The Dark Forest: A Collection Of Erotic Fairytales(46)
“Be sure to clean those dirty cunts and the crack between your arse cheeks.” The man’s crude comment had the more frightened women whimpering even more than they already were. But again, I didn’t care. I’m not sure why the words didn’t bother me, but they simply did not. The day I surrendered myself, I knew that I was accepting darkness to take over. I had accepted that truth, and the guard’s harsh words would only be the beginning.
Noticing that others were using bars of soap, lathering the suds over their soiled bodies, I glanced around until I found a bar of my own on a nearby ledge. Reaching out for the soap and rubbing it over my dirty skin, with water cascading all around me, I actually possessed a feeling of happiness. It had been so long, and even standing in a room with other captured slaves, showering beneath freezing water, under the eyes of a guard, I felt human.
When the showers were abruptly shut off, we stood with arms wrapped around our shivering bodies, staring at the guard, waiting for him to tell us what was next. Water droplets hung from my hair, and goosebumps covered every inch of my skin, but I still didn’t care. I was clean. Some cried, others pleaded, yet I did nothing more than hold my head high and wait. Maybe it was speaking with the shadowed woman in the carriage that helped aid me in my courage. Maybe it was that I knew a little of what was coming, and the unknown didn’t haunt me as badly as it did the other women. Or maybe it was simply the fact that my life hadn’t been roses before, but rather the thorns. Could it really get much worse?
“Get on your knees,” the man ordered as he opened the door and signaled for the rest of the guards to enter. Their black boots splashing on the puddled floor was all I could see as I did what was asked with no hesitation. Other women did not act on command as fast, or at all, and were rewarded with slaps to the face, or pulling of hair as they were forced to kneel before each approaching guard.
“You better get used to it, beauties. From this moment on, you do exactly as you are commanded. The consequences will be severe if you do not.”
The sound of metal and chain came before a heavy collar was clasped around my neck, hooked to a silver chain. I glanced up to see a man with a devilish smirk staring down at me, holding my leash as if I were an animal.
“Get used to it, beauties. You all are Maleficent’s little pets. Whatever pride you have right now, you better get rid of it quick.” As he turned, he motioned for all the guards to lead their “pets” by their leashes. The few women who tried to stand were shoved back to the ground with a kick to the ribs or a slap to the ass.
Trying not to pay attention to the cries of others, I crawled on my hands and knees as fast as I could so the collar wouldn’t choke me. My guard paid little attention to my struggles at keeping up. My knees kept slipping from underneath me on the wet tile, and a few times I fell, hitting my face on the ground, but not once did my guard slow. It only got worse when we crossed the threshold and my hands and knees made contact with the rocky path. Tiny pebbles dug into my palms and ripped my knees to shreds with every movement I made. I wasn’t given the time to tenderly or carefully maneuver my way, and was all but dragged by the tug of my leash if I slowed in the slightest. The bright sun had me squinting my eyes, but the rays of light did little to warm the chill in the air. It wasn’t exactly cold outside, but my hair still dripped down my back and my flesh was still damp, making the slight breeze bitterly cold. There were guards all around, and I should have been embarrassed at being in such a humiliating position, but they didn’t seem to care or notice that twenty or so naked women were crawling all around them. Was this the norm for their lives? It was as if we were just the backdrop to their every day routine. And the worst part of all for me was that I no longer was clean. Dirt blackened beneath my nails again, my hands covered in dirt and blood. I mourned my moment of cleanliness for however short it had been.
We reached the bottom of the stairs leading up to another building. My guard paused, and for a moment, I hoped he would grant me the mercy to stand and at least walk up the stairs.
He did not.
Yanking hard, he climbed the steps, dragging me behind. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t crawl up the stairs quickly, the awkward position of my body doing so spread my legs apart. I knew all of my privates were on full and vulgar display. But there was nothing I could do as I gagged and wheezed for breath as the metal of the collar cut into the skin of my neck.
“Move it!” my guard snapped.
But what could I do? The coordination to crawl up the steps did not come to me fast enough. I cried out, but no sound came from my strangled throat. Tears ran down my face and all I could see were the blurry boots of my tormentor before me. Would I die like this? Would my death be caused by crawling up the stairs? It was certainly not the most glamorous way to meet my maker.
My guard, growing frustrated by my lack of speed, reached down and yanked me by the hair. The biting sting at my roots was welcome because it meant that I had a moment to gasp a large, life-saving breath, refilling my deprived lungs. Tossing me to the landing at the top of the stairs, he once again reached for my leash and led me the rest of the way into the building. I crawled as fast as I could, wanting to please my guard since, in a sick way, I felt I owed him a renewed obedience. He had given me mercy by pulling me up the steps—by my hair, rather than the metal and chain—the rest of the way.
We stopped in a large empty room—an auditorium of sorts. Each woman remained kneeling, but we were all in a single file line facing the back of the room. The guards dropped our leashes, all walked to the side of the room, and stood against the wall. I glanced in both directions with my eyes, but trying to keep my head down, not moving an inch. I didn’t want to stand out or have anyone notice me. The woman to my right silently sobbed, while the woman to my left shifted her hands and knees, smearing blood on the grey concrete floor.