Page 64 of Deviant

Is he going to have them line up one by one, or will one rape my arse, while another rapes me vaginally?

Some tiny voice in my head whispers that maybe if I beg, maybe if I plead, Magnus might just step in. That’s what he wants, isn’t it? He wants me to play his obedient little pet, maybe if I do that, if I play along, he’ll change his mind and I’ll only have to endure his savagery instead of the entire hoard of them.

I open my mouth, I try to force the words out, but nothing comes.

A hand lands on my shoulder, I scramble to get away but another wraps around my wrist, twisting it behind my back so that I’m spun around. My other hand lashes out, my fingers curl into a fist and I slam it into the man’s face.

He lets go, blinking back in shock, while he rubs the mark that’s already appearing along his jaw.

“She’s a feisty bitch.” the man behind him comments, and there’s no amusement to his voice at all.

“That she is,” Magnus says, closing the distance, grabbing my hands, yanking them behind my back, where he ties them off so I now have no real form of defence at all.

He then pushes me, watching as I stumble back and lose my balance before landing awkwardly on my arse.

The older man, the grey-haired one leans over me, grabbing my ankles and forces my legs apart so that I’m entirely on show for them all, and, from how my hands are bound, there’s little I can do to stop it.

“Who gets first dibs?” he asks, not looking at me, not looking at my face, just staring at my pussy like he’s never seen one before.

I try to kick out, to aim for his face, but a bolt of electricity bursts from the collar and I scream out, arching my back, paralysed by the sudden pain. All those cuts along my back, all those welts where Magnus whipped me seem to reopen and it feels like me entire skin is aflame.

“No kicking.” Magnus says almost lazily. “I may enjoy your protests, but my friends here prefer a more compliant whore.”

I stare back at him completely dumbfounded. Does he really expect me to just give in, to what, become some sort of robot, to lay here, and allow them to use me and not even respond?

“That may normally be the case,” the grey-haired man says, digging his nails into my skin. “But who doesn’t like a little fight, every now and then? If we wanted consensual, we could just fuck our wives.”

The other men murmur their agreement, a few laugh too.

Grey hair yanks my legs, dragging me closer and then he swaps his hands so that both my ankles are now trapped in his one hold. How the fuck does he have this much strength? It’s a sign of how weak I’ve become that he’s able to overpower me like this.

With his free hand, he spears two fingers into me, exploring, examining. I yelp at the brutality of it but then bite mytongue, reminding myself that every protest, every cry, gives them something and I refuse to do it.

He starts widening his fingers, widening me, before he forces another one in, and then another. It’s impossibly tight. There’s no lube and I’m not in the slightest bit wet so every movement tears my insides more.

The other men, all six of them stand there, watching silently as though they’re taking notes.

I force back the tears just as he forces in his entire fist, but it’s too much. Too much pain, too much pressure, too much everything. I let out a scream, I jerk so hard that my ankle slips free, and I slam my foot into his face.

He groans, falling back, with his hand now out of me. I scoot away as fast as I can, but another hand falls on me and though I don’t look, I know exactly who it belongs to. I’d know his touch anywhere.

“Fucking bitch,” grey hair curses.

One of the other men laughs. “I thought you said you liked the fight?” He teases.

Grey hair gets to his feet, shaking his head, before examining his hand. “Her cunt is tight, I’ll give her that,” he comments and though I know I shouldn’t look, I know I shouldn’t, I do it, and I can see it, the streaks of my blood, the evidence of what he’s already done.

I don’t want to think about how much this night is going to hurt, how much pain and how much they’re going to make me bleed. My body starts shaking violently and Magnus’s fingers dig a little deeper into my shoulder as if he’s trying to comfort me in some silent, unspoken way.

“I want her mouth,” the larger man with the beard says.

“I’m having her arse,” the man with the tattoos adds.

“You take her arse, I want her cunt,” grey hair states, staring once more between my legs.

My breath starts to pick up even more, I gulp down, I try to breathe but nothing can calm the fear, nothing can help, because nothing will stop this.

“Before we do anything,” Magnus says, “I’m going to bind her.”

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