12. To own is to…Raise
Chapter twelve
To own is to…Raise
W arrick
The men’s rioting laughter fills the hall as I open the doors, my eyes immediately finding my new pet sprawled and spread on her back. Her blonde hair is a tangled halo around her head. Halo fits the tiny woman well. She’s… sensitive . Everything seems to make her cry, an odd quality for someone in her position. There’s a reason the House of Bloom trains them hard, makes them impenetrable walls of ice and numbness. The sensitive ones simply… crumble . That doesn’t make for good business. Makes for even worse slaves. She snores softly, her nose still clogged from her upset earlier as I bend before her, gently unhooking her leg restraints. My cock jerks at the slight of her swollen cunt. The way she rubbed and ground against the carpet damn near sent my restraint plummeting.
She mumbles something that sounds too close to Basilisk as I let her legs free. My jaw clenches at the lack of honorific, reminding myself why I’m taking a different approach with her. Why she could be an asset. Why I wasted fifty million dollars on a woman. The floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows from the end of the hall bake in the setting sunlight, casting her in jewel-toned rays. She’s stunning, no doubt, but there’s no shortage of stunning women in this world.
Finally, her round, coffee-colored eyes flutter open, the right one streaked and bisected with an odd milky white tone in the iris, only drawing more attention to her two pupils, one taking on the shape of a teardrop where the other one is more or less the standard, although smaller.
“Master.” Even my name from her lips is spoken with an innate shyness, an uncertainty that has me forcing a deep breath through my lungs. She tries to adjust, but her hands are still restrained to her collar, thrusting her small breasts up. The longer I stare, the more Pup squirms, but if I move now, my actions won’t be gentle.
I’ll hurt her.
I want to hurt her for messing up on her first full day, for crying and whimpering and snotting, for making my cock hard all fucking day long. I should be in my office, liquoring up the men inside, working out the ins and outs of a deal that could spear things in my favor, but no, I’m here, caring for a dog I didn’t want, an overpriced pet with little to no training, big tears, and even bigger brown eyes. A woman who will no doubt offer more headaches than pleasure.
If I wasn’t keeping her to annoy that cunt over at the House of Tyet, I would’ve already taken her back to Bloom, handed her off to my staff, or maybe even used her for target practice, although I haven’t done that in ages. Forty-six seems too old to be chasing women through the woods with grenade launchers. My haunting parties used to be legendary. “Luckily for you, the worst of my sadistic nature seemed to work itself out in my late twenties,” I tell her out loud.
She offers me another sweet, shaky smile that she doesn’t mean, and for the life of me, I can’t understand why the fuck she keeps doing that. It’s nearly more unsettling than her tears. No doubt, it stems from the same abuse that makes her react so viscerally to my disapproval. She’s desperate for praise. It drives her—that much was easy to figure out, practically written in bold across her face. Perhaps her father was her first. An uncle, maybe.
There’s an undeniable link between fathers who treat their daughters badly that sees them ending up in the hands of men like me. Misery breeds misery. Perhaps we have that in common. We’ve always been wretchedly miserable. She’s deadly still as I undo her hand restraints, shaking my head at her when she tries to scramble into her position at my feet.
“You’ll have an early dinner, seeing as you slept through lunch. Do you need to use the restroom?”
She flushes as she nods. “Yes, Sir.”
Stuart passes us in the hall, a gaggle of women trailing behind him. Pup’s thin brows furrow as they are all filed into my office, something to keep the men busy before I return. I watch her curiously as I unhook her leash from the bracket on the floor, giving her a command to follow.
“I’ll help you in the restroom and clean you up before dinner. After you eat, I expect you to go straight back to bed in the hall. You will not have any privileges until tomorrow morning when your punishment ends. I hope this is an adequate deterrent for future bad behavior, Pup. I was quite disappointed.”
She sniffles, and I bite back my smirk as I slow my pace, giving her time to crawl behind me. I leave her outside the bathroom to wait for my command, noting the way her eyes keep darting down the long hall toward my office.
“You may use the restroom now, then undress.”
Her thin pale brows are still knitted together as she makes her way toward the toilet, crawling over the marble flooring. “May I have privacy, Sir?”
“Were you permitted privacy at Bloom?”
“Of course not.” She shudders at the mention of them. Perhaps her training was more thorough than I thought. That makes her behavior and tears even more disappointing.
“Then why would you expect it here?”
“I… It’s just nicer here. I thought-”
I fix my gaze on her, my impatience mounting with each passing second. “Relieve yourself quickly. I have a meeting to get back to.”
Her soft jaw hardens as she hikes up her dress, pulling the front back down after she’s seated on the toilet. I watch her until she’s finished, seeing the blush spread across full cheeks and down her slender neck. When I unclip her leash, letting her strip before ushering her into the shower, she turns her back to the hot stream, reaching for a bottle on the shelf.
“I will take care of your washing.”
She nods, staring at the shower floor as I roll up my sleeves. Tears bud in her eyes as I tug her further under the water.
Chloe
I jump as Master’s office doors burst open, spilling the spoon of mashed potatoes on Master’s pants.
My eyes go wide, my wet hair dripping onto the front of the nightgown I’m wearing. “I-I’m so sorry!” I fumble, lunging toward him to jerk a napkin off the cart. A hiss leaves my mouth as my leash catches, jerking me back. The man who burst through the door laughs loudly, too drunk to notice the woman on his arm is barely awake.
They’d barely been in there for an hour.
I ignore him as best I can, my attention on Master as I scramble from my relaxed lounging to my presenting position. “I didn’t mean to. If you’ll hand me a napkin, I can clean it, I promise.”
“It was an accident, Pup. It’s alright,” he offers, but not in a kind way. He sounds…annoyed. I lift my eyes hesitantly as he shoots a glare toward the man now openly watching our interaction, his cock half pulled out of his pants. The girl who was on his arm is swaying as she leans up against the wall for support. “Pup.”
My attention snaps back to the mess on his pants, blinking rapidly to clear the tears threatening to well in my eyes. “I really am sor-“
“ Enough . Just clean it.”
I pause, eyeing the napkins again. “I can’t reach the napkins, Sir.”
The other man laughs, and I know I’m doing something wrong. My hand finds my scars, rubbing them anxiously.
“With your tongue, pup. We don’t want to waste food, now, do we?”
My lips part, my raw core tightening as I nod, gathering my wet hair in my hands as I lean forward, dipping my tongue cautiously into the food on Master's thigh. He goes rigid as I lap it, timidly the first time, only smearing the food, worsening the mess. My brow furrows. This is why I wasn’t invited into the office with the other girls, why my master will take pleasure in someone else. I’m not doing a good job. I’d only embarrass him. Tears well in my eyes as I strain against my chain, determination flooding me as I clean up my mess.
It's utterly ridiculous.
But I need to please him.
As if this will somehow balm wounds that have festered for years.
My chest is a gnawing, gaping wound.
Sir’s prod, Mistress’ nails, Grandma's ruler, Mom’s screaming, Dad’s silence; it’s all a testament to everything I’m lacking.
I clean his thigh as the other man lumbers closer. “Fucking hell, Basilisk. Name your goddamn price. They don’t make them like that anymore.”
Master's hand snaps out, catching me by the collar, stopping my incessant lapping. “And have you ruin my toy before I’ve played with it?” His laughter is bitter, and I feel it deep in my chest. His entire demeanor hardens, and he doesn’t have to say it for me to understand I’ve embarrassed him.
“You’re being too gentle with her. Take her ass until she fucking gapes and I bet you’ll find her very…agreeable tomorrow. Pain humbles them.”
“Perhaps you should see to your own plaything for the evening. She doesn’t look too good.” There’s a note, an edge to Master's voice, that sends chills down my spine. If I could move away, I would, but he still holds me by my collar, my forehead centimeters from his straining cock.
The man seems oblivious to the tension in the air, or maybe I’m imagining it. The woman barely reacts as he grips her hair. “Quite right, my friend. Seems we’ve messed up the fucking dose. I know just the thing to wake her,” he slurs. “Don’t be too long with this one. We’ll need that fucking monster of yours to get her attention.”
Master laughs, and the taste of copper floods my tongue, my teeth scoring my inner lip. The bizarre sense of inadequacy makes the heavy meal sit poorly in my stomach.
We sit in tense silence until the man and woman disappear into the office again. A gasp leaves me as Master’s hand shoots forward, knotting my hair the way the man had hers. My heart jolts to a sprint in my chest, my body tensing, preparing as I’m jerked face to face with him. Sage and oak tickle my senses as his lips graze my forehead. “Where did your tears go, Pup?”
I swallow hard, his lips making another languid pass. I can smell the liquor on his breath. “The other girls don’t cry. I-I’m not supposed to cry.”
His lips stop their teasing on my flushed skin seconds before he releases me, my eyes tracking the now bent fork’s path back to the plate. “That’s enough for tonight. Get some rest.”
I open my mouth before snapping it closed again, longingly staring at the half-eaten steak still on my plate, but I don’t protest. My mouth is still watering unfairly as the taste of the expensive cut I haven’t been able to afford since I left home lingers in my mouth. I’m hauled into Master's arms and taken to the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth before being tethered again. At least this time, I’m offered a blanket and the use of my limbs. I’m not tired, not in the least by the time Master leaves me for the office. The sound of whimpers and laughter floods the landing before I’m cast into the dark, only the moonlight illuminating the tears that soak my bed on the floor.
Hands clumsily grip my waist, jerking my ass into the air. It’s not that I’m unaccustomed to being woken this way, only that each time it happens, it’s never less unnerving. I gasp as a hard cock slams against my cheeks. My hands clutch the bed, breathing deep and forcing my tight hole to unclench as much as possible.
The laugh that fills the hall is grumbly, bizarre.
My pulse hiccups at the unfamiliar voice, and I peek over my shoulder when the dark, moonlit form of the man from earlier looms behind me. A startled yelp leaves my throat as I shove off the floor, only for his sweaty palm to clasp my hair, gaining control of my head before slamming it back into my bed, pressing it down with barely restrained violence. “Basilisk always was a stingy little cunt. Fucker thinks he’s above us.”
Panic overwhelms me as I try to crawl forward, my nails biting into the hardwood as he spreads my cheeks, spitting on my asshole. “I’m not allowed—”
“Shut the fuck up, or I’ll make it hurt.”
Saltwater splashes, burning my eyes as I fight to keep them open. I’m treading, but the waves are so choppy. For every inch I gain, the ocean takes a mile. I can hear Renee’s skin slipping against the plastic of her float.
“No. I don’t want you to!” I yell, a cold sweat breaking out over my body. I know how to relent, how to take, but Master told him no.
He laughs in a hushed tone.
Maybe he changed his mind. I try to relax, but indecision makes it hard to breathe.
“Stop fucking fighting,” the man whispers harshly.
Why is he whispering if he has permission?
Because he doesn’t .
I squirm, a sob clogging my throat as I try to grasp anything I can to pull away.
Blinding pain bursts against the back of my head as I’m struck from above, his fist following up again for good measure. “Be fucking still.”
The back of my head pounds in tune with my heartbeat as my chain rustles underneath me, my brain scrambling to catch up.
“Chloe, my arms are tired.” I can hear the panic in her voice, but I keep swimming against the waves, coughing and sputtering.
“We’re almost there. Hang on.”
Panic needles my chest, tears welling in my eyes as I blink away the seawater, trying to keep an eye on the shoreline. I didn’t mean to go this far out, I swear. I didn’t notice.
“Chloe—"
Renee’s words are cut off in a garble as she slips. My straining lungs spasm as I dive under the water, wrapping my arm around her waist, the other anchored to the float as I help bring her back above water. She comes up sputtering, fear clear in my sister’s eyes. “Just hang on!” I cough out.
“I-I can’t, Chloe. I want Mom! I’m scared!”
His cock enters me with that familiar, deep-seated burn, forcing something somewhere it wasn’t meant to go as Renee loses her grip on the float again.
“Master…” I cry out. My barely healing wounds from the party rip open, breeding a pain so pungent, it makes my dinner curdle in my gut.
I’m bad.
I’m going to get in trouble.
I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry.
“I’m sorry!” I sob, seconds before the sound of a jaded voice stops the violent thrusts.
“See yourself back to your room, Wilhelm.”
I choke on my spit as the saltwater laps at my face. Suddenly, the cock ceases its jarring intrusion, as if it was jerked out. I spin on my back, scrambling against the wall as I pant. Stuart has the man by the collar of his dress shirt, a handgun pressed against the back of his skull. “You will say nothing of this to her master, or I’ll ensure your wife receives a baby shower gift the family will never forget.”
The man sobers, stilling. “Yes, Viper.”
Viper.
What was it he called master earlier?
“Basilisk would do far worse than me,” Stuart warns before letting the man go.
Basilisk. That’s fitting.
As soon as the man is out of sight, the gun is turned toward me. I yelp, panic taking over. He doesn’t react, watching me scramble my feet to run before being jerked back again by the chain. He doesn’t falter. “That silence extends to you. Everyone passed out hours ago. This never happened.”
My chest constricts fear beating down on me. All I can manage is a shaky nod.
Stuart leaves, only to return with warm rags and a small bowl of soapy water, turning away while he instructs me to clean the blood from my bottom. I make quick work of it, opting to clean my face in the bowl first. He says nothing more, and soon enough, I’m left again in the dark, my silent sobs filling the landing as I stare at the stained-glass windows. Not even the moonlight provides me an ounce of comfort anymore. I never liked the dark, so I shut my eyes, that hollow fear following me to my dreams where saltwater laps at my face.