr. Kingston raises an eyebrow at me, his look expectant. In response, I take a deep breath and drop to my knees. I crawl slowly to him, and suddenly every eye in the room is on me. Previously the men had been scattered about, drinks in hands, low murmurs as they pretended to talk to each other, as they pretended I was beneath their notice. But they can’t pretend anymore.
“Good girl.”
A gasp escapes my throat as I feel his hand stroke through my hair and then move around to cup my breast. I thought only the guys my age would touch me.
Two of the men help me to my feet and guide me onto a table where I’ll be examined by the doctor to ensure my purity is intact before it’s destroyed in this one long orgy.
A phone rings, breaking my focus. Dammit. I was so close. The fantasy drifts away, and with it, any hope of an orgasm this morning. I roll over in bed to find Livia’s name flashing on my cell phone screen.
“It’s eight in the morning. You know that’s my me time,” I grumble when I answer. And she knows exactly what I mean by that. Other people have their morning coffee, I have my morning orgasm. This has been my go-to fantasy for months now. It hits all the buttons: exhibitionism. Multiple men. Lots of orgasms. The demand of orgasms. Helpless, vulnerable, arousal. And I’m working myself up again now just thinking of the elements of this perfect spank fantasy.
“Sorry,” Livia says. But she doesn’t sound that sorry. This daily appointment with pleasure isn’t as sacred to her as it is to me, obviously.
Brian Sloan is a borderline sociopath with a dark and brutal past. Only taking his sadistic urges out on the women at a submissive training house allows him to sleep through the night. When Brian sees Mina, she should be ripe for the picking, but her damage is too similar to his own. Can he fight past his demons to protect the one person he considers worth saving?
(Google gives me a small commission if you click on ads)
No comments :
Post a Comment
PLEASE NOTE: I do not moderate comments, but some go to Spam anyway. Rest assured, I check regularly and will publish non-Spam comments shortly!