This girl was not the worst he had here, he decided. And she was new, so she hadn't known him, which made it all more interesting. Now she did know and he sat there, staring at her body and the wound he created on her. His own work of art. And he felt satisfied, because he had not only cut her and made her bleed, he had also fucked her afterwards. She had only failed him a few times and he wondered what she would do next time he came here and demanded her time. She could avoid him the best she could, like the other girls, but he might wait for her, because it would be interesting. She had begged and pleaded with him, thinking she could influence him. Now she knew she could not.
When he said he would do it again, she looked at him, met his eyes with her own. Her eyes were still watery from the crying, but at least she hadn't sobbed loudly. That would have annoyed him too. She then replied and he nodded with a smile. As he wished. Then he moved away from her and picked up a random piece of cloth to wipe the knife with, before he placed it back into the purse. Only then did he dress again and from his purse he fished a few coins to pay for her time and the use of her body. He placed them next to the bed and gave her one last look. The wound had yet to heal, it wasn't that long ago since he cut her. He almost wanted to touch it, but he felt the drying blood from her on his own body, underneath his clothes now.
"Do you have a name, whore?" Just in case he would have her when he came back and there was a good chance he would.
She was there for his pleasure and that alone. No matter what his pleasure was. That's why he had come to the Elysium to begin with and that's what kept him coming back. These girls knew that all kinds of people came here and that their master would have them do as told, or do something worse to them if they refused. Marcus thought he wouldn't mind helping Titus out, if some of the whores here became too impossible to tame. It wouldn't be the first time he slit someone's throat, stabbed someone, let them bleed to death. But he wouldn't do that to this girl. She had behaved and she had barely struggled when he cut her and now he was taking full advantage of her body after telling her, that it was his right to do as he pleased with her.
Now it wasn't his knife that had entered her, now it was Marcus himself and she let out a soft sound when he did it - but otherwise she just lay still, let him get done what needed to get done. She turned her head to the side to not look at him but he didn't care. For now, she was just a body, offering release for his body as her blood had offered some kind of release and satisfaction for his mind. At last he was done with a few loud grunts and rested on top of her, feeling the stickiness of the slowly drying blood between them. He still had his one hand wrapped around the handle of the knife. When he'd caught his breath again, he pulled out and sat up on his knees again, looking down upon her as before. He thought that if she didn't care to look at him when he fucked her, he might fuck her from behind next time. It hadn't been so bad, fucking this one. Or cutting her. Not bad at all.
But he was now staring at the wound again and tilted his head, curious; "I may do this again some other time." He just wanted to see her reaction.
He hadn’t even touched her when she was already shivering before him – so afraid that he would hurt her. Did she still think she had a choice? Why did she think a man like Marcus would come here? Just to fuck? He could do that with Aculia or Germanus or any of his other slaves. But they were his and he couldn’t afford to buy new slaves all the time. So he came here, because here he could do as he pleased, as long as the girl would still function tomorrow. Titus would prefer that she could still perform her duty as a whore, after all.
Marcus had then touched her body while he made up his mind and finally decide to carve a slit into her right breast, in the soft part of it above the nipple. He told her to stay still, a kindness really, because she could just struggle and make it worse for herself. But now she knew not to. And she closed her eyes and he noticed how she bit back a scream and her entire body tensed, while the blade penetrated her skin and produced wonderful, crimson blood. It ran over her pale skin, over the curve of her breast and it trailed down over her side and he looked at it, almost as if he was paralyzed by the sight.
Her words woke him up, as she begged him to not cut her again. It almost made him want to do exactly that, because there was no way she could order him what to do.
“Why shouldn’t I?” He asked in almost a whisper, “It’s my right. It’s what I pay for.” He added in the same voice, but decided against it. Another time maybe, because Marcus did feel how he’d grown hard by his action and he placed himself closer against her, covered her body with his and entered her without another word uttered. He knew that their intimacy would place his chest against hers and her blood would be upon his body. That thought was just as captivating as cutting her had been. Marcus wasn’t a romantic lover though, not slow and gentle. He would have her now. And he wouldn’t stop until he gained the release he had also come for.
Was she on the verge of tears? Wasn’t she a whore and didn’t she know what that meant… that meant submitting to strangers and here at the Elysium, it meant submitting to whatever the clients would do. Well almost. Titus preferred that Marcus didn’t kill the whores, so he didn’t, even if he sometimes thought they deserved it. And he wouldn’t kill this one either, this one who was now staring at the blade and wiping tears from her face. She was nothing.
When he asked her to go and lie down on her back, she begged him again, but he didn’t react. He just waited. And then she finally moved, she would lie down and Marcus would follow her onto the bed. His eyes wandered over her body, trying to decide where to make her bleed and she was just kind of there. A blank canvas for him to perform his art upon. His art of making people bleed. He thought of the scar he recently made on Aculia’s cheek and his heart was pounding.
He held the knife in his right hand and ran his free, left hand over her thigh and hip and over her side until he reached the curves of her right breast. Marcus leaned in over her and touched the soft and pale part of her breast with his hand. He glanced to her face, “If you move or struggle, it will be worse. And ugly. So don’t.” It was really kindness, to tell her these things. He could just have cut her without warning. At least now she knew what she should not do. He then held his free, left hand on her arm, to keep her down and he pressed the tip of the blade into her skin and let it slide through and he cut a wound, a few centimeters long only, before pulling the blade out. He stared at the blood, not at her. The sight of the blood leaving the body and running over her pale skin was fascinating and beautiful - and almost more than he could stand.
He could have gone for one of the other girls and if this one had not approached him, he might have. If no one had approached him, he would just have picked one on his own and they would have screamed for him, because they tried this before and they knew how it hurt. Well, he hadn't been through every girl in the house, but a few of them. And he kind of liked that he could show them again and again to not disobey him or speak up against him. Marcus considered himself useful to the brothel itself, because he helped keeping the girls in check, making sure they knew that the patrons weren't someone they could mess with. Now this girl would know too. He didn't even know her name, but he knew she'd learn.
She was already on her knees before him and clutched her wrist where he held her, but then he undressed and told her to go to the bed. She exhaled when he quietly fetched his knife and she saw it. Now she might guess what he desired; what interested him. After a few moments, she stood and backed to the bed until she sat down. Marcus approached her then, looking her over, thinking he would not cut her face. But a scar across the chest, or maybe her ass.
"You're good at obeying orders now." He said and this time, it was not his finger that touched her body, but the blunt edge of the knife that he ran across her throat, from one side to the other, "Lie down. On your back." Marcus then instructed her and waited for her to follow the order. If she did as told, he'd join her on the bed, settling between her legs on his knees. He made no move to enter her yet. Not with his member anyway. Instead he would look over her body, making up his mind on where he'd make her bleed.
He had to admit that seeing her tremble did something to him. She didn't like the thought of him hurting her, especially when she did not know what he would do. And what if he told her that the other girls here, they did know, and they still allowed this one... the newest girl in the house... to approach him on her own, and no one did anything to stop him from following her to this room. They knew he would hurt her and they did nothing. No one would do anything. She was his, tonight.
She stared at him when he let go of her wrist and then she actually did beg for mercy. Stupid bitch.
"What good use would you be to me, if I couldn't do that? It's what I pay for." Marcus said and removed his tunica without her help, revealing his own, skinny and toned body. He reached for his purse, picking the small knife - it was just a blade, barely larger than a pinkie, attached to a wooden handle. Small enough to be hidden in a purse but large enough to be held by his hand, "You're stupid if you think you can tell me what to do. Now go and sit on the bed."
When she stumbled over her words and apologized for speaking incorrectly, there was the tiny hint of a smile on his face. She had spoken incorrectly, hadn't she? She thought he liked to be in control, as if he wasn't already. But he was paying for her time - he was paying to make her his while they were together. And she better make it worth it, or he might complain to Titus and barely the gods knew what Titus would then do to her that Marcus would not already have done! And now she tried to undress him, which he hadn't asked for and didn't want yet, so he grabbed her wrist and held her hard, scolding her for assuming things. She yelped and was on the verge of tears and said he wanted to hurt her.
"I do." He confessed then, "You don't want that, do you? They never do." He rolled his eyes, "Do you want to beg for mercy?" She could, of course. But she wouldn't get it. And she would be stupid if she did, because that meant she thought she could have it her way and she could not. His fingers tingled to reach for the tiny knife he had with him. Slice a scar into her pretty face or body. He let go of her wrist before he'd break it. That wasn't his plan, after all.
He eyed the bed but didn't sit down on it just yet. Instead he had questions for the whore of the night, this newcomer to the brothel, that he had not seen or harmed or fucked yet. She was untainted and he knew she would do or say something wrong at some point. They always did. Fucking slaves didn't know what was best for them. He asked her what she thought he would like, what would interest him and he watched her intently while she thought about it. Then she said he must like it rough and he liked to hit or choke his whore. She said he liked to be in complete control.
"I am in complete control, slave." He replied, "And I am not planning to choke you or hit you. Unless you disobey orders and struggle. So don't. That's not what interests me." Marcus said and she walked closer to him and made moves as if to undress him.
He caught her wrist with his hand, holding it very tightly as she made the move, "Is that what you think I want? Just to get naked and fuck you?" Then she hadn't read him well at all.
She didn't speak much, which was for the best. Marcus didn't want his slaves to speak unless spoken to, so she had been trained well in that regard. And she undressed when he asked her to. In fact, she had done almost everything he asked her to, except telling him the truth of her opinion of him. But she had learned fast and now she quietly led the way to a room. She held her simple tunica and Marcus followed her, looking at her backside. How easy it would be to pick his knife from the purse, catch her from behind and slit her throat, he thought while they walked. With a hand on her one breast, he would hold her close and with his free hand, he'd force her head back again and slit that fine neck from one side to the other, just underneath the jaw. Deep and bloody. The blood would be spilled upon her body and the floor in front of her. She would drown in her own blood. He blinked, tearing himself from the image while she closed the door behind them.
Then she would know what he wanted, "A good slave should be able to guess such things." Marcus said, looking for something to hold against her. He wanted to cut her but for some reason, he needed a reason. It was always like that. This was why the tiniest thing that his own slaves did wrong, would be enough, because he knew he should not hurt them like he did, but he wanted to. So he needed to justify what he did and the slaves displeasing him was enough.
"What do you think interests me?" He asked, assuming she would guess wrong, so he had a reason to show her.
Marcus actually kind of did want witnesses to what he did - but he knew it couldn't be so, because people would talk and he knew that it was not common that you had a desire to cut blades into others and see them bleed. It was not common that such a thing left you feeling a deep fascination and satisfaction inside. So he had to do it alone and tonight, he would do it to this girl. He didn't even know her name. It didn't matter. She was just a slave, just a whore. So pretty and smooth and pale. He would make her skin blush in his own way. She was a blank wall to write upon. He smiled by the thought while she promised to not be fake with him and when he had downed the wine, she wondered if he wanted to go to a private room.
"Let's go." Marcus said and stood, wondering when she would begin attempts to guess what he wanted, so she wouldn't have to ask. Slaves should be able to guess it. He had heard about a male slave at the Venus, who was said to be capable of that, but he doubted he'd get to hurt them like he would get to hurt the whores here. So he would just stay. He waited for the girl to lead him to a room of their own and his eyes were shining brightly with anticipation.