Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The Handlers stop and I am lowered to the ground. Master Erek leans over me, a large hunting knife in his hand, and he grins as he draws the flat of it across my throat, then down the center of my chest and my belly. As my body responds with tiny shivers just beneath my skin and a yearning for him to really use the knife on me, I look up to see his blue eyes catching the sunlight, and the tiny flecks of gold within them.

“I’ll cut you eventually, pretty Girl,” he tells me, as if I had any question about that, as if he read my mind. But that’s a Master’s job, isn’t it? To anticipate. To read us like sheet music.

His voice, his words, make my body surge.

Need you .

But of course, I will have to wait. Perhaps forever. It is not for me to say.

He straightens and gets to work cutting the ropes from my ankles, then my wrists, and my limbs come to rest on the ground.

“Take her inside,” Master Séverin orders.

But to my surprise, it’s not one of the Handlers who picks me up, but Master Erek himself. He tosses me over his shoulder, and I can feel how broad and muscular he is. He smells so good, like a crisp, white t-shirt, but with something dark and dangerous beneath it. I don’t know how to explain that; I simply recognize it.

My pussy clenches.

Slung over his strong shoulder, I only see where we’re going in reverse: up a wide, shallow flight of wood stairs, then across the planks of a porch before he opens a door. We walk into a structure—a cabin, maybe—and then across another plank floor before I am dumped in front of a wide stone hearth.

I immediately get on my knees and into the classic slave presentation position most Masters seem to prefer; kneeling with knees spread, hands palms-upward on my thighs, spine straight, shoulders back, eyes cast down to the floor.

Heavy black boots approach, and I’m not sure who they belong to until he speaks.

“Expose,” Master Séverin orders, his voice firm and deep.

I immediately clasp my hands behind my neck, back slightly arched, my breasts pushed forward, with my chin up, but my eyes still cast down.

I wait.

If I listen closely, I can hear him breathing. Then he puts a hand on my forehead, leaving it there for a moment, barely touching my skin, before he roughly shoves my head back. I do my best not to look at him, but in this position it can’t be helped. I keep my gaze on his wide black belt, yet I can’t help but see the zipper of his khaki pants, and the beautiful bulge straining beneath the fabric.

I know things are about to get rough. And I want it. Need it. Yet I am still very much afraid of these two, and him in particular.

“Open,” he commands, shoving his fingers into my mouth the moment my lips are parted. Once again there is a thorough examination as he presses hard on the roof of my mouth, then down onto my tongue. He leans over me and inspects my teeth, then straightens up, and with a small, wicked chuckle, rams what feels like his whole hand down my throat, and after some time—I have no idea how long—I’m gone again.

When I come to, he’s lifting me to my feet, and he holds me against the fireplace, the wood mantel digging into my upper back. I can still taste the flesh of his fingers on my tongue. He brings his face very close to mine, his hand clamped like a vise on my jaw. It hurts, but not nearly as much as the ruthless gleam in his eyes. It hurts now only because I know it’s going to.

“Girl,” he says. Demands. “Do not look away.” He gives my head a small shake, his fingers biting deeper into my jaw. “You will look me in the eye when I command you to. Do you understand me? Speak.”

“Yes, Master,” I respond, my voice a bit rough from being choked out.

“Good. What is your name?”

“My name is Girl,” I say.

He slaps me with the flat of his hand, and my cheek burns with the imprint. Why does this always make me fall a little in love with them, those who are in charge of me?

“What is your name?” he demands once more.

Again, I respond the way I have been trained to. “Girl, Master.”

Again the slap, harder this time, and I have to blink several times before my vision clears.

There’s a vicious edge to his voice this time. “What. Is. Your. Name ?”

I don’t understand what he wants, what I am to say. This is what I’ve been taught. What we have all been taught. To lose ourselves in our slavehood. And yet, somehow my answer is wrong.

I try again. “My name is…Mina, Master Séverin.”

“Ah, there it is,” he says, delight in his tone.

I hear booted footsteps, and Master Erek appears just to my right. “Mina. Very pretty name. Very pretty Girl.”

As Master Séverin continues to hold my face, Master Erek steps closer, until he is only inches away. He leans in and takes my long brown hair between his fingers, then he gives a hard tug before leaning even closer and inhaling.

“She smells good, my love. Good enough to eat. But first, a bath.”

“Agreed,” Master Séverin replies. “Inside and out.”

He releases his hold, and Master Erek slides a big hand around the back of my neck and guides me to my feet, then down a short hallway to a bathroom. He pushes me to my knees, and the small hexagonal white tiles are cold and hard against my skin. I stay there as he moves around the room, turning on the taps to fill the tub, pouring some bath salts that smell like tangerines from a glass bottle into the running water. Even his hands are beautiful. They fit a man of his size, perfectly made for him. Perfectly made for me.

Made to hurt me.

Yes .

He lifts me as if I were a doll and places me in the tub.

“Sit,” he says, not unkindly, but I still know he is capable of the same wickedness all the Masters and Mistresses are. And very often, those who seem gentler at first can be the most cruel.

I hope he will be. I hope in a way that sits like a warm weight in the center of my body.

I lower myself into the tub, and after my run through the forest, it feels wonderful.

Don’t get too comfortable .

I know better, of course.

The water is shallow, and once I’m sitting, it barely reaches the middle of my stomach. With one hand on my shoulder Master Erek holds me down, while with the other he turns on the tap, and in moments I realize it’s only the hot water. With my feet just beneath the faucet, they feel the increasing heat first. Then, as the water runs, the heat builds around me, hotter and hotter, until it moves beyond simple discomfort on my skin to a scorching heat. Painful.

My pussy hurts, then, as the water rises, my nipples. And still, he keeps one hard hand on my shoulder. I don’t dare move or make a sound. He lets out a small, wicked chuckle as he turns up the temperature, and he reaches in to pull the stopper from the drain.

Moment by moment, it gets hotter, hotter, until sweat breaks out on my brow and tears fill my eyes. He reaches a hand out and brushes the tears as they begin to fall, then slips his fingers into his mouth.

“Ah, I love a slave’s tears perhaps more than anything. Anything but their blood. Your blood, Girl.”

The water gets hotter; I continue to cry. Not only to please my new Master, but because I truly cannot help it. And every few moments he wipes my tears with his fingers, then brings them to his full, sensual lips to suck the salt away.

The heat makes me dizzy—the heat and the odd sensuality of him tasting my tears even as he causes me to cry. It’s a rhythm I fall into, my eyes on that hand as he brings it to his lips.

The room is full of fragrant steam and the threat of what this man may do to me.

And something in me sort of breaks loose. No, maybe what’s happening is some sort of coming together. It’s the pain this man brings me so joyfully. That, and the kindness in his eyes.

Contrast .

Yes. The light and the shadow, so at odds with each other. But also more than that. So much more.

Because I am out of my overly analytical head for a few moments, and even though they might be mere moments, it’s the level I attain, the heights I float up to as if soaring on a current. Out of my head, for once. And it feels like fucking magic.

“Time to clean her inside,” Master Séverin says as he steps into the bathroom.

“Of course, love,” Master Erek replies, then he plunges his arm into the hot water to pull the stopper.

I sit as the tub drains, perfectly still, always the obedient slave. As my skin cools, it tightens and prickles as though I’ve been stung by nettles, and even itches a little. My eyes are on the faucet, and I do my best to pretend I have no peripheral vision, which is what we slaves usually do, but something has gotten into me—maybe the way this all started, with the frightening abduction scene? The way Master Erek made me feel only moments ago? I’m not sure. But I am back in my body again—in myself—and I can’t help but notice Master Erek opening the cabinet beneath the sink. I am fairly certain it’s enema equipment, and in moments my suspicions are confirmed when he hooks the hose to the faucet.

“Stand,” Master Séverin orders me. “Lean over and brace your hands on the wall.”

When I do as he says, he forces my thighs apart, his hands strong and hurting. His fingers are longer than Master Erek’s, and there is less flesh on them. Even if I didn’t know what they were about to do to me, the feeling of those strong, spare hands on me would make me tremble.

But I know exactly what they intend to do, and I hate enemas. They are the ultimate in humiliation. And yet, I love the sensation of having to give myself over so completely, giving even my insides over.

Yes .

As one of the Masters spreads my ass cheeks and inserts the nozzle, my tears begin again. The hard plastic is pushed deep inside, then I hear a small creak, and in a moment the water flows inside me, growing hotter and hotter. I should have expected this.

“More,” Master Séverin demands.

Very quickly it’s so hot I can barely take it. My legs shake as my colon begins to burn as if they’ve shoved pure fire up my ass, my entire abdomen filling with scalding liquid until I feel as if I’m being engulfed by the searing heat from the inside out.

When a sob escapes me, a hand comes around my body and pinches my nipple, a hard, fierce pinch that I love and hate simultaneously. But isn’t that my entire existence? That contrast, that contradiction of sensations and head spaces, that delicate balance of polar opposites that is really an enormous part of what binds me to the Masters, Mistresses and Handlers who fuck with me. Certainly at this moment—this moment in which I am questioning how much I can endure.

But I always do endure, don’t I?

And as if it can’t get any worse, Master Séverin shoves several fingers deep into my cunt. I want to clench around them, I want to enjoy the sensation, but my body is so full of the scorching water, the pressure nearly unbearable, that this feels only like another intrusion. More pressure. I let out another harsh sob, hating myself for being so out of control before my time with them has barely begun. But my new Master seems amused as he lets out a low chuckle.

He grabs my chin in his hand and wrenches my face around until I’m forced to meet his gaze. It’s dark and seemingly infinite, and full of a pain so stark I feel pierced by it. Speared straight to the core. My heart twists in my chest. This awful, awful burning that comes from both inside and out scalds me, but not nearly as much as his eyes do. Those eyes hold secrets too deep and dark to let out, even as he hurts me so terribly.

“Sensitive Girl,” he says with some amount of scorn, even as he chuckles once more, but his laughter is empty of everything but a vague pleasure at what they are putting me through.

I have never met anyone who seeps pain the way this man does. Or a Master who seeps joy, as Master Erek does. And again, it’s something about the contrast that’s really fucking with my head, but that is also allowing me to let go in a way I know I haven’t before. I don’t understand this. I only know that this is what I’ve been searching for.

Only a hint of it, Mina. Don’t count on it happening again .

“Come, Erek, lay her down,” my darker Master says.

“Onto your side, Girl,” Master Erek says, his large hands pressing me down onto the bottom of the tub.

Master Séverin moves with me, his fingers still deep inside my pussy. Once I’m lying down, he begins a hard, jabbing thrusting, piercing my insides.

“You hold onto that water, Girl. Don’t you dare let it out of your ass while my fingers are in your cunt.”

He fucks me harder, and the pressure in my abdomen is perhaps one of the worst kinds of pain I have yet experienced. And me being me, I adore him all the more for it. Both of them, my cruel and beautiful Masters.

“Yes, hold it in,” he repeats as the tears slide down my face.

There is some murmuring between them, but I am in no shape to decipher it. Then Master Erek runs the water in the tub for a moment. I have no idea what he’s doing until he lashes me with what feels like a single, wet strip of leather, or perhaps some sort of dragon tongue whip, narrow and stinging so hard on my flesh that I nearly scream. I clench, trying to hold in the water, and what by now is likely the contents of my bowels.

I can only imagine what Master Séverin would do to me if I were to release it with his hand inside me. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood, desperately trying to hold on as Master Erek lashes me again, then again, the wicked little strap smacking my thighs, then my back, then the side of my breast.

He bends down, his face right beside my ear, and whispers, “Beautiful, my Girl. You take so much for us. Hold on just a little longer. You will do that for us, won’t you?”

As if it is actually a question.

“Yes. Anything for you,” I manage to whisper back, meaning every word.

He wraps the narrow leather strap around my neck and begins to pull it tighter moment by moment. I’ll pass out soon, and I know I won’t be able to hold my bowels any longer. I am horrified, disappointed in myself, somehow. The ‘why’ of it doesn’t matter. Only that I do my best to serve my Masters. That they will be pleased with me.

The strap pulls tighter, and I can barely breathe, let alone hold all the burning water inside my body. And Master Séverin continues to fuck me with his hand, deeper, harder as I let out one rough sob after another, my throat burning now, too.

“Choke her out,” Master Séverin says as he pulls his fingers from my pussy.

I feel that tight pull for one single, beautiful, tortured moment before I black out.