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He steps forward, pushing my upper body back while holding my head up. I can’t move anywhere. He has my torso suspended. All to force his cock deeper into my throat. I heave in his hands, but my body has to accept it.
His balls settle on my chin.
My airway seals shut.
Panic detonates inside me. I struggle uselessly against the zip tie, wrists burning, lungs already screaming. Through blurred vision, I look up at Edwin and finally see clearly what I had only glimpsed before.
Sadistic control.
He wants to find out exactly how far I can be pushed.
Right before darkness fully closes in, he pulls back and I gasp for breath, coughing as a string of thick saliva hangs from my mouth.
My body trembles in his hands. I can’t help crying from being so helpless. I try to gather every sip of air I can before he takes more.
When he moves again, I shake my head instinctively.
It doesn’t matter.
He fills my mouth once more, fast now, using me with a rhythm that leaves no space to think. No use in trying to make it look good.
I only try to survive it.
When he goes still, shots of cum hit my tongue and go down my throat in hot pulses.
He pulls back enough for me to hold my mouth open. Then he lifts my chin and closes it for me.
Keeping a straight face takes effort, but I swallow automatically, relieved it’s finally over.
When he releases me, my body sags where I kneel.
My stomach hurts. My throat is sore. Tears and spit dry on my face in the night air.
And right now, I hate Edwin.
Not because he forced me to do it. I knew he would demand something difficult of me.
But because he let me walk into it blind. He let them watch me break apart.
The fire roars. No one says a word. There’s no comfort. No acknowledgment of what I endured. The ritual simply moves on, as if what just happened was no more than a door I was expected to crawl through.
I curl inward as much as the restraint allows and stare at the dirt beneath my knees, wishing I could sink into it and vanish.
Behind me, Patrick is already zipped up. Bridget is calm with her hair still perfect and her face composed. No redness. No tears. As if nothing worth remembering had happened.
Was it that easy for her?
“Precious breath is taken and bestowed upon the Aspirants,” Liam says, standing beside the open graves.
His smooth voice carries over the clearing like a priest blessing something wicked. “Their lives rest entirely in your hands.”
His arm sweeps outward, presenting Edwin and Patrick.
My lungs tighten until breathing is too much work.
Edwin wouldn’t let me die.
He didn’t throw me from the bluff.
