I realize that it doesn’t fucking matter where I am. This stone, this room, these onlookers, they are the least of my worries. It is my own flesh that is going to be used against me. The jaws of the wolf still close around the neck of the lamb whether he slaughters her authentically in the sacrificial chamber, or in the middle of a supermarket aisle.
Aiden holds me face down and continues to cane me seven more times, laying lines one over the other up and down the length of my ass until I am gasping and begging for mercy. Each one of those fiery strokes makes my entire body flood with the chemistry of sacrifice and punishment.
I wanted to call it fake to diminish it, but what I am feeling is more real than anything I have ever felt in my entire existence. This is pure primal public punishment. And it is only just beginning.
He lets me lie there, whimpering to myself as my ass burns on like a fire that burned bright and is stoked to continue to smolder for the rest of the evening.
“She’s feisty,” he finally announces to the assembled men. There is a brief ripple of agreement.
“But we have always broken that which needs to be broken,” he says. “And this woman is no exception.”
Another murmur.
“We lost Theodore. None of you were able to come to his funeral, and for that I must make apologies. At the time, we had no knowledge of the true reason for his demise, how he strayed so far from the path of our protection. We had to imagine the worst. But this is what we found. A woman. A temptress. A creature who speaks with serpents and corrupts the minds of men who otherwise would be good and steadfast.”
Something in my stomach curdles at hearing those words. I don’t think Aiden believes a single fucking one of them. He’s invoking ancient stories, deep mythology, and more in order to rationalize this treatment of me. He is making an example of me. This is a show of strength.
“But,” he says. “The serpent was part of the garden, then, and now. And the woman was also part of it. We cannot and should not destroy what cannot be controlled. It is a call to learn to contain it. It is our weakness. Our failure. Our forgetfulness. Smugness. Pride, that allows these things to cause chaos.”
He’s giving some half-esoteric speech, but I think what he is doing in this moment is making an argument for me to continue to live. He is telling those around us that even though I am at fault for Teddy’s death, I will not be destroyed for it.
I would breathe a sigh of relief, but for the fact that I am well aware Aiden is capable of making life feel worse than death.
I was better off with Leo.
Aiden
She is beautiful. And she is about to be entirely exposed.
I cut the back of her dress all the way up to between her thighs with a sharp blade. The fabric, under tension, splits easily and evenly with a satisfying, smooth sound.
I sheathe the blade, then I take both sides of the fabric in my hands, and I pull. Hard. I rip the dress to the waist, and expose her pretty, punished rear to all with eyes to see.
The lines of the cane are exquisitely red on her skin. She shrieked like she was being killed, but though I made a great show of her punishment, the truth is I was holding back. As tough as my little captive likes to pretend she is with her tattoos and her attitude, she is actually quite sensitive to pain of this nature.
A cane can be an ugly thing. It can leave welts, break the skin, turn flesh into a bloody mess. She has some deep red marks, but nothing more, and I feel a deep pride seeing that my artistry and skill remains intact.
I have never felt prouder of anyone than I do of this woman in this moment. She responds so naturally and so beautifully. She gives every second her full attention. She is alive in ways manypeople never are. She is a challenge to control, and it is my joy to dominate her completely.
Now, with the gown gone, we can see the cute tattoos she has elected to adorn her body with. There are only two, a little duck on the back of her neck, just under the hairline, and a small family of ducks depicted swimming across her lower back. Most tattoos placed there are referred to as tramp stamps, but that is far too wholesome to be called trampy in any way.
She picked this motif, and I wonder if she knows the deeper meaning of it. The duck represents the Otherworld, a messenger. It also represents fertility. What a perfect symbol for her to have elected to display on her flesh.
I do not believe the universe makes mistakes. I think it quite often enacts harsh cruelty, but not by mistake. I run my fingers over her seared cheeks and trace the ducks lightly for a moment, giving her some small respite.
These men around us represent some of the most powerful families in business, legitimate and less so. These are the wolves of the world, some of them anyway. The ones closest to me. The ones who must be convinced that the Levin family is still capable of handling business.
Ella is my demonstration piece tonight.
I spread her legs, one on each side of the stone. This exposes her slit, her womanly chalice already swollen and dripping with arousal. She cannot help that, either. It is all part of her delicious and delicate responsiveness.
Then I too, mount the altar. I remain fully clothed, but free my cock. Reaching down, I grip her hips and pull them up to me. The sweet slit of her weeping sex is ready for me. Her bodyknows how to take this. Ancient instincts tell her how to submit the way a wounded animal does.
I plunge myself deep inside her in one hard stroke, causing her to gasp and make a high-pitched wail of shock. She is hot and she is wet, her molten sex gripping me tightly as I take full command of the chalice between her thighs.
She is mine. Instantly. Irrevocably. In this moment, though we are surrounded by ritual and men in masks, there is truly nothing besides her and me in all the world. I emit a growl as I press her down to the stone and make her take every rough, dominating, punishing thrust I have to give her.
In old times, blood would be shed. What was plunged into the body of a sacrifice would be steel. My cock stands instead of a blade, and her willing pussy becomes the alchemical recipient of all the grief, rage, and pain that has been welling inside me since the moment I discovered my brother’s loss.
