Chapter 6

Chapter Six

I run and run, as fast as I can, trying to stay alert, to not get caught. Trying to listen for my own Masters’ voices, so that I can run to them. But the further I go, the more often I hear the crash of a slave running through the forest, the excited yell of a Hunter as they spot a slave, the thudding shots of the paintball guns being fired.

I decide to veer off to the left and end up climbing over a small hill. On the other side is a creek, and I move toward it, sliding a bit on fallen leaves, until I splash quietly into the water.

It’s so cold, colder than I remember, if it’s even the same creek I waded into before. And I realize I have this silly idea that the creek is safe somehow. As if they have dogs following my scent that will lose it in the trickling water.

Stupid.

And yet…the water calms me. I pause and lean down to trail my fingertips through the gentle flow. It’s clean and clear, and it helps me to settle my mind a bit. I hold perfectly still, listening.

Everything is quiet now, and the quiet settles on me like a blanket. I find a fallen log at the edge of the creek and crouch down beside it, partially hidden by some ferns and a tangle of blackberry bushes. I take a few moments to really catch my breath before climbing up the other embankment to run again. I close my eyes, inhaling deeply.

And hear laughter.

A woman’s voice. “Ah, look at this! Such a pretty Girl. Get her for me, Pet.”

A Boy approaches me wearing a leather dog mask with pointed ears like a Doberman, a thick steel collar with evil metal spikes, and a leather chest harness. His cock is long and stiff—not the prettiest I’ve seen, but does it matter? I am here to be used. I exist to be used.

I freeze momentarily as he slips a lead rope around my neck, then he tugs on it to pull me along, leading me to his Mistress, a tall woman with long flowing hair the color of pale moonlight. She’s dressed in hunting gear, from her tight khaki trousers to her vest full of pockets, and she’s carrying a paintball gun.

A knife is strapped to her boot.

I’m shivering.

What happens to me now?

The dog-Boy brings me closer, and the Mistress reaches out to pat his head.

“What a good Boy you are, finding her. And to reward you, you shall have her.”

The dog-Boy nods his head, takes the rope and wraps it several times around my neck, then kicks my feet out from under me. I land on the damp, moss-covered ground beside the creek with a thud. It’s soft enough that it sinks in a bit beneath my hands and my knees. I understand that he will fuck me, and it’s not that I don’t welcome being fucked, or the odd circumstances under which it will happen. No. This is the life I choose. But too much of my mind is preoccupied by the idea that I may never see Master Erek and Master Séverin again. That I may never experience again that moment of absolute freedom to sink into my slavehood. To really lose myself for once.

You think too. Damn. Much.

I really am a masochist. I do this to myself.

The Dog-boy covers me and I wait to see if he will take my cunt or my ass. But as soon as the warmth of his body presses against mine, one arm going around my waist, I come back into the moment, and I’m already wet and eager.

He kicks my knees further apart, and I comply while the Mistress gives a low, delighted chuckle.

“Take her hard, my Pet,” she commands.

With a sudden jab he sinks his cock into my ass, thrusting deep, and his Mistress claps her hands.

“Fuck her hard , Pet.”

His hips sling back, then his cock drives into me, filling me up, although he is not as big as either of my Masters.

My Masters.

It’s not true, though, is it?

A tear slips down my cheek, and this Mistress assumes, I think, that it’s because her dog-Boy is hurting me. And he is, a little, although my ass has been very well trained for exactly this. And as always, that part of me that loves to be taken, humiliated, used, that part of me that loves to serve, is absolutely getting off on this.

The dog-Boy makes a high-pitched whining noise, as if asking a question.

His Mistress replies, “Yes, Pet. You may come in her ass. Or on her. Do with her as you wish.”

He rears up, pulling my body with his so we are both up on our knees, and both his arms are around my waist as he jams into me, over and over, faster and faster. He begins to shiver, and I know he will come soon. And while my pussy is wet and in need, it doesn’t matter to me if I do or not. Too much of my mind is still fractured, thinking of everything but the present moment, where I am being fucked in the ass by a slave Boy in a dog hood on a bed of bright green moss in this lovely forest.

Fantasy material for twisted fucks like us. But I’m not enjoying it as I should.

He reaches down and cups my mound in his hand, but the Mistress slaps his hand away.

“Pleasure for you, not for her,” she tells him.

I don’t mind. I feel some vague pleasure at serving them both. The rest isn’t necessary. My body isn’t seething with desire, as it did for the two Masters I dream of returning to. Only this mild ache that need not be satisfied.

With a groan he shoots his jizz into my ass, filling me with liquid heat. Then he releases me and rolls onto his back on the ground beside me.

His Mistress leans over him and rubs his stomach with the tip of a leather crop, and he howls in pleasure.

I’m on hands and knees; I haven’t been instructed to do anything else. I stay there as the Mistress slaps the dog-Boy’s stomach and thighs with the evil little crop, and he whimpers in pleasure, his cock going hard once more. She smacks the head of his dick with the crop, and he makes a growling sound, deep in his throat. She does it again, then again, and now, watching his cock being abused, need fills me, hot and thready, like a dark pulse somewhere deep inside me, winding tighter and tighter.

Yes. Please hurt him.

Oh, yes. I am a twisted fuck. But this is the way I was built. Or, the way my life has built me. Interesting distinction.

Thinking too damn much again.

I am not supposed to be a philosopher while in compromised positions. Or ever, really. But nothing has ever enabled me to stop. Not the harshest of punishments, the pinnacles of pleasure. I can’t turn my brain off. I can’t lose myself in slavehood like the others do. I get nothing more than the occasional glimpse of that respite. Nothing… except for that illuminating moment in the tub with my two new Masters, who I pray I will see again. And at this moment, I’m already getting bored with watching the puppy Boy get hit with his Mistress’s crop.

She seems to sense my disinterest—the best Masters and Mistresses always do—and she turns the crop on me, slapping my ass, my thighs, my back, even my upper arms with it. It stings, but not too badly. A crop, in these circles, is almost a plaything. A mere child’s toy. And I’m so in my head I barely respond to it.

She hits me harder, and I almost want to laugh, except that I want to cry, because my new and already-beloved Masters and their particular brand of cruelty are gone.

Finally, the Mistress seems to tire of this game, and I am relieved, because I tired of it almost as it began.

What a bad, bad slave I am.

I think they only want me because I’ve been trained to really fight in the Primal games. I’m good at it, fast and strong, and I know all the tricks to take the even the biggest Boys down. If only they could see what goes on in my head.

Too much.

But the Mistress is waving her hand at me.

“Get up, Girl.”

Warily, I rise to my feet.

She turns to the dog Boy, a smile on her face, then gives me a feral grin. “It’s catch and release, Girl. Go!”

I turn and run, my mind buzzing, as always.

I want to find them, Master Séverin and Master Erek. Or, they need to find me. I cannot bear to think of never unraveling their mysteries. Why is Master Séverin so sad? How did they manage to break through my walls of trauma and anxiety to take me into that beautiful dreamspace I’ve never quite achieved before?

I run and run, and in my head the words are on repeat, like some mantra.

Find me, find me, find me .

And then I’m hit, like a punch in the back, right between my shoulder blades, and I go down like a sack of stones, the air bursting from my lungs.

Breathless and dizzy on the hard ground, wondering what new Mistress or Master it will be next. My heart is very nearly breaking.

No .

I’ve been through enough pain in my life. I will not become so attached to these Masters. To anyone.

I take in air in enormous, gasping breaths, trying to process the pain of what I think was a paintball slamming into me. I am finally able to move a little, and see a splatter of blue paint on the fallen leaves next to me. I try to resign myself to the idea that I will be passed from Master to Mistress and back again in this particular game. And yet, my heart yearns…

“Ah, it’s our little Mina.”

I don’t dare to look up; I know it’s him. Master Erek’s voice, like a blanket of silk and velvet over my skin. And all thoughts of holding myself back from them seem absurd.

“You hit her in the lungs,” Master Séverin says, an edge of accusation and annoyance in his tone.

Master Erek straightens to loop an arm around his shoulder, a cocky grin on his face as he stares down at me.

“Yes, my love, but how beautiful is she in her suffering?”

“Hmph. I’ll give you that. But let me check her breathing. We need to see if she should be taken to the medics.”

It’s Master Séverin who kneels on the ground beside me, who lays his hand on my cheek so gently it astonishes me on some profound level, then he rolls me onto my back.

“Take her head,” he tells Master Erek, who gets down on his knees and pillows my head in his lap.

I’m still gasping for air and my lungs are burning, but it’s not too bad now. And this whole situation seems almost absurd to me. I’ve been in the Primal Games so many times, but have never really been injured. Is this normal? Whatever ‘normal’ means in this realm of the most extreme kink. I know it states in our contracts that our medical needs will be seen to, but is this what happens when one of us is injured? I’ve never had more than cuts and bruises attended to by other slaves. A hot bath, some arnica rubbed onto my skin. But a Master doing this?

As Master Séverin peers down into my face, leaning in close, I can’t help but look up at him. The pain is there in his dark eyes, perhaps even more shadowed than I’ve seen them before as he furrows his brows. He touches my cheek again.

“There’s a bruise here, but it’s nothing.”

Then, to my utter shock, he bends lower and presses his ear to my chest, right between my breasts. I know that he’s listening to me breathe, and I can’t help it when my breathing speeds up, nearly to a pant, because he is touching me. Because of this odd gentleness. Because this cold, cold man feels…concern for me. And not simply concern, but perhaps empathy.

It’s like a revelation. The Masters and Mistresses are always so mysterious, even those we serve behind the closed doors of their quarters. We never really know them. But this…this is a man who feels deeply. And perhaps that’s what has made him so cold.

Before I can do anything to stop myself, I raise my arms and clasp them around his neck, and he pulls back, startled, a little angry. But he doesn’t loosen my hold. And as he watches my face, I watch his, and see a thousand shadows pass through his eyes, making mine brim with tears.

Finally he gives his head a small shake and asks me, “Can you breathe alright? You may speak.”

“Yes, Master,” I say, my voice rough with unfamiliar emotion.

Unfamiliar, yes. Perhaps I’ve also become cold from all I’ve felt in my life. And what I seek in slavehood—in part, at least—is not to feel.

“Very good. Let’s get her on her feet, Erek.”

Master Erek helps me to sit up and gives me a bottle of water to sip from. Then he helps me to my feet, one arm around my waist.

Master Séverin shakes his head. “No. I will take her.”

He lifts me into his arms, holding me like a bride being carried over the threshold, and I don’t know what to do with my arms and legs. With the confusion in my mind.

“Hold onto me, Girl,” he commands, and I do, lacing my arms around his neck once more.

He leads the way through the forest, carrying me for what feels like a very long time, and his body is all lean, hard-packed muscle that flexes and shifts when he has to climb up a steep hill. He grows warmer the longer we walk beneath the shade of the oaks and sequoias, and mixed with smell of sunshine on verdant earth, I catch a hint of his sweat, which makes my empty cunt clench and unclench.

Eventually we reach their cabin, where he sets me on my feet on the front porch, and I am strangely disappointed that he didn’t carry me inside.

Over the threshold.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

He takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom.

“On the bed, Girl,” he tells me, and I comply, getting on my knees and bowing my head down until it touches the fluffy cloud that is the white down comforter.

“No. Lie down on your back. On the pillows, Girl.”

I’m so confused, but I scramble to do as he asks. As he has ordered.

Yes, that’s better. I’m not seeking the luxury of their big, decadent bed, but simply doing as he’s instructed.

They both stand there, heads together, whispering.

Master Erek says, “I called Madame Gemma. One of her slaves is an EMT. I thought it best that she send him to check on her.”

“Yes, yes. Good,” Master Séverin replies.

I’ve met Madame Gemma. Or, rather, I’ve seen her. She is exquisite and has a house full of slave Boys and a reputation for being utterly evil. But I am apparently not to be tortured by her. Not today, anyway.

Shortly after, I hear a car pull up outside, then a gentle knock on the door before Madame Gemma herself sweeps in, her cherry-red hair cascading over her shoulders, her tight-fitting khaki trousers outlining her lovely form. Behind her is a Boy carrying a leather case.

“Oh, she’s a pretty one,” Madame Gemma says. “I’ve seen her at the Primal Games at the Ranch. She’s truly something to watch. You two are so lucky.”

She turns to her slave. “Boy, see that she is thoroughly examined. Inside and out. That’s a good Boy,” she adds, giving him a pat on the head. “Gentlemen, would your hospitality include some good bourbon, by any chance?”

“Always,” Master Erek replies as they all leave the room.

I am left with this Boy, who is a burly slave with pierced nipples and short brown hair. A handsome face, which is no surprise. Almost too pretty, which I’m told is Madame Gemma’s preference. His naked cock is half-hard, but then, the slave Boys are almost always hard, no matter the circumstances.

He pulls a pinwheel from his leather bag, then a stethoscope, and a small flashlight. He listens to my lungs, asking me to take a breath in, then exhale. He tests my reflexes with the pinwheel, looks into my eyes as he shines the light in them.

“You seem well,” he says. “Do you feel any pain? Does it hurt when you take a deep breath?”

“No. No, I’m fine.”

“Very good. Inside exam next, then.”

I pull my legs up high and spread my knees, and he slides me down to the edge of the bed, then pulls a speculum from the bag and presses two fingers into my cunt, making me instantly wet, this pretty Boy and his medical exam. It’s so fucking hot for me. I only wish the Masters were watching.

He slides his fingers in deeper, then slips them out and replaces them with the speculum.

“Ohhh,” I moan, unable to help myself, nearly coming at the intrusion of the cool, metal object.

He stoops down and uses the flashlight to peer inside me.

“Any pain?” he asks.

“Mmm…only the good kind,” I assure him.

He straightens and smiles a little, then he pulls the speculum partway out before pressing it in again. My hips rise to meet it, and as he begins a slow fucking, pleasure simmers in my system, spreading from my pussy into my stomach, my tits.

My lashes flutter closed and I moan again. I can’t help myself. And when I open my eyes once more, my two beautiful Masters and the lovely Madame Gemma are just inside the door, watching. Madame Gemma is biting her plush red lip, and I want her to kiss me with that gorgeous mouth. But of course that won’t ever happen.

In two strides she’s across the room and pinching my nipples in her strong fingers.

“A medicinal orgasm?” she asks my Masters.

“Yes. Have him do it,” Master Séverin answers.

Her Boy fucks me harder, and the damn speculum hurts as he presses deep, but I love it so much. And perhaps even more, I love Madame Gemma’s fingers torturing my nipples, twisting and pulling and pinching, hurting me in the way I crave most at this moment.

As sensation builds, then coils like a serpent in my belly, I see Master Séverin, his gaze locked onto my face, and I meet his dark eyes as I come, harder because of the way he’s looking at me. Through me. I feel it even as my climax rips through my body, making me shake all over, making me clench down on the hard, metal speculum shoved deep into my cunt. And I fall a little in love.