Marguerite sought to detach herself as the assault continued, willing her body into unresponsive numbness and filling her mind with images of her fiancé's beautiful, kind face.
When her attacker grunted and came in her, she barely flinched. Even as the rest of the leaders took their turns rutting on her, she was unresponsive. Only when William took his place between her thighs, did she allow any expression to cross her face. The look of contempt perversely triggered the hidden cruelty in William, who poured the rage, jealousy and disappointment of the last months into his rape of the woman he believed he loved above himself. Mindless thrusting and punishing her, he came without joy. Terrible shame followed as he snapped out of his madness and was aware of Marguerite’s scorn and hatred. He looked down at himself with disgust as cum dripped off him.
"I_I_ am so sorry..." he stuttered.
"You animal..." Marguerite spat out before merciful darkness claimed her.
***
Searing pain brought Marguerite back to the nightmarish world she had briefly escaped. The source of it was made clear when she raised her head and saw the red brand on her left thigh, it was the flame that marked the masks and robes of the Brotherhood. They had marked her like an animal.
Before pain sent her back into oblivion, Marguerite glanced round and glimpsed the horror that had been visited upon Cicely. Blood smeared her mound and covered her legs, forming a pool intermingled with white cum. Her pale, lithe form was covered in bruises and bites. Her swollen mouth covered in crusts of dried blood and cum. Her eyes, while open, were blank and unseeing. Only the slight rise of her chest as she breathed indicated any signs of life. Even when they applied the brand to her, Cicely made no sound. Mary, who appeared in a similar state, had curled up, her limbs not being bound to the pillars as Marguerite’s and Cicely’s were. Her eyes were closed as tremors shook her body and her face contorted in pain. A hoarse croak of pain barely audible came from the girl as they branded her.
“I said no one was to leave any marks on her,” the blonde leader roared in fury as he returned and saw the brand that had been applied to Marguerite.
The argument between the leadership made little impression on Marguerite as darkness started to reclaim her senses.
When Marguerite woke to the new dawn on the steps of her fiancé's residence, she found herself gripped in his shaking embrace. The new dawn had brought the darkness of the new life that one fateful night had bestowed upon her.
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