Master

by Alice La Roux

  Narrowing my eyes, I glare at her. “Are you drunk?”

  Sighing softly, she rolls her eyes and throws away the last wipe. “No, I’m tired, and I’m trying to get undressed.”

  “Don’t let me stop you.”

  “I won’t.” She unclips the bralette and shrugs it off, followed by her pants that she shimmies down her legs and kicks aside, until she’s standing in only her thong. The sense of déjà vu is overwhelming, but this time, it’s different. I don’t want to be caring and concerned when I touch her, I don’t want to chase her away. I want to dominate her, I want her to scream my name loud enough for the audience to hear over the dim of the show.

  I step toward her, intending to make good on my filthy thoughts when a voice cuts in. “Ezra! Where the fuck is Ezra?!”

  We both stare at each other, until I break the silence. “This conversation isn’t over…”

  Pulling on a T-shirt and some shorts, she laughs again. “Look, we really need to work on your understanding of what a conversation is, because you keep saying that in the wrong context. We don’t have conversations or discuss anything, Master Black. You give orders, you tell me what to do, and that’s it.”

  She hangs up her costume before sliding on her sneakers and moving toward the tent flaps. “Don’t make it more than it is.”

  As she tries to move past me, I grab her arm. “Don’t minimize what it is then.”

  “And what’s that?” Tilting her head at me, I stand for a moment, watching her tongue flick over her lip ring.

  Just as I’m about to answer, a voice bellows, “EZRA!”

  Fourteen

  Delilah

  I wasn’t going to stand there like a lemon while he tried to decide what I was to him, so the fact that they’re looking for him to announce the next act after the interval is the perfect excuse for me to slip away and wander amongst the stalls. I wasn’t in the mood to stay in my costume tonight, instead I just wanted to walk around and remind myself why I was here.

  The air is cooler tonight, and I love it as I move amongst the crowds. The low hung lights, the colorful mix of clothing and skin, combined with the aromas of several of the food stalls has the site feeling like something out of a dream. The Carnaval was my hiding place, my sanctuary. I'd come here to try to put myself back together, to fix what my church had broken. I’d always intended to go back when I was whole again and make them pay. I needed to be stronger, but Ezra Black was distracting me. He made me embrace my fucked-up side instead of fixing it, and when I did—I didn’t want to go back. I wanted to stay here and play with the freaks forever. He warned me, they all did, that the Carnaval corrupts your soul. They just didn’t tell me that it was in the best way. I loved being part of something. I loved how there were no rules here. No punishments. Nothing other than wants, needs, and desires. The freaks live life how they want, snatching their pleasures where they can, no matter how fucked up.

  I didn’t need saving, not in the way Ezra thought I did. He thought if he sent me home, he’d be preserving my innocence, giving me a chance at something normal, not understanding that I never lived a normal life to begin with. When he saw my scars, he realized that I was broken, and yet, he still wanted me to leave. It wasn’t until he watched me cut myself open and willingly bleed to be here that he grasped how deep my flaws were. I was a freak to my core. I wanted the pain, I hungered for it. It was how I controlled my life, and to give him that much power over me was a stupid choice. I hadn’t cut since we had sex. I hadn’t needed to...yet. Even just the memory of his hands on me, his teeth biting into my skin, his horn digging into my flesh was enough to get me through the day. But now I was addicted to him, and that came with a different kind of pain. One that I needed to push down otherwise it would consume me. The jealousy was still there even though I told myself it wasn’t. I’d kept him at arm's length today, but it was for my sanity and not because I wanted to. In fact, I wanted the opposite very fucking badly. I wanted him to claim me, to make me beg, to own me, body and soul. But if I did that, there would be no coming back.

  I buy myself a corn dog and a lukewarm beer before meandering toward the ticket booths at the front of the site, my gaze lingering on all the different things on sale at the stalls. I stand and watch as people play games at some of the booths with their children, laughing and taking pictures. If only they knew what went on when the show is over, I think to myself, taking a bite of the corn dog.

  Finishing the beer and throwing away the rest of the corn dog, I wipe my greasy hands on my shorts. And that’s when I hear it. My name is being called. It carries on the wind, almost hitting me like a cold bucket of water as I register the owner of the voice.

  “Delilah!” Trevor screams at the top of his lungs as he stands a head above the crowd, looking for me.

  I freeze. I can’t make my feet move as he begins to storm toward me, pushing people out of the way until he stops before me. His blond hair is tousled, and he looks tired, worn down, as he runs a hand through his hair and shoots me a disapproving look.

  “What have you done to yourself again?” His voice grates on me like glass. “Didn’t you learn your lesson last time?”

  He’s talking about the pink hair and the new nose ring. Last time, when I dyed my hair black, I had been tied in the garden for two days with no water or food. When I got the lip ring, it had been ripped out by a church elder who gave me ten lashes for ‘defiling my body’. The hypocrisy of it all made me chest tighten, as he scarred my skin, and I felt like a ticking time bomb as Trevor’s words stirred up the anger inside me. My body was mine. Mine.

  “Go home, Trevor,” I spit, turning to walk away, but his hand lands on my shoulder, and he spins me back toward him.

  His face is close to mine as he hisses, “I saw your little act, Delilah. All that bullshit about saving yourself for marriage and you whore yourself out to The Devil.”

  This was the boy I’d grown up with. His family and mine had been close since we were neighbors and members of the same church. He’d been punished alongside me so many times, I thought he would understand. I thought that the times we’d cried together meant something. But when we turned fifteen, he was welcomed as an adult into the church, while I was allowed to be physically punished. Before that, starvation, constant praying, and public humiliation were as far as it had gone. After fifteen, anything was allowed. And sometimes Trevor helped the elders dole out whatever sentence they’d given me. Gone was the boy I knew, replaced with a man of the church who seemed to think I was his as he held the whip in his hand.

  “You need to leave,” I growl, shoving him away.

  His large hand circles my wrist, and he holds on tight, burning my skin with his iron grip. “You’re coming with me. We can save your soul...if you repent, we can still save you.”

  I look up into his green eyes, and I know that there’s no remorse there. He will never be on my side again. He’s too far gone. Peeling his fingers away, I make him cry out.

  Stumbling backwards, out of his reach, I scream, not caring that I’m beginning to draw attention. “I am never going back to that house. Why don’t you understand that?”

  Lunging for me, he roars, “You can’t abandon God or your church, Delilah.”

  Sidestepping him, I can’t help the way my mouth falls open with shock. Before I know it, I’m laughing, and I can’t seem to stop. “God abandoned me, Trevor, he left me high and dry the second he let the elders hurt me.”

  “We never-” He’s going to try to justify it, and I refuse to hear the words from his mouth, so I lift a hand and silence him.

  I scoff. “No, you never hurt me. Just punished me, right? I deserved it. Right?”

  I take another step backwards, I’ve somehow managed to maneuver myself near the back of the Big Top. Just a few more steps, and I’d be in full view of Burt, who was watching the gates today.

  Shouting, I take another step. “You’re the same as the rest of them. Abusing me to get your kicks, it’s all
just a power play.”

  My sneakers drag in the dirt as I slowly inch back another step. Trevor mimics my movement, sliding closer, and I feel like my heart is hammering away so fast it might just stop.

  “And Trevor, don’t think for one second I don’t know about the others either. Those poor women.” I shudder at the memories. I hadn’t realized when I was a child what they were doing, and when I was old enough, it was too late. It had taken everything I had and months of careful planning to run away to the Carnaval, If I had done anything to help the other women, I would have been killed. I live with that guilt every day.

  I can’t help the sob that bubbles up my throat as I remember some of the things I’d seen. I was one of the lucky ones. “Some of them were just girls, kids like us, they never should have been brought into the church.”

  Trevor snorts, so utterly entrenched in his convictions. “We’re saving them, Delilah. They needed to be cleansed and redeemed, ready to accept the Lord into their lives.”

  I move again, praying that Burt can see me now. “And you between their thighs?”

  He raises a hand, as if to hit me, before he remembers where he is and lowers it. “Don’t be disgusting, it’s not like that. We’re sanctifying them, doing the Lord’s work.”

  People are moving away from us, frightened and unsure what’s happening as we argue. “You realize how ridiculous you sound, don’t you? Your church is a cult, and like every other fanatical group, it's run by men thinking with their dicks, power hungry, abusive assholes. It just so happens that one of them is my piece-of-shit father.”

  Someone gasps, but still no one comes to help me or intervene. I don’t know if they think it’s just part of the show since the freaks regularly wander around the site, but I’m beginning to sweat. If someone didn’t come soon, I was screwed. The determined look on Trevor’s face told me he was prepared to drag me back by my hair if he had to.

  He lunges forward again, and his hand flies out so quickly I have no chance to duck. The silence that follows the loud crack doesn't last for long as he leans in. “Don’t you dare speak out about Father Michael like that.”

  I stand, chest heaving as I try to control my breathing, my face feeling sore and the skin burning from his slap. Exhaling, I straighten my shoulders. “He has no power here. You need to leave, Trevor, or I will make you leave.”

  Trevor grins, as though I’ve just issued him a challenge. He shifts, getting ready to pounce again, and that’s when I finally feel someone at my back.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Ezra booms from over my shoulder. Turning, I see he’s with Jerry and Burt as well as a few of the others. He has a baseball bat resting on his shoulder and a cigarette in his other hand as he stands in all his terrifying beauty. “I suggest you get the fuck out of my Carnaval before I rearrange your pretty face.”

  “I came for Delilah-” Trevor starts, but I can see the fear in his eyes as Ezra steps forward, looming over both of us. Trevor’s eyes linger on his horn as his lip curls in disgust, and he involuntarily shies backwards.

  Twirling the bat, Ezra looks bored. “I don’t give a flying fuck what you came for, shithead. You’re leaving empty handed. Now, leave.”

  Trevor doesn’t need to be told again as he steps backwards, looking over his shoulder as he goes. His face is full of hate, reminding me of my father’s, and I know this isn’t the end. The church is coming for me.

  Fifteen

  Ezra

  Delilah doesn’t say a word as she practically runs back to her trailer, but this time, she isn’t going to avoid me or the fucking discussion we were about to have. My long legs give me the advantage as I close the distance between us, and just as she’s about to shut her trailer door, I force my way in.

  “Get out, Ezra,” she says, as she grabs a bottle of wine from the fridge and takes a gulp straight from the bottle.

  “Who was the blond fucker?” I demand, as I step toward her.

  She doesn’t look at me and instead takes another long swig from the bottle. “No one.”

  “He didn’t look like no one, it looked like you knew each other.” I cross my arms and lean against her kitchen worktop, the same one I fucked her over only two days ago.

  She ignores me and lights some candles around her kitchen and the living space before putting the lighter back in the kitchen drawer. I realize that she must have picked them up when she went into town with Jerry. A quick look around her trailer confirms that theory, it’s now more homely, with cushions, a patchwork quilt, little ceramic knickknacks, and candles every-fucking-where.

  “Don’t overthink it and strain yourself,” she snaps as she slams the bottle down on the counter. Delilah was angry. But it was more than that. She was drowning in it, whatever it actually was.

  I raise a brow, unable to keep the jealous tone from my words. “Was it the boyfriend?”

  She bites the lip ring, pulling at it with her teeth before letting go, staring at the ceiling. Whatever memories she was reliving, whatever thoughts were filling her head, they were toxic. I could see her slipping under, losing the confidence she’d built up being here.

  “Does it matter?” she whispers with a shrug.

  “So it was.”

  “Again, does it matter?”

  The answer was yes, even though I didn't want to say the word. I was the jealous one this time, and I have never been jealous over a woman before. Usually they flocked to me, fawned over me, wanting a taste of the darkness, but with Delilah, it was different. She didn’t want just a taste, she wanted to be consumed, stripped away to nothing but blood and bones.

  “You are mine.” I take a step closer, backing her up against the counter.

  Finally, she meets my gaze, “Fuck you and your double standards, Ezra. I don’t have space in my life for them. No one owns me.”

  I tuck a strand of cotton candy colored hair behind her ear. “Then make space, because I own you.”

  Leaning in close, I let the ridges of my horn brush against her cheek, and I relish the way she inhales sharply. “Who the fuck do you think I am? I am the devil. Body, soul, every whimper, every bite of pain, and every fucking wave of pleasure is mine.”

  Her breathing is uneven as she stares ahead. “I sold my soul for my freedom. So, give me my fucking freedom.”

  Grabbing her chin, I turn her face so that our lips are almost touching. “I’ve given you the freedom to be the freak you truly are. There are no judgements here, no punishments, and certainly no boundaries. If you don’t think that’s freedom, then you’ve never really been a prisoner.”

  Her eyes flash as she places a hand on my chest, preparing to push me away. “So, I have the freedom to refuse you? Then why aren’t you listening?”

  I smirk, standing my ground as she tries to shove me away. “Because you don’t mean it.”

  “I do.” Her bottom lip sticks out, and she’s like a child pouting as I close the space between us, my body flush with hers.

  “No, you fucking don’t.”

  I kiss her, my mouth crashing into hers almost violently as I lift her onto the counter, and she wraps her legs around my waist. I thrust one hand into her hair and yank her head back, leaving her neck exposed for me to kiss and bite. The column of her neck is one of my favorite places to bite. I can feel her swallowing beneath my tongue, and the whimper she makes as my teeth cut in sends a thrill straight to my dick.

  Grabbing one of her tits, I squeeze roughly, and I know she needs this as she writhes against me. Delilah doesn’t want soft and gentle, she wants to forget everything else, block out life with something more visceral. Something raw. I rip her T-shirt down the center before shoving it down her arms and tossing it aside.

  Moving down her body, I leave a trail of teeth marks, which are soon followed by grooves and lines left by my horn as it slashes into her soft skin. Taking her nipple in my mouth, I suck hard, before taking the bud between my teeth and tugging on it. My other hand moves down her body, and I help her shimmy
out of her shorts until once again she’s before me in just her thong.

  Her hands slide down my chest, unbuttoning my shirt and pushing my braces down over my shoulders. I shrug free of the clothes and let them drop to the floor as her fingers work on the button of my trousers. My hands move lightly over the scars on her back, as I pull her closer to me. Digging my fingers in, pressing into the scars, I love how she arches into me, her nipple still between my teeth.

  Her hands move up my arms as she grips onto me, and I know that this isn’t going to be enough. Trailing my way back up to her mouth, I kiss her again before lifting her from the counter and carrying her over to the sofa. I throw her down and pull her so that her ass is on the edge of the seat. Kneeling between her legs, I force them open, pushing as I stretch her until she moans.

  I grab one of the pillar candles from the small side table next to us, and with her eyes never leaving mine, I gently drip the hot wax down her stomach. We both watch as it trickles slightly before hardening in the cool air.

  Delilah tilts her head back, and I hear her murmur, “Fuck.”

  She shoves her hand in my hair, tugging on the hair, and I take that as a sign that she’s enjoying herself. I move the candle higher, letting it drip on to her nipple, and with every splash of hot wax, she makes a mewling noise.

  My free hand moves over the fabric of her panties, and I’m not surprised to feel that she’s soaking through the fabric. She needed a painful release, and I was more than willing to give it to her.

  “Master Black,” she groans, and with those two little words, I’m hers. I put the candle back down, allowing it to burn down the wick and pool more wax, using the time to yank her underwear down and toss them aside. Hooking one of her legs over my shoulder, I hover just over the most sensitive part of her body, my warm breath making her shudder. The sharp end of my horn grazes against her stomach as I move closer, my head bowed, enjoying the anticipation coming off her in waves.