Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
I have been at the cabin with my two Masters for a little more than a week, perhaps as long as two.
There is no way to measure time in this place, other than by the sunrises and sunsets, but I am too well-used to pay much attention.
They have tortured me with wooden paddles, rubber floggers, and toothy rope binding my nipples or strung between the seam of my pussy lips, then left me alone for hours.
They’ve shoved enormous metal plugs into my ass, hung me in leather straps to make a sort of sling attached to bolts in the ceiling, and whipped me with a single-tail until my skin is on fire from the lashes, then rubbed salve into my wounds.
For hours each day I am made to kneel or lie on the hard kitchen floor with no idea when I will be allowed to get up, when they will return to beat me, fuck me, to make their meals.
I’ve had an enema every few days while Master Séverin fists me, and each time it’s become harder and harder to hold it all in: the scalding hot liquid and my orgasm.
I have not been allowed to come since Madame Gemma’s slave Boy fucked me with the speculum.
And every night I lie on my pallet on the floor and listen to my beautiful Masters fucking.
Their panting breath, their sighs of pleasure, their growls as they come, make me suffer more than any of the implements they use on me.
The scent of their sweat and their come has become a comfort to me. A comfort and an aphrodisiac. Listening to them is torture in itself, but what beautiful torture it is.
And when I am with them, sometimes Master Séverin will look deeply into my eyes, as if he wants to ask a question. But he remains silent as he searches my face.
Master Erek hurts me the most, but it’s always countered by his gentleness with me, his wickedly lovely smiles.
And on those very rare occasions when he makes Master Séverin laugh, it pleases me in some strange way, when I have never before been concerned about my Mistresses or Masters, other than serving them well and knowing they are pleased with me.
But there is something happening here, a kind of almost organic symbiosis between all of us.
An ebb and flow of pain and pleasure, of simply being together.
I am probably giving my existence in their life far too much significance.
I am merely a slave. An object to them. And yet, so often when they are fucking with me—especially those enemas, when my sternest Master gazes into my eyes—I find I lose myself completely, sometimes for several hours at a time.
And when I come out of it and back into my head, all I can think of is how very desperately I love them. And Master Séverin perhaps most of all.
I am one fucked-up Girl. But I am, finally, exactly what I’m supposed to be. Lost in my slavehood. An object to myself as much as I am to my Masters. And the relief is indescribable. I crave those moments even more than ever before, because now I know what it feels like. And I cannot get enough.
It’s another night with my beautiful Masters—the ninth?
The fourteenth?—and I lie on the bedroom floor listening to them as they start fucking, which they do every night.
My body heats as the scent of their desire permeates the air, stronger even than the wood smoke from the fireplace in the room.
I squeeze my thighs together, then force myself to stop.
I know better. But oh, this truly is torture, knowing they take their pleasure with one another, but not with me.
A tear escapes and slips down my cheek, then another, then more as they continue to fuck, their groans of need filling the air. When the groans dwindle to sighs of satisfaction, I go to wipe the tears away with my hand, but my wrist is caught in a hard grip.
Master Erek.
My heart pounds.
“Come with me,” he says, pulling me from my pallet and guiding me to the bed.
Master Séverin is propped up against the pillows, dressed only in black silk boxers. His body is lean and beautiful. I can see the fine lines of his form in the dim firelight. His hard cock tents his boxers, making my mouth water.
“On your knees on the bed, Girl,” Master Erek orders.
I comply, climbing onto the bed, the down comforter sinking a little under my weight, and I bend down until my head touches the fluffy whiteness at Master Séverin’s feet. My pussy is dripping wet already.
The mattress shifts, then Master Erek is lying on his side, his face next to mine.
“Girl,” he whispers. “Such a pretty, pretty Girl. One of the prettiest I’ve ever seen. And so compliant. And yet…I feel as if something has been missing in you.”
“Yes,” Master Séverin says. “But I believe that’s changing. She’s changing.”
“It has to, love,” Master Erek says to him. “If it doesn’t, she cannot stay with us.”
My heart plummets. Not that I thought this would be a permanent arrangement, but the reality of losing them is too near, hearing him say the words.
And at the same time, I’m filled with such a deep, gnawing shame at not being able to be what I am supposed to be, and I begin to cry.
I can’t help it. Long sobs, as quietly as I can, but not quietly enough.
Master Séverin sits up and grabs my face, forcing me to look at him. He stares into my eyes, and it only makes me cry harder.
Master Erek leans in from my right side and sweeps a few fingers over my cheek.
“Christ, but the way this Girl cries. Her tears are so damn beautiful. I don’t know that I can let her go, despite her difficulty in sinking into slavespace, the way she fights it.
She’s had some moments, some small epiphanies, I think, and she is so good in every other way. What do you think, my love?”
“I think we should make her cry harder.”
Oh, yes, please.
My body, my heart, surge with a need so acute, so sharply edged, I can barely stand it. Do I break down before them? Do I come as I sob? I want it all, in a way I cannot deny and have absolutely no choice in.
If I thought I was a twisted, fucked-up mess before, it has never been more evident than it is right now.
Master Erek sits up, and I can hear him undressing. I yearn to see his naked body. But he gets back on the bed behind me, on his knees, I think, and lifts my arms over my head, then coils his strong arms around my ribs, holding me painfully tight.
“Hands clasped behind your head, pretty Girl,” he commands.
When I obey, my beautiful Master Séverin sits up on his knees and he takes my breasts in his hands, cupping them for a moment, and my nipples go hard—I swear I can feel them swell, as if they’re trying to reach out to him.
As he sweeps his fingers over the hard tips, a shock of desire lances through me, and the sensation is so exquisitely unexpected I let a moan escape.
“Silence,” he orders with a hard slap across my face.
I hang my head, trying to show my obedience, even as Master Erek holds me in such a position that my back is arched, my tits held high.
And Master Séverin leans in and takes my nipple into his warm, wet mouth.
Instantly, my pussy is soaking wet, and as he begins to suck, I’m afraid I’ll come.
But then he bites, so damn hard I gasp as his teeth sink into my flesh.
He lets my nipple slip from his mouth and goes to the other one, licking at first, then biting down, even harder this time, and it makes my clit pulse, almost as if his mouth is there.
Then he lets my nipple go and moves his mouth to the full curve of the underside of my breast, where he bites me again, so hard with his sharp teeth I know he’s drawing blood.
Blood play always frightens me, yet thrills me in equal measure, and I am even closer to coming, knowing what he’s done.
He moves his mouth a few inches and bites me again, and again and again, all over both of my breasts, then my ribs, then he moves around to that tender spot on my side, right at the curve of my waist. He bites me so hard I yelp, and the tears are spilling down my cheeks while Master Erek laughs, a low, sultry chuckle full of pleasure.
I am humiliated, as I always am when I cry, no matter how often I do it. No matter how much a Master loves a slave’s tears. And I’m so fucking turned on. My mind is slipping deep into my slavehood, my brain going dreamy, my vision fogged by pain and desire, and the feeling of truly being a slave.
Theirs.
Yes.
Master Erek pulls me in tighter again, until my shoulders ache, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I am serving my Masters. That my pain, my blood, and my tears please them.
When Master Séverin sits up to look at me, pulling my head up to gaze into my eyes, he wears a smile that is so purely wicked and so purely pleased, it makes my head spin.
And his dark eyes hold some emotion I can’t quite read, other than the power of it.
But I feel it. It makes my heart hammer so fast, as though hummingbird wings are beating in there.
If I weren’t being held so firmly, I would surge toward him, craving his touch, his nearness.
“I love you,” I whisper, unable to help myself, suddenly desperate to let him know.
So many expressions cross his features so quickly, I’m unable to keep up. His eyes narrow, then widen, and he leans in until his face is inches from mine.
He says very quietly, “I love you, too, Girl.”
My heart stutters, then seems to jump out of my chest.
“But now I have to really punish you,” he continues. “Know that I do it with love, my Girl. Because it is what you need. And what we need. And because you deserve it for speaking unasked.”
I give a small nod of my head to let him know I understand.
But the truth is, I don’t even know what is happening here. This is something entirely new for me, this brief but deep communication with my Master. Of course, I adore my Mistress Clara, but do I love her? Not like this.
“Chain her up,” Master Séverin tells Master Erek.