One week in paradise, and I'd learned exactly what my life was worth.
Nothing.
Less than nothing, actually. I was entertainment.
Seraphiel had decided I was her new favorite toy, and she played with me daily. Spilled wine that I had to clean while she watched. Dropped items that I had to fetch. Found fault with everything I did, every breath I took, every moment I existed in her presence.
The other servants avoided me. I didn't blame them. Attention from angels was dangerous, and I'd somehow earned the worst kind.
"Kai."
I looked up from scrubbing the marble steps for the third time. Ayla stood nearby, her face tight with worry.
"What?"
"There's a banquet tonight. Upper-level angels and their favorites." She swallowed. "Seraphiel requested you specifically to serve."
Of course she did.
—
The banquet hall was excess incarnate. Crystal chandeliers, tables laden with food that smelled divine, and angels everywhere. They reclined on cushions, laughed with voices like bells, and ignored the servants weaving between them like we were ghosts.
I carried a tray of wine, keeping my head down, trying to be invisible.
"Oh, look. It's Seraphiel's new pet."
I froze.
Another angel, male this time, smirked at me from his cushion. "Is he as entertaining as you claimed?"
"See for yourself." Seraphiel's voice cut through the ambient noise.
She sat nearby, and my traitorous body reacted immediately. Tonight she wore something different: a white dress that hugged her curves before flaring at her thighs, the hem stopping well above her knees. Her legs were crossed, one perfect thigh visible through the slit, and my brain helpfully reminded me exactly how those legs would look wrapped around...
Stop.
"Come here, Kai."
I walked over, tray balanced carefully.
She took a glass of wine, sipped it, then made a face. "Too warm." She held it out over the marble floor. "Such a shame."
She dropped it.
Red wine splashed across white marble, the crystal shattering into pieces.
"Clean it up," she said simply.
I set the tray down, knelt, and reached for the towel at my belt.
"No."
I looked up at her.
Seraphiel smiled. She uncrossed her legs, leaned forward slightly, and the movement made her dress shift. "Use your tongue."
The other angels laughed.
My hands clenched. "You can't be serious."
"I'm completely serious." Her voice was light, amused. "Unless you'd prefer the waste pits? I hear they're especially fragrant this time of year."
Rage burned in my chest. Hot and violent and completely useless. I couldn't fight her. Couldn't refuse. Couldn't do anything but swallow my pride and...
I lowered my head and licked the wine off the marble.
It tasted like humiliation.
"Good boy," Seraphiel purred above me.
I kept licking, kept cleaning, kept my eyes on the floor because if I looked up, if I saw her face right now, I'd do something stupid.
But I could see her feet. Delicate, perfect feet in golden sandals. And above them, those legs. Smooth, pale skin that seemed to glow in the soft light.
"You missed a spot."
Her foot pressed against the back of my head, pushing my face against the marble.
The other angels were dying with laughter.
And that's when I felt it. That warmth in my chest, that strange heat that had been building all week. It pulsed in time with my heartbeat, growing stronger with each moment of degradation.
But there was something else mixed in with the rage.
Want.
Because from this angle, with my face pressed to the floor and Seraphiel's foot on my head, I could see up her dress.
I shouldn't have looked. Should've kept my eyes closed, preserved what little dignity I had left.
I looked.
White panties. Perfect, unpretentious white that matched her wings. The fabric was some kind of divine silk that caught the light, and they hugged her in a way that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
I could see the outline of everything. The curves, the shape, the delicate cleft that the fabric clung to like a second skin. And there, right in the center, the faintest suggestion of what lay beneath: a subtle indentation, the barest hint of her most intimate place.
My brain short-circuited.
She was perfect there too. Of course she was. Not a hair out of place, the fabric smooth and tight against skin that had probably never been touched by anything but the finest materials reality could offer.
The panties were so white they almost glowed, emphasizing just how pure, how untouched, how completely virgin she was.
And that mark. That slight impression in the fabric where it pressed between her thighs. I could trace the contours through the silk, could imagine the heat beneath, the softness, the wetness that had probably never existed there because angels didn't feel things like mortals did.
Didn't get aroused. Didn't get wet. Didn't moan or gasp or beg.
My member hardened despite the humiliation. Despite the foot on my head. Despite everything.
No, not despite it.
Because of it.
Because I was face-down on the floor, degraded and humiliated, staring up at an untouchable angel's virgin pussy through silk that might as well have been painted on, and all I could think about was ruining her.
Wanted to tear those perfect white panties off. Wanted to see if she was as pink and pretty underneath as I imagined. Wanted to make her wet, make her feel, make her understand what it was like to want something so badly it hurt.
Wanted to corrupt that purity until she was the one begging on her knees.
The warmth in my chest exploded into heat.
"That's enough," Seraphiel said, lifting her foot.
I stayed there for a moment, breathing hard, the image of her panties burned into my brain. The outline, the clinging fabric, the absolute untouched perfection of it.
When I finally pushed myself up, my hands were shaking.
Not with fear.
With rage and lust mixed so thoroughly I couldn't tell them apart anymore.
Seraphiel was watching me with those ice-blue eyes, a small smile on her perfect lips. She recrossed her legs slowly, deliberately, and I knew she'd felt my gaze. Knew exactly what I'd seen.
She was testing me. Humiliating me. Establishing dominance.
And she had no idea what she was creating.
"Run along now, Kai," she said dismissively. "I'm sure there are more floors that need cleaning."
I picked up the tray with trembling hands and walked away.
Behind me, I heard her laugh. Musical and cruel and completely confident that I was nothing.
That I'd always be nothing.
Late that night, alone in the servant quarters, I lay on my thin cot and stared at the ceiling.
The warmth in my chest hadn't faded. If anything, it had grown stronger, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
My mind kept replaying the image: white panties clinging to untouched flesh, the outline of her sex, the knowledge that she'd probably never felt pleasure in her perfect, pristine existence.
I hated her.
I wanted her.
I wanted to destroy her and worship her in the same breath.
And somewhere deep inside, something was waking up. Something that whispered promises of power, of revenge, of watching that perfect angel fall.
The warmth pulsed again, stronger this time.
Almost like it was waiting.
Like it knew what I wanted, what I needed, and it was ready to give it to me.
I closed my eyes and smiled in the darkness.
Soon.