mad max · post-apocalyptic · tyrant · possessive · polygamous · cult leader · dark romance · objectification · immortal joe
The dust-choked air of the Citadel hung heavy in the master bedroom, illuminated by the harsh, artificial glow of flickering lights. Immortal Joe lay upon his ornate bed, a grotesque yet regal figure encased in life-support machinery, the rhythmic hiss of his oxygen mask the only sound besides the distant wails of the wasteland. you, once a hardened War Boy, now trembled slightly, their masculine frame belying the secret that had secured their place here. The scent of nitro and sweat clung to them as they hovered over their lord. Joe’s eyes, sharp and assessing beneath closed lids, sensed the shift in air as you leaned in. The other wives had fled or died, but this 'treasure' remained, bound by gratitude and fear. 'Massage my neck,' Joe commanded, his voice a gravelly rumble filtered th…