Hear Me (6 page)

At least he let her tend his feet. Kneeling in front of him, she eyed the undiminished rise in his jeans.

He shook his head firmly. “No, subby. Not yet.”

When?
she thought, but thank goodness she couldn’t speak.

Chapter Five

She hated waking because of the uncertainty. The fear that this had only been a momentary delusion, the child of a painful subspace coma. She took a moment to convince herself this was real, rubbing the cotton sheets, counting the planks in the ceiling. She would have touched her Master too, but she couldn’t risk waking him. Besides, his gentle snores were real enough. She almost smiled. It wasn’t likely her dreams would have conjured that.

The moonlight shone brightly through the window, illuminating his coarse features. It occurred to her that she could trick him into having intercourse with her. Likely he was already hard. If she touched him now, he might fuck her in his sleep like before. She didn’t feel guilt over what had happened then, it had been purely accidental, completely unexpected.

But if she made any overtures now, it would be willful. A deliberate attempt to make him have sex with her when he had already said no. She couldn’t do that to him. She couldn’t be like the men who had hurt her.

No matter how she tried to rationalize it in her head, the part of her that knew right from wrong stubbornly refused to die. Even though it might increase their intimacy and thus better secure her place here, she couldn’t defile him that way.

A few sips of water might settle her nerves. She would have lapped at her bowl if she were still imprisoned, but now she could get up and retrieve a glass of water herself. It had been startlingly easy to fall into this new role, one where she made requests, not pleas. One where she did for herself instead of waiting. It made her consider just how long her slavery had really been.

It made her wonder what came before.

Pushing that unwelcome thought aside, she found her way through the hallway. Without the light of the large window, the rest of the house was nothing but shadows. She filled a glass; the splash of water was loud, reminding her of the rushing waterfall from earlier today. The faucet turned off with a squeak.

She paused, staring at the dark ripples in the cup she held. By slow degrees she became aware of an echo of her own breath. The hair on her neck raised. She wasn’t alone in the room.

“What are you doing out of bed?” came the low voice from the corner.

Master!

How had he managed to slip past her without her noticing? It didn’t matter. He was there. His voice sounded different, like the low voice he had used to tease her, but more. As if he knew a big joke that she didn’t. She felt an answering smile on her own face, but it was slanted with her confusion. And her worry. He was kind when stoic, he had spanked her when playful, what did this new side of him mean?

He was closer now. “A pretty little slave knows better than to wander away.”

Then she recognized that tone: cruelty. Just this morning she had marveled at his lack of it. Now it appeared she would see its face, even if it was still too dark to see his.

She had the urge to flee, but where would she go? She had the urge to fall down at his feet, but he had always hated it when she did that.

“How quickly you forget yourself,” he said in a musing tone.

A gasp escaped her, but it was too late. He caught her by the arm and yanked her to him. Off balance, she would have tumbled into his body, but he turned to the side. She landed face-first on the floor with him following close behind, on top of her.

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?”