Servitude to Serpents

21. To own is to… Rule

Chapter twenty-one

To own is to… Rule

Blinding Lights by The Weekend (Piano Cover by The Chillest)

C hloe

Sitting at a proper table, expected to maintain proper table manners after months of being fed from a doggy bowl on the floor, is a strange feeling. Even if I’m still being fed and my seat is Master’s lap. I inhale him, savoring the deep sage and oak that makes my mouth water far more than the expensive steak he’s cutting. His muscular arms, the veins that stand out on his inked flesh, are tight around me as he cuts. Everything Master does is addictive. My breath hitches in my throat as he leans forward, his hair tickling me, the hint of gray in it telling me my master is much older than he looks. I would have guessed, at most, that he was in his late thirties. I’ve never asked, wouldn’t care either way. My heart lurches as his hazel eyes suddenly cut to mine. “It's rude to stare, pet.”

Cheeks burning, I turn my attention back to his hands, which only flame the desire building deep inside me. I squirm, my teeth scoring my inner cheek to hide my smile. Master loves my little games, despite how much he pretends not to, but this time… Ever since my bike accident, things have been different. Master doesn’t give me a playful swat or make some kind of threat that only serves to bring out the most erotic thoughts in me. I watch as he sets down his glass of wine, turning his hand palm down.

A command. Stop.

I do—for now. Pissing off Master for fun is painful, sure, but I endure his punishment because I know after, he’ll give me soul-shattering pleasure. Flat-out warnings, like the one I just received, can be scary, despite me trusting the man with…. everything . My life . He would never harm me in any way I couldn’t handle—at least, I don’t think. I’m a good girl, so it shouldn’t be a problem either way. He’d certainly not prod me, so that’s an immediate win.

I’m jerked from my thoughts when Sir lays down our shared silverware. “Tell me, were the scars on your hands meant to be a punishment for allowing your sister to drown?”

I choke.

The steak I was chewing lodges down the wrong pipe as I sputter, coughing until air can pass freely again, but my heart is hammering in my chest. For the first time in weeks, I can taste the saltwater again. Master sighs—I can never tell if it’s a good or bad sign—as he lifts his wine to my lips, giving me a small sip. Its peppery flavor bursts on my tongue, and if I wasn’t seconds from vomiting, I’d beg for more. Suddenly, maybe for the first time, his arms aren’t comforting, but caging. I watch my chest rise and drop, the black plunging neckline of my gown serving as an alluring accent to my panic. Suddenly, I don’t want him to hold me. I shoot to my feet, my hip connecting painfully with the table, only for him to jerk me back to his lap.

"I didn't give you permission to rise," he warns.

Again, in an instant, everything has changed.

He knows.

Of course, he does.

That guilt is never far away. God, how terrible have I been to have enjoyed my break from it? Tears well in my eyes, and I embrace it like a soggy blanket, the panic and shame of having made it out of the water pushing down on me again.

The shame of having enjoyed what has happened to me here. With him.

God, I’m sick.

“Pup.”

I clear my throat, my eyes on the moon casting the gentle fields that surround Master's estate in an ethereal light. It looks like one of those aesthetic which walk would you take videos I used to love on my phone. The wind moves the grass like waves, and again, there’s too much water in my lungs to scream.

“Pet…”

“No,” I blurt out before sucking much-needed air into my lungs. “Most of these happened before that.” My voice doesn’t sound like me at all, but I recognize it as the one I used after I woke up in the hospital and the days following. The one that took over when my chest felt too tight under Mom’s accusing, hateful stare. I think he asks me something else, but I don’t hear it. I wiggle my toes, remembering how uncomfortable it was still having sand between them despite being surrounded by sterile hospital walls. I washed and washed my hair, scrubbed my scalp raw in those first days, but the smell never left.

A shriek leaves my throat as my collar is jerked, slamming me against his chest, those harsh soft lips on my cheek. “Who hurt you?”

“I-I did it to myself, really.” There’s a sob working its way up my throat. “Always making mistakes.”

“You have one last chance to answer me clearly,” he warns, his breath fanning my pebbled flesh.

“M-my grandma. They were my punishment for being bad at the piano.”

Master makes an annoyed sound. “Bad at the piano? You were a prodigy .”

“I-I made a lot of mistakes.” I wipe angrily at my tears, hating them so much right now, hating that my collar is still held captive in his fist most of all. “I was bad. I’ve always been bad.”

“That’s why you stopped playing after she passed.” It’s not a question, but I answer anyway .

“My final disappointment.”

My skin prickles as he releases my collar, trusting me to stay in place. His warm, firm hands trail down the length of my long-sleeved dress until he reaches my hands. His rings are smooth where the slightly calloused palms of his hands are rough. It’s all sensation, but my vagina is too miserable to care. I can’t describe what happens to my chest when he brings my hands up, pressing his lips against them, only that it's deafening and riotous. My eyes widen on the moon outside, despite it being far too blurry with tears to see. “Good.”

“Good?”

“Saved me the trouble of having to kill her myself.”

Ice enters my veins as I wait for his next question, the same fear I felt in the bath that day slamming through my self-pity.

“Your parents, they hated you after your sister died.”

Again, not a question, but I nod all the same.

“They blamed you.”

It’s a special kind of humiliation, having your worst moments recited back to you, but he doesn’t stop, content to let me sniffle and cry in his lap.

“They let her hurt you for years, and then when you needed them most, they handed you over to her without a second thought. Is that right, Pup?”

I struggle to quiet my crying, because right now, this feels…dangerous. Because this isn’t my master. It’s Basilisk. Or maybe I was always wrong, and they really are one and the same. This line of questioning makes it harder to breathe, like a snake squeezing the life out of his food before he swallows it whole.

He presses another kiss to my scars, and despite everything, my treacherous heart flutters.

“They sold the house, you know…” Another kiss. “Bought one just outside Cape Cod. It's quaint, with lovely aqua curtains.”

I jerk away, this time making it to my feet before he can stop me, my long, ring-plaited braid slapping me in the face as I spin to face him. “Please.” It’s a plea, a simple request, really, but I know the moment it leaves my mouth, it won’t be heard in any actual sense .

I sniffle, attempting to steel myself as he stands, rising to his full, towering height. The same rage I always see in his hazel eyes meets me, but it's not that… It’s the quietness of his movements, the calculation and grace, that makes me take a step back. “Master, please ….”

“Tell me… Was it on purpose? A mercy killing? Or maybe you were jealous? Maybe you wanted all the attention.”

My face flushes, bile swirling in my gut. “Of course not. I loved her!” I take another step back, and he follows.

“Then why not settle the score, little pet ? Let your master right this wrong for you. It could look like an accident or on purpose. Hell, I’ve dedicated my life to settling a fucking score.” My lips part, his anger growing, stoking the ripe, pungent panic building in my gut. He was fine, everything was fine…

“When someone hurts you, you hurt them back, Pup. That’s how the world works!”

“That’s how your world works! Not mine.”

The laugh that leaves him makes a chill run up my spine as he takes another step closer, fully in my orbit, the one that revolves around him. I hadn’t realized how dangerous that was until right now. “If you hadn’t noticed, you are in my world now.”

God, he’s going to hurt them.

“Basilisk …”

Master stops. Whatever sick thrill he was getting out of this is wiped away by a single word, a single name . His name, and I’ve spoken it out loud for the very first time. I’ve crossed a line etched into stone, but I can't back down now, so I dig my grave endlessly deeper. “Please don’t hurt them. It was my fault.” I whisper this time because… I’m scared . Master is scaring me, stalking me, but he’s…so still. My back hits the floor-to-ceiling windows, the moon a beacon lighting his handsome face, hell erupting in his eyes.

I scream as his fist collides with the window beside my face, making the reinforced glass strain. “That you think that is exactly why I should kill them. Perhaps I should let your fucking mother feel the desperation of not being able to save someone she loves. The guilt. I’ve heard what she tells her therapist in private. Even now, with her only surviving child missing, she can’t let go of that blame she placed on you.”

My lip wobbles, embarrassment and pain… So much hurt crawls up my throat. God help me, it's choking, with nowhere to go, so I let it out. “Yes, why not dump salt on every wound? Why not harm, abuse, and torment me? That’s what I’m here for, right? Master ! I’m your fucking slave, not your girlfriend. Why do you even care?” I scream the hurt back at him, my heart slamming against my ribs.

I don’t have a chance to run as his hand jerks around the base of my braid, his leg sweeping mine out from underneath me. I scream as I fall, but he’s already dragging me. My ribs squeeze like a vice around my lungs as I thrash in his hold. My hands are panicked, trying to grab hold of anything to stop him, sending a priceless vase shattering to the floor. It takes too long to remember myself, to remember how much worse fighting makes it.

“I was going to wait to give you your gift, but now seems as appropriate a time as ever.”

His words are an omen as I force myself to calm down despite everything in me screaming to flee . He doesn’t stop me when my hands find his wrist, taking some of the pressure off my scalp as I’m pulled into the next room, the lounge meant for entertaining I’ve never actually been in. In fact, it was closed off for the past few weeks. I know I messed up, that I’m in a lot of trouble, but my chest feels so raw and ugly, I can’t seem to care.

They know I’m missing. It’s not like I hadn’t figured as much, but hearing it is…something else. Have they cried? Does Dad care?

If they know, that means there’s most certainly an investigation. My blurry, teary eyes roll toward the man towering above me. He’s safe, untouchable…right? For the first time, I realize there’s a chance, however small, I could be found, and that thought only adds to the maelstrom in my chest.

Do I want to be found?

No, I don’t think I do. That realization seems to hurt worse than any of them as I sob .

I don’t want to leave him.

My shoulder connects roughly as he drops me seconds before I’m jerked to my feet by my collar, the chain pressing painfully in on my throat. I barely feel it, my eyes glued to the grand piano. “Please,” I whisper, my hands flexing, the scrapes on my palms still raw and ugly.

His lips tickle my ear. “Be a good pet and play for your master.”

He pushes me toward the piano, making me stumble. I grapple for that place inside me I found with Grandma, the one where things didn’t hurt, the one I rediscovered at Bloom. I almost feel it clawing at the tendrils, but it slips through my fingers. I can’t find it here with my master because, God help me, I love him. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. Tears blur what remains of my vision as I turn back to look at the man I should hate, his eyes still seething, molten pools of liquid gold, forest green, and sea blue.

When I turn back to the piano, it’s not because the festering fear has lessened or that I can’t feel her looming at my back, but because I desperately need to be good for him. Regardless of why he wants me, how I got here, or how much his words hurt, I need to be good . At the center of my universe stands a terrible, dangerous man, and I can’t find it in myself to want that to change. I clear my throat, willing my voice not to break. “What should I play, Sir?”

“Your choice. Don’t use the bench.”

I take a deep breath, letting my fingertips skim the ivory keys. It’s not a hard decision to forgo classical. The less the noose around my chest tightens, the better. Blinding Lights by the Weekend piano arrangement starts slowly, giving myself time to figure it out. I’ve never played it before, but I always knew it would sound beautiful. My tears drip onto the keys as her voice booms overhead, knowing she’d hate this. The only music that should come from me is classical. Everything else was below me. So far below, it wasn’t worth my time or hers. My breath leaves me in rough pants as I play, but this time, when the emotions and anxiety hit, I don’t look for that place. I let them come. I feel each one in all its horrifying glory. I’m lost in the music when I feel him step closer, his sage and oak adding to the thrum of my pulse .

It’s when harsh lips brush my neck that I feel myself come fully alive. My master seems to exist in a world of technicolor, one I’ve always skirted the edges of but never embraced. When I'm with him, everything burns, but in the best way. With him, I’m perceived for the first time, and I'm forced to relearn everything I thought I knew about the world. About myself . With Master, I'm not a child prodigy, a failed concert pianist, Juilliard reject. I'm not the girl who killed her sister, not boring, stick-in-the-mud Chloe. I'm me . I'm Pup .

“You play beautifully, little pet.”

My very being melts at his praise, leaving me a pitiful little puddle at his feet.

“Shall we see how well you concentrate?”

My body jerks, making me miss a key as he fists the deep V neckline of my gown, ripping it until it splits just below my navel, baring me to the room.

“Tsk,” he gently admonishes, and I breathe easier, sensing the worst of his anger has passed. “I haven’t even begun to distract you yet.”

“Everything about you is distracting, Master.”

And it is—even the mind-numbing anxiety, the tang of saltwater can’t touch me here, all because for a moment he deemed fit to hoist me onto a pedestal again. Being the center of his attention is intoxicating. I don’t have a clue what I’m playing at this point, only that it sounds relatively good as I trudge through the notes a little too slowly. His hands find my pebbled nipples, rolling and kneading them with his expert touch, turning them into mauve peaks.

I moan, pressing my thighs together, wondering if I was always this fucked up, if all it ever took was a little praise, the bare minimum attention to make me forget everything else. Certainly not everything could be blamed on Bloom. My thighs are slick, and I’m panting by the time my first orgasm rips through me, Master's fingers plucking and teasing my throbbing nipples was all it took to get me there. I come violently, grinding on nothing at all as his hands leave me. The sound of the piano bench being pulled into place only barely breaks through my muted bliss.

I hear him sit, feel the press of his warm thighs as he hikes up my dress, and I’m missing notes. I’m barely trying at all.

But I’m not scared.

I’m not waiting for the ruler.

I’m waiting for him .

“Sit,” he commands.

My hands smash the keys as I do, gasping and wiggling until I line him up enough to sink down onto his cock. Despite how many times he has taken me, his girth always stretches me in the most wonderful way. I grind my pulsing core, burying him to the hilt inside me before his punishing grip captures my waist, forcing me to still. “Play.”

Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen comes next, and my God, he won’t let me move. Tears are filling my eyes again, but for another ridiculous reason—not that it should surprise anyone. Master has no idea; he probably wouldn’t even care.

This is my favorite song.

I know the notes and words by heart. It was the only song I’d ever listened to on purpose, hummed along with inside my head.

He throbs inside me, my core slickening his thighs.

I don’t mind. I’ll play it for you, Master, because maybe somewhere else, in a different place, on a different night, you might have wanted to know.

His kisses taunt me, but I know better than to move. My body is thrumming, begging for friction. He gives me none. Instead, he keeps me like that, desperate, stretched, and filled until the song ends.

“You’re not bad , Pup. You were never bad.” He whispers it against my skin, pushing deeper into me before gently, slowly, grinding my core down on him with his iron grip on my hips. “And you’re right, I shouldn’t care. You are my slave.”

My heart flutters, a warmth filling my chest that has nothing to do with his cock being lodged inside me.

I whimper as he stands, making my hands slap down on the keys again, forcing me to bend forward.

“I shouldn’t care, Pup.”

But…

His hand recaptures my braid as he pulls himself out to the tip. “I really shouldn’t fucking care.”

Say it.

Tell me you do.

I scream as he slams back in, using my hair as leverage until his hand releases my braid, coming around to circle and tease my reddened nipples as he fucks me. “You’re a good girl. My good girl. Only mine. I can’t help that I want to protect you.”

“Yes, Sir,” I moan, bending further until my cheek hits the keys, my hand dipping between my legs to spread my pussy the way he likes.

“Fuck, Pup.”

“I like it,” I gasp, my knees threatening to buckle as he lightly pinches my clit before releasing it, coming up to palm my ass.

“Like what? Being my little cock whore?”

“Y-yes, Master. I like being your cock whore.” My tears bubble over, pleasure bracketing me. “I like being your good little cock whore.”

“Fucking hell.” He groans before slipping his fingers down, gathering up my arousal. I know what he’s going to do before he does it, but still, anticipation fills me. I force myself to relax for the intrusion, my climax on the edge of implosion. I turn, looking over my shoulder at him, his hair messy and unkept, those calamitous hazel eyes on my face as his finger finds my puckered hole. He stills long enough to ease his way inside, a smirk on his lips when I cry out. That’s my only warning, a single tilt of his lips, before he works another finger inside. Then, he fucks me, his fingers pushing when his cock pulls. He takes me punishingly, but we both know this is a reward, his praises settling in my gut like a swarm of butterflies as he pushes me toward oblivion.

“You like when I finger your tiny hole, don’t you, Pup?”

“Yes,” I gasp. “More.”

“Suck a greedy little thing.” He teases me gently, working another finger inside me as he fucks my cunt. I’m filled wonderfully as he massages deep, stroking and manipulating, manipulating my body in a way only he can. White spots dot my vision as I come apart, screaming out my climax as that gush leaves me again, coating Master and the piano bench. I’m lost to him, to the world, until he jerks me back, his fingers leaving my ass to make way for his cock. I scream again—not because of the ripping I had gotten used to when this hole was used, but because of the unexpected pleasure. Master sinks into my ass, his hand working my clit as he comes, filling me up…back there. My face flushes as he jerks another climax from me.

“Who owns you?”

I hear his question as he pulls out of my ass, but my brain isn’t caught up yet.

“Who owns you?”

“Y-You, Master.”

“Then if I say you’re good, you’re good . Nobody else matters, not anymore.”

I pick myself up off the keys, wiping at the spit that found the corner of my mouth as my tears double down, my heart beating a thousand miles per hour as I nod. It’s not easy to face him, not with something…dangerous, altering on the tip of my tongue, but I do. My bottom aches beautifully as I slam my forehead against his chest, hiding my face. “I love you,” I whisper. My cheeks are so hot, I feel feverish.

The silence that follows doesn’t bother me as I sniffle, snuggling my head harder into his chest before pulling back and smiling up at him. I want him to know I mean it, no matter what.

Master doesn’t meet my eyes, his strong jaw clenched. “I don’t deserve it.”

My brows knit together, my nails pricking my wrapped palms. But the moment I open my mouth to argue, my master is ready. He snags my jaw, his thumb demanding entry to my mouth before he presses down on my tongue, keeping me silent. His eyes leave my flushed, teary face as he glares toward the door. “Your friend is coming to visit you. It seems she’s refusing to let her husband release valuable information to me otherwise.”

I pause, confusion filling me for an instant. This man gives me so much whiplash, I don’t think I’ll ever recover.

Mahari!

I try to ask when, but of course, the sound is odd. Master understands either way.

He releases my tongue, heading for the wide, arched door of the room. “Tomorrow. Don’t make me jealous, pet .”

“Yes, Sir,” I breathe, pressing my palms into my frenzied heart.