The guard won’t be missed; he’ll fuel the furnace at the other end of the asylum.
As for Violet, she’ll be completely alone.
For now.
Chapter 20
Dr. Ambrose
Darkness comes over the asylum. The light is powered off in Violet’s room, and the surveillance cameras switch to night vision. Every once in a while, another guard, different from the one I had Oliver dispose of earlier, paces past Violet’s room, and her eyes flutter.
Finally, she closes her eyes.
I’m impressed she’s actually able to sleep. There must be relief in being back at the asylum, completely restrained and under my care.
After I pocket a case with two syringes, I head to Violet’s room. I nod at a different guard, and he continues his walk, monitoring the hallway outside of the individual rooms. He was once a patient here too until he was successfully cured and found his place among our ranks.
My asylum isn’t up to today’s standards of care, which is one of the many reasons I’ve made my home here. Society puts too much pressure on normalizing civilians; on the other hand, I find with the right push, we can embrace our curiosities and flourish.
And Violet will find her truest self here.
In the hallway outside of her room, her sour scent fills my nostrils; the restraints must arouse the dumb cunt. My cock stirs to attention.
I stop at the entrance to her room.
Though the moon is hidden from the window, soft light filters into the room, lighting Violet’s naked form. Breasts no bigger than a handful. An average body. Natural black hair at her roots, the rest of her locks dyed blonde, as if she dyed her hair to pretend she wasn’t a part of the family. To hide who she was. To pretend she was normal.
The thought amuses me.
My boots tap quietly on the floor. Violet’s eyes open, instantly locking on mine. Fear widens her pupils, her breath caught in her throat.
A grin spreads across my lips.
“What?” she panics. “Why are you here? Don’t?—”
I reach through the cage bars and brush her silky cheek with my fingertips; the woman falls silent. I want to scar every part of her, to permanently mark her so no one in this world can ever question if she’s mine. At the same time, I want to savor her, to worship every inch of her that reflects our shared blood.
“You’ve had so much stress, sweet one,” I say calmly. “Wouldn’t it be easier if you stopped fighting and embraced your new life?”
She bites her lip, seeming to consider it, but then the poor cunt looks away. Tears bead her eyelids, and after a few moments, those first drops fall. I scoop them up with my finger and lick the salty liquid off of my skin.
I love the taste of her sorrow.
I unlock the top of her cage and leave it open. “Are you ready for your first lesson?”
I graze my knuckles along her neck and breasts. Heat blooms in my chest, spreading down to my cock. Arousal flushes through my system.
Violet’s body reddens.
“You’re eager to learn, aren’t you?” I ask.
Her chin jerks, a refusal to admit her desires, but we both know her truth.
I remove my clothing. I’m a toned man, and my exterior is patterned with scars from years of experimental sadomasochism. The shallow knife wound over my heart from when she attempted to stab me in the cemetery has already begun to scab over, forming a purple cap. I’m tempted to keep digging at it until it forms a scar.
My long cock bobs between my legs, the wound on the tip oozing a light green pus. Purple, engorged veins loop around my shaft, and tough white patches of callused skin patch the length from scarring and overuse. I admit, my length is quite different from the typical man’s, but I embrace that part of myself. I crush my shaft; threads of pain lace through my spine.
Violet gazes at my cock, my abdomen, my neck, my eyes. I climb into the cage, sit on top of her, and pin her shoulders underneath my knees. It must be excruciating to have my weight on top of her; the metal cage must be digging into her skin.
