Page 5 of Kings Fear No One
In their eyes, they’re doing the work of some higher power.
None of that matters in this fucked up world we’re captive in.
I’m standing so long in the doorway that Brody appears from the large house upfront. He crosses the grassy stretch of land carrying his AR-15 against his shoulder, his expression tight-lipped.
Our eyes lock onto each other.
I don’t bother letting him finish his walk toward my cabin. I step forward to meet him damn near halfway. He clamps a hand on my shoulder and shoves me forward as if I wasn’t already going voluntarily.
But appearance is everything in the Chosen Saints—Brody’s making sure he looks like he’s in control; he’s leading me, not the other way around. Believers aren’t supposed to have autonomy.
“You know the rules,” he growls low enough for only my ears. “No crossing the threshold on your own unless directed.”
I grit my teeth. “I saved you the steps.”
“Hurry up.” He shoves me again. Harder, so I stumble.
There was a time in the past where I was in good enough shape to take out any of the men in the Chosen Saints. I had the muscle power and the hand-to-hand combat skills to not just kick their ass. I had the ability to snap them like twigs.
Nine hundred and sixty-one days into captivity, things’ve changed. I’m a shell of what I once was, whittled down from the powerful man I used to be.
Brody pushes and shoves me all the way to the main house. The three-story mini mansion is where the Leader and his most loyal saints sleep. It’s night and day between the main house and the cabins the believers are kept in.
Dry. Insulated. Full furnishings. Electricity and running water. Luxuries like TVs and real beds. It couldn’t be more different from what we’re subjected to out in the cabins.
The only time any of us spend in this house is when we’re called upon. When we’re needed for what’s known as an ‘act of service’.
I’m called to the main house almost daily.
The curse of being a saint’s favorite. Brody leads me upstairs to the fourth bedroom on the left, then nudges the door open.
She’s waiting for me, propped up on her recliner she treats like a throne. Her eyes light up and a smirk twists onto her lips. She flicks her satiny robe open and kicks her legs up onto either side of her footstool. She doesn’t care that Brody sees she’s wearing nothing underneath.
The concept of modesty doesn’t exist in a place like the Chosen Saints’s sanctuary.
But that doesn’t mean privacy isn’t sometimes wanted for these acts of service.
Brody knows to close the door without any questions. I know to step forward and then kneel.
Mandy spreads her legs wider. “I’ve been dreaming of you, boy. All night I was. Almost had Brody go down and pull you out of your cabin. It couldn’t have been earlier than three, four in the morning. Go ahead and have a taste. That tongue of yours…”
She shudders instead of finishing her train of thought.
I urge myself to tune out of the moment like I usually do. Some days it’s easier than others.
In the beginning, I fought. I raised hell each and every time. My back bears the lash marks to show for it.
But everybody surrenders eventually; take any person and put them in this situation. They’d eventually tap out and comply.
I kneel between Mandy’s legs and press my face to her vagina the way she likes—so that she’s basically grinding into my face as my tongue pokes out and licks at her clit.
Her fingers grip my hair, and she sighs in encouragement. Soon her thighs are quivering around my head as I work my lips and tongue the way she likes. I’m checked out of the moment.
So gone I don’t taste her. The slick evidence of her arousal doesn’t register.
I lick and suck at her while my mind’s thousands of miles away.
There was a point in time where I used to laugh and tell my brother Mace and his best friend Cash I hadn’t met a pussy I didn’t like. Turn off the lights and they were all the same—they all felt pretty damn good wrapped around my dick.
