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You stumble, following Victor Rookwood to just past the apparition wards outside the Ashwinder camp, blood trickling down your thighs. You notice his hand at the small of your back - a subtle reminder that he has his eye on you. You know you should be thinking of ways to escape, but your mind is too numb from everything that's just happened. You’ve just been violated in every conceivable way by an entire camp full of dark wizards while they laughed, and they may have done worse if Rookwood hadn’t shown up.
Victor Rookwood. Your “savior.”
Part of you is grateful that Rookwood interrupted the proceedings when he did, although his words at the time struck fear in your heart.
“We can’t have you getting blood and cum all over my bed.”
“Be a good girl for me and I won’t hurt you… too badly.”
The man was making no secret of the fact that he intended to have his way with you as well, but, wandless, battered, and bruised, you allowed yourself to be gathered into his arms and carried away.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire perhaps. You will have no choice but to find out.
The older man takes hold of your arm firmly. “Ready, darling?” he grins, before you feel the tug of apparition behind your navel. The unpleasant sensation lasts only a moment, but when you arrive, you immediately collapse to your knees, feeling rather sick to your stomach.
“Takes some getting used to, doesn’t it?" He extends a ruffled hand. After a moment's hesitation, you take it and get to your feet.
"Welcome to Rookwood Castle,” the wizard says, gesturing to the great room you are in. “I believe you’ve been here before. You’ll notice I’ve made some improvements since your last visit.”
Yes, the place seemed habitable now. Nice, even. When you had been here for the second trial, it was in shambles. Certainly, no one had lived here at that time.
“Please avail yourself of any amenities you require. You will find the bathroom down the hall to your left.”
You give the wizard a confused look. Bathroom? OK… That’s good to know.
“Don’t be obstinate, little girl,” he growls. “You’re filthy. Have a bath, darling.”
Oh. That. Yeah, you guess you do rather need a bath, but… You being covered in blood and ejaculate right now might be the only thing keeping his hands off you and you know it.
Interpreting your lack of acknowledgment as disobedience, Rookwood slaps you, hard and suddenly. A sharp intake of breath is your only response as you reel from the slap in shock.
“That wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order. Come to me when you’ve washed up. I’m not a fan of sloppy seconds.”
Sobbing, you wrap your arms around yourself before heading in the direction Rookwood had indicated. He had once again promised to rape you. The pain between your legs causes you to shuffle slowly while you make your way towards an ornate door, embellished with a large golden “R.” This must be the bathroom. You carefully push the door open and are greeted by the sight of an opulent and imposing lavatory featuring an enormous tub large enough to hold several people. There is also a standard-sized clawfoot tub which seems more approachable. You turn on the tap and let hot water fill the tub while you take in your surroundings. The room is mostly dark marble with golden accents and you notice a variety of soaps and shampoos, fresh towels, and even a bathrobe waiting for you.
You strip off the remainder of your tattered clothing, letting it fall to the floor, and assess yourself in the mirror. Your face is puffy, eyes rimmed red. You have blood smeared from the corner of your lip outwards towards your ear. Your hair is a matted mess and dried semen is all over your hair and much of your face.
You shudder as you recall just how that semen got there.
It can’t get any worse from here. Can it? It’s just one man..
Trying to pull yourself together, you turn back towards the tub. It’s nearly full. You test the water, finding it on the hot side. You can’t bring yourself to care. Gingerly, you lower yourself into the bath. You hiss as the water stings the myriad of cuts and bruises all over your body, but particularly between your legs.
Whimpering, you pick up a bar of soap and begin to spread it all over, very carefully addressing the most sensitive areas. It hurts, but it feels good to get that nasty mess off of you. Once your face and body are clean, you lather your hair with what seems like an expensive shampoo. Orange blossom – your favorite. You scrub at your scalp furiously, eager to rid yourself of every last trace of those horrible men.
The bathwater is brown by the time you step out. You pat yourself down with a towel, your heart beating furiously as you consider the fate that awaits you.
Victor Rookwood.
You put on the too-big bathrobe. Purple, of course. You could almost laugh at that. The man surely loves purple far more than seems reasonable.
Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself for what’s to come. You can handle this. You’ve been through worse. Still, your heart is pounding as you pad down the hallway in your bare feet.
You find Rookwood in what appears to be his study, with a prominent desk and many shelves full of books lining the walls. The portrait of Charles Rookwood is no longer there, and you breathe a sigh of relief that the man will not bear witness to what is about to happen to you.
The wizard looks up from a book as you walk in. He sets down his pipe on a small table.
“There’s my girl. Fresh as a daisy for me. But not for long,” the man says menacingly, getting up from his chair to fetch a familiar green potion which he hands to you. “Here, have a Wiggenweld, sweetheart. It’ll help with the pain.”
While part of you urgently wants to refuse the offer out of sheer stubbornness, the ache between your legs is very persistent, so you accept the Wiggenweld and immediately uncork it, downing the contents. Relief floods your body right away.
The handsome man cocks his head at you, a small smile softening his features. “You look so pretty like this – wet hair and all. But where are my manners? Can I get you something, darling?” he says, gesturing to a veritable feast laid out on a table against the wall.
Your stomach growls but you feel sick at the thought of food.
“No… thank you,” you say meekly, unable to meet his eyes.
“No, of course you wouldn’t be hungry,” the dark wizard muses, hands clasped behind his back. “Not after what’s happened to you. What’s about to happen to you,” he laughs, before stepping up to a liquor cabinet and withdrawing an amber bottle of what is surely a fine vintage. He turns the bottle over in his hands. “A little firewhiskey couldn’t go wrong, I think.”
For once, you don’t disagree with the man. You have never had firewhiskey, but there’s a first time for everything. “Drink up, little one,” he encourages.
You think you could probably benefit from a little liquid courage, and you down the firewhiskey in one thick swallow. It burns.
“Let it never be said that I’m not a gentleman.”
You almost choke on your firewhiskey at that statement, the irony not lost on you. Does this man not realize the situation that you are in? He is holding you captive, has promised to rape you, and refers to himself as a “gentleman” because he offered you a drink first?
The fire burning in your veins now is not from the alcohol. It is simmering rage.
“Well, I suppose it’s all a matter of… perspective,” the vile man continues, chuckling to himself. “You, darling, are going to be getting to know me very well indeed. Whether you like it or not.”
Your rage turns to fear. “Please, don’t,” you plead, almost inaudibly.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this – getting you helpless and alone. Where no one can hear you scream. No one who cares, rather.”
You think there must be others here. Ashwinders. If they heard you screaming, they would probably laugh – if not wanting to get in on the action themselves. You shiver.
“It’s a real shame that I didn’t get to you first – get a taste of that little cunt of yours while it was still untouched. But, no matter – we’re going to have a lot of fun together, darling.”
“Please… Please, don’t,” you repeat, shaking in fear at the man’s promise, and yet you feel a hot wetness gathering between your legs.
Your body knows you’re about to be fucked.
“Why don’t you start by taking off that robe?” Rookwood grins, gesturing towards you. You pull the fabric of the robe closed more tightly around your chest.
“No… Please don’t make me.”
“No need to be shy, sweetheart. I’ve already seen everything.”
True – the man had already seen you half naked, bloodied, and covered with cum but you were still very reluctant to show him again. To do so of your own volition, no less. You know that disrobing is the final precursor to him having his way with you.
You may not be able to stop him getting what he wants, but he’s going to have to take it.
Rookwood loses his patience with you quickly and takes two steps forward. Before you can realize what’s happening, you are being slapped again – hard, across the face. “Take off the robe and come sit on my lap,” he barks. You lift a hand to your face. He’s wearing a large gold ring which probably left an impression. You can barely bite back the tears.
Frustrated by your failure to immediately comply, Rookwood grows even more restless. Within seconds, he’s slammed you against the nearest wall, his fingers painfully twisting in your hair.
“I don’t like to repeat myself, poppet,” he hisses. “Perhaps you long to be treated like the disobedient little whore you are.”
You are openly sobbing as the man makes deep and intense eye contact with you, his much larger body caging yours in, while he insinuates a knee between your thighs. It's too much and you look away.
“I’ll have my way. You can be certain of that,” he purrs, running a single calloused finger across your lips. He looks serious, almost thoughtful.
“There’s nothing you can do to stop this. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be on you.”
You know there’s truth in the man’s words. You have accepted your fate. But that doesn’t mean you have to make it easy for him.
“Look at me,” Rookwood demands, tilting your head back. Your eyes, swimming with tears, make contact with his. He sees acceptance there, and a small half-grin graces his handsome features.
“That’s it,” he whispers, before leaning forward slightly and claiming your lips. You’re being kissed by Victor Rookwood. The kiss is gentler and more passionate than you could have ever expected. You grant him entry into your mouth without thinking, and his tongue makes quick work of yours. You can’t help but let out a small moan as the heat builds between your legs. Rookwood’s hands disentangle themselves from your hair as your arms wrap around his broad torso. Soon he has grasped your hips as he continues to focus on devouring your mouth. You whimper as you feel his hardness pressing into you. You hate it but part of you wants more.
A hand snakes its way between your bodies, settling between your thighs. Two fingers dip down between your folds, gathering the wetness they find there before circling the most sensitive part of you.
Rookwood pulls back. “Do you ever touch yourself like this?” he asks teasingly.
“Yes,” you gasp.
“If you don’t want me to fuck you, then tell me why your pussy is so wet.”
“I… I don’t know,” you shudder, your hips bucking slightly in an effort to gain more contact with his fingers.
“Good girl. That feels good, doesn’t it.”
You’re moaning like a wanton slut. You need more. You feel helpless. You hate that it’s him that’s doing this to you, but part of you also loves it.
“Tell me you want me, darling.”
“No.. I.. Please,” you cry while spreading your legs wider. Your body aches for more, but your mind is resisting with every ounce of strength that you have.
Suddenly, the dark wizard pulls away from you slightly, and you mourn the loss of his fingers on your clit.
“Don’t make me hurt you,” he says casually, while he begins to unbuckle his belt. Your eyes widen in fear as you watch him reveal himself. He is massive, and he is going to fuck you. Imminently.
“You’re going to satisfy me. One way or the other.”
A lascivious grin spreads across the man’s face as he leans in closer to you.
“Get ready for me, darling. I think you’ll find that I’m quite a bit bigger than Macnair.”
Macnair. The name sounds familiar.
He raped you. The Poacher Stalker. He'd been particularly cruel
You can only whimper as the man lifts a leg with one hand while lining the head of his cock up with your opening with the other.
Without warning, he is inside – embedding himself to the hilt. You both gasp in pleasure, and yourself in shock. Despite the Wiggenweld, your pussy still feels a bit raw. You can feel Rookwood’s hot breath as he pants against your neck. He smells of tobacco. You reckon you’ll never forget that smell. Without giving you even a moment to adjust, he begins pounding into you in earnest.
“You’re really in for it now, little girl,” he purrs.
“Oh, fuck," you whimper.
“Taken against a wall like a common whore. This is what the Rookwood Gang does with filthy sluts like you.”
You’re horrified that you feel yourself squeeze around him at those words. You can’t help it – this feels good and his words just turn you on even more.
“Oh, still so tight. That’s a good girl. Taking my cock so well.”
You’re moaning openly now, spreading your legs wider to accommodate him, to get him in deeper. You’re afraid that you might come and part of you really, really wants to. Maybe you are a whore. Maybe you like being degraded.
“I bet you’re loving this. You can’t hide from me.”
You can’t argue, so you don’t say anything. You just focus on keeping yourself upright, your legs spread as this man fucks you into the wall.
But you startle at what he says next.
“I want you to call me ‘daddy,’ darling.”
What?
No.. That’s too sick and perverted. You call your father “daddy.” Not this man who’s raping you. Not him.
“Call me ‘daddy,’ while I fuck you! It’s so wrong but I’m a wicked, wicked man,” he says, unashamed, as if amused with himself.
“I can’t.. No.. Please!” you plead. Can’t he just fuck you and not make you play his sick games?
“Say it, little girl,” he demands, before giving you a sharp slap to the cheek.
You can barely gasp before his hand is around your neck, applying a firm pressure.
“You’ll call me ‘daddy’ if you want to breathe.”
It's immediately apparent to you just how serious this man is about being called "daddy." You struggle, your fingers scrabbling to release his from where they’re digging into your neck.
“Or maybe you like my hand on your throat?” he goads.
You try to shake your head “no.” Try to scream All that escapes you are garbled noises and choking sounds.
Don’t kill me…
“Your pussy is so tight around me,” he continues, letting you take a little breath. “Does it turn you on, little one? Me dominating you. Fucking you. Choking you. I think you rather like being at my mercy, and you’ve no idea how much I like having you there. Perhaps I should choke you harder.”
SHUT UP! I CAN’T BREATHE! You scream in your head, then your survival instinct prevails. Just do it, you think.
His hand loosens just enough and you seize your opportunity to speak. “No.. Please! Daddy! Daddy!” you choke out, before the man finally lets his fingers go slack. You take deep, desperate breaths – filling your lungs with precious oxygen.
“I see you’ve finally realized the error of your ways. And not a moment too soon. That’s it – breathe for me,” he says.
If you weren’t so terrified, the hubris would astound you. Breathe for him? You are breathing because you need to breathe. Nothing about it is for him.
But part of you enjoyed the power and control he had over you. Yes, you were terrified, but you were also aroused. Aroused by being in fear of your life! You flush with shame at the realization.
"Good girl."
Regardless, you’ve learned your lesson. You don’t want a repeat. You will give this man whatever he wants.
And he wants you to call him “daddy.” You guess it works, given how much older and larger he is than you are. "Daddy" it is.
“Beg me, darling.”
“Please, daddy,” you offer meekly.
“Beg me to fill you.”
“Oh, please. Please, fill me up. Please, daddy. Come inside of me. Please!”
You like to believe that you’re just acting, just telling the man what he wants to hear, but part of you knows this is somewhat authentic – that you enjoy him fucking you, using you. That you want him to finish inside you.
It feels good. You want more.
You need more.
“I’m going to come in you, sweetheart,” Rookwood exclaims, thrusting into you at a punishing pace.
“Inseminate you! Impregnate you!”
You gasp, but your cunt tightens around him at the words.
“Do you want to be bred by me, darling? Have my baby?”
Your only answer is a deep groan. Despite every logical thought you have, your womb aches to be filled by this handsome, dominant man.
You hate yourself. You hate yourself so much. But you throw your head back, hitting the wall, and moan openly at his sinful words.
His hand's in your hair again, controlling your head firmly “All this time – acting out, causing trouble. Who knew all you needed was to be held down and fucked?”
You want to argue. No! You didn’t need this! Did you? No, don’t contradict him...
“Gods, yes. I’m going to fill you – make you mine forever. Tell daddy you belong to him.”
“Yes. Yes, I’m yours. I’m yours, daddy.”
“That’s a good girl. So sweet. So pleasing to my cock. So mine.”
You feel weak at his praise - sick at his proclamation of ownership. And yet… you can’t imagine yourself anywhere but under him right now. All you can think about is his cock in you - how full you feel. How good it feels. Nothing else matters in this moment.
“That’s it. Fuck!” he cries, his thrusts becoming erratic. His hips shudder and he stills, fully-seated in you. He issues a low, guttural groan as he spills inside you. “Take daddy’s cum,” he commands. He is filling you – pumping you full of his essence.
All you can do is pant, your face flushed and eyes closed as he slowly withdraws from you, his limp cock slipping out of you with a sickening pop.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it, darling?” he says, setting himself to rights.
You catch your breath, sinking to the floor as you feel your mingled fluids begin to leak out of you.
“I think we’re both rather going to like this new arrangement. At least, I know I will.”
All the blood drains from your face and a sob escapes you.
He plans to keep you.
“Oh, did you think I would let you go after this?” he chuckles. “Well, you’ve rather another thing coming.”