Nothing to do with him.
She couldn’t fool herself.
The pleasure dwindling, her mouth moved under his palm, her lips parting and she gave a last shudder...and saw him. He smiled a thin, knowing smile, one that burrowed inside her deeper than any fingers ever could.
Couldn’t fool him either.
Chapter 3
The punishment was going well, at last. This would impress on her that he was not to be mocked or denied.
Mako hadn’t thought much of this new slave, Emery. Humans might look pretty with their shining hair but they lacked sense. And this one...she reminded him of Shay. Having to look at her and remember how he’d last seen Shay, hanging from that tree, gutted, did not make for a happy day. The line of Emery’s face in profile? The curve of her eyebrow? Even her voice sometimes triggered him.
The phenomenon wasn’t new, such as when he’d glimpse some woman on the ship, just never so fucking constantly. He loved the sound of that word of hers – fucking. A word only he knew out of a thousand, thousand Mekkers. A private swear word he could use on her, and it meant so many things.
Her resemblance didn’t incline him to be kind – the reverse in fact. He associated Emery with his dead girlfriend, which somehow in a very distorted way made her seem personally responsible. How dare this slave live when Shay was dead? Twisted thinking. He could be a cruel man; he knew that.
This girl was all kinds of wrong for him.
Stopping himself fucking with her was going to be difficult.
Her continuing protests and curses had forced him to escalate. His mouth curled sideways. He’d only meant to string her up and display her. To let her understand her weakness and his power, to see how their relationship must be from now on.
Scavs and Grounders understood their place once caught and brought into the Swathe – Mekkers topped their world; it had been so for a long time. This slave, she’d kept at him, spitting out virulence. The reason why had dawned. Mekkers weren’t kings in her world. To humans his people were almost a fantasy, same as humans would be to him if he were dropped into their world.
She was more valuable than the average slave; he’d rein in his impulses. Getting a clearer idea of the situation from Basteer would help.
He would break her. Best for her and everyone concerned. A slave that knew their place was a far more useful one...and an alive one. In rare cases of defiance they were put down. He’d never had one go that far while under his eye, and this Emery would fail in her small rebellion.
Pretty though, especially when she wriggled.
And she looked like Shay.
He pressed his palm over her mouth even firmer, pleased at how her eyelids fluttered and her breath stilled, at how his presence made her see and feel this differently. Being forced to climax often brought them down a notch – even the female Scav warriors, and those thought themselves proud and tough. He wasn’t aiming to push Emery to climax but arousing her was a bonus.
Keeping his hand over her huffing mouth, he brought his other to her breast, grabbed a handful and squeezed.
The arching, the trembling, even the small moan she made when he thumb-brushed her nipple...it begged the conclusion that she had climaxed.
Mako glanced down as the last man rose from his knees, his fingers sticky, glistening, and freshly sucked from her cunt.
If he’d had his dick in her, he’d know if she’d climaxed.
Wasn’t to be. Basteer had made that clear. Not that she was for him either; Basteer liked men.
“Did you come, slave?” She could barely speak past his palm but he left it there, smothering her sounds, listening to her breathing as she tried to calm herself. “I think you had a small one you tried to hide. If I stick my hand in you, or my cock, I could make you do it loudly in front of this little crowd. Would you like that? Answer.”
Head-fucking her with this, but it was fun.
He removed his hand. Her lips were glossy with her own saliva, his hand wet and warm.
Slowly, she shook her head.
“No?”
Emery cleared her throat. Her eyes were clear and blue. An innocence was there that reached inside him and made him feel...when he’d been sure there was nothing inside him except useless rage and remorse. He frowned.
“Please. No.”
Lost in memories, and in her eyes, it took a moment for him to gather his response, his purpose. He was House Master for Basteer Oren and an ex-recce and veteran of many Outside missions.
“Please? Better. Remember that. Remember what I can do to you. No one will care if I get a whole line of men to ass-fuck you in this square.”
Basteer would sack him if he tried it, but Emery didn’t know, and if it worked on her, it worked.
“I’m going to let you down now, then we will walk to your new home without any more bad behavior. Okay?”
She nodded, shut her eyes. “I understand.”
Cowed, at last. He almost felt sorry for her. Humans were a whole other puzzle. The putra Scavs, women or men, could be ass fucked by a flying dragon with a dick the size of an orb cannon and he’d not care. He’d cheer it on, in fact.
He reached up to undo the chain connection, felt the softness of her breast, and found himself wishing she’d give him more reasons to punish her.
He loved his job for all the wrong reasons. He loved punishing the women, but he did it in a sort of dispassionate passionate way. He couldn’t deny the thrills. The men under his command knew of his predisposition, but it had never interfered with how he organized and cared for Basteer’s household.
This one, though, this woman, this human creature who looked like Shay come to life...she disturbed the balance.
When he released her wrists, she staggered, and he caught her at the shoulders to steady her.
Soft female, hard muscles beneath.
He’d never wanted to invent reasons to punish a girl before.
He’d tread with care and use his big stick wisely.
Chapter 4
On the way to wherever they were going, she had nothing to cover herself, except for the torn dress held together by hand and the cord at her waist. Mako had given her the cord after untying it from his claw device...retractor, he’d named it. A bastard device used by a bastard. Appropriate.
He thought her now meek, treated her kindly, she supposed. Again, Emery wiped below her eyes with her wrist, removing the last remnants of tears, while holding the dress in place. She was not meek, never would be, but she could pretend if it meant she be free, one day.
You didn’t wait on tables six nights a week, blister your feet, get shit money for wages, and go off to play in a Goth band on Sundays when your feet were raw, fend off the occasional drunk asshole who tried to climb on stage, and be meek.
As they walked, she observed.
No doors to the outside showed, even at a distance. This vehicle, that forever rumbled with engine noise and turning wheels, seemed endless. The walls came in and formed corridors, wide ones that could fit a narrow road from Earth. Most of the walls were riveted pink-gray metal, but some were decorated with paintings and other materials...wood, paper, or even, rarely, plastic? The ceiling had shrunk down, once they left the market area. There were avenues of shops and doors that seemed decorative – large and timber, or shining glass or metal, or working pieces of art.
Doors bore images that might indicate a trade. Cogwheels, weapons, nude and provocative women and men, engines of some design she’d never seen, symbols too, but she couldn’t decide what they were meant to represent.
Mechlings zipped by, vehicles like rickshaws hummed, people in various robes walked past, as well as a few less well clothed who might be slaves. Those often wore collars or ankle bracelets that tinkled as they walked and she guessed they were ownership signs.
She touched her neck, wondering if that would be done to her. If so, she’d bear it, distasteful as it might be.
Mako halted before a set of wide, glass doors – a
green glass with other designs melted or screwed to it. A warrior in white armor was depicted on the door. He looked down over a plain, with a glowing blue spear in his hand.
“The god, Arrak.” Mako planted his hand on the door and it split in the middle and opened inward. “You are at the house of Basteer Oren, your master.”
A very casual way to introduce his god. Perhaps they believed casually here?
She’d not seen her patron before this, had been kept elsewhere, though she’d been unaware that was so until now. She followed him through, ducking aside as a mechling shaped like a fat cat buzzed past at ankle level and shot into the house, its metal ears shining with red stones.
They progressed inward, past a large atrium, past doors and open spaces, a kitchen, other rooms, people. Most stared at her and she clutched the dress tighter, all too aware of her sticky thighs and disheveled appearance.
Mako turned. “We go directly to Basteer. You will behave impeccably or the punishment will make you wish yourself dead.”
“Oh.” Way to impress her. Confronting but it seemed his way – to threaten. “But...” She waved at her body. “I’m –”
“Disgusting? Dirty? Looking like you had ten men inside you with their fingers?”
A middle-aged collared woman went past but with lowered head. Maybe she’d heard that...must have. Emery shook off her embarrassment, pressed her lips together.
“Yes.”
“He will understand. He knows my methods. Come.”
Infuriating. But she walked after him, through another set of doors and into a big room with artworks on the walls and on tables. Basteer sat behind an immense, glasslike desk. An older man, he wore a blue-and-gray robe and his sandy hair was tied back. Stacks of paperwork surrounded the document he scribbled on. The metal pen looked complex enough to be a Doctor Who prop.
Mako gestured at the floor. “Kneel.”
He assumed obedience and to be honest, she had no heart for more defiance. Legs wobbly from fatigue and what she supposed was the aftermath of too much adrenalin, she kneeled. The floor was metal beneath thick rugs.
“Morning, Mako,” he said, still writing. “The new slave?”
“Yes, sire.”
“You have her in hand?”
“I believe so. I anticipate extra reinforcement of what is expected of a slave will be needed.”
“Uh-huh.” Basteer looked up, laid his pen to one side. “Why is that?”
“She comes from another world, which doesn’t seem to have had slavery.”
Emery shifted, unable to be still with a rivet poking at her knee.
Basteer regarded her, one eyebrow lifted. “No pillow for this one? Few clothes and what she has seems...disturbed.” His lips twitched in amusement.
“She hasn’t earned a pillow. She has a liking for curses.”
“Even with her kneeling before me, it’s hard to imagine another world exists that is not a part of our universe. There are worlds above us in space so I suppose this is similar. Perhaps there are others we can travel to through these portals?”
“Yes, there might be, sire.”
“Let her bathe. Place her in a cage for a day. It seems to let them stabilize faster. I’ll leave her to your judgment, Mako.”
“Anything, sire?”
“Anything your great wisdom says is correct, excluding anyone, or you, fucking her, of course.” He looked to Mako. “I can tell she has your interest. In time, the ban on a wife will be relaxed. You know this.”
Mako nodded.
She eyed them both from beneath her brow, tried to act calm.
Fascinating. He wasn’t allowed to fuck her or marry? He’d lied to her. Which really shouldn’t be a surprise.
Basteer rummaged in a drawer then tossed something that jangled toward Mako. It landed on the desk. He went back to writing and spoke casually without looking up. “Clean her. Cage. Collar. Tomorrow is bleeding day. Set her to herding the mechlings when they recharge – it’s simple. No fucking her. I paid too much to allow it. Blood from unfucked humans is at a premium currently. Arrak knows why. People think it makes the Factor H taste better. Use one of the others if you wish.” He looked up. “But that’s always been so. And yet, you never partake?”
Fucking, he hadn’t said the English word but the Mekker equivalent and already it slipped by her. Too long, she’d been here far too long. She was drowning, a swamp rising above her head.
Mako stepped forward and retrieved a black collar. Small silver studs decorated the circumference.
That would be for her. The idea of a collar on her neck was revolting. She wasn’t a dog.
“I find Scavs not to my taste.”
“Of course. They wouldn’t be, would they? Not with your history. Obviously.” Basteer smiled briefly.
A bank of large square windows to the far left caught her eye. Being across the room from them, she’d had more pressing things to look at. Just outside, in the foreground, aerials and antenna spiked. Past those sunlight flared off the mounded tops of a lumbering sea of vehicles. Metal rolled soundlessly. In the very background were far-away mountains and a drifting, faded, dusty-orange landscape. Those must be true windows, not some sort of view-screen. They were large enough for a person to crawl through. How high up were they –
“Is she admiring my view?”
Emery flicked her gaze to Basteer then lowered it.
“I think so, sire.”
“Answer me, slave. Do you like my windows? Thinking of escaping though them?”
She shook her head while still keeping the floor in focus. “No...sire.”
“Is she lying, Mako?”
“About escaping? I’d say so. She has...fire.”
“Those are three-times-cured bell crystal. You’d need the right weapon to crack them.”
She dared to look at Basteer again.
“Yes, and such weapons don’t exist anymore. Lying to me is not allowed. Punish her, Mako. No blood. Just enough. Your discretion. She has to learn.”
“Of course.”
Emery kept her mouth, her face, impassive.
Basteer leaned back in his padded chair, making it rock. “And I never praised you Mako, for your achievements. The Governance may have demoted you, but I think we all know how much we owe you. The disobedience of an order had to be punished, but the other? It was a great act – courageous, forthright, brilliant in result. That is why I employed you. You have my support, Mako. Remember that.”
Mako cleared his throat. It was good to see him discomforted. His gray-stubbled jaw clenched, unclenched. “Thank you, sire.”
“Dismissed.”
What had he done to deserve praise? What act? The more she knew about him, the better.
He led her along a new, narrower corridor.
“What did you do for this...Governance?”
He stopped and turned to her. A door at his back was open and inside she glimpsed cages and a stark room with the standard riveted metal walls. Fuck. This was it.
“What do you call me?”
Emery gulped down her indignation. “Master.”
“Good. Now.” He reached and took a handful of her hair, wrenched it tight and lowered his hand, so she had no choice except to bend over as he towed her into the room.
“Here is where you stay overnight. There are mattresses in the cages, as you can see. No toilet facilities so Nik here...” He nodded at a man sitting at a desk to the right before rattling off more instructions. “Will let you out once before tomorrow morning. You hold it in until then. You will get a small meal also, no more. That’s part of your punishment, so don’t ask for more. The rest? You don’t get to know about my past. Stand there. Be still.”
He released her hair and waited for her to straighten. No smiles, just his rigid expression with barely a muscle moving. She hadn’t noticed the small scars but they flecked much of his right side. The scarring under his eyes served to make him look fierce even when no expression could be interpreted. Some
sort of tribal mark? No use asking – he wouldn’t tell her. The metal studs on his brown shirt were partly undone and she wondered if he knew he’d popped them open. Ridged scars showed on his chest. For a man who shepherded slaves he had a lot of scars, a lot of well-developed muscle. This Swathe was like an army on the move. She guessed he’d fought, been in some firefight.
“Like what you see?” He leaned in.
“No.” She shook her head. “You’re one ug...” She wound down. Mouth out of gear, remember?
His lips tweaked into a short-lived smile. His boots made noise in this quiet room, squeaking as he walked slowly behind her. His hands brushed skin as he slid the dress off her shoulders then reached around her waist and undid the cord. The dress slipped all the way to the floor, pooling and puffing air over her bare feet. She was utterly naked and in a room with two strange men. When he left his hands at her hips, cupping them, she felt a stir of interest below.
Not unusual. Just stupid. There was fear and there was this stupid reaction.
They weren’t allowed to molest her. She held onto that fact.
When his hands left her, she clamped her tongue tip between her teeth to stop herself flinching. A tinkle beside her ear warned her a moment before the collar circled her neck. He tightened it, murmuring, “Now this looks nice on you, slave. Come. Your punishment.”
With his warm hand at her neck he directed her toward a long wooden box. “There are points to fasten you to, but I don’t expect to use them. Lie on your stomach and wait, hands on the floor, palm down. If you do move and I have to tie you down, I will double the strikes. You know why you are being punished?”
Her glare was momentary. He was going to hit her? Fine. She’d had worse in life. Just, the humiliation was getting to her. “Because I lied to Basteer?”
“Yes. Use ‘owner’ not Basteer. Never say your owner’s name unless it’s requested of you.”
She nodded. Rules and more rules.
The rectangular box was a few feet high at most and the timber cool on her belly when she lay across it. The box was honey in color, with chips chewed from the edge, just beyond her eyes. Those were from the making of the box, she prayed, not from severe beatings. Her stomach crawled at that idea. Theoretically they...or Mako, might do anything.
Acquired Possession (The Machinery of Desire Book 1) Page 3