by Skye Warren
She panted, thoroughly subdued before she had even thought to fight.
“No one will hear you if you scream. But then, you can’t scream, can you?” He spoke low against her shoulder just like earlier, but this was different. The rumbling of his voice dragged through her body like barbs down her back. There was none of the pleasure.
None of the care. She had not realized how gentle he had been with her before. She had been far too distracted by the feelings coursing through her cunt, her breasts. But now all she felt was his hand on her neck, pressing her face into the lumpy wood floor. And the feel of his cock lying against her ass made her squirm.
He grunted. “Maybe we had the wrong idea all along. Maybe I don’t need your obedience. I like it when you struggle.”
Perhaps it was a spark of panic at this new sadistic side of him or perhaps it was a perverse desire to please him, but she renewed her struggles. She attempted to push up, but his grip on her neck was like iron. She reached back, hitting nothing, kicking no one. As her body writhed against his, he groaned. After she had flailed and managed to bruise her own body against the wooden floor, she sank down in defeat.
“Is that all you’ve got?” he taunted in a whisper. “I like that. Just a little bit of spirit so I don’t feel like I’m fucking a piece of meat. But then you’ll settle down and take it, won’t you?”
A shiver ran through her, and he laughed softly. He kicked her knees out, spreading them wide. Her fingers scrabbled against the wood, finding nothing to hold on to. There’d be no pleasure here. No passion, no solace.
His cock nudged her entrance, blunt and hard, but at least the first drops of his orgasm provided much needed lubrication. In one smooth, angry motion, he slid to the hilt. She gasped.
“Talk, dammit,” he muttered behind her. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Even if you can’t say the words, you ought to be able to make noise.”
He pulled out and slammed back in. Her entire body seemed to ripple upon impact, rattling apart and then slamming back together. But still, she was silent but for her harsh breathing.
“How hard would I have to hurt you,” he whispered in her ear, “before you screamed?”
She felt her eyes widen, but then they slammed shut again as he thrust deep inside. Her body felt broken in pieces, disjointed. Her mind was lost, confused, hurt more by Master’s sudden shift in temperament than she had been for the weeks, months before.
It was one thing to be treated like an animal night and day; she could almost believe it was true. Her mindlessness became a refuge; her submission a balm. But he had treated her like so much more: a desired lover, a cherished slave.
Somehow she had ruined it.
Her fragile happiness lay on the floor of the kitchen in shards, plowed again and again by the fierce iron cock of her Master. It shouldn’t have been able to hurt her anymore; it cut her open. Her eyes stung, and throat felt raw. It was a cry for help, empty, soundless.
He groaned, a long exhalation that shook the air around her, moving it when she could not. Filling it with his satisfaction where her pain should have gone. The heat and weight of his body fell onto hers, flattening her. She was so far wrung out that there should be nothing left, as she struggled to draw breath under the pressure.
But a part of her burned, doused by the wind only to flare up on its reprieve. She no longer thought of survival alone; she wanted more. This afternoon he’d been lenient with her. Generous with her. And in doing so, he’d damned them both.
The air cooled behind her; it stilled. She was alone but found no relief.
She could leave. If she walked outside now, her chances would be better than they had been on her first escape. Better, because now she was full and warm to begin with. Maybe she could even pack supplies, find money to help her. These practical thoughts fell one after the other, a line of lanterns on a string. Somewhere inside her was a self-sufficient woman, trapped by her training. Silenced by terror.
Her head cocked to the side. She heard nothing. He must have gone back to bed.
She stood up, intending to leave. Surely she would at least make the attempt, even though a larger part of her doubted her ability to succeed. More than that she doubted her sanity, but then, didn’t every animal wish to be free? Or perhaps she was so contented as his pet despite his recent rough treatment that she wished to stay.
The desire for freedom felt familiar, like an old friend. It brought a burst of happiness, just the glimpse of it, but she wasn’t sure she really knew it after all this time. Had she ever really?
She found herself walking into the living room. Just to search for supplies, she reasoned. Here the moonlight was a bit brighter than the kitchen, and she could just make out the striped corduroy of the sofa and the low thick coffee table she now recognized as having been made by her master’s hand.
The bookcase was overstuffed, with small books jammed sideways, toppling over one another in an attempt to fit in. Each book wore its use like a badge of honor, the spine cracked and stripped from being bent open. A corollary to the scars on her back; she shivered.
The only other piece of furniture in the room was a black trunk in the corner. Unlike the books, it was gray with dust and disuse. She wondered that it was not wood. It would have stuck out with its leather siding and garish gold corners, if it had not been so clearly shoved away. Unwanted.
She fiddled with the lock, expecting resistance, but the top opened with only the slightest creak. The top layer was black fabric, probably meant to protect what was underneath. At one time, someone had cared about these contents. She was like an archaeologist, peeling back the layers to determine what once was.
Her fingers touched on leather, and she lifted out a flogger. It was large and heavy, though not intimidating to her. She knew it would make a pleasant thud on her flesh, not sting or mark. Though how she knew that was a mystery, since nothing she had experienced in captivity had been pleasant, and she most definitely had never been allowed to hold an implement.
Tucking that thought away, she reached in again. There were padded leather cuffs, yards and yards of rope. Everything a kinky person might desire; all of it intended to hurt but not harm. There was safety built in, care built in to every item. It was shocking to her, and then, not surprising at all.
She’d always known it wasn’t right. But there were only so many times her mind could scream for justice, for mercy, before it turned on her. Twisted her own beliefs until she thought up was down, bad was good, and slavery was life.
There were dildos and nipple clamps, some more scary than others but none of it vicious. She unraveled a soft leather package to find a sleek knife. She shivered. Knife play? Maybe she had been too quick to judge no harm, but she didn’t think so. They were too clean and their wrapping too meticulous. This wasn’t something taken lightly. Safety. Care.
She wouldn’t have minded these, but she knew they weren’t meant for her. She was the interloper here, touching cold metal and glass that had once been warmed by a body… but whose?
She found the answer at the bottom. By now she sat amid a sea of sex toys. The thought flitted through her head: what if he found her this way? But it passed quickly, eclipsed by her curiosity and perplexing but growing certainty that her true freedom lay somewhere in here.
The collar was thin black leather, very soft and supple. It had a ring in the front of it and an inscription along the inside.
Master’s Lovely Pet
Her heart contracted for this woman she never knew, for love lost. She knew with sudden certainty that the woman was dead. She knew she’d been loved.
One by one, she replaced every item in the trunk. The collar, the knives, the little clover nipple clamps in their clear plastic box. She laid the black blanket over the top and shut the lid, throwing up a cloud of dust that tickled her nose. Her idea to run had been put away as well for the silliness it was.
She had no memory of where she came from, no future outside these walls. There was
only a man, gruff and tender, haunted but hopeful. A thought came to her that she could aspire to this, a beloved pet, but she let it slip from her grasp. It didn’t matter. To be with him was enough and everything all at once.
She climbed into bed, beside the softly snoring form of her Master. The euphoria of the day had been stripped from her, but there was still a quiet satisfaction in servitude. Always that. Only that.
* * *
It was the smell of bacon she noticed first, making her mouth water before she’d fully come awake. But it was the sound of male voices in conversation that drew her upright, and quickly.
Had they found her?
Although if they had really come to take her away, surely they wouldn’t have let her sleep in. The bed was still musky with her master’s scent, her own body still aching from his anger. He wouldn’t let them take her, she hoped. But oh, he had seemed so different last night.
Another dress lay on the bed, this time a white sheath with bright red flowers. It was such the opposite of fetish-wear or sexy lingerie. She crushed it between her fingers before slipping it over her head.
She gave brief thought to remaining in his room until she’d been called, but for all she knew the clothes had been tacit instruction for her to come out. This master seemed to want her to show initiative. He didn’t punish her when she got it wrong either; he just corrected her. And what’s more, she liked showing initiative.
She also found that, with him, she liked being corrected.
Her curiosity won out, and she slipped down the hall and stood outside the kitchen.
“That’s all in the past,” said a voice she recognized as her master’s. “We don’t have to go over it again. There’s nothing more to be said.”
“I’d agree if you weren’t still fucking pouting about it,” said another voice. It was slightly higher than her master’s, but only just. It was more the way he spoke that set him apart.
“I’m not pouting, I just don’t need it dredged up every time you don’t like what I’m doing.”
“What do you call hiding away in the middle of fucking nowhere, Sam? And I’m not complaining about the color curtains you’ve put up. There’s a person at stake here. She needs help, not a spanking.”
“Fuck you, Brendan. It’s none of your business.”
“She’s a mess. She’s broken. Do you think you’re helping things by fucking her? Have you got a magic prick, is that it?”
The table slammed. “Don’t talk about her that way.”
There was silence.
“Okay, brother. Okay. Take it easy. I’m worried about you too. You don’t even know her. What if she’s taking you for a ride?”
“Are you worried she’s trying to swindle me out of my dining tables?” her master asked dryly.
“You and I both know you’re more than a goddamned carpenter.”
“You’re right,” her master said. “I should visit the beach today. Maybe I can walk on water after all.”
“Very funny. What about what she wants? Do you think she wants to be stuck out in the middle of nowhere?”
She held her breath to hear her master’s answer.
Finally he spoke slowly, “Why don’t you ask her yourself? She’s standing outside the door. Come in here.” The last was for her.
She stepped out in the doorway, keeping her eyes downcast. Though this time her lowered gaze wasn’t only a symbol of submission but of fear. She didn’t want to know, didn’t want to confirm the suspicion that had gnawed at her since she’d first heard the voice of her master’s brother. Last night… in the dark, he had sounded different. She had thought it was a result of whispering in the night, a result of whatever mood had made him cruel. But if he’d simply been a different person…
“Well, subby?” her master asked, not unkindly. “Do you want to leave here? He’s got a boat tied up just down the beach. You can be on your way to the mainland in a few minutes.”
She shook her head no, vehemently. Daring a glance, she saw her master’s eyes glitter with triumph.
“You heard her,” he said. “She wants to stay.”
“I didn’t hear her at all,” his brother said wryly. “She hasn’t said a word to you?”
She remembered: When I found you, you spoke to me. You said you wanted to go home.
“We get along just fine,” her master said. “I figure that’s part of being a good Dom—reading the body language of your sub.”
“Right. And you were always the good Dom, weren’t you?” He stood. “I have business to take care of, but I’m not leaving the islands until tonight. You have until then to come to your senses.”
He made to leave but stopped beside her. She could see how she’d mistaken him in the dark. He looked just like his brother: the same height and muscled build. The same strong features, with shadows cut into his cheeks and stubble dotting his jaw.
The difference was that while her master seemed to wear jeans and a plain white T-shirt, and maybe the occasional plaid shirt, his brother wore sleek beige slacks and a sharp polo. While her master had dark hair and darker eyes, Brendan was blond with brown eyes that looked unnaturally light, as if she could see through them. His face had more laugh lines than her master’s, but somehow she wasn’t comforted by his humor.
His lingering gaze made her skin crawl, even beneath the lovely modest dress. Leaning back, he stared at her knees, and in his eyes she saw knowledge that damned them both. “Are those bruises I see? I hope my brother hasn’t been too rough with you.”
After he left the room, her master lifted the hem of her dress to examine her knees. “They are a little black and blue. When did that happen—on the beach?” He looked up into her eyes.
It doesn’t hurt, she tried to convey. Although she did feel sick to her stomach now.
“I suppose I can’t tell you that you should’ve said something. But you should have. That’s what the safeword was for. You were supposed to snap if it was too much.”
She gestured to the floor behind her but then let her hand fall at her side. There’d be no way to communicate that she’d actually gotten the bruises on the floor. And even if she could say so, she wouldn’t. He could never know what she had done.
Even though she hadn’t had a choice, hadn’t even known it was betrayal at the time, he could never know that his brother had fucked her. She felt sure of it, from the competitive way they treated each other to the possessive way her master looked at her. He wouldn’t have shared her willingly, and he wouldn’t be happy to know it had happened while he slept.
If she wanted to stay here—and oh, she did—then she would have to keep it a secret. Well that wouldn’t be too hard for her, after all. It was his brother Brendan she was worried about.
“I suppose you wouldn’t say it was too much, would you? Wouldn’t think so after what you’ve been through. Those marks on your body…” He looked at the door where his brother had left. “I’m going out for a walk today. I was planning on taking you, but now I don’t know.”
If he left her here she would be at Brendan’s mercy, and surely he would hurt her again, fuck her again. She shook her head, pleading with her eyes.
“I can’t trust you to tell me when something is wrong out there. You’re safer here.”
I’m not, she thought fiercely. I’m not safe here with your brother.
He frowned. “Maybe he’s right about you. About us. I didn’t want to send you off alone with strangers in a uniform. I figured they could do more harm than good, not understanding what you needed. But Brendan’s a Dom too. He can take care of you.”
No. Please no. Brendan scared her but more than that, she was healing under her master’s hand. Already she felt more able to think for herself, and she was terrified to lose it again.
His expression softened. “It won’t be so bad. He always knows the right thing to say.” He gave her an echo of a smile. “Most people prefer him to me anyway.”
Strangely it was his softening that alarm
ed her the most, as if he were apologizing for a decision already made.
“Please.” It was a breath of a sound, and it came from her.
His eyes widened a fraction as her word floated on the air between them. Slowly he leaned back in his chair, like a contented cat. “So, subby, you really do want to stay.”
Chapter Six
Apparently going for a walk included chopping down trees. He was a veritable lumberjack, her master. She found it adorable, although she doubted he would appreciate her sentiment. He wouldn’t know, of course. She hadn’t spoken since that one word in the kitchen.
He hadn’t tried to push her to talk more. He hadn’t even made a big deal out of the fact that she had, just went about his preparations for their walk, asking a couple of yes or no questions to which she nodded or shook her head. A weight had lifted. She knew she could speak. She just didn’t have to.
Ironically, her speaking seemed to have spurred on his own. He had sat her on a rock uphill so that he could measure and touch the trees.
“I don’t do this too often,” he panted, between swinging his ax. “Mostly I have the wood imported. I know that sounds strange, what with all these trees around, but I don’t want to do damage while I’m here. I just take a couple trees for smaller projects. This wood works beautifully for smaller carvings.”
Every thwack of wood resounded around her, through her, creating a strange emphasis to his words. As if there were something important in them—vital.
“The wood I order comes from sustainable farms on the mainland and considering my brother came this way anyway, it wasn’t much trouble for him to include my wood on the way in and my furniture on the way out.”
The tree fell over, swishing through the air and landing with a crash.
“Although now that his business here is over, I guess I’ll need a new plan.”
Suddenly she knew what she needed to ask. “What did he import?”
It was surprising how effortless it was to speak. Her voice sounded low but not hoarse.