My body tenses up of its own accord. A conditioned response.
I ignore it. Or try to at least.
The woman beside him leans in as well, gliding her flushed-pink fingers along my forearm. Over the faint scarring on the back of my left hand.
I grit my teeth, reaching down to rub the mangled skin.
She perks up, the mask covering all but her mouth. It shifts slightly as she moves to take my thumb between her lips.
“Your hands are cold, Elder,” she coos. “Would you like our assistance in warming up?”
It’s not quite that simple, but I don’t feel like explaining Raynaud’s to strangers.
Next to her, the man slinks closer, grabbing hold of me. His mask stays perfectly in place, his short, curly hair askew from where the material’s a bit too large for his face.
He presses a kiss to my wrist, tangling his tongue with hers as she retreats from my thumb. Their saliva coats my skin as they kiss over me, around me, like I’m not a person and merely an object for their mutual sexual gratification.
An organization ruled by death only knows how to satisfy their carnality. They seek sin that gives purpose to their lives, making the cycle worthy of its inevitable end.
I never wanted to be a part of it, but once they decide they want you, there’s no way to decline.
You’reinit. Forever.
Til death do you part.
Anticipation or unease sluices through my veins. Without withdrawing from the woman, the masked man finds my lap. He presses, searching, and expertly frees the button and fly of my pants with just one hand.
I swallow when hers joins. They fish me out together, and my nostrils flare as I gaze around the room again. My bones itch to crawl out of my skin, but I force myself to stay put, looking for any signs of note.
A stolen glance that lingers far too long. The lopsided tugging of a mouth as its owner enjoys my misery. Something that hints they know I’m not fully invested.
This is part of the role. Themainpart. At least at these parties.
Things change outside the Apollodorus. Aboveground, within the wrought iron gates separating us from the Primordial Forest and Fury Hill beyond, expectations are different.
Destruction scrapes at the fringes of this university, so we feign ignorance. Bind ourselves to secrecy and anonymity. But the fabric is being torn, even as tradition aims to keep it whole.
And beyond the fence… That’s where deterioration awaits.
Death to those who refuse to fear it.
My sister paid that price, so the story goes.
Not that it matters. I remain out of obligation—and because no one’s ever left the organization and lived to tell about it.
One of the masked figures takes my cock in their mouth, but I don’t bother looking down to see who. It doesn’t make a difference—I stay soft. Flaccid. Underwhelmed by their attempts.
I close my eyes and let my hips rock forward a bit. My jaw clenches so tight that stars burst behind my eyelids.
Nausea spreads in me like a violent maelstrom, threatening everything in its path.
A flash of pain rips through my limbs.
My lungs expand as if they intend to explode.
A dream—no, a memory. The sensation of suspension—of being helpless—tears through me, shredding my insides on contact. Hands everywhere, all at once, despite pleas to cease.
My breathing hitches. Two tongues find my slit, lapping lazily.
