Chapter 180
Magnus Hale
I get up with the shred of strength I have left, every movement a
reminder of what happened to me. Limping, I cross the cell to the
shower. I turn the handle and let the water fall: hot, sharp, and
unable to wash away what I feel inside. I clench my fists until my
knuckles ache.
I feel his presence behind me. I don’t move. The silence is heavier
than any word. He approaches slowly, each step calculated, until the
scent of soap mixes with the steam of the bath.
Large, firm hands begin to scrub my back with slow, methodical
movements. The soap slides across my chest, over my shoulders, and
down my arms. My body reacts with tension, muscles stiffening, and
breath held. I try not to give in to the tremor threatening to escape.
His hands descend further, reaching my thighs, contouring every inch
without haste. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine when the
touch passes through areas where the pain still pulses. Fear mixes
with rage in a suffocating knot.
He turns me around gently to face him. His gaze is fixed, as if
studying me, and his foam–covered hands slide over my face, through
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my beard, cleaning with gestures that are almost devotional. The
scene should look like care, but it is control. The devotion in his eyes-
makes me sick.
The water washes away the foam, leaving my skin naked of any
defense.
“Now we need to finish washing everything, my love,” his voice comes
out low and soft.
I freeze. I don’t need any more explanations to understand the hidden
intent.
“Lean against the wall,” his voice comes out gentle.
The urge I have to curse him is immense, but I know that if I provoke
him, I will be punished. And at this moment, I am too exhausted to
defend myself.
Against my own will, I obey. I rest my hands on the cold wall of the
cell. I feel him kneel behind me; suddenly, he spreads my buttocks
gently, making me think of anything else.
I close my eyes for a second, trying to contain the hate that throbs along with the fear. I think of every face in the prison, of every gaze that feared me. I think of the throne I built with iron and blood,
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My body shudders as I feel fingers entering me, pulling his fucking
sperm out.
“I’ll have to apply some ointment back here. Your beautiful little hole
is quite swollen,” his tone of voice sounds very satisfied with this
discovery.
“If you’ve already removed your piece of shit sperm, remove your
fingers!”
I am glad to know he obeyed, but I am immediately caught by surprise
when I feel his tongue.
“What the fu-” My voice dies in my throat.
His hand grabs my cock and begins to jerk it off rapidly. Meanwhile,
his tongue sucks my anus. I try to focus on how much I hate him, but
my goddamn body reacts differently.
I can’t control my body; it’s hard, throbbing, and leaking pre–cum.
His tongue exploring my entrance with such hunger, while his hand
moves in the same rhythm as his tongue. I’m losing my mind. I can’t
even bite my lips anymore to stop my moans; they are too wounded.
He rubs his thumb on the head, spreading the pre–cum and increasing
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the speed of the masturbation.
“E–Enough… Stop!”
I lean my forehead against the cold wall as I feel his tongue enter
deep into my anus. Pleasure surges through my body and increases
even more when he quickens the pace of the handjob.
“You bastard…”
My whole body trembled as I came hard. I prop my hands against the
wall to try and keep my body upright.
“Your taste remains delicious, love.”
His arms pin me from behind in a firm embrace; his mouth brushes
my nape in a long kiss, while his hands travel over my shoulders,
down my chest, until reaching my waist.
