"Mmm...fuck yes!"
Sound came first.
The bed frame knocking against the wall. Silk moving. And over all of it, Lady Vesper Callowmere's voice, high and delighted with herself.
Her dark luscious red hair swayed as she ground her hips over a face, her green eyes half lidded in pleasure.
She wore a sheer nightgown over her underwear, the silken fabric gliding against her sweat streaked skin.
She wore a scandalous G-string and a lace bra, the colour a deep shade of purple that highlighted her hair and eyes and the pale skin of her body.
The G-String was pushed to the side, her pussy dripping down to the young man's face and making a slight sloshing sound each time her hips moved.
"Mm...don't move your tongue...mm...yeah keep it like that...."
Her cherry lips were slightly agape, breathless moans slipping out while her a hand cupped her heavy breasts over her bra.
Her thick ass covered his face and part of his neck, a situation some people would gladly wish to be in.
"Don't move! Don't you dare move! Don't y-...mmm!"
Soren didn't move.
He hadn't moved in a long time, and he wasn't supposed to. That was the rule that had been long engrained into his body and soul.
She had explained the rule to him when he was 17, in the same patient voice she used with the kitchen staff, and she had explained it again with a riding crop when he forgot it.
"A doll doesn't move. A doll doesn't make noise. A doll doesn't look at you unless you tell it to," she had said.
He was very good at being a doll now. Three years of practice.
His left arm had stopped working about ten minutes ago when she put in too much force when she was hitting him with the crop.
He couldn't feel his fingers, and there was a hot wet weight sitting in the middle of his chest that had nothing to do with what she was doing to him.
His ribs had gone wrong somewhere. Though at this point he wasn't sure when.
She'd used the bootjack on him last night and he'd heard something crack and she'd laughed and told him she'd send for the physician in the morning.
She had not sent for the physician.
Her thick lush body was uncaring as it moved, grinding down furiously on his face without any concern for the thing below her.
She liked the way his nose felt when it hit her clit, and she was intent on chasing the pleasure she derived from it.
The psychological pleasure of using him to her desires, the sight of him being rigid underneath her while her fluids flooded his face, the domination she felt she had over him was euphoria to her.
On his side, all he could do was attempt to breath and tolerate the pain in what little he could, a long forgotten a dull ache polled between his legs where a wooden chastity belt kept him caged.
After what felt like hours of choking where he couldn't even cough because there was no air in his lungs to and a nose that felt far too soft to hold cartilage, her moans got louder.
"Mm yes!...Yes....YES!"
She was enthusiastic and completely uninterested in whether he was participating as she reached her release.
He went still partway through and she didn't notice, but even if she didn't she wouldn't care, because still is what she asked for.
After a moment to catch her breadth, Vesper sat back on her heels and pushed her hair off her face.
"Well," she said, breathing hard. "Look at you. Barely twitched."
She climbed off the bed and stretched, and her back popped, and she made a happy little noise about it. She found her robe on the chair.
She put it on, checked her reflection in the standing mirror, turned her head to look at her own jaw, and frowned at something only she could see.
"You were good," she said, without turning around. "Actually good this time."
Soren didn't answer.
"Clean this up before you leave. All of it, the sheets too, I don't want Marda seeing it and giving me that face." She tied the robe.
"And get someone to do something on your arm, you've gone a colour."
She glanced at him once on her way to the door.
He was on his back with his eyes half open and his mouth open too, and he was not moving, because a doll doesn't move.
She smiled at that, her smile making her look more radiant...if not for her disgusting heart. She looked genuinely pleased.
"Good boy."
The door shut.
Soren lay there in the dark of the canopy and tried to breathe and found that he couldn't, and that was when he understood.
Is this all my life can amount to? Is this really the fate I was born to endure?
He didn't want to die.
That was the thing nobody had ever asked him about in four years, and it turned out to matter, right at the end, more than anything else ever had.
He didn't want to die
I wanted to see the sea one time.
I wanted to eat something hot that hadn't been sent back from her table.
I wanted somebody...anybody...to call my name like it belonged to me...anyone...please...
He didn't want to die.
On his right wrist, a band of three lines and a circle burned orange. As his heart slowed, the light in them slowed with it.
It dimmed. It flickered.
It began, very slowly, to go out.
A single tear slowly rolled down his cheek as the light in his eyes slowly faded with it.
...
Ezra Vance died over an earbud.
That was the part he kept getting stuck on afterward. Not the pain, which was brief, and not the fear, which he'd honestly barely had time for.
Just the fact that he'd dropped one AirPod in the road outside a twenty-four hour pharmacy at two in the morning, and gone back for it, because they were a hundred and eighty dollars a pair and he made fourteen an hour stocking shelves overnight.
He'd bent down. He'd picked it up. He'd been genuinely pleased that it wasn't cracked or even scuffed.
Then headlights, and a half dozed off delivery truck doing forty-five in a thirty, and a sound like a door slamming somewhere very close to his head.
Twenty-three years old. Community college for one and a half semesters. Nine hundred dollars in savings. Died in a crosswalk holding half a pair of earbuds.
His last thought had been: oh, that's embarrassing.
Then black.
Then, some unmeasurable time later, a sensation of falling came over him.
Not through air. Through something colder and thinner than air, with pressure on him from every side at once, like being at the bottom of a pool that went down forever.
Something enormous and made of golden light went past him sideways. Then something else did, a warm pink light he believed.
He had the very clear impression that the two of them were fighting, and that he was in the middle of what they were fighting over, and that this was somehow worse news than the truck.
Then he hit.