34

"Enough," Xerxes calls and pulls Magda away from me. Exactly at the moment when a loud bang echoes through the hall. I involuntarily flinch. Again, the small spikes on the collar dig into my flesh and I'm sure that my skin is eaten all over. Warm blood can be felt. Wet the tabletop beneath me. But none of that matters. For a brief moment, I have hope that my rescue will come. For a second I see Zaret in front of me. The brown eyes. The scarred chin. his lips.

But my hope is shattered. A sharp blade lays on my skin. Scrapes my back, and as if that weren't enough evidence that rescue isn't coming for me, one look at Xerxe's face is enough. His facial expression is hardened. The green looks dark. As if night had fallen over the moss and was ready to pull it into eternal darkness.

"What shoud that?" Platura is the first to find his voice. But he sounds lurking. As if preparing for an attack. His shoulders are taut. His stand firm. Everything about him screams that he is willing to throw himself to his death for Xerxes.

"Nothing that matters," someone replies behind me, and I try to see if the voice sounds familiar. But nothing rings for me.

"There are many guards here for nothing, Anslem." Xerxes still seems calm. As if he had complete control over the situation. But he didn't. anslem. Now I know who's behind me. The General.

"They just want to have fun," he whispers, reaching for a chain that relentlessly holds my feet to the table legs. He pulls on it and I yelp. He probably just wants to make sure I'm attached properly.

Xerxes looks at Magda and twists his mouth in disapproval. "You betrayed me." It's an indictment. Clearly. I'd like to tell Xerxes not to upset her any further. However, speaking seems impossible to me. I wanted to fight. I've felt recognized as a person again for a long time. And now all this happiness is being snatched from me again. We never stand a chance against the guards. Against Anslem's army. You're gonna tear me apart.

"I didn't betray you," Magda whispers, shaking her head. She looks really hurt. As if it affected Xerxes Cheating and Turning Away more than I thought possible.

"I'm only going the way you're forcing me on," Magda adds, taking a step closer to Xerxes. He immediately takes a step backwards and Platura also holds her back by the shoulder. Magda will no longer get through to Xerxes today. Today and probably never again if she doesn't end all of this.

She seems to notice that too. Magda looks at me doubtfully. Takes a deep breath and it really looks like she's thinking about backing down. But I know her decision before Magda probably knows it. There will be no turning back. I will not forgive her. Never. So how could she set me free when it was her own death?

"But I'll never be enough, will I?" she whispers, still looking at me as if the words were addressed to me. As if she wanted to read in my face what I have in me that she doesn't have. And while she may not find an answer, I can read her eyes. Realize the love for Xerxes. The agony of being dependent on a monster without ever understanding it.

"No you will not." Xerxe's words are harsh. Magda winces at the chill in her voice and finally turns away from me.

"Then I want you to suffer as I do." And with that she turns to go. She doesn't even look at me. Stares straight ahead and yet I recognize the glint of a tear on her cheek. For the first time I see in Magda a broken woman who never got the love she wanted and had to realize that every day anew. How hard does it have to be when lovesickness afflicts you every day? When the heart keeps getting shattered?

Maybe Magda meant this commonality between us. That we both have broken souls and we're just looking for someone to glue the little pieces back together. But Magda didn't consider that I no longer want to be healed. What was once broken can never be what it was before. And that's okay. At least for me. It seems different with Magda. Despite her graceful stance, she looks like a ghost as she walks past me and out of my sight.

The tip of the blade is still on my skin. Scrapes up my spine and is pulled back down in a wild pattern. But the pressure is still too low to inflict wounds on me. More threat than promise.

"Anslem, if you leave now, I will forget about this incident." Xerxes looks at a point that's out of my field of vision. Somewhere behind me must be the general who has infuriated Xerxes so many times. But the direct answer is a low laugh. A laugh that just bursts with self-confidence and sends an ice-cold shiver down my spine.

"I will not go." The voice is nasal and now he steps forward. This allows me to see him out of the corner of my eye. Platura automatically tenses up a bit and leads his hand to the waistband. I know this position from him. At that time he confessed to Zaret like that. Well before the commander. Platura looks like a big cat whose senses are heightened.

But Anslem doesn't seem to be impressed. He waves his hand in Platura's direction. "You can tell your lap dog to relax." The fact that Anslem Platura does not speak to him directly shows his dislike for him. "I will not break my vow to remain loyal to the king." Bitterness resonates in every syllable. It is evident that Anslem does not venerate Xerxes as a king as he should. "No matter how weak he is."

And now some of Xerxe's facade is crumbling. He clenches his teeth and the jaw muscle really twitches. But Xerxes says nothing. In some cases, silence expresses more power. Same now. Xerxe's presence grows stronger. Lays down over me and I take a deep breath. If anyone can save me, it's him. I should have faith in myself. It's just that it's difficult for me. The blade still gliding over me is too present for that.

"But my oath does not include the king's prostitute." Hands grab my butt. Push my buttocks apart a little and without my doing a soft whine squeezes down my throat.

"If you touch her, you're a dead man," Xerxes growls, and waves of aggression seem to emanate from him. The monster in him has awakened. But Anslem doesn't seem scared. He laughs faintly and for the first time his gaze falls on me. "Then it's a good thing I don't intend to touch her." He grimaces in disgust and even if I show myself submissive, I'll do the same to Anslem. He should recognize my dislike. I know that expression in people. When they look down on the poor of society. And I'm no longer prepared to duck away from such looks. Not now. And never again.

Anslem looks at me for a moment before he looks up. "Come on." And with that, a man squeezes between my legs while the knife presses a little harder against my skin. The blade is supposed to scare me. That's obvious. And I'd love to say that I'm not panicking at all. But that would be a lie. The iron literally burns into me. And that's not because of small wounds caused by the knife, but because of the faint promise that comes from it. Which whispers to me in lovely words that I shall die by this blade.

And even if I should scream, I remain silent. Look at Xerxes and make a silent it's okay with my lips. We both know I mean that sincerely. Xerxes showed me that fear is not bad. It's just a reflex of the body. A warning that should be heard. And I hear her. But he also showed me that panic doesn't have to be paralyzing. Still, I don't want Anslem to see my feelings in my eyes. So I lower my lids as the first man sinks his erection into me. The lube comes in handy here too. It does not hurt. Not when the man sinks his hardness into me with full force and not when he strikes a slower beat.

"You'll regret turning against me," Xerxes growls, and even if anger still resonates in his voice, Xerxes doesn't seem so aggressive anymore. He clearly understood what I wanted to tell him. Keep your feet still and wait.

"I'm just doing what you missed." steps sound. Anslem is probably walking around me wanting to radiate something like power. "My guards deserve a reward." As if the man between my legs wanted to agree with him, he grabs my hair and penetrates me roughly again. A choked gasp makes it past my lips and he presses his entire length into me. But that's not what makes me exhale trembling, it's that my pelvic bones are pressed against the sharp edge of the table every time.

"And we'll get them now," Anslem adds, and the man thrusts into me again. A low moan can be heard from him and the grip on my hair is increased. But I don't care about any of that. I know being treated like an object. And also being used in front of others is nothing new. But what is new is someone who cares about me. Xerxes gives with power. His presence alone lets my pulse beat at a comfortable pace.

Xerxes makes a dismissive noise and I don't even have to see him to know he's tearing his hair. "You haven't even fought a battle. So what should there be a reward for?" I know what Xerxes is doing. He wants to distract Anslem. Platura is probably already considering the possibilities of tipping this situation in such a way that Xerxes is safe.

"That's exactly the problem," Anslem replies, and even as he speaks, the knife is pressed deeper into my skin. I scream and pull on the iron chains, but nothing happens. Only the man pushes harder. Really seems to vibrate between my legs.

"My men have no way of dumping their energy." There is a growl of approval as the hardness relentlessly invades me. The thrusts become more impassioned. A smack fills the room as he repeatedly bangs his pelvis against my butt. "But fortunately, my men have now been offered a way to get rid of the excess energy." And with that, the man behind me seems to forget any shame. He pulls my head back and his penetration hardens. Downright aggressive. As if anger drives him - as if I were the punching bag that has to take the beatings.

The others don't seem to want to wait any longer. There's hands on me All over. you touch me Pulling at my hair and digging my fingers hard into my flesh. My mouth is also occupied again. One by one slides his fingers over my tongue. So much so that I choke and tears well up in my eyes. But they don't stop. Neither my rattling nor my soft whimpering gets the men to let go of me.

And with that I switch off. Just like I always did back then. Except that I don't even have to act here. The men take turns. But neither the first nor the second pours out on me. Probably because the others are disgusted by each other's sperm. Actually, I shouldn't even notice that the men don't get their orgasm in me. If I really managed to split myself off from reality, then I shouldn't feel the rubbing of the hardness that fills me again and again. Shouldn't have noticed fingers digging hard into my buttocks or a hand slapping my butt. But I take all of that into account. And I also know the reason why I can't isolate myself completely.

The knife keeps scratching my back. Sometimes stronger, sometimes shallow. Sometimes it looks like patterns are being scratched into my skin. It hurts. Every time the blade cuts into my flesh, I feel a stab of pain that keeps bringing me back to reality. And so I get it, how one after the other uses me for his instincts. How they laugh at me and spit on my back. The smell of sex is in the air and the moans are mixed with the voices of the surrounding people.

But I'm too tired to understand - can't place a word correctly. As if a thin wall were separating me from the other people, intercepting what was said. But there is no wall to protect me. Men still step between my legs. One after the other. There are many. Too many. Every time another hardness fills me, some of my strength seems to dwindle. I can feel the aggression in every shot. Anger resonates in every touch. And every time I get hurt more. The fat no longer protects me. My shame burns. My hip bones protest with each additional thrust and my back seems to be on fire.

But even if I'm not allowed to distance myself from reality on my own, a fog appears in my head. Very slowly this climbs my thoughts. In a sweet voice whispers to me that everything will be better soon. If I give in to the veil, everything will be fine. And I want that. I want everything to be fine. So I close my eyes when someone puts his glans on my entrance again. But he doesn't push the tip inside me. Instead, it slides higher with the erection. Right between my buttocks.

"Please don't," I say with an effort and want to turn my pelvis away somehow, but I can't. The cuffs on my ankles keep me in place and the man can put more pressure on my anus. That alone makes me tremble. It's like a promise that he'll be the one to tear me apart. Who will cause me pain that will accompany me until my death.

Just another twist of fate. The prostitute dies of rape. In fact, I had very brief hopes of escaping the cycle of my life. For a moment I was allowed to breathe without the constant burden of poverty. But that's how it is in life. A fall follows a high. Hell to heaven.

And that's how I manage to finally drift further away. Suddenly there is no longer a man between my legs. I am not in pain. No thinking tears my soul apart. My spirit protects me from the unspeakable suffering. Splits from my body and lets me fly.

A soft creaking sounds. As if the wood of the floor were groaning under a huge mass. But the fog in my head is getting thicker and I don't want to shoo it away. There is too much lightness in it for that. And so even the gurgling noise next to me is just a background noise that just disappears again.

Lips hover over my ear. I can hardly lift my eyelids. I'm so tired. And yet I hear the rattling breath. How this warmly strokes my skin and causes something in me. Something I can't place and yet my heartbeat seems to slow down. "Why isn't I surprised to find you exactly in this position." The quiet thunder vibrates. Seems to go straight to my core and enliven me from there. I know this bass. Would recognize the hoarse voice among hundreds. Zaret.