Chapter 4: Chapter 4: In the Clutches of a Monster

I wake, aware that someone is carrying me. I don’t know when I fell asleep or for how long, but when I open my eyes and look around, all I can see is darkness.

The man holding me can sense I’m awake and his grip tightens painfully. I gasp, but he ignores it, and if I didn’t know already, that one action tells me who it is that has me. Issar.

I want to ask him where we are, why we have stopped, but I know better. He will hurt me if I do, so I remain silent, willing, and obedient in his arms.

Someone is ahead of him, and they open the door with a creak.

“These are all the rooms we have, my lord,” he says.

“They will do,” Issar replies, walking in and dumping me on the floor, where I land with a thud.

The man glances at me and then quickly looks away.

“Bring me some wine,” Issar says. “And some food too.”

“Yes, my lord,” the man replies, bowing low and disappearing.

I’m lying there, sprawled on the floor, as Issar walks to the fireplace and throws another log on it. I go to sit up, but he throws me a look, and I’m paralyzed.

He turns his back on me and it feels like some sort of perverse game, some sort of test to see how far he can push me. Only he holds all the cards. He decides who the winner is and it is him every time.

A light tap at the door makes me jump.

Issar says, “Enter.”

It’s the man again and he’s carrying a huge tray. He steps carefully around me and places it on the table in front of the couch.

And then just as carefully he walks back past me and leaves.

Issar sits down, taking a sip of his wine, and lifts the lid as a waft of whatever is under the silver cover fills the room.

My stomach grumbles so loudly we both hear it.

He smirks, lifting his fork. He takes a bite, chewing it slowly. Deliberately.

“Do you want some, girl?” he asks even though he already knows the answer. My damn body has already told him so.

I nod, meeting his eyes.

“Stand up,” he commands. “Come here.”

I do as I’m told, stopping just in front of him, and he pulls me down onto the couch. He grabs my hand and puts the fork into it.

“Eat,” he says.

I frown, confused because I’m expecting him to torment me in some way first.

“What good will you be to me if you starve? Now eat,” he says.

I gulp before tucking in. It’s beef stew and it tastes so damn good. I don’t care that it’s burning my mouth and my insides as it goes down.

I scoff it in, just like I did the soup and Issar watches me as he sips his wine.

I put the fork down when I’m done and then sit there, beside him, staring at the table in front of me, waiting for whatever next he is going to throw at me.

“What are you?” he asks quietly. I feel my body freeze in terror. “You’re not human. I know that,” he states.

I shake my head. It’s easy to tell when you know the signs. Easy to see that I am not human, at least not fully.

My body is a little too perfect, my eyes a tiny bit too big compared to normal human ones. My species was made to be more desirable, to accentuate every desire a human has, and I am literally the walking definition of it.

“Tell me what you are,” he orders.

I turn to stare at him. I can’t say it. I don’t dare.

If he was bad enough before, he would be so much worse if he learned the truth. He would parade me, show me off for everyone to see. I would be his greatest prize, the greatest jewel in his kingdom.

And I would never escape him; he would never let me go.

“Did Rufus know?” he asks.

I blink instead of replying. I’m shaking now. Shaking again.

“I bet the old bastard knew. That’s why he had you locked away, though I can’t blame him.”

I hang my head and shut my eyes. I can feel his desire for me surging between us and I don’t want to feel it. I don’t want to feel anything right now.

“I think you’re a type of nymph, like the girl from the auction,” he says.

He is close, closer than he realizes, but he won’t guess it. That girl is so close to what I am and yet so different too.

Nymphs are common enough; most of the big whorehouses have at least a couple. A few of the kings also have them in their harems.

But I am a rare thing, a dangerously rare thing.

The world has not seen my kind in so long that most people think we no longer exist. And I need to keep it that way. No matter what happens, what this man does to me, he cannot know what I really am.

He cannot know that I am a siren.

Because wars have been fought over my kind. Thousands of people have died just for the chance to touch someone like me.

I am tainted, cursed in my own way. I have the power to beguile, to tantalize, to seduce, but ultimately, I can drive any man who touches me mad. Mad with desire and mad with a need they will never satisfy without me.

And worst of all, they want that madness, they want the insanity, they want to fall into the darkest depths of desire, to be lost in it, to spend their every waking hour trapped in a world of euphoria that only I can create.

He grabs my face, forcing me to look at him, but my eyes are still shut and he cannot make me open them. At least that’s what I tell myself because he can; he can make me do whatever he wants.

“I can have my seer tell me when we get to my lands,” he states.

“I guess you’ll just have to wait till then,” I reply stupidly.

He snarls, his fingers digging into my skin. “I’m not accustomed to waiting, girl,” he retorts and I can feel his desire, his lust for me turning to anger.

Part of me is happy about it. I would rather he beat me, rather he hurt me physically than try to fuck me again.

He hauls me over to the bed and I sit on the edge of it, watching in horror as he undoes his jeans and pulls his dick out.

This is the first time I’ve seen it properly and it’s even bigger than I imagined. No wonder it hurt so much.

He’s holding it right in front of me. He’s so hard it looks like it’s actually throbbing. He gives it a couple of pumps with his hand and then he grabs my head with his other hand, holding me so I can’t back away.

“Suck it,” he says and I swallow back the bile in my throat.

“Do not make me repeat myself.”

“Or you’ll what?” I say. “You’ll hurt me? Go ahead, beat me,” I cry.

He narrows his eyes, wrenching my jaw open, and rams his dick in anyway.

It’s so big I choke as it hits the back of my throat. My eyes wet with tears. He pulls himself out and then rams himself back in again. I want to clamp my jaw shut, to bite down on him, but I don’t dare.

He scares me so much that I give in. I let him face fuck me and he begins to groan as his dick continues to slide in and out.

I’m not even sucking; I’m literally just sitting there with my mouth half open and he’s sliding across my tongue, but it seems like it is enough for him, that maybe his dominance over me is enough to get his rocks off.

He moves his other hand, holding my face between them both, and he starts sliding my head away, rocking against me. His dick continues to hit my tonsils and I try so hard to just breathe, to just relax, to not choke.

He groans again and his dick jerks in my mouth, and then he is cuming, filling me with the salty warmth that slides down my throat. I swallow quickly, wanting the taste to be gone.

He steps back, staring at me. Is he satisfied, I wonder, though I don’t know why. He pulls me back to my feet and he undoes my dress while I do nothing to stop him.

As it pools at my feet, he stares at me again. I’m getting sick of it. The way he looks at me, the way his eyes pierce into my skin.

I shut my eyes, shying away under his gaze.

“Keep them open,” he orders.

I obey him in spite of myself, looking back at him, seeing the lust so apparent on his face. Tasting it too in the air around us.

He pulls me further from the bed and then he circles me, running his eyes over me as he does, staring at every inch of my body.

I try not to shake. I try not to show any fear despite what I feel inside.

He takes his clothes off and my stomach drops. I already know what’s coming next.

“That old man might have had you for five years, but I’m going to show you what a real man feels like,” he says, placing his hands on my shoulders as I shake my head slightly.

“Oh yes, girl. I’m going to make you mine in every possible way,” he states.

His lips are on mine and his tongue is forcing my lips open even as I cry out, forcing its way into my mouth as he pushes me back onto the bed.

His weight is back on me. His muscles, his strength, his hard body pushing against my softness, and I flail, trying to get free, but his hands grab me before I can even attempt it, and his mouth is on my skin, on my breasts.

He’s covering me in his saliva as he runs his tongue across me and his fingers work their way to my pussy.

I cry out, still sore from yesterday, and he smirks as if he knows it.

“Touch yourself,” he orders.

I balk at his words.

“Do it or I will.”

I nod then. Anything is better than him touching me. I move my right hand down. He shifts off me to get a good view of the action.

I don’t look at him then. I pretend he isn’t there, that I am alone, that I am safe, somewhere else entirely.

My two fingers slide down myself and I am so dry it seems pointless. I pull them back up, and still, there is nothing, no arousal, no pleasure. I am numb.

“Keep going,” he says, and I shh him because he is not helping. His voice, his presence is making it worse. So much worse.

I can sense his irritation that I have spoken to him like that, but clearly what I am doing satisfies him enough to not choose to hurt me in this moment.

The creature is there at the very recesses of my mind. She’s begging to be set loose. She can make me wet, she says, and I know it’s true, but I don’t let her out. I can’t let her out.

I plunge my fingers in, hoping that it might save me, and thank God I am wet inside. I drag my fingers back out, spreading my juices across myself, and slowly begin circling my clit.

Issar is watching me so intently. He’s lying down now, beside me, his head against my thigh to smell my arousal. And if I am aroused, he absolutely would.

I shut my eyes, teasing myself more. My body starts to hum and finally I feel myself get wetter. Issar sees it too, and I can feel his body moving. He’s touching himself, masturbating beside me.

I try to ignore it, to phase it out and just focus on myself, but it’s so hard. Everything about him repulses me, and the thought that he is watching me, forcing me, getting turned on by me right now makes me sick.

The creature inside me stirs though. She’s clearly enjoying the show. I fight her down, force her back, but she only comes back stronger. When I blink, she’s taking over, taking control again.

My body writhes. I’m wet now. Really wet, and my fingers are moving more expertly as I moan so loudly that Issar responds with his own.

I want to fight her. I want it to stop because I’m realizing every time I do this, every time she takes charge, I’m only letting Issar win more.

I gasp as my body begins to shudder and my internal fight for control is lost as I’m forced closer and closer to climax.

Issar’s breath is on me. He’s right against me now and I can feel his hand moving against me as he rubs himself.

My mind is fighting so hard, but the creature takes over and I am lost. I convulse, kicking out, screaming as I climax, but it doesn’t feel pleasurable. It doesn’t feel good.

And then Issar wrenches my legs round and rams himself into me. It hurts so much more than yesterday. I cry out in pain, but he doesn’t care.

He starts thrusting away, holding my waist so tightly I know every place where his fingers are will bear the bruises.

He’s grunting, growling, and the noise of it makes me sick and the creature in me won’t return even if I want her to. She has had her fun, she has had her pleasure; she is not interested in this moment, this assertion of power.

Issar groans again. I can tell from how his body is moving that he is close.

And just as I think he might be coming, he pulls out, spurting his cum all over me, covering my stomach, and then he lies back, staring at me again with a smirk on his face as if he understands.

As if he knows my secret. What I really am. What is inside me.

I lie there, unmoving, staring up at the canopy of the bed above me. I should get up. I should clean his mess off me, but I feel too dirty, too used to even do it.

My breath didn’t increase. My heart wasn’t even racing. He had clearly enjoyed every minute, but for me, it felt like nothing, and I wonder if this is my life now, this hollow, empty dissatisfaction.

I sigh, get up, and walk to the bathroom. I want to be clean, to scrub his stench off me, but it is pointless because soon enough he’ll be doing it again.

I let out a silent snarl. No, I won’t think like that. I won’t let him beat me that easily. I’m going to escape. I’m going to get away. I just don’t know how yet.