Mistress of the Damned

Elney

Ileaned against the cool glass, nipples perking against the chill that always danced on the wall of windows in my room. This high up the glass was always cold. On some mornings it was even lined with a thin layer of ice that created beautifully intricate patterns that were most likely how this massive building that I called home got its name.

The House of Lace.

The massive, all glass building that stood in the middle of The Isle of the Damned and served the same purpose it had for over two hundred years: To breed healthy girls for the monsters that ruled us.

I was born and raised here, along with the hundreds of other girls who were brought up by the Matrons; the women who were past their breeding years and had been lucky enough not to be recycled into the smoke.

They rocked us to sleep as babies, comforted us as toddlers, and gave us milk from their breasts for most of the years of our rearing. The creatures who had been released from the underworld to rule us wanted us healthy, and strong enough to pleasure them in any way they desire.

Not that I knew what any of that meant.

When the children who were raised here turned eighteen our blood reveals our true nature. It is only then that we knew if we were made to please, or made to dominate. Those that dominate were taken to the replicant hall where they were placed with women who birthed the next generation of children to be raised as I was.

Those who were revealed to submit would end up here; in the tall tower, in the middle of an island, in the middle of a blood red ocean, surrounded by the monsters who came from the smoke to rule us.

There was no end of monsters.

Ever since the blood sucking demons known as the Synians had left, Demons continually crawled up from the gash in earth, ready to experience us. To experience our world.

At least that was what I had been told, and I hadn’t been told much.

The moment my nature revealed as submissive I was brought here, my lessons in dance, gymnastics, and flexibility doubled as my handler prepared me for what was coming.

Whatever beast was crawling up through the smoke far below to claim me.

I could barely see through the smoke, even from here with my breasts pressed against the glass, my nipples turning to rocks from the chill. The swirling smoke of red and black was so far down that it only appeared to be a wash of grey, the buildings of the city that it choked pinpricks in nothing.

A world outside of my touch.

I wondered if the beasts that lived there could see me. If they could see the perk in my nipples and if they desired me the way I knew they should.

“What are you doing, Elney?” The laughing voice echoed through the white emptiness of my room; the voice familiar. Logan.

The tall, muscular man had been my handler since I presented as submissive two years ago. As my handler, he made sure I was taken care of, that my training remained in line with what the monsters desired of me, and that I was behaving as I should.

A proper breeding lady should never talk back, never question, never oppose. Perfect. Blissful. Submissive.

I had tried Logan’s patience on more than one occasion.

“Trying to find the others.” I didn’t turn. I pressed my forehead against the glass, looking down into the swirls of smog.

“You won’t find them, El,” Logan said, right behind me now; his hand warm against the small of my back before sliding down the curve of my bare ass. As if I needed a reminder that I had opted not to wear the completely sheer robe they had given us on the eve of our coming of age. The assortment of jewel-colored shifts had replaced all of our other clothes as we prepared to enter our final roles.

Ripe to fuck. Primed to breed.

I would rather be naked.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t look.” I arched my ass into his hand before stepping away, leaving the dewy outline of my breasts against the glass.

I chuckled. Logan rolled his eyes, the moss green color fighting back laughter. He could try not to laugh, but I knew him well enough to see through it. The tightness in his stubble covered chin gave him away.

“They look like eyes,” I said through my giggle. “They’re looking right at you…”

I smiled at Logan, and his laugh finally broke through, although he silenced it with a gasp. Darting forward, his rough fingers pinched my nipple with the firm pressure of thumb and forefinger. I didn’t even cringe, I swallowed.

My breasts weren’t cold anymore. Nothing was.