Bound For Blood (Feathers & Fire Book 1)

by Loxley Savage

  “Time for your whipping, slave. How many lashings do you think you’ve earned, hmm? Twenty? Thirty? Enough to make your ass bleed, perhaps?”

  Searing pain slashes at my ass cheeks. I can’t suppress the howl of pain.

  “I love to hear you scream, slave. I crave it almost as much as I crave your succulent blood and your cunt wrapped around my cock.”

  I shriek again when several lashes connect against my ass in rapid succession, the last set nipping the sensitive skin between my cheeks. The ginger root burns my asshole, the nipple clamps pinch my skin, and my ass cheeks sting with the aftermath of the lashes. Tears dampen the blindfold over my eyes as I try to stifle my sobs.

  He unchains my wrists from behind my back and stretches them over my head, reconnecting them to something there. “What the fuck were you thinking, cunt? Did you really think that I would let you get away with this?”

  I? What does he mean I?

  My musings are interrupted when he turns his attention on the tender skin where my ass meets my thighs. He whips me once again. The sharp crack of the implement startles me, making me jump almost as much as the next smack of the leather against my skin.

  I scream and cry with each lashing, struggling against the chains that bind me until I’m nothing but a blubbering, quivering mess.

  “Are you sorry, slave? Sorry for biting a potential Handler, and a goddamned king, nonetheless!” At least a dozen more strikes land on my skin, this time he works his way up my back. My body trembles in response, and I can feel some of the whip marks start to ooze blood.

  The vibrator on my clit increases in intensity, and he fucks my ass with the ginger root during a brief repose from the whip. I don’t know whether to be grateful or horrified. Then I feel his wet tongue running along my burning skin, lapping at my bleeding wounds. It hurts and feels good at the same time, once again confusing my body. He slides a finger into my opening and plays around inside my pussy until he finds my pleasure spot.

  Concentrating his efforts there, my traitorous body responds to his touch. Arousal tingles my engorged clit, and my pussy clenches around his finger.

  “That’s a good slave. Your greedy cunt is already milking my fingers, begging me to fill your slutty hole. But I won’t this time, whore. No. This time, you will be denied the feast your succubus so desperately craves. You will be denied the orgasm your body aches for. By the time I’m through with you, the only things your warped mind will understand are pain and deprivation.”

  I sob when my body ignites with my impending orgasm, the impact of his menacing words breaking me. I will not be allowed to climax. He has no intentions of fucking me, circumventing any chance I had at feeding from his release as well. The vibrations on my clit increase again. Desperation licks at me, and I’d give anything to be able to grind against it. My body trembles with unfulfilled need.

  I screech when he lands another series of lashes on my back.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere. I can smell the sweet musk of your arousal mixed with the potent scent of your pain.” His tongue runs along the bleeding wounds on my back, and his finger enters my pussy once more. He fucks me with his digit ever so slowly.

  My succubus writhes under my skin, hungry for her pleasure. Her unrelenting desire for escape is just another form of torture I must endure as she claws at my insides.

  I can’t believe how bad I fucked up. I did this to myself for acting out. It won’t happen again.

  “How are you feeling now, slave?”

  “T…terrible, S- Sir.” My voice wobbles, faint from the severe pain mixed with the looming pleasure he keeps just out of my reach.

  “You have forgotten your place. You are nothing but a slave, a toy to be used by those who pay for the privilege. Just a series of holes to be filled and fucked. You are nothing. You have no name. You have no family. The only thing that you are is mine.” I cry out when he whips me again and blackness creeps at the edges of my consciousness, the promise of oblivion closing in on me.

  “What are you slave?” he shouts at me.

  “Nothing, Sir. I am nothing.”

  “That’s a good girl. Remember what you are.” Three more sharp strikes land on my ass. Then I feel his fingers stretching open my pussy and his tongue diving inside. I grunt and groan, my bound body wrecked with uncontrollable tremors.

  “Whose pussy is this?”

  “Y…yours, S… Sir.”

  “Mmmm. So fucking delicious, so fucking pretty. All mine.” He continues to fuck me with his tongue and just as I’m about to come he pulls away.

  Tears stream from my eyes. I can’t fucking take this anymore.

  Darkness, please take me now.

  “It’s almost over, slave. Now, I want you to count your whippings out loud after each lashing. You have fifty more, then your penance is paid.”

  “Fifty!” My horror at his intention causes me to forget my place again.

  “Sixty then!” He laughs, running his hands up and down my mutilated skin. “Sixty lashings, whore. Now. Count.”

  The first connects. “One,” I grit out. Then the second, “T…two.” My teeth chatter, and my heart pounds in a frantic rhythm against my chest. My pussy clenches on air, and my succubus tears at my skin while my phoenix retreats further into the dark corners of my mind. He whips me more, but I can no longer think straight and can only mumble incoherently through my lips.

  Darkness closes in, and in the haze just before I lose consciousness a crazed grin stretches across my face. Thoughts of rebellion still run through my mind even as I pass out into the nothing beyond.

  I’ll survive this. I’ll show them. One day I’ll break free of this place, and I will destroy every disgusting being that ever dared to hurt me. The day my beast is set free, I will light this world on fire.

  Waking up slowly, I can’t yet bring myself to open my eyes, but I can see through my tired lids that the light is on in my room. I groan in exhaustion and roll off my back and onto my belly. I wince at the whip marks that still sting my skin and pull the blanket up over my head in an attempt to keep the light out. Maybe I’ll just stay in bed all day today.

  I assume I passed out sometime during my punishment, and I absently wonder how long I’ve lain here unconscious. Must not be too long since my wounds haven’t fully healed. Begrudgingly, I open my eyes, squinting to restrict the amount of light entering them, and observe the hot mess that is my body. Something was different about my punishment this time. The evil male torturing me said that I was his several times during our session. He’s never said that before. It can’t be true. Can it?

  I startle when the shower turns on. Throwing off my blanket and finally welcoming the light into my eyes, I rush towards the bathroom, anxious to get this dried, sticky, bloody mess off my body.

  I almost come when I step under the warm water. Washing away the evidenced of my torture feels amazing. Grabbing the shampoo, I work up a lather and massage my scalp, running my fingers through my long hair. My loofa struggles to stay together during my vigorous cleaning, but I need to make sure every inch of me is clean once more.

  I hiss through my teeth when the water lands on my back.

  Me and my fucking big mouth.

  The pain serves as a stark reminder of my position here. I’m nothing but a slave, and I would do well to remember that. No more biting or talking back.

  Fuck.

  My brain feels like oatmeal, all mushy and without much substance. I scrub my body as long as I can before rinsing, knowing my time in the shower will come to an end soon. Eventually, the water stops, and I step out, following my usual routine. I fold a towel around my body and wrap my hair up with another, then brush my teeth and walk back to my bed.

  A smile crosses my face when I notice that during my time in the bathroom, someone came into my room and changed my sheets. It’s the small things, right? I sigh and lay down on my belly. Time seems to creep by, though I’m thankful nothing out of the ordinary happens. The constant itc
hing of the healing wounds laced across my back prompts me to renew my promise to myself to stop acting out if I want to avoid facing punishment.

  I release a drawn out sigh. Let’s face it, my life sucks. My blood is the nectar of the gods, my body is desirable, and I have no say in what happens to me. I’m a fucking slave.

  What happened to me that lead to this life? I had to start off somewhere else. Did my family not want me? Trying not to wallow in questions with unknown answers that only cause me more pain, I close my eyes and fantasize about what life might be like if I ever escape, no, when I escape this place. I imagine I’m a princess, locked away in some tall tower awaiting my prince to come and rescue me. I doze off into a dreamless sleep with a smile on my face.

  I don’t know how long I slept but judging by the heaviness of my lids and the puddle of drool on my pillow, it must have been a long time. I stretch my limbs and discover all my aches healed during my slumber. I’m feeling better, almost refreshed even. Prying open my eyes, I sit up in bed when something glints in the corner of my eye. Turning my head I look at the door and see the silver feathered outfit hanging there.

  No…

  Tears immediately well in my eyes, and a burn clogs at the back of my throat. Overwhelmed with sadness and dismay, I collapse on the bed and let out a few quiet sobs. That outfit only means one thing: another forced shift is in my near future. My anxiety threatens to drown me. Confusion takes hold as I ponder what this means. No one wanted to purchase me at the last parade. What the hell is going on?

  It’s not like the Enforcers actually talk to or tell me anything. I don't even have a fucking name. Everything I know about myself I’ve picked up from the Enforcers’ conversations with potential Handlers. I have no friends, no one is looking out for me. Why would they give me a heads up?

  Stupid girl.

  Though I hate what the outfit represents, I can appreciate it for its beauty. The top is like a harness, with silver metal feathers that sweep under my breasts, cupping them like a set of hands. They extend just over my nipples, barely covering them. They don’t connect in the middle, but leave the swell in between my breasts exposed. The metal feathers wrap around my back and connect to a hinge that sits against my spine. From there, it travels up my back to a collar that clasps around my neck. The collar is made of several layers of metal feathers that move independently.

  I sigh knowing I can’t put it off any longer and start to dress. The metal top sits unhinged on my bed, and I lie down with my spine against it. I connect the collar, then bring forward the feathered metal that will contain my tits. Dread fills me and tears burn at the back of my eyes when I hear the click that locks it in place, sealing my fate for the night.

  I stand and pick up the bottom, a small silver skirt that also has a hidden hinge. It’s made of three layers of silver feathers, just like the collar. It reminds me of leather fringe. The skirt sits low on my waist, exposing my hip bones. It accentuates the silver feathers that decorate my skin in shifter form. A small buckle housing an amethyst jewel secures the skirt. Unhinging the skirt, I fold it around my hips and slide the buckle in place. Goosebumps break out on my body as the cold metal sits against my skin, chilling me further.

  The tiny thong is my least favorite part of the outfit. It’s made up of woven silver, almost like tiny chainmail, offering no coverage. The tiny threads pinch and pull at my tender skin.

  I move on to the feathered metal shackles, securing them to my wrists and ankles to complete the ensemble. D-rings are attached to the shackles and collar, allowing ropes or chains to be threaded through them to confine me and restrain me. The spring-loaded restraints prevent me from opening them on my own.

  The weight of the metal attire reminds me of what armor might feel like. I feel empowered, like a badass female warrior going off to battle. It’s kind of ironic really, feeling like a warrior in an outfit that weakens me with its enchantments. Unfortunately for me, I won’t be conquering anybody today, quite the opposite.

  I rub my hands on my cheeks, trying to mentally prepare myself for what’s to come and work up the courage to walk to the circle platform. Standing there in silence, something feels different inside me. A pesky tug pulls in my gut, like a warning going off, alerting me that something important is going to happen. I ponder what it means as I step into position and tie the blindfold around my eyes.

  It doesn't take long for an Enforcer to retrieve me. Apprehension spikes when I feel a prick in my neck, the darkness immediately threatens to swallow me whole. As I’m led to the mobile cot, I wonder…will I ever escape this miserable and pathetic life? Or am I doomed to a life of slavery?

  Strange scents infiltrate my nose as I come to. I can detect a variety of shifters surrounding me, but my head, still foggy from whatever I’ve been injected with, can't identify any one in particular. An unusual smell pushes through the fog in my mind. Females? That’s strange. They always keep us separated.

  My shoulders ache, leading me to realize I’m suspended from something, and I stand to alleviate the pressure. The movement causes my outfit to tink. My arms are stretched out to my sides, chained to something level with my head, and a cold metal pole runs up my back… My heart freezes in my chest. Is this a fucking cross? Am I about to be crucified here?

  Fear rears its ugly head at the unknown situation I find myself in. I’m nervous. No one is touching me or drinking my blood, which on its own is unusual. When I wake after I’m transported to my Handlers location, I’m almost always being used in some way: licked, fucked, or my blood siphoned for consumption.

  The sound of numerous voices penetrate my haze, the onslaught of noise making my head throb. My sensitive ears pick up dozens of individual conversations, overwhelming my senses. Where the hell am I? I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts when I hear the crackle of speakers coming to life, and a loud voice booms into a microphone.

  “Hello gentlemen.” The noise quiets, and my mouth dries as a lump forms in the back of my throat. That voice… I’ve heard it before. “As most of you know, my name is Boris Cronin, President of Exotique. It is with great pleasure that I welcome our esteemed members to Exotique’s first ever Auction.”

  My blood freezes in my veins as thunderous applause erupts around me, deafeningly loud. That voice. That deep, threatening voice that shouted at me, telling me that I was his slave as he whipped me raw belongs to…. Boris? The same male who has used me for years is Boris Cronin, owner of Exotique. My owner.

  I shiver at this revelation and quickly become enraged at learning the identity of the man who has deprived me of a real life. His menacing voice booms from the speakers again, interrupting my furious thoughts.

  “On the stage before you, behind this very curtain, you’ll find Exotique’s most prized females, whom some of you were able to view just the other day.” So that’s why we had a parade day but no buyers. He was showing us off for this fucking auction. “As our most prestigious buyers, you are invited to bid on each and every one of them.” Resounding applause echoes around the room, along with a few cheers and shouts.

  “Your bids will only be known to you. Outbid everyone else, and the slut is yours for the night. Be outbid and, well, you're just shit out of luck.” Chuckles from these prestigious males ring out from all around me. Makes me sick.

  “Since you're all elite members of my club, tonight you’re in for a special treat. The females behind me are… exceptional.” He emphasizes the last by lowering and dragging out his voice. “Some of them you may recognize from previous… escapades.” More obnoxious laughter spills across the room. “However, a select few will be new to many of you. Tonight the playing field is leveled. Throw all your money into one particular female, or try your hand at several. The choice is yours.”

  Murmurs of excitement trickle around the room, as the tugging sensation in my gut spikes. I ignore it as I reel from the fact that Boris is my owner. The reality of my situation hits me hard. I run through the possible outcomes, knowi
ng what kind of males are part of this club. God, I hope they don't strip me in front of an entire room full of strangers.

  “As this is our first Auction, let me lay down some ground rules. First, and I must apologize for this beforehand, the whores will keep their clothes… on.” Boos take the place of the chuckles. Sick fucks. I seeth in anger but keep trying to rein myself back in, not wanting to suffer through another punishment with Boris.

  “Second, and I must emphasize this, your bids are final and funds will be collected. The winning male or group will be announced at the end of the evening, and your purchase agreements will be finalized as usual. You do not get your money back if you don’t win. That money will be allocated into finding new… talent.” Several males snicker at this.

  “Third, keep your hands to yourself, you may not touch what isn't yours. If a member is found with his hands on one of my slaves, he and his hands, will be immediately removed from the premises.” Groans and other sounds of disappointment fill my ears.

  “Fourth, you all received a special voting card when you entered. Once I reveal the sluts, come up on stage and take a closer look at them, then cast your vote using your voting card for the whore you would like to see shifted, and the lucky winner will be forced, tonight, into her animal before your very eyes.” Catcalls and applause resound around the room. “Each female has a number in front of her platform. Cast your vote using these numbers. Voting will commence after the curtains are drawn and will conclude after two hours.”

  Whistles and cheers erupt from around the room as he discloses this last bit. Anxiety floods me, concern for myself and the other females here.

  General conversation picks back up after Boris concludes his speech. With my head finally clearing, I’m now able to distinguish several races of shifters. I shiver in disgust, recognizing the distinctive scents of the three overzealous males from the parade that landed me in a ‘time out’ with Boris. King Malachi and his brothers are here right now, just on the other side of the curtain. Oh fuck.