Damnable Grace
Page 21
Phebe pushed her tits into Meister’s face and, even under all the drugs, became a fucking seductress before my eyes. Her body rolled as she pressed her bare skin over Meister’s chest, her hands braced on the arms of the chair. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her as she fed her nipple into Meister’s mouth, clutching the back of his head as he sucked hard, and she moaned like she was lapping up that shit.
And then she was sliding to her knees, the palms of her hands running up Meister’s thighs. The asshole’s eyes were glazed, half from whiskey and half from the sight of his plaything on her knees, mouth lowering toward his crotch. Her shaking hands began undoing his belt, then the buttons on his jeans.
I looked around the room to see fuckers jerking off as they watched her. Others were fucking their sluts for the night. It looked like Saturday at the fucking Hangmen. At least the club sluts chose to get their pussies smashed by me and my brothers. My eyes met Viking’s and Cowboy’s. I saw the fire in their eyes. Fire and disbelief. Viking’s hands were in fists on his lap, and Cowboy’s foot was twitching. The brothers were one step from launching into this fucker and taking him out.
A choked sound pulled my attention back to Meister and Phebe. Meister’s head was rolled back, his cock in Phebe’s hand. And she was bringing it to her mouth.
Her back arched and her hips rocked as if she were already fucking him. The bitch mewled as she swallowed the tip and took the length of the fucker back into her throat. She didn’t gag or even flinch as she deep-throated Meister’s dick. He growled low in his throat, smashing his hand onto her head and fisting the strands. He was rough, practically ripping her hair from her head. But Phebe just sucked harder.
I remembered Phebe was bred for this shit in that cult. The prophet whoring her out to attract members. I could see why; the bitch was a fucking siren.
Meister’s growls and groans got louder as she took him harder, faster, deeper. Redneck fucks around us cried out as they came. And then Meister snapped, pushed Phebe back off his cock and gripped the top of her arm. He wrenched her to her feet and spun her to face him. Then, wasting no time, he pulled her down to his lap and slammed his cock into her pussy.
Phebe cried out, her hands falling to Meister’s shoulders. “Move,” he commanded. Phebe’s hips began grinding on his dick, and his hands reached around to spread her ass apart. He pushed two fingers into her ass. Phebe screamed as he thrust his hips roughly while he took her every hole.
My hands curled into fists as he fucked her and fucked her, harder and harder by the second. Until at last he bellowed out a long groan and slammed into her for one final time.
Phebe rolled her hips until Meister pulled his fingers out of her ass. Taking the back of her head, he guided her forward and brought her mouth to his. He savaged her mouth as her body twitched. He thrust her back, yanking her off his cock. “Clean it,” he commanded hoarsely, pupils dilated. Phebe dropped to her knees and took his deflated cock into her mouth. Her tongue lapped at his flesh, sucking off his cum.
Meister ran his fingers through her hair, like he was patting a damn dog. He pushed her head off his cock, and Phebe got to her feet. Meister sat back, depleted, stuffing himself back into his cargo pants.
“Dance,” he ordered lazily, signaling for the jukebox to be turned up. Some generic rock song came blasting out around the bar. Phebe’s hands went into the air, and her lithe body began to sway. I couldn’t stop watching her, mesmerized by the way she moved. She was tall and too thin. But even looking as beat and broken as she was right now, all I could think of was her at that fucking tree. How she’d looked at me that day, her blue eyes slamming into mine, like she could see every fucking thing that was running through my mind.
I imagined that version of Phebe dancing, and I knew that if I’d been one of the fuckers she’d seduced at a bar, I’d have been signed up and singing hallelujah with the other cult fucks, just for the chance to nail her again.
She spun, facing me, and my breathing stopped. Even strung out on heroin, even starved and raped and captured like a dog, a fucking glimpse of a smile had spread on her lips. The dried blood cracked on her mouth as her eyes closed and her body kept beat to the rhythm. Too focused on watching her lost to the music, I barely saw Meister get called away to speak to Himmler. I just kept watching. Because I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
And then, with a heavy sigh, Phebe’s eyes rolled open and collided straight with mine. She stilled. At first I thought she’d just grown too tired to keep moving . . . but then she blinked, and blinked again, and tears filled her eyes.
“You.” Her hoarse voice was almost inaudible over the music. Her tiny body swayed, but this time it hadn’t got shit to do with the music. Her bloodied bottom lip shook, and, on unsteady feet, she stumbled toward me. With every step, her already ashen face paled further. And then the tears fell, one heavy drop at a time, running down her cheek, exposing the freckles that lay underneath the sweat, the blood and the dirt.
Her chest rose and fell in quick movements. When she reached me, hand covering her mouth, she sank to her knees to rest at my feet. I looked at Meister; he was still occupied. Viking and Cowboy were watching carefully with fucking confused expressions. Their hands were on their guns, ready for any shit that went down.
And then I looked back at Phebe. I stared into her blue eyes. They were still drugged to high heaven. Still unfocused and glassy. Yet, as she knelt at my feet, her tears thick and her breathing labored, I could see right through them.
They were fucking begging me for help.
“Is . . . is she safe?” she slurred, her once-pretty face contorting in pain as she lurched forward, like that pain was stabbing her straight in the stomach. My eyebrows drew together at her question. Phebe managed to raise her head and place her hand over her heart. “Is she safe? I didn’t save her . . . but is she safe? I want her to be safe.”
I swallowed, checking to see that Meister was still deep in conversation with Himmler. I thanked Hades that he was, because I desperately wanted to talk to the bitch, but I had to play this shit right. Phebe shuffled forward until her tits were at my knees. I tensed as she searched my face. Then, with careful, gentle movements, she reached forward, her blistered fingertips reaching for my face.
I was frozen as her fingertips grazed my cheeks and ran down my thick stubble. Her eyelids were fighting to stay open, no doubt being pulled down by the drugs. Her hair was sticking to her slick skin. Worst of all, Meister’s cum was running down between her thighs. I could smell the stink of sex coming off her in waves. Yet I still couldn’t breathe as her soft hands touched my face, as those fucking blue, dazed eyes studied me. Then, her eyebrows rose and a smile spread on her lips, and it fucking slaughtered me. The bitch had just been raped, degraded in front of a crowd, and no doubt recently beaten by Meister, yet here she was on her knees at my feet, touching my face, and fucking smiling.
And then she was sliding to her knees, the palms of her hands running up Meister’s thighs. The asshole’s eyes were glazed, half from whiskey and half from the sight of his plaything on her knees, mouth lowering toward his crotch. Her shaking hands began undoing his belt, then the buttons on his jeans.
I looked around the room to see fuckers jerking off as they watched her. Others were fucking their sluts for the night. It looked like Saturday at the fucking Hangmen. At least the club sluts chose to get their pussies smashed by me and my brothers. My eyes met Viking’s and Cowboy’s. I saw the fire in their eyes. Fire and disbelief. Viking’s hands were in fists on his lap, and Cowboy’s foot was twitching. The brothers were one step from launching into this fucker and taking him out.
A choked sound pulled my attention back to Meister and Phebe. Meister’s head was rolled back, his cock in Phebe’s hand. And she was bringing it to her mouth.
Her back arched and her hips rocked as if she were already fucking him. The bitch mewled as she swallowed the tip and took the length of the fucker back into her throat. She didn’t gag or even flinch as she deep-throated Meister’s dick. He growled low in his throat, smashing his hand onto her head and fisting the strands. He was rough, practically ripping her hair from her head. But Phebe just sucked harder.
I remembered Phebe was bred for this shit in that cult. The prophet whoring her out to attract members. I could see why; the bitch was a fucking siren.
Meister’s growls and groans got louder as she took him harder, faster, deeper. Redneck fucks around us cried out as they came. And then Meister snapped, pushed Phebe back off his cock and gripped the top of her arm. He wrenched her to her feet and spun her to face him. Then, wasting no time, he pulled her down to his lap and slammed his cock into her pussy.
Phebe cried out, her hands falling to Meister’s shoulders. “Move,” he commanded. Phebe’s hips began grinding on his dick, and his hands reached around to spread her ass apart. He pushed two fingers into her ass. Phebe screamed as he thrust his hips roughly while he took her every hole.
My hands curled into fists as he fucked her and fucked her, harder and harder by the second. Until at last he bellowed out a long groan and slammed into her for one final time.
Phebe rolled her hips until Meister pulled his fingers out of her ass. Taking the back of her head, he guided her forward and brought her mouth to his. He savaged her mouth as her body twitched. He thrust her back, yanking her off his cock. “Clean it,” he commanded hoarsely, pupils dilated. Phebe dropped to her knees and took his deflated cock into her mouth. Her tongue lapped at his flesh, sucking off his cum.
Meister ran his fingers through her hair, like he was patting a damn dog. He pushed her head off his cock, and Phebe got to her feet. Meister sat back, depleted, stuffing himself back into his cargo pants.
“Dance,” he ordered lazily, signaling for the jukebox to be turned up. Some generic rock song came blasting out around the bar. Phebe’s hands went into the air, and her lithe body began to sway. I couldn’t stop watching her, mesmerized by the way she moved. She was tall and too thin. But even looking as beat and broken as she was right now, all I could think of was her at that fucking tree. How she’d looked at me that day, her blue eyes slamming into mine, like she could see every fucking thing that was running through my mind.
I imagined that version of Phebe dancing, and I knew that if I’d been one of the fuckers she’d seduced at a bar, I’d have been signed up and singing hallelujah with the other cult fucks, just for the chance to nail her again.
She spun, facing me, and my breathing stopped. Even strung out on heroin, even starved and raped and captured like a dog, a fucking glimpse of a smile had spread on her lips. The dried blood cracked on her mouth as her eyes closed and her body kept beat to the rhythm. Too focused on watching her lost to the music, I barely saw Meister get called away to speak to Himmler. I just kept watching. Because I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
And then, with a heavy sigh, Phebe’s eyes rolled open and collided straight with mine. She stilled. At first I thought she’d just grown too tired to keep moving . . . but then she blinked, and blinked again, and tears filled her eyes.
“You.” Her hoarse voice was almost inaudible over the music. Her tiny body swayed, but this time it hadn’t got shit to do with the music. Her bloodied bottom lip shook, and, on unsteady feet, she stumbled toward me. With every step, her already ashen face paled further. And then the tears fell, one heavy drop at a time, running down her cheek, exposing the freckles that lay underneath the sweat, the blood and the dirt.
Her chest rose and fell in quick movements. When she reached me, hand covering her mouth, she sank to her knees to rest at my feet. I looked at Meister; he was still occupied. Viking and Cowboy were watching carefully with fucking confused expressions. Their hands were on their guns, ready for any shit that went down.
And then I looked back at Phebe. I stared into her blue eyes. They were still drugged to high heaven. Still unfocused and glassy. Yet, as she knelt at my feet, her tears thick and her breathing labored, I could see right through them.
They were fucking begging me for help.
“Is . . . is she safe?” she slurred, her once-pretty face contorting in pain as she lurched forward, like that pain was stabbing her straight in the stomach. My eyebrows drew together at her question. Phebe managed to raise her head and place her hand over her heart. “Is she safe? I didn’t save her . . . but is she safe? I want her to be safe.”
I swallowed, checking to see that Meister was still deep in conversation with Himmler. I thanked Hades that he was, because I desperately wanted to talk to the bitch, but I had to play this shit right. Phebe shuffled forward until her tits were at my knees. I tensed as she searched my face. Then, with careful, gentle movements, she reached forward, her blistered fingertips reaching for my face.
I was frozen as her fingertips grazed my cheeks and ran down my thick stubble. Her eyelids were fighting to stay open, no doubt being pulled down by the drugs. Her hair was sticking to her slick skin. Worst of all, Meister’s cum was running down between her thighs. I could smell the stink of sex coming off her in waves. Yet I still couldn’t breathe as her soft hands touched my face, as those fucking blue, dazed eyes studied me. Then, her eyebrows rose and a smile spread on her lips, and it fucking slaughtered me. The bitch had just been raped, degraded in front of a crowd, and no doubt recently beaten by Meister, yet here she was on her knees at my feet, touching my face, and fucking smiling.
