02. Another task!.

Author..

A week had passed since the first task.
Inside the house, training had grown stricter — rules pressed down day and night. Every girl was expected to obey Madam O’s commands and complete her assigned task without question.

A sharp clap echoed through the hall, drawing every gaze to Madam O.
She stood in a black silk gown, elegance wrapped in authority. Beside her, another girl lingered close, smirking at the others.

“As you know,” Madam O began, her tone smooth but cold, “some of the girls have managed to draw the attention of their masters and will serve them soon. But before you sign off, there will be another round of games tomorrow evening.”

No one spoke. Silence was safer.

She knelt on the floor, dirt covering her hands as she planted new flowers — torn between exhaustion and fear of meeting her master again.
A shiver ran through her, but her mind whispered reason this time.
“Do only if he says,” she murmured to herself, standing up slowly.

Hours later, Madam O burst back in, her signature handbag hanging from her arm.
“Make a line,” she ordered harshly. “Get the girls ready.”

Everyone changed into beautiful clothes-gowns she’d never seen before.
But not her.
As punishment, she was still bound to the same dress — the one she had worn since the maze.
She bathed in it. Slept in it.
Now, after washing again, it clung damp and heavy against her skin.

Madam O smirked as she passed her, the meaning clear, and walked away.

Madam O smirked at her and walked away.

The girls began moving toward the cells — tanker-like containers lined in a row.
“Come on, hurry up!” someone shouted as they were pushed inside.
The doors slammed shut.
Darkness swallowed them whole.

Time lost meaning inside that container. The air grew heavy, warm, and sour. Hours passed until everyone was tired, cramped, and covered in sweat.

When the doors finally opened, blinding light poured in, stabbing at their eyes.
One by one, the girls were taken out and led into separate rooms for inspection.

Then it was her turn — 110281.

She stood quietly, hands trembling, heart pounding in her chest. The thought wouldn’t leave her mind: Would he choose her… or reject her?

Everyone knew what rejection meant.
Those who failed were sent to the White Room — a place whispered about as the chamber of screams.

She stood there in the same worn dress, the one she had never been allowed to change.
The wound on her arm had healed, leaving behind a faint red scar — a reminder.
She had other dresses, beautiful ones, but they weren’t hers to wear.

Madam O stood before her, poised and commanding.
“Now your turn,” she said firmly. “You will not speak unless spoken to. Follow the rules.”

Her strict voice left no room for hesitation.
110281 nodded once, then followed silently as Madam O led her down the corridor.

Her breathing grew shallow with every step.
The thought of facing her master again made her stomach twist.
Rumors said the young masters were dangerous — that one had already hurt her, leaving the mark that now burned on her arm.

Her fingers brushed over the scar.
Before the thought could deepen, Madam O’s sharp voice snapped her back.
“Get moving! You’re not here to think, you’re here to obey.”

She hurried forward.

The next room opened into a grey haze.
Fog curled along the ground, swallowing the light.
Five men sat in a circle, their black hoods concealing every trace of identity.

She tried to study them, to see which one might be him — but she couldn’t tell.

Madam O watched her with a knowing smirk.
“Eager, aren’t we?” she mocked, voice laced with venom. “Don’t think it’s because you’re special. You’re nothing more than a leftover I’m finally getting rid of.”

Her words cut sharp, her smirk sharper.

110281 said nothing, her gaze fixed on the circle table before her — red and black stripes spiraling like a mark of fate.
Her own breathing echoed faintly through the fog, the only sound in the still room.

Then, without warning, a door creaked open.
A girl was pushed through — completely bare, trembling under the weight of a hundred unseen eyes.

Her thoughts broke when a loud voice echoed through the hall.

“Welcome your host—and your pleasing thing for tonight, gentlemen.”

One of the men rose from the circle, the host, his tone thick with mock pride as he introduced the girl as their pleasure thing.

Madam O glanced toward 110281.
“Look,” she said coldly, “but don’t feel. This is your master class. Your will to surrender will be measured here. And then your master will decide if you’re worthy of being chosen as their slave.”

110281 only nodded, silent.

“Shall we?” the host asked, and the men hummed in agreement.

The girl who had been brought in was striking—brown-skinned, short-haired, her body curved and strong. She was magnificent, and yet tonight she was nothing more than a sacrifice—an entertainment piece.

“Come here, slut,” the host called. She obeyed instantly, stepping forward without a word.

“We’ll play cards,” the host continued. “Whoever wins first will have her first. On the winner’s command, everyone will obey. Agreed?”

A low murmur of approval moved through the circle.

The cards spread out across the table. While the game played on, the girl stood motionless before them like a trophy—her head lowered, her eyes fixed on the floor. The air thickened with the heavy scent of leather and men’s musk.

At last, the man in red gloves laid down his final card. He had won.
The others nodded their acknowledgement.

The host stood, his grin wide. “So this is your prize, Master—and here’s the extra.”

He gestured toward a screen that flickered to life, showing two horses running across a green field.
“These are rare breeds,” he announced proudly, “worth millions to the Organization—our prized racers.”

The red-gloved master simply nodded, his silence colder than applause.

The room went silent, every eye fixed on the master.
He removed his hood, revealing the red mask that hid his face completely.
Only his presence spoke—sharp, controlled, commanding.

He gestured for the girl, and she stepped forward, trembling.
“Tonight,” he said, his tone dark with amusement, “we celebrate. Let her prove her purpose.”

‘’Suck my cock and choke on it slut’’ his command was the only thing it needed and she just did that.

She removed his leather pants and pulled out his thick cock and touched it with her hand. Gripping it firmly…. The master harshly grabbed her hair and forced her to look up. ‘’Did I ask you to touch it…’’anger is visible in his eyes. The girl trembles under him.

‘’Now you will clean it with your blood!...’’his words were so sharp that the girl gasped… but before she could say anything he pulled her and laid her on the table…. Legs spread wide and silently sobbing..

Her hands covering her boobs and her pussy on full display for the master.. The master pulls out some blue power and dust it on her body…. She instantly calmed down and started giggling and moaning….

Her pussy starts dripping. Her entire behaviour changed in seconds.. ‘’Come on, I want the show to start…. ‘’He gestured to one of the men and he stood up pulling his cock pumping it before riding into her pussy..

Her moans got louder and louder, skin slapping echoing the room, Madam O stayed silent her presence was like a shadow for them..

One by one every man took their turn with her, she seems dull by the time last man fucked her….but in drugged state she never utter a word beside moaning and screaming.. Continued penetration had her bleeding and lastly the master smirks at her state.. ‘’This is the price for obedience’’he pushed into her, sliding into her bleeding.

“Her disobedience was voluntary,” the master stated. “Punishment is merely the correction of her mistake.”

The room fell silent for a moment as the master’s gaze swept across it.
His eyes stopped on Madam O—and on her.

Marked… but by another.

Madam O bowed low before the master, her tone smooth when she finally spoke.
“This is the diamond of the season, Master,” she said, her voice echoing through the hall.

110281 felt her throat dry out like sand.
Does he approve this? What happens now?

Someone’s voice broke through the silence.
“Has she been marked yet?”

The question hung in the air like smoke.
Not marked meant she could still be used.
And that meant she had made a mistake simply by standing here.

Her legs trembled.
She waited for an answer.

Madam O’s smirk widened.
“Might be,” she said lazily. “It’s her second trial, after all.”

Laughter rippled through the room.
The master leaned back, eyes scanning her slowly from head to toe.
“Poor soul,” he said, voice low and amused. “Let her play for us. Be our slave for the night. Let’s see how badly she regrets not being chosen.”

Her worst fear unfolded in front of her eyes.

Madam O shoved her forward.
Her knees almost buckled, but she caught herself and moved—because disobedience was never an option.
She ended up standing beside the table, disgust twisting in her chest at the sight before her.

“Are you certain she isn’t marked?” another man asked, his voice dripping hunger as his eyes roamed over her.

Madam O chuckled, shaking her head slightly.
“Lords,” she said, her tone like velvet hiding thorns, “she’s still unmarked. No one has claimed her yet. That’s why she’s still here.”

For a moment, one of the men simply stared at her—at her quiet face, her trembling stillness—and seemed to forget everything else.

“I am afraid we are the masters,” the host said, his tone bold and careless.

Madam O turned to him, brows drawn together. “But isn’t this trial for the Lords only?” she asked, her voice edged with disbelief.

The master smirked. “I am the Lord,” he said smoothly. “And titles matter only when I say they do.”
The others laughed, their amusement filling the room like smoke.

“Can you do the honors, Lord?” the host asked, his eyes flicking toward 110281.

The Lord looked at Madam O. She returned his gaze with a sly smile and nodded, then turned to leave, her heels clicking softly until the door closed behind her.

Silence followed—heavy, expectant.

110281 swallowed hard, fear burning in her throat. She forced herself to stay still as the Lord approached. His gloved fingers traced the line of her arm, the gesture deceptively gentle. She flinched at the touch.

He leaned close enough that she could feel his breath against her cheek—danger and arrogance woven together.

“Unclothe yourself, slave,” he ordered.

The command struck her like a whip; she stepped back instinctively, but his eyes caught the movement and glinted with dark amusement.
“You enjoy defiance?” he murmured. Then, louder—“Restrain her.”

Hands seized her arms before she could react. Her body tensed, struggling, but they were stronger—too many of them.

They fastened her to the wooden wheel at the center of the hall. The ropes tightened around her wrists and ankles, cutting into her skin.

Her heart thundered in her chest as the wheel began to turn. The movement pulled at her body until pain bloomed across her limbs. Her cry echoed through the room, swallowed by the laughter surrounding her.

The sound of spinning wood and cruel amusement filled the chamber, a rhythm of dominance and despair that seemed to have no end.

“Patience and surrender are the keys here,” the Lord announced, his voice echoing through the hall. “And for your disobedience, this is your punishment. You’ll serve these masters—then come with me.”

110281’s eyes widened in shock.
Her mind blurred with fear; she was only one turn of the wheel away from losing herself entirely.

“I don’t mind taking her right here, my Lord,” the host said, his gaze fixed on her trembling form.

The Lord chuckled, giving a slow nod of permission.

The host’s grin widened. He rubbed his hands together, stepping closer. She shook her head in silent refusal, yet no sound escaped her lips—the rule forbade it.

He pulled off his gloves, fingers curling around the fabric of her dress, ready to tear it away—

Then a low, furious growl rippled through the hall.

A split second later, sharp metal needles shot across the room, striking the ground near the masters. They dove for cover, pulling their hoods down as chaos erupted.

“Who dares reveal themselves before the shot is finished?” the host shouted, his voice cracking through the panic.

The air went still. The assault stopped.

Then came the footsteps—slow, heavy, deliberate.

From the shadows, a tall, broad man stepped into the light, his face hidden behind a dark web-patterned mask. His presence filled the hall like smoke, thick and dangerous.

Every hooded man turned toward him as he crossed the floor, unhurried, power radiating from every movement.

“You’re not permitted to enter this hall,” the host hissed, his words edged with fury and fear.

But the masked intruder said nothing—his silence more commanding than any threat.

The Web Mask smirked, the expression barely visible beneath the shadow of his mask.
He grabbed a chair with one hand and dragged it across the stone floor, the sound slicing through the silence like a scream.

The Lord’s gaze hardened, fury burning beneath his calm exterior.

“Don’t get near what belongs to me,” the Web Mask said quietly, his tone calm but rough—each word carrying weight. “And I’ll stay away.”

The masters exchanged uneasy glances. None of them spoke.
Their eyes shifted between the two men, unsure of what line had just been crossed.

The Lord cleared his throat, forcing composure into his voice.
“This girl is not marked,” he said coldly. “She’s free to be used. You are not permitted to enter this chamber, and you know the rules, young man.”

The Web Mask didn’t flinch.
He simply lifted a gloved hand and pointed straight at 110281.

“Marked or not,” he said, his voice deep and unwavering, “she belongs to me.”

The sound of his words filled the hall, echoing like thunder.

110281’s eyes widened. She tried to see through the mask, to find something familiar, but his face was hidden, unreadable.

The Lord’s patience snapped.
“Who are you,” he demanded, “to storm in here and threaten us?”

The Web Mask didn’t answer with words.
Instead, he flicked his wrist.

Knives whirled through the air, each one striking the spinning wheel—one at each corner: hands, feet, and head.
Perfect aim.
The message was clear.

Every master stepped back, the air thick with tension.

The door burst open.
Madam O stumbled inside, her eyes darting between the Lord, the Web Mask, and the chaos that now owned the room.

“I—I’m sorry, my Lord!” she stammered. “She has been marked! For clearance—she wasn’t before, but—”

Before she could finish, the Web Mask moved.
In one swift motion, he seized her by the throat and slammed her onto the table.
Wood cracked under the impact. Blood traced down her temple, glinting in the dim light.

“She belongs to me,” he growled, voice low and lethal. “Marked or not, I decide the deal.”

Madam O nodded frantically, pain twisting her face as tears mixed with blood.
The Lord’s gaze shifted between the Web Mask and the girl—his expression unreadable.

At a silent command, Madam O hurried to 110281. She untied the ropes with shaking hands and forced her to stand.
“You have a master now,” she hissed, gripping the girl’s hand so roughly it burned. “Go. Serve him.”

110281 didn’t speak. She only lowered her head and followed as the Web Mask turned away.

He had just reached the doorway when the Lord’s voice echoed behind him, smooth and mocking.
“If you’re an honorable man, you should know never to ignore a Lord. I think you’re new here.”

The Web Mask paused mid-step.
He turned halfway, the light catching on strands of hair that slipped from beneath his hood.
A faint smirk curved his lips.

“Search for me,” he said quietly, his tone both threat and promise.
“Spider. You’ll find out who I am, Lord Arc.”

Then he walked out, his presence fading into the shadows—
110281 following close behind him, silent and small, like a lost shadow bound to its master.

Authors note; 

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