Page 16 of Depravity

“You beat your wife, Quinn?” I remark.

He glances at me, shrugging. “She needs to learn,” He remarks before slapping her hard enough across the face that she falls onto all fours. “All these women need to learn.”

His two friends get up and it’s almost practised, almost rehearsed. They prowl around her, like they think they’re two badass predators about to make a kill. My lips quirk as I watch them. It’s almost amusing, entertaining even. At least it would be, if she wasn’t crying too bloody much.

One of them undoes his trousers, yanks her thong aside and starts pushing himself into her. The other man grabs her face, saying something I can’t hear before he pushes his cock down her throat.

She’s clearly not up for it, but she doesn’t fight either. She just stays there letting them use her while her husband sits back down and watches the scene before him like he’s bored.

When they’re done, Quinn looks over at me and gestures. “If you’d like a go,” He says, like he’s offering up a biscuit. “She’s only good for one thing. Her face isn’t much to look at, but her cunt grips you quite nicely.”

I shake my head. Another man’s leftovers is hardly tempting.

Quinn pulls a face, muttering “suit yourself,” before he gets up and pushes her down onto her back.

She whimpers as he slaps her a few times and then he undoes his belt, wrapping it around her throat tight enough that her eyes bulge.

I’ve never been one who’s shy about sex. I grew up in Oblivion so I could hardly be that, but listening to his grunting, seeing his pale, wrinkly arse flexing as he fucks her makes my stomach turn.

Thank fuck this is my last night. Thank fuck I get to leave tomorrow.

I mutter some excuse and head out, leaving them all there. I don’t doubt they’ll continue the party, continue abusing the girl and I have better things to do than sit there and watch them fuck all night.

Dance class is the worst.

We’re all there, standing facing the mirrors, dropping and jiving our hips.

It’s sensual, sexual - and I absolutely hate it.

I know above us on the balcony, Professor Jude is sitting there, watching every second. We’re not allowed to look up. We’re not allowed to look anywhere but ahead.

Those are the rules, that we have to pretend that our future husbands are watching us. That this dance is for them.

The music plays out and it sounds so tinny.

Clara is beside me. Dancing and muttering. As she meets my gaze, she rolls her eyes. She must be just as sweaty as I am. She certainly looks it, with her skin all flushed and that hint of ascar showing on the side of her top lip from where it didn’t join properly when she was a baby.

“Now, pirouette,” The dance instructor says loudly.

We all spin as one, like a bunch of dancing robots, turning on the spot before we’re back bucking our hips once more.

When we’re finally announced into society, they’ll hold a great ball where we’re presented to the Senate. All the Brethren Lords will be there, watching. And then I know we’ll have to dance, to perform. To sell ourselves as potential wives.

It’s how my step-grandmother was chosen. She’s not even thirty, and yet she was forced to marry a man over twice her age.

Paige is from a good family, the youngest of six daughters. She had a nice little dowry to entice a would-be suitor, not that our family needed the money. I know my grandfather has no care for more children, not now anyway. Paige has miscarried so many times he’s given up on the idea.

No, all his plans now rest on my aunt, on her great match with the Blake’s.

I guess I should be relieved that he’s not selling me off to secure our family’s future. But then, I’m the unwanted one, the unworthy one. I have no illusions as to what my marriage will be. I’ll be lucky if I’m even given a match at all and not sold off to be a breeder.

“Brynn Monclere,”

The voice rings out and we all freeze.

My stomach literally drops as I realise I’ve been called out. But I was dancing, I was.

The teacher beckons me over, and I try so hard not to tremble as I make my way from the very back. Some of the girls whisper and make snide remarks as I pass them, but I don’t react to it.

---