“Good girl.”
18
Jacques was in hell.
He’d fucked countless women in his years, and they all felt different and exactly the same.
But none of them were Brenya.
Who he’d hurt, the video of her surgery still playing on the walls of his cell, the sound of her crying in pain echoing over and over, on a loop.
So loud even Lucia’s focused breaths as she rode him could not drown out Brenya’s suffering.
He was going to slaughter the foreign whore. “I’ll fucking kill you, you bitch!”
“I told you not to talk.” Lucia working hard for her knot, the muscle control of her cunt astounding, and she focused on getting him off. She rippled on command, squeezed brutally, until his one remaining testicle began to draw up tight against his shaft.
He’d fought the straps holding him down to the bed long enough to know there was no getting out of them. But still, he bucked, snarled every ounce of hate he had in his heart at the slut daring to take the cum that belonged to another.
Who degraded him like he was some Beta slave.
“When I get out of here, your death will be slow. I swear to you, Lucia. I’ll cut that baby out of you and make you…” Eat it?
Was that what he was going to say?
Fuck. He was losing his mind, remembering the taste of Brenya’s ruined flesh as he chewed the gristle and swallowed. Vomited and was made to eat that too.
He’d never felt like this, not in all the years growing up as the spare in a palace filled with depravity. Not when he’d been raped by his hag of a wife. Not when he’d lost fistfights and gained a cock up the ass.
Some of it had been fun.
This was not.
It was degrading. Humiliating.
And still, he was getting close.
Because Brenya was close.
But the foreign whore was bouncing on his lap as if her life depended on it. Lucia’s long hair gone. Cut short in uneven patches, bits of her scalp crusted with lines of dried blood as if the scissors had slipped more than once. Invoking the head of a queen about to be led to the guillotine.
Which had Jacques laughing cruelly. “You must have pissed him off.”
He knew better than most that Jules did love a sharp knife.
“You look fucking hideous. Did you cry when he cut it off?” Hissed from between clenched teeth as he tried his darndest to resist, to spite them all. And not to let Brenya feel his anguish.
That morning, she’d smelled so good, and so terrible, Beta blood all over her Gods-awful jumpsuit.
She’d been beautiful.
That was all he wanted to think of, but Lucia did something with her hips that almost forced his soul from his body.
“Shit, wait… it’s…. Godsdamnit, Lucia!” Jacques grunted, voice strained, as he fought against the inevitable.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh shit, you—fucking hell!” Jacques’s bellow was raw as Lucia licked her finger and reached back to slip it right up his ass, stroking his prostate better than any Beta whore ever had. “Stop!”
And it was done.
