by Jena Cryer
His voice grows harder. He squeezes the grape above my lips, but its moisture just dribbles down my chin. A shake, a plea, an order, nothing works. He lets out a choked sigh, and when he sits me up my whole body slumps backwards like a broken marionette.
His bellow sends White Coat running through the kennel door.
I hear them talk. I feel White Coat’s fingers prod the newly-formed lump on my head. They both try to rouse me. They tempt me with food and water, but it does no good. Adair Bartlett is dead. She died the moment that Italian pulled her into his shop. For a long time, I thought she was still alive, but all it took was one nightmare to show me the truth.
I’ve let her go now. I’ve reconciled myself to her parting. I’m already prepared for this body to follow her onward. All that’s stopping me is my master’s possessive hold.
If only he’d just let me go.
Sharp words fill the air, and from the corner of my eye I see White Coat shake his head in frustration before Master lifts up his fist with a growl. My eyes drift shut. White Coat’s quick footsteps pound across the floor, and then the door slams in his wake. My master’s grip tightens around me. His voice is hard and inflexible as he breathes into my ear.
I should have known better than to expect him to give me up so easily.
***
I’m still not dead.
Days have passed. I’ve watched sunset after sunset pass through my window, and still I haven’t eaten. I tell myself I’m being strong, but whether it’s my resolve, my ever-present nausea, or maybe just the delayed shock of everything I’ve been through, I don’t really know. The reason no longer matters, just the result.
Still, I’m ready for my end to just hurry up and come.
Locked inside my kennel, I’ve come to the conclusion that dying is a pretty tedious affair. It’d be so much easier if it wasn’t for Master and his lackeys. If it isn’t White Coat constantly dribbling water down my throat, it’s that new doctor prodding me with his pointy sticks and needles.
He’s here now. The doctor. Or veterinarian, maybe. I’m beyond knowing what type of specialist I warrant. His bony finger press against my neck as he checks my pulse. He counts the seconds on his pocket watch before shaking his head. Another moment passes, and then he’s pulling back my eyelids, inspecting my ears, running his old-man-hands across my lips and gums.
They’ve laid me on my stomach. I guess after my initial bout of vomiting, they’re worried I might be sick again. Wouldn’t want me to choke on my own puke, after all. No, that would be just too easy.
The doctor is speaking to Master now, but my master’s eyes aren’t on him. No, they’re on me. Always on me.
I don’t think he’s left the kennel since he brought me here. Though I’m aware I spend more time unconscious than not, he’s always there when I wake up. He paces the floor. He barks out orders at White Coat. He holds my hand and tries to rouse me over and over again, but I never respond. At this point, I’m starting to wonder if I even can.
I hear the doctor let out a sigh. In the background White Coat’s shoulders slump. He drops his gaze to the floor. Everyone knows I’m as good as gone.
Everyone but Master.
His voice is sharp. He reaches through the bars and squeezes my palm, and that’s when I realize it. My hands, they’re free. The gloves are gone, and if I had the strength to look down, I’m sure my shin guards and leg straps would be missing, too. Only my collar remains. I can feel it there against my neck, the black pearl trapped snuggly beneath my chest
I wonder if they’ll bury me with it.
Master pulls my hand through the cage. He kisses my knuckles softly before he moves his grip to my wrist. His body blocks my view. I can hear shuffling. The clank of glass reverberates through the room. A hand comes to rest on my head, and I don’t even need to see him to know that the hardened fingers stroking my ear belong to White Coat.
More noise follows, and then I feel it. A stab. Something cuts through the back of my hand, and when Master releases my wrist, a long IV line connects me to the large glass tank now hanging from the corner of my cage.
His hands reach through the bars to pet me again. He whispers more words I don’t understand and settles down into the chair he keeps propped beside me.
Oh, Lord, how much longer will it be before he finally lets me go?
***
The IV keeps my body alive much longer than anyone expects. I can see it on their faces. Every time White Coat or the doctor looks through my cage, it’s as if they’re waiting to find a corpse. Master, though, he just stares at me with eyes that are beginning to grow just as dead as I feel.
I know the others want to remove the line. They’re ready to let me pass. Only Master keeps them at bay. His devotion lights a tiny flame of warmth inside the cold shell I’ve become, but still, it doesn’t change the fact that I deserve to die.
Outside, the sun is setting once again. A barely touched plate of food lies on the counter across from Master. He doesn’t notice it, though. I don’t think he notices much of anything besides me.
His skin is pale. His hair is lank. The god I knew is dying, and I wish he’d just leave. Seeing him waste away is crushing what little soul I have left. Doesn’t he know he’s supposed to be the perfect one? He has to stay constant. No matter how much I hate myself, he’s still my master, and I…I…
Moisture clouds my vision, and I don’t know if I’m crying for my master or the pathetic creature that I’ve become.
The kennel door opens.
White Coat slowly approaches my cage. His hands reach through. He kneads my back, my thighs, my rear. He stretches my arms and legs, shifts my body, checks me for bedsores.
A soft cloth washes me from head to toe, and when he’s done, I hear him sigh.
The motions have become just as routine as my sunset.
This time, though, Master says a single word, and White Coat’s breath catches. He whirls around. More words, and then White Coat is at Master’s side. He’s shaking his head. I know the two must be arguing, but for what reason I can’t tell. I only know with absolute certainty that my master will win, and of course, he does.
White Coat gently removes the IV from my hand. He opens my cage. Master reaches inside and easily lifts me into his arms. He kisses my forehead. One of his fingers reaches down to stroke my clit.
My heart beats faster, but still I don’t respond.
White Coat leads us out of the kennel, and I wonder if they’ve already dug a hole for me, or if maybe they just plan to drop me in an incinerator. Master’s estate is huge, and I’ve seen so little of it. The possibilities are endless.
I know I should feel afraid, but somehow I don’t. I’m just tired, exhausted from the shame and anxiety and the constant pressure to please everyone I meet. Maybe death really will be more restful than life.
But Master doesn’t carry me to a grave or an incinerator. Instead, he takes me back into his house, up the stairs, all the way to his grand bedroom with the animal-foot furniture and gold-plated mirrors.
My red-silk bed is already waiting for me, and Master gently lowers me onto its softness. He lays me on my left side. He tucks my legs together, one foot slightly over the other. He bends my left arm so that it’s a pillow beneath my head and crooks my right one softly across my breasts.
It’s just how I sleep naturally, and I wonder how much time he must have spent watching me to know every slight detail.
White Coat’s voice breaks the silence, but Master doesn’t respond. His hands trace my spine, my hips, my legs. He cups one breast in his hand and kisses it. His tongue darts over my nipple, and his teeth coax it into a hardened nub.
Master strokes my cunt one last time before placing a final kiss on my forehead. White Coat’s voice is louder now, insistent, but Master doesn’t listen as he reaches for the chain attached to the corner of his bed and lifts it to my collar.
Another word from White Coat, and then Master whirls on him with a snarl.
His face is savage, feral. He grabs White Coat by the collar and tosses him from the room. The door slams shut with one last ear-shattering blow.
My heart races, but it’s not out of fear. No, it’s hope that sends blood coursing through my veins again, the hope that maybe Master won’t notice his error, that maybe he won’t realize he didn’t properly secure my chain, that maybe, just maybe, he’ll leave me alone in this room with my arms and legs unshackled and the clasp of my leash caught in my hair, not locked around the ring of my collar.
He wipes a hand over his face before turning towards me one last time. His eyes are bright, glistening. His hands are shaking. He whispers my name into the silence of the room and then flees through the open balcony doors. Windswept curtains block him from view.
I’m alone.
Completely alone.
Alone with no gloves, no cuffs, and not even a chain to hold me in place.
For the first time in days, I smile.
Chapter Thirteen
Crickets chirp outside the open balcony door.
It’s night.
Above me, Master lies slumped across his bed. One hand hangs over the side. His fingers graze my back. I’ve been counting every second since he first fell asleep, and when I finally reach 5,000 I know it’s well past time to go.
I have to get up.
My legs are weak. I spent almost the whole evening clenching and unclenching every muscle in my body, just trying to get myself ready for the flight to come, but I still don’t know if I can make it. I haven’t even tried to stand yet. Master spent all evening on the balcony, and even though he couldn’t see what I was doing, I hadn’t wanted to push my luck too far. What if he heard me? What if he noticed I wasn’t in the exact same position he’d left me in?
No, it was too risky to do much more than wait, so instead I bided my time. When he finally came inside, the room was so dark I couldn’t even see him. I felt his hand rest softly upon the curve of my spine. His fingers swept aside my hair, and I just knew he was going to notice my unhooked chain, but no, he just tilted back my chin and tenderly pressed his lips into mine.
It took all my strength not to kiss him back.
A final pat on my hip, then, and he crawled into bed. As soon as his breathing turned even and deep, I started my count.
Now it’s time to go.
Slowly, carefully, I shift my legs. Every rustle of silk is as loud as a fire alarm to my ears, and when I finally pull myself free of my master’s touch, I’m sure the pounding of my heart is bound to wake him.
But it doesn’t.
Lifting my arms, I cringe as cramps tear through the muscles. I try to pull my hair free of the chain, but my fingers are stupid and useless. They must have been bound up in those gloves for too long. I can’t get them to move more than a few centimeters, and I nearly cry as I realize my best chance of escape might be thwarted by a simple lack of dexterity.
But no, no, I can’t give up that easily. Not now. Not when I finally have some semblance of hope.
I shift my neck. The chain falls over my chest, and it’s cold and hard against my flesh. Slowly, I twist it around my forearm until it goes taut, and then I yank up as hard as I can.
I can’t stop myself from gasping as the clasp yanks out a clump of my hair. It falls into a clattering pile on my pillow, and I freeze.
Above me, Master shifts, but he doesn’t wake. My whole body is trembling from the close call, but after several shaky breaths, I force myself into action. The balcony door is only a few paces away.
I don’t trust myself to walk, not just yet, so instead, I crawl across the room. A gust of wind blows the curtains across my back, and they tickle my bare skin. My whole body tingles. I remember the first time I felt such a breeze wrap itself around my naked body, and my clit throbs. Our swing…
I can almost feel Master’s hands exploring my body. His lips are suckling my breasts once more. His cock is strong and hard against his pants, but not unsheathed, not yet. No, that first day had been about me, all about me.
I’m wet just thinking about his fingers inside me, his tongue flicking and tasting all the areas of myself that I’d never once explored, and a throb of longing pounds through my cunt. I pause in the doorway and spare one last moment to look back.
Am I making the right decision?
Do I really want to leave?
But no, that’s just the animal thinking, not me. I have to remember what’s really important here: my freedom. That’s what I need, not his hands or his mouth or his cock, just freedom. Once I escape, I can learn to be human again. I’ll go back to my old life. Everything will be just like it was before, and…
My chest tightens. I still remember the sadness that drove me into the shopkeeper’s clutches, but I can’t let it stop me now. I have to go.
Cool marble covers the balcony floor, and I trip several times as I crawl down the long, spiral staircase leading to the ground. By the time my hands finally touch the earth, my chest is heaving. I crash into the dirt.
Where do I go? How can I ever get any farther?
I’ve nearly exhausted myself, and I’ve barely even started my journey. I can only imagine what Master and White Coat will do when they find me down here. I’ll get the crop for sure, and this time, I highly doubt Master will step in to save me.
A snort breaks through the still night air, and I freeze.
Who’s there?
I fully expect to hear the pounding of footsteps at any moment. Maybe Master has already noticed my absence. Maybe he’s called for White Coat or some other servant to come down and fetch me. Maybe he plans to tie me to his bed and fuck me all night long.
The thought both excites and sickens me.
Pressed flush against the ground, I wait and wait, but nothing happens. Then, finally, I hear another snort followed by a light whinny.
A whinny?
Popping onto my hands and knees, I see the horse standing in the distance. He’s one of Master’s thoroughbreds, the big one I always called Samson. He must have broken out of his pen again. The moonlight reflects off his gray coat as he munches on a bed of flowers by the front gate.
Ecstatic now, I crawl quickly towards him. Samson, you magnificent beast, you’re my ticket out of here.
He’s not saddled, but using nearly all my strength I’m able to climb the iron gate beside him. I thrust my arm through the reins still looped over his neck. I throw one leg across his back and mount him clumsily.
I’m breathing hard by the time I’m done, but I’m also smiling.
I pull back on the reins. I use my forearms to steer him away from the house. He fights me for a moment—I’m sure those tulips are like chocolate to a horse—but eventually he gives in and lets me direct him to the downhill road.
The steady clop of his feet fills the night air as together we make our journey to freedom.
***
By the time the sun rises, I’m exhausted, hungry, and sore.
I’ve ridden horses before, but never bareback, and certainly never naked. Samson’s every step sends his hardened spine pounding into my pussy, and his hairs are like bristles against my skin.
Still, he’s a lot faster than I am.
I don’t know how much distance we covered last night, but we didn’t make it to town. The city walls loom above us on the next hill over, but I don’t think I have the strength to make that journey today. Besides, Master will know I’m missing soon, and a naked woman sitting atop a giant gray horse won’t be too hard to find.
Just one field over, I see the dark outline of a barn, and I turn Samson towards it.
We’ve passed several houses already, but I never stopped. How could I? They were all so close to Master’s estate. Any one of them could have belonged to a servant of his. I know that all it takes is one knock on the wrong door, and then I’m back where I started, back to the chains and cages and constant fucking, and I don’t want that.
Do I?
No, I tell myself. Don’
t second guess. Just stick to the plan. Get to town first. As soon as the police spot you naked and collared, they’re bound to whisk you away.
Samson stops. I slide off his back and collapse to my knees. Weeds cover the ground. The wooden fence in front of me is broken and half rotten with termites, but still I crawl towards it. I press my forearms against its creaking rungs and slowly leverage myself to my feet.
I’m crying now.
I haven’t stood on my own two feet in so long that the action feels foreign, wrong. My legs shake. My feet stand grounded beneath me. Deep down, a little voice inside me screams out that I shouldn’t be doing this. The tops of my feet should be pressed against the ground, not their soles. A small, small piece of me longs to lock my ankles into the same ballerina-like pose my old leather cuffs and shin guards kept me in, but I push back that urge in disgust.
I’m human. I’m meant to walk on two legs not four, and no matter how many times I totter and trip, I will not reduce myself to crawling for even one second more.
My chin juts into the air. I take my first step, and I gasp as my ankle nearly twists beneath me. Already I long to return to my knees.
God, how long have I been kept like an animal? What kind of beast am I that I can’t even manage a single step without wishing to crawl through the dirt?
I tell myself it’s just my exhaustion that has me thinking this way. I’ll be all right in the morning. Already, as I lean against the creaky old fence, my feet are remembering what to do. Each step is a little easier than the last.
When I finally reach the barn, I stumble the last few steps to the door and drag myself inside. Dirt clings to my sweat-covered skin, and I huddle in a dusty corner. I fall asleep to the sound of scurrying rodents.