Clarisse

Percy’s eyes shot open as a cold hand clamped over his mouth. His heart pounded as the darkness of his cabin enveloped him, and for a moment, he thought he was in the middle of a nightmare. But then he felt the rough grip of fingers digging into his jaw, and the unmistakable scent of sweat and leather filled his nostrils.

“Shut it, Prissy,” Clarisse’s voice snarled in his ear, low and menacing. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

Before Percy could even process what was happening, Clarisse yanked him out of bed, her strength overpowering his half-asleep body. He stumbled, his bare feet scraping against the wooden floor, but she didn’t give him a moment to recover. Her arm snaked around his waist, hauling him up like he weighed nothing, and she dragged him out of the cabin into the cold night air.

“Clarisse, what the—” Percy started, but she cut him off with a sharp elbow to his ribs, knocking the wind out of him.

“I said shut it,” she growled, her voice laced with authority. Percy knew better than to argue with her when she was in this kind of mood. He could feel the tension radiating off her, the kind of wild energy that made her unpredictable—and dangerous.

The camp was eerily quiet, the only sounds the crunch of their footsteps on the gravel path and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. Clarisse’s grip on him was unrelenting, her fingers digging into his skin as she marched him toward the Ares cabin. Percy’s mind raced, trying to figure out what was going on, but he didn’t get far. Before he knew it, they were standing in front of the cabin’s door, where she kicked it open with a **** that made the hinges rattle and hauled him inside.

The interior of the Ares cabin was dimly lit, the shadows dancing on the walls from the flickering light of a single lantern. Percy’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the weapons hung on the walls and the unmade bunks scattered with clothes and gear. Clarisse wasted no time, shoving him toward the center of the room where a heavy wooden chair was waiting.

“Sit,” she commanded, her voice leaving no room for disobedience. Percy hesitated for a split second, but another shove sent him stumbling into the chair. Before he could even think about escaping, Clarisse was on him, her hands moving with practiced efficiency as she grabbed his wrists and tied them to the armrests with thick, coarse rope. The knots were tight, the rough material biting into his skin, but Percy didn’t fight it. There was something about her dominance that made his stomach twist in a way he didn’t entirely hate.

“Clarisse, what are you—” Percy started again, but she silenced him with a harsh glare.

“I told you to shut it,” she snapped, her eyes narrowing as she leaned in close, her face inches from his. “You’re mine tonight, Prissy. And I’m not in the mood for your whining.”

Percy’s mouth went dry as she straightened up and reached for something on the table behind her. His eyes widened as she pulled out an adjustable nylon strap with a metal nose hook attached to it. The sight of it sent a shiver down his spine, but before he could protest, Clarisse was already slipping the strap around his head and cinching it tight. The hook dug into the sensitive cartilage of his nose, the pressure sharp and uncomfortable, but it wasn’t unbearable—yet.

“There,” Clarisse said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Now you’re ready for me.”

Percy’s heart was racing, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps as he watched her move around the room. She was like a predator circling its prey, her every movement deliberate and calculated. She reached for something else on the table, and Percy’s stomach dropped as he saw the whip in her hand. It was short but vicious-looking, the leather braided and polished to a menacing shine.

“Clarisse, wait—” Percy’s voice was strained, the hook in his nose pulling uncomfortably as he tried to speak.

“Wait?” she repeated, her tone mocking as she stepped closer, the whip dragging along the floor behind her. “You think you get to tell me what to do? No, Prissy. Tonight, you’re going to learn your place.”

Before Percy could respond, the whip came down across his chest with a loud crack, the sound echoing in the small cabin. He gasped, the pain sharp and immediate, but it was quickly followed by a rush of heat that spread through his body. Clarisse didn’t give him time to recover, the whip striking him again and again, each blow leaving a raised welt on his skin.

Percy gritted his teeth, his body trembling as he tried to withstand the onslaught. But there was something about the way Clarisse wielded the whip—the precision, the control—that made his stomach churn with a strange mix of fear and desire. He could feel his pulse quickening, his cock stirring despite the pain, and he hated himself for it.

“You like this, don’t you?” Clarisse’s voice was a low growl as she paused, her eyes scanning his body with a predatory gleam. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re enjoying this.”

Percy shook his head, his words caught in his throat as the hook in his nose tugged painfully. He wanted to deny it, to tell her she was wrong, but the truth was written all over his body. His skin was flushed, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and his cock was hard and straining against the chastity cage.

Clarisse smirked, a wicked gleam in her eyes as she dropped the whip and stepped closer. Her hands were on him in an instant, her fingers digging into his bruised skin as she leaned in, her breath hot against his ear.

“You’re pathetic,” she whispered, her voice dripping with disdain. “But I think I like you this way.”