Biomancer - excerpt

Prime smacked the slave in the face. “Girl, look at me. How many times do I have to tell you that I like it better when you look in my eyes.” He gave her thin arms, which he held firmly to the mattress, a tight squeeze, warning her to be quiet. Her crying became whimpering. Tears ran down the side of her face from the corners of her eyes, filling her ears. Everything sounded hollow in her head, his voice, his heartbeat, the crackle of straw from the mattress as he pushed against her.
She found it was over quicker if she resisted a little, making him angry. His weight on her chest was oppressive. She had to breathe in gasps, which seemed to arouse him further. In his sick mind he likely thought that he was stimulating her. She thought of him and the guards that almost nightly chose her, dying a thousand deaths, a thousand torturous ways. Contemplating their deaths made it almost tolerable, almost. For some reason she was chosen more often than the other girls were. Two nights without being visited was a rarity. She just wanted it to end. If not for her brother being left alone in this horrendous place, she would have by now ended her own life to stop the pain that she had to endure. More than anything she just wanted it to end.
“What!” he pushed his chest in the air, rising above the slave, still thrusting. “What is that,” he said to himself, looking concernedly out the open window.
A small light could be seen in the yard. Someone was walking toward the log yard. Something was amiss, and he knew it. Guards didn’t use that path to travel between posts.
Prime stopped unfulfilled, got off the straw-filled mattress, and took a long swig of something from a black bottle. He tossed the empty container aside and picked a wrinkled robe from the floor, wadded it into a loose ball, and threw it at the girl-slave with malice. “Get back to your room, slave,” Prime demanded with a drunken slur.
Shakily she put on the robe from the corner of the mattress farthest from his lecherous reach, feeling the bruises forming on her stiff arms. Disconcerted she hurried from the room without a care for what had consumed his thoughts, yet grateful that something had.
Prime sluggishly got dressed. Pulling on his pants, he unbuckled his five-thong whip and set it on the room’s lone, wobbly-legged table. Off he went to the supply room, deciding to get something a little more destructive.