Chapter 4
Chapter Four
I come to and find that Master Erek is bathing me, using a hand sprayer to wash my body. The room smells only of tangerines, which makes me wonder how long I was unconscious.
My body feels empty inside, and utterly worn out.
I know I have given them literally everything I have, all that I am.
I am dying to see his face, to be sure he is pleased with me, but I cannot look.
I don’t dare. I just lie there on the bottom of the tub, letting him handle me, and he is surprisingly gentle.
Tender, almost. And once more I wonder what this gentleness with me will later reveal about his capacity for cruelty.
I can’t wait to find out.
Once I am rinsed to his satisfaction, he sits me upright, then helps me to my feet.
I hate that I am unstable, barely able to stand.
But once more he is sweet with me, supporting my body with his as he helps me to a stool.
I sit, doll-like once more as he dries me with a thick towel, squeezing the water from my long hair, then rubs a soothing cream into my skin before combing my hair out.
“You were out for some time,” he finally says. “We will feed you, then you will sleep.”
I don’t answer. I am not supposed to. And I’m almost shocked at the way he’s talking to me, as if I’m human, which is something we slaves are not supposed to be to those who own us.
He is like no Master I have ever come upon before.
He lifts my limp body in his arms and carries me into the bedroom.
I get a glimpse of a large four-poster bed made of smoothed logs and piled high with quilts and pillows.
The room is filled with the delicate scent of a fire burning in a fireplace, and I catch a glimpse of a large hearth to my left.
Master Erek sets me down on a rug at the foot of the bed, and I collapse there, too worn to do anything else—not that I am supposed to.
At least, I don’t think so. But I don’t know yet what these new Masters will demand of me.
He covers me with a soft blanket, then Master Séverin kneels down next to me and places two bowls on the floor, one filled with water, the other with some sort of thick soup.
“On your knees so you can eat and drink,” he orders, and I obey.
I am terribly thirsty, and I drink most of the water before turning to the bowl of soup.
It’s thick and creamy, some sort of potato soup with bits of ham, and I lap it up, not realizing until I’m doing it how hungry I am.
When I’m done, he wipes my face roughly with a cloth napkin, but worn out as I am, I barely notice.
“Go to sleep, Girl. We begin anew tomorrow.”
I’m so tired. Perhaps more tired than I’ve ever been in my life.
The day has been a series of shocks, and the care these two Masters have shown me has been as much a shock as being caught in the snare trap.
But I’m far too sleepy to even think about it, or to anticipate what tomorrow might bring. My eyes close, and I drift off.
I wake up in the dark to groaning and the scent of sex in the air. The bed shakes rhythmically, and I lean my back against the footboard, wanting a little bit of it, their fucking. I hear one of them moan—Master Erek, I think—and my pussy pulses with need.
Their breathing grows harsher, and I can smell their sweat, and it’s like some heady mixture of desire and maleness and the untouchable.
God, if only they would fuck me. If only they would invite me into their bed and place me between them, penetrating my body in every way possible: my cunt, my ass, my mouth.
The bed shakes harder, their breath coming in short, sharp pants, and my body heats even more.
If only I could see them, and yet this is somehow more delicious, this secretive voyeurism. If I concentrate, I can imagine every move. Every thrust of their hips, the stroking of a cock, their heated mouths on each other.
I could almost come simply listening, smelling them, imagining what I cannot see.
There are nearly simultaneous groans, then a deep growl from one of them before the bed quiets. The air is sharp with the scent of male come.
Yes.
My pussy is throbbing, my clit so hard and swollen, I swear I can feel it rubbing between my thighs, aching, aching.
The room grows quiet as they settle into sleep, then all I hear is their breathing, and my own. I let the sound lull me, and soon I am dreaming once more.
It feels as if I haven’t slept for long when a muffled groan wakes me, but it’s not sex this time. No. It’s distress. I nearly bolt upright, but my years as a slave have taught me well. I don’t move, forcing my body to hold still. I wait, wondering.
Unintelligible murmuring from one of them, then he says quietly, “Béatrice… Nooo…”
The voice is deep. Master Séverin?
Then again, but this time it’s said with a loud, anguished, guttural groan. “Béatrice!”
“Sev, my love.” Master Erek’s voice, husky with sleep. “Shh…it’s okay. Come on, Sev. You’re alright.”
There is some murmuring, but I can’t make out what they say.
But one thing is unmistakable; Master Séverin had a nightmare, and Master Erek is comforting him, so sweetly.
And it makes me wonder about them both. Who are they?
How did they come together? Who is this Béatrice Master Séverin dreams of? What secrets do they hide?
We all have secrets, don’t we? And those of us in this bizarre and very formal world of kink more than anyone else, perhaps.
But I am merely a slave, and I have no idea how long I am to be with them.
I may never know anything more about them than I do at this moment.
I am not supposed to, which I understand quite well.
I’m usually content enough with that idea, the not knowing.
It’s part of us losing our identities within our slavehood, why our names are taken from us.
Part of the supremely effective mindfuck that is crucial to our existence in this role.
Why my curiosity has been awakened now, I don’t know.
With a quiet sigh I lay my head back down on my little pallet on the floor and close my eyes, returning to my own dreams.
I am awakened by my ass being invaded as some phallic object is shoved in there roughly.
I bite my lip to keep quiet as the object is withdrawn, then jammed in again, then again.
It’s big and hard and solid, yet very quickly the pain dissipates almost entirely, and I feel only pleasure.
But I have only a few moments to enjoy the comfortable rhythm before it’s being thrust hard and deep inside me, and I let out a small sigh of pleasure. Yes, pleasure still, despite the pain.
No.
Because of it.
I hear a chuckle in response—Master Erek, I think.
Then the object is removed once more, and Master Séverin lifts me with hard hands and lays me on my back on a long wooden bench beneath a window.
I see the morning sunlight glimmering through a set of sheer curtains before he lifts his booted foot and presses down on the center of my chest. The bench is very hard beneath me; I can feel it against every one of the vertebrae in my spine, pressing, pressing.
Harder and harder. Then Master Erek straddles the bench and my face, facing toward my feet, and he grabs my chin, pulls my head back, and shoves his thick cock between my lips.
Oh, yes, this I can do.
I suck him in, until his heavy shaft is halfway down my throat, and I am choking, crying.
And so damn desperate to please, I don’t care if he chokes me out with his cock.
But, no. That’s a lie. I pray that he will.
That he’ll do it over and over, until I am dreamy and drifting above my body as if in some ghostly form.
He tastes so delicious, very faintly of the tangerine bath oil mixed with come from last night, likely both his and Master Séverin’s.
“Ah, such lovely tears,” he murmurs, his tone rough with pleasure as he face-fucks me.
My body is on fire once more. With desire. With the need to serve. It’s so beautiful I nearly sob, except that I can’t when my throat is so full of cock. But the tears wash down my cheeks as I fall a little in love with my new Master.
And just when I think nothing could be any better than this, Master Séverin shoves his hand into my wet, weeping cunt and fucks me so hard I get dizzy.
I blink hard, trying to breathe through my nose, to stay conscious so I won’t inadvertently harm Master Erek.
And somehow in that moment I remember Master Séverin and his nightmare last night, and my heart goes tight in my chest with some strange, yearning sorrow.
But Master Erek has his cock so deep in my throat, and I cannot breathe.
Just as I begin to really struggle, he pulls out and comes on my face, jizz everywhere: my mouth, my chin, my hair, before it drips down my neck.
My tongue darts out to catch as much as I can, and he captures my sore jaw in his hand.
“Look at me, Girl. Ah, yes, you really are something. Drink my come, pretty Girl. Drink it and I will become a part of you.”
You already have.
But of course I can’t say it out loud.
My heart blooms in my chest, like a sun-warmed flower opening its petals.
And as my heart blooms, desire blossoms like a flame in my pussy, spreading through my limbs, and I don’t know how I’ll hold back from coming.
“Don’t you fucking come, Girl,” Master Séverin demands.
His command in itself is like a new shaft of pleasure, spearing into my body, hot and trembling, driving me ever closer to that edge.
I force myself to hold on even as he fucks me harder, deeper, but in moments my cunt begins to squeeze around his hand, and I’m afraid I will be lost.
“No!” he barks, withdrawing his hand, leaving me too empty.
But in a moment I hear his zipper, then very quickly Master Erek is holding onto the back of my knees, pulling my legs up around my shoulders, and Master Séverin, straddling the bench, parts my ass cheeks with rough hands, and shoves his cock into my asshole.