Page 135 of Decimation

“With my body,” he says, his voice low and filled with promise, “I cleanse your soul.”

He steps closer, his hands grip and lift my thighs in a way that tells me exactly what is coming next. My eyes dart to the others surrounding us, to all these men. I don’t want them here, I don’t anyone to witness this.

I feel a surge of panic and shame too. “No,” I whisper, my voice hoarse and trembling. “Please…”

But he doesn’t stop. He spreads my legs, lifts them at enough of an angle that half the men get a good view of my pussy as he spreads me wide.

“Your cunt is glistening.” He whispers. “Are you as eager for me to fuck you as I am?”

I scrunch my face up, but as I do he pushes himself into me, he slams himself inside me so hard that I scream out.

The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pain and something else, something I don’t want to admit.

How can he feel like this? How can this feel so… no, I won’t say that word. I won’t admit that I like this, that I like… he starts sliding out, taking his time, as if he wants to feel every inch of me contract and then he slides back in.

“You feel fucking divine.” He groans. “Your cunt was made for me. Made by God himself.”

My face heats, my body shudders, and despite myself I can feel the effect he’s having on me; how I’m already becoming overwhelmed by this pleasure, overwhelmed enough to not give a fuck about our audience, to not give a fuck that this is wrong, all of this is.

The robed men chant louder, their voices rising in a crescendo that fills the chapel, echoing off the vaulted ceiling above us.

Lazarus groans, his hips moving against mine and I feel my body responding, feel my hips moving to meet his, feel myself grinding against him, desperate for more contact. More pleasure, more, more, more.

“That’s it,” he growls, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Come apart, wife. Prove to everyone here who owns your soul, who owns all of you now.”

I shake my head, tears streaming down my face, though I don’t know whether I’m crying from humiliation or pleasure now. I can’t stop the heat building inside me, I can’t stop the way my body is reacting to this.

His hand drops between my legs, his fingers finding my clit and I gasp, my body arching further against the ropes.

“No,” I whimper, but it’s too late. My orgasm crashes over me, my body convulsing against the crucifix as I scream his name.

He laughs so fucking triumphantly, and then I feel him come inside me, feel his body shuddering against mine. He slumps against me for a moment, his breath hot against my neck before he steps back, his eyes gleaming with a hunger that makes my heart stop but sets me on fire all the same.

The robed men step forward, closer to me, forming a queue. Their hoods are all raised so I can’t figure out which one is which, bar Zayn, who waits at the very end, in his chair.

I look between them, trying to figure out what fresh horror comes next.

The first man steps up, grabbing my legs, shoving his face right there, right in my pussy and then I can feel his tongue lapping at me, probing me, sliding inside me.

“What the fuck…” I cry out, shocked that he would dare, but my eyes find Lazarus and he is standing, arms crossed, clearly allowing this degradation to continue.

The man is not nearly as skilled as Lazarus, he sashays his tongue back and forth and I can feel him smearing all that come. Smearing it all over me, covering me in his saliva.

“Make her come, Brother.” The robed man behind him whispers.

I shake my head. I don’t want that, I don’t want his tongue on me, or any of this.

But he’s sliding a finger into me, curling it inside me and I feel myself slipping away, feel myself giving in to this moment. His mouth is relentless, his tongue flicking against my clit in rapid, precise strokes. I bite my lip to stifle a moan but it escapes anyway, echoing through the chamber in a sound that is more taunting than anything else. This man doesn’t stop until I’m trembling, until my orgasm is crashing over me like a wave.

Then he pulls back, his lips glistening, and nods to Lazarus. “She is worthy.”

The second Guardian steps up quickly, his stern face poking out from beneath the hood, but his touch is surprisingly gentle. He kneels before me, his hands cupping my arse as he lifts me slightly, clearly trying to get a better angle as his tongue delves deep into me.

He laps at me hungrily, his nose brushing against my clit as it feels like he actually drinks from me. His fingers tease my entrance, sliding in and out in a rhythm that matches the thrusts of his tongue. I can feel Lazarus’s eyes on me, his approval radiating through the room. This man’s touch is softer than the one before, but no less effective. He builds me up slowly, taking his time in a way that is shameful and yet undeniably pleasurable. His tongue and fingers work in tandem until I’m gasping, and my hips are bucking against his face.

When I come he immediately rises, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“She is pure.” He growls, nodding to the next man who is only too eager to step up.