Page 47 of Degradation
He narrows his eyes while one of the other wives says how sweet I am.
“She’s not sweet.” Gunther suddenly yells, pushing the slave so that he stumbles back. “She’s a fucking whore.”
The hate in his voice, the anger, it tells me I’m fucked. It tells me that this night is going to get so much worse.
“Get over there and suck his cock.” He orders.
I drop my head, hating the way everyone is watching me now as I make my way to where this slave is stood, with his gold-encrusted dick.
“On your knees, wife.” Gunther all but spits.
I sink down, wondering if it was really worth fighting. Maybe I should have just done this to begin with because I doubt this slave’s dick will be worse than my husband’s.
I can’t look him in the face as I take hold of it. Shame heats my cheeks. The gold is cool, smooth. It’s wrapped around, locked in place and I can’t for the life of me fathom what its purpose is for.
I run my tongue along it, still so reluctant to follow through.
From behind me, I hear footsteps. A hand grabs my hair, twists it, and I know it’s my husband.
“Take it. Take it all.” He says, shoving my mouth down, shoving his dick as far into my throat as it can go.
The metal makes it so much worse. It makes it so much bigger. There’s no flex, no give. I choke but Gunther doesn’t give a shit as he pulls me off then pushes me back down again.
I don’t understand what the point is. What he’s trying to achieve? Is this simply to humiliate me? Is this simply to prove that he has all the power? It’s not like I’ve questioned that. It’s not like I’ve challenged him.
He pulls me off, wrenches my head around and then spits into my mouth.
I gag. I don’t mean to but it’s so disgusting, I can’t help myself.
He kicks my legs out, letting me slam onto the marbled floor on my face. As I try to get up, he slams a foot into my back to hold me in place.
“What the fuck is that?” He snarls.
“She’s bleeding.” Someone in the crowd says, though I don’t know who.
Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.
I know what it is. I know what’s happened. I grab the fabric, staring at the tiny bit of stain and it feels like me entire world collapses.
Gunther drags me back up. I don’t know how the man has the strength to do it, but he hauls me to my feet and squeezes my neck as he gets right into my face.
“You’re bleeding?” He says. “You’re fucking bleeding?”
“I got my period.” I whisper, feeling like it’s pointless to deny it now.
“When were you going to tell me? When were you going to admit it?” He snarls.
I bite my tongue, afraid to answer and he throws me back to the floor.
“You were meant to be pregnant.” He hollers. “You were meant to prove a point. To prove that my actions are holy, that I am holy. That God loves me more than them.” He points to everyone else in the room as he unleashes a tirade of abuse. “You’ve ruined this. You’ve ruined everything.”
He slams a fist into my side, then lands a second. He wrenches my skirt up and stares at where I know I’m dirty.
“The fuck is this?” He spits, reaching down, pulling the string, pulling the tampon out before I can stop him. It leaves a tiny trail of blood that drips down, shaming me more.
“You used this? You fucked yourself with this?” The disgust in his voice makes me pause.
I screw my face up as I stare back at him. Fucked myself with what, a tampon?
