Chapter 37 Grace
The weight of the leather collar around my neck is a constant, suffocating presence. The chain attached to it lies coiled beside me like a sleeping serpent, its other end held loosely by my Mistress.
Her dark eyes never leave me but there’s no cruelty in her gaze, only the quiet certainty of a person who understands I have no escape.
I spent the entire day performing tricks, dancing, doing anything and everything she demanded in her pursuit to discover what my talent is.
I didn’t dare tell her that Antonio bought me not because I have a talent but because he hates me, hates my family, murdered my father and was almost certainly in love with my mother.
I almost wail as that thought, as the overwhelming emotion hits me. Antonio ruined my life and yet here I am, already broken. Already on my knees, doing what he wants, playing his docile little I don’t even know what.
I blink back furious tears, focusing on the hall, on the lanterns, on the way their glow catches the jewels around the throats of the other women, turning them into living constellations.
To them, this is paradise.
To me, it’s a gilded nightmare.
I curl tighter, pressing myself further into the floor as if I could sink into it and just disappear.
Anya arches her back, her body a sinuous curve as she dances, the sheer silk of her dress clinging to every dip and swell.
Julie laughs, high and bright, twirling until the fabric flares around her thighs.
Felice lounges at Antonio’s feet the way a contented dog would, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his calf, her lips parted in a smile that’s all teeth and hunger.
They want this. They thrive on it.
I don’t understand.
Antonio claps his hands, and the music slows to a pulse, a heartbeat, deep, rhythmic, primal. The sound coils through the room like smoke, thick and intoxicating.
The women respond instantly, their bodies swaying toward him as if pulled by invisible strings.
Anya is the first to reach him, her lithe form sliding between his legs like liquid silk.
She presses her cheek to his thigh, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his knee, her lips parted in a sigh.
Julie follows, her red curls spilling over his lap as she nuzzles against his hip, her teeth grazing the fabric of his trousers in playful hunger.
Felice drapes herself across his other side, her dark eyes gleaming as she licks a slow, deliberate stripe up his wrist.
They move like creatures born to worship him, and he lets them.
His fingers tangle in Anya’s hair, tightening just enough to make her gasp.
She arches into his grip, baring her throat like a perfect, delicate offering to a vampire.
The rubies at her collar glint in the lamplight, catching fire as he tilts her head back further, exposing the flutter of her pulse.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs and the word is a command, a benediction.
Julie whines softly, her fingers creeping higher, teasing the laces of his shirt.
Felice answers with a low laugh, her hand sliding between Julie’s thighs from behind, her fingers dipping beneath the sheer fabric of her skirt.
Julie’s breath hitches, her hips jerking forward into Felice’s touch, into Antonio’s space.
And then, without warning Anya twists in Antonio’s grip, her mouth finding Julie’s in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss.
Julie moans into it, her hands flying to Anya’s waist, pulling her closer.
Felice watches for a moment, her lips curving in wicked delight before she leans in, her tongue tracing the shell of Julie’s ear.
I can’t look away.
Suddenly my skin is too hot, my breath too shallow.
The air is thick with the scent of them, perfume, sweat, and something darker, muskier.
Julie’s dress is tossed away as Felice’s fingers work between her legs, the wet sound of it obscene above the music.
Anya breaks the kiss only to sink her teeth into Julie’s lower lip, her own hand slipping between her thighs, her fingers moving in slow, teasing circles.
Antonio watches them like a king surveying his court, his eyes heavy-lidded, his lips parted in quiet approval. One hand remains fisted in Anya’s hair, the other stroking Felice’s cheek, guiding her closer, urging her deeper.
“Let her taste you,” he murmurs to Julie, his voice rough with command.
Julie shudders, her thighs trembling as Felice’s fingers push inside her.
A broken sound escapes her and Anya swallows it, her tongue laving over Julie’s as if she could drink the very pleasure from her mouth.
Felice’s free hand grips Anya’s hip, pulling her back against her, her teeth sinking into Anya’s shoulder.
They move together, a tangle of limbs and want, their bodies slick with sweat, their moans mingling in the hazy air.
And I, I don’t understand.
This is a sin. All of this is. How can Antonio be a Brethren Lord and partake in this, whatever this is?
My pulse hammers, and my skin prickles with something between horror and fascination.
The leather collar around my neck feels heavier suddenly, the chain still coiled beside me like a promise.
The woman’s grip on it hasn’t loosened, but her thumb strokes the back of my hand, once, twice, like a silent question.
I let out a silent whimper because I don’t know what any of this is, and I don’t know how to navigate this.
Antonio’s gaze flicks to me, his burnt lips curling in a slow, knowing smile.
I flinch. I don’t even mean to but I feel caught, trapped. Will I be punished for looking him in the face? Will I be punished for witnessing this?
The woman holding my leash tugs the chain just enough to ensure I obey.
I’m all but forced to crawl to him, the silk shift they’ve dressed me in whispering against my skin like a lover’s touch.
The other women watch me, their eyes sharp, calculating.
Anya’s lips curl in a smirk. Julie tilts her head, curious as Felice’s fingers tighten on Antonio’s thigh.
He holds out a hand, taking my arm before I can even consider acting on the voice screaming in my head to run.
I’m pulled into his lap, turned around so my back is pressed against his chest while his arms cage me in. He’s so much larger than me, his presence is overwhelming. His breath ghosts over my ear, hot and deliberate.
“How is my new dog doing?”
The words slither into me, curling low in my belly. My throat is too dry to answer, and my pulse hammers so violently I’m certain he can feel it where his palm rests against my ribs.
“You’re frightened.” He says, like he isn’t the cause of it. His fingers trail the leather of my collar, brushing the sensitive skin where it’s already rubbed raw and despite myself, I shiver. “That’s understandable but there’s no reason to be, not with me.”
I don’t reply. I don’t do anything but become a dead weight in his lap.
“If you’re good,” he murmurs, ”you can get a prettier collar. A jewelled one, like the others.”
Fuck that. I’d rather choke.
Does he see it in my face, does he see my thoughts, even if I’ve lost the courage to speak them? To the side I see the man step forward, that prod poised in his hand, but Antonio waves him aside.
“Stop fighting me.” He murmurs before his mangled lip grazes the shell of my ear.
His touch is a drug. I should recoil. I should hate it.
No, I do hate it. I do.
It’s just I haven’t been touched, haven’t been held, haven’t had any kindness since…
I don’t know how long. I don’t know when someone last even hugged me.
No, no I do know. It was so long ago; it was that night in the safe house, before the Blakes arrived, before one of them stole my father and the others kidnapped me and my mother.
They’d hugged me, my parents had, they’d hugged me goodnight and told me that they loved me and…
I shudder, swallowing, burying the memory that feels more precious than gold.
Antonio’s hand slides up my ribs, his thumb brushing close to the underside of my breast but deliberately not close enough. I stiffen and my breath hitches, waiting for him to cross that line.
In front of us, Anya and Julie are still touching, still kissing, still fucking. It feels like some sort of orgy. The sound of their moans, the sound of their skin as they press against each other…
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Antonio murmurs in my ear. “My other pets are well trained.”
“It’s, it’s a sin.” I croak. My broken voice comes out barely above a whisper with all the damage to my vocal chords.
He chuckles as if he can’t hear it, moving my hair aside, brushing his nose against my neck. “It would be a greater sin not to enjoy the gifts God has granted me.”
“People are not gifts.” I gasp.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Dumpling.”
Dumpling? Is that my name now? He chuckles, and I realise with horror that I’ve said that question out loud.
“You are a dumpling.” He replies. “These thick thighs, these curves…you’re my Dumpling.”
I hate it, I hate that he says it with such affection, that he’s doing this to me while acting like he has some semblance of considerate feeling towards me.
His fingers move lower, skimming over my stomach, down to my hip.
Slowly, horrifically he shifts my dress, dragging it aside and the cool air hits my exposed flesh, making me flinch.
I wasn’t given underwear, wasn’t given anything but this dress that he’s so easily dealt with.
His fingertip traces the edge of my clit piercing, and that sensation, that feeling…
I suck in a sharp breath, my thighs tensing.
“Stop,” I whisper even though I know such a word will absolutely result in a punishment. I’m not permitted to use such words. I’m not permitted to even think such words. “Please.”
“No.” He flicks the piercing, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through me. My hips buck and he laughs, low and cruel.
I squeeze my eyes shut but he pinches my clit between his fingers, rolling the piercing until my breath comes in ragged gasps. My nails dig into his thigh but he doesn’t stop, he just leans in, his voice a filthy whisper.
“See how your body begs? Even when your mouth fights me.”
I swallow hard, and then his fingers push inside me.
One finger, slow and deliberate, curling just enough to make my breath hitch. I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sound. But he adds a second finger, stretching me, his thumb still working my clit in rough, relentless circles.
“So tight,” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement. ”And so fucking wet. You can lie to yourself Dumpling, but your cunt doesn’t.”
I whimper, my body betraying me as heat coils low in my belly. My thighs tremble, my hips rocking against my will, chasing the friction of his fingers. Shame burns through me, hot and suffocating.
“Hush,” he purrs, his lips brushing my ear. ”Just let it happen. I can feel how much you want this.”
“I don’t…” My voice breaks more as his fingers thrust deeper, his palm grinding against me.
“You do.” His teeth scrape my shoulder. ”Look at them. Look at how good they are for me. That could be you. You could have everything you ever wanted, if you just stopped fighting.”
My eyes flicker open against my will. The girls are lost in each other, their bodies slick with sweat, their moans rising in pitch as fingers and tongues push them closer to the edge.
One of them, Anya catches my gaze and holds it, her dark eyes glazed with pleasure but sharp with something else too.
She arches her back as Julie’s mouth closes around her nipple, her lips parting in a silent gasp.
Anya’s fingers tangle in the other girl’s hair, pulling her closer, urging her on.
I try to look away, but Antonio’s grip tightens on my jaw, forcing me to watch.
“See?” he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. ”They know their place. They know what they’re meant for.”
His fingers move faster inside me, curling just right, hitting that spot that makes my vision blur.
I bite down on my lip, trying to stifle the moan building in my throat, but it’s no use. A whimper escapes, low and broken and Antonio chuckles, his breath hot against my neck.
“That’s it” he purrs. ”Let them hear how sweet you sound. Let them see how pretty you are when you moan for me.”
I shake my head, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. ”No,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
“Yes,” he insists, his thumb pressing harder against my clit, his fingers thrusting deeper. ”You’re mine, Dumpling. Your body knows it. Your cunt knows it. It’s time you accepted it.”
I can’t stop it. The heat coils tighter, hotter, until it’s unbearable. My hips jerk, my thighs trembling as the pleasure starts to crest, sharp and undeniable.
And then it stops. All of it stops. His fingers are no longer in me, touching me, pleasuring me.
I whimper with a desperate, disgusting need but he holds me still, his grip unrelenting.
“Good girls get rewards,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. ”And you, Dumpling, do not deserve it.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. It feels like he’s played me. No, he has played me, he made me want this. He made me… I hate him. I hate him.
My chest heaves, and my breath comes in ragged gasps as tears spill down my cheeks.
He brings his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean with a slow, deliberate motion that makes my stomach churn.
“Sweet,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on mine. ”But not as sweet as you’ll be when you’re begging for me.”
I glare at him, my voice trembling with both pain and rage now. ”I’ll never beg for you.”
“We’ll see.” He says, pushing me off, pushing me onto the floor where I land in a heap before I’m dragged by my collar back to my corner.