24. To own is to…. Harm
Chapter twenty-four
To own is to…. Harm
High by Stephen Sanchez
“ H e’s burning the fucking sauce!” Gerald, the house chef, roars behind me at the TV in the kitchen. My own eyes are glued to the screen as the contestants of the cooking show we’ve been watching scurry about the state-of-the-art kitchen.
It’s been a week and a half since Mahari and Andres left, and since then, I’ve been given limited TV privileges. It’s almost surreal how life moves on without you, like getting a glimpse of your own death. Sure, people will mourn, they’ll cry and grieve, but eventually, your things are boxed up. They’re sold or moved into a dusty crawlspace. They tuck your obituary pamphlet the funeral home gave them away for safekeeping, not knowing that’s the last time they’ll ever pull it out. Maybe they’ll think of you, wondering if you’re in a better place, but like grief, it will only come in waves. The world moved on just fine without Chloe Tyson in it.
I’m okay with that .
Relieved, even.
There’s no guilt now when the thought of going home, of being saved, only brings tears and mind-razing anxiety. There's no guilt when the idea of losing Master lodges a lump deep in my throat, choking me until I’m again at his side, reassuring myself my situation isn’t changing, that I’m needed…
That I’m good enough to be kept.
Worthy of his affections, no matter how hot and cold they’ve been lately. Work for him has been more demanding than ever; even now, a representative of the House of Ragnar has been in there all day. The family head was apparently too busy to meet; that, or he didn’t want to come. After all, he’s the man whose son was killed…for me. The thought of the man’s face brings a cold, sickening sweat, and suddenly, the smells of dinner around me and the food on screen are no longer appetizing. I swallow past the feeling of spittle gathering in my mouth, a precursor of vomit as I dump my dream-sickle in the trash, rinsing my bowl. It’s almost six. Surely, their meeting is done by now.
I walk past the lounge, eyeballing the piano that has remained untouched since Mahari and Andres left. The idea of playing here isn’t the nail-biting, sanity-unraveling thing it once was, but I have no desire to either way, and Master doesn’t push it. I think he couldn't care less about my wasted talent. There’s something freeing about that. I pad up the stairway, peeking out the large windows that overlook the front drive, confirming the absence of Stuart’s car. That man still hates me every bit as much as he did the day I was bought. With his constant, sulking presence, his whispering in Sir’s ear, we’re on a fast track to the feeling being mutual.
I press my ear to his heavy office doors, despite knowing I won’t hear anything on the other side. My suddenly clammy hands smooth down my royal blue babydoll dress. He said to come get him if I need anything.
Attention counts as something I need.
Right?
I could ask to use the paging system, but I don’t feel like wandering the estate looking for Henrietta, and if Stuart comes back and sees me trying to interrupt, he’ll be angry.
I steel myself, giving the door a slight knock before cracking it enough to listen to Master's command.
“Come in.”
I keep my eyes glued to the hardwood as I walk across the wide room; the fireplace remains cold and unused today, it's certainly getting warm enough outside. He lights it for my benefit most days, anyway.
“Is there something you needed, Pup?”
I shake my head, shifting on my feet. I can feel the eyes of the other man as he bristles at my interruption. Uncertainty slams me as I fidget with my hands. Sir signals for me to take my position beside him, relief filling me.
It doesn’t last long.
The longer their conversations continue, the more the other man makes clear his frustration. “Let’s get to the fucking point, Basilisk. You need backing, capital backing, from our house.”
“I need neither backing nor capital. This is merely a formality to smooth over bad blood; you never know what the future holds. Alliances are always shifting. Things come up—"
“That sounds a lot like a fucking threat,” the man sneers, and suddenly, I’m breathing a little harder, my body tensing against Sir’s leg despite his petting warming my skin from the inside.
Master laughs, but it’s not a cheerful sound. It’s a warning, all I need to hear to bury my head deeper into his thigh as his hand stills, leaving my head. “Careful. It seems the younger generation has long forgotten who they’re speaking to.”
The man adjusts in his seat, heeding the warning, at least momentarily. “I have an issue doing business in front of her .” Sir is still and deadly silent as the man continues, “You shot one of our fucking own over a goddamn whore?” The man stands abruptly, slamming his hands on Master's desk, but the man beside me doesn’t so much as move a muscle.
“He helped himself to her cunt, sure, but to fucking shoot him? Then waltz her fucking ass in here! The disrespect you show me and my house! The rumors about you speak of brutality, but not fucking stupidity!”
I flinch with each word, but my master doesn’t. I need to go.
God, I hope he’s not mad at me.
I quickly strand, nodding to Sir in dismissal, but I’m not even turned before he speaks again, his eyes on the fuming man I can’t bring myself to look at. “You are not dismissed. Come.”
Sir pats his lap, and my chest is heaving.
“If you were seriously interested in smoothing over bad blood, you’d accept our eye-for-eye call we made months ago!”
Eye for eye.
Oh God. They want to kill me.
Of course they do, stupid.
Anxiety rattles me as I climb into Master's lap, straddling him, burying my face in his neck. I’m not remembering my training, not sitting pretty, or displaying myself properly. I’m hiding, cowering in his arms.
“The infamous Basilisk protecting a fucking cunny!” The man fumes, yelling so loud, tears well in my eyes.
“Chloe, are you dull? Do it better! You’re wasting my time!”
“Do not embarrass me tonight, Chloe!”
“Chloe!”
“You killed my fucking baby!”
“You let her die!”
An iron band is looped around my chest, squeezing it, the taste of saltwater on my tongue. The yelling, God, I can’t take the yelling. I’m shaking now against the strong and stoic man underneath me.
I sputter, coughing up saltwater as the men punch at my chest. It feels like they’re killing me. They’re going to kill me. I cough again before being jerked to my side, someone slapping my back hard enough for it to echo in my fluid-filled ears. My eye hurts so badly? Why can’t I open it?
“My sister…” I croak. “Where—"
“You were alone.” The panicked voice of one of the men cuts in. “Fucking hell, call the coast guard! You’re a kid! What the fuck were you doing way out here in the middle of the night?”
“Renee,” I wheeze.
“Your name is Renee. Tell them her name is Renee. What’s your last name, kid?”
The man keeps yelling, barely taking a breath as Sir’s lips find my ear. “Cover your ears, baby.”
My hands are clammy as I obey, clamping them over my ears. Finally, Master shifts underneath me. The movement is so practiced and fluid, neither me nor the other man recognize what’s happening before it's done, the shot deafening. The ringing that follows is jarring as I fight against Master’s hold, trying to twist to see what he’s done. It’s his voice that cuts above everything, halting my wheezing panic. “Good girl, you’re alright. I’ve got you. Keep your head down, okay? If you open your eyes, I will cane that beautiful body of yours, understand?”
I nod, panting as he gently puts me in his high-backed office chair, digging around in his drawer. The sounds are so mundane next to the wounded man’s screaming and cursing. Master makes quick work of placing the headphones over my ears, turning on whatever he was last listening to.
Hallelujah . Played halfway through.
If my heart could warm right now, it would.
I hear him as he discards his suit jacket, draping it on my shoulders, rolling his sleeves up over his heavily tattooed corded arms. I don’t hear any reprimand he may give me as he puts his hand over the back of my head, pushing my head down to the table with a warning squeeze.
Gasping for breath, the varnish on his desk fogging, I strain to hear the sound of flesh meeting flesh amidst the rising music. I can’t help it; God, I can’t help but look. I lift my head, just a little, the guise of sneaking a look dropping away when the bloody form of the man comes into view. Hallelujah loops again as my mouth drops open in shock. Master’s hand is wrapped around the man’s tie as he strikes him with such force, the man’s head bounces unnaturally. The butt of the gun is soaked and sopping, the light gray of Sir’s dress shirt decorated with blood. I watch as he grunts, his forearms flexing with each unyielding strike. His firm jaw is speckled with blood as it clenches, that quiet rage now explosive and booming in his eyes. Master doesn’t speak, no cursing or yelling as he beats the man extracting his pound of flesh as what was once a human face deteriorates. Cheekbones are swollen, pushing into eye sockets, and God, he’s going to kill him.
“Sir!”
He halts the battering of the man long enough to glance at me from the corner of his eye. Master is panting, excluding masculine violence, and again, I find there are few depths I won’t sink to for this man. I press my thighs together, morbidly enamored and terrified as he drops the man, letting him crumble to the floor as he walks over to the intercom button on the desk in front of me.
I reach up, tugging down the headphones just as Henrietta’s voice comes through. “How can I help you, Sir?”
His rapturous golden hazel eyes are on me when he speaks.
“Please notify Stuart that the meeting did not go well. I have a gift I want delivered to Ragnar with my sincerest regards by morning.”
“Yes, Sir.”
My chest is heaving still, but now, shameful arousal mottles the shock and panic. He looks…crushingly handsome, as messy as he is. His wavy hair he’d slicked back today is undone, hanging over his forehead into his eyes. “You disobeyed me.”
“I was worried.”
“For him?”
My breath hitches as he rounds the desk, stalking me. “For you.”
“ Your captor .”
The smell of him is only slightly lessened by the tang of gore. I have well and truly lost any grasp I had on my remaining sanity as he towers over me. “My Master.”
“The man who defiles and abuses you.”
“You care for me. You make me feel…” I pause, swallowing hard as my mouth waters. I want him, just like this, sickeningly. I need him .
“I make you feel what, pet?”
“Needy and…small.” He watches me with darkened eyes as I speak, like I’m the only thing in the universe worth listening to. “Adored and cared for… Loved. You make me feel special, Sir.”
“You aren’t.”
“I don’t believe you.” I breathe out as he leans over, caging me against the back of the chair. It’s almost funny how tall, how imposing he looks when he sits here, compared to how tiny I feel in his seat.
He shakes his head. “You're fucking crazy, Pup. I think it's rubbing off on me."
"Maybe it's you who rubbed off on me."
Something snaps.
Like a damn breaking.
A nebula imploding on itself.
The crescendo, and it happens all at once.
His mouth captures mine in a brutally claiming kiss, ripping the breath from my lungs. He takes me and takes hard. For a moment, I don’t respond, shock rolling through me until his tongue mingles with mine. Not coaxing, but demanding. God, I open, because I’d give this man anything.
My love.
My trust.
My life, he’d need only to ask.
I melt against him as I’m jerked up out of the chair, only vaguely aware of him swiping everything from the top of it. His suit jacket falls around my waist as he wrenches my legs open, ripping through the underwear I was permitted to wear today with lethal efficiency. There's no working me up, no stretching me with his fingers or foreplay. I don’t need it. My body was made to be owned, to be abused and contorted by him. I was built, brick by agonizing brick, to be my master's perfect little fucktoy, to well and truly be used by him.
To match him, blow for blow.
He enters me with one brutal thrust, sinking to the hilt so hard and fast, my vision blacks. I would scream if I could, but the sound comes without substance, my mouth gaping against his as my body adjusts to his girth.
“You’re driving me fucking insane. Every waking moment, I’m consumed by the thought of you, and not even my fucking dreams offer respite. Every day, I’m plagued with fucking rage because I do not want you and want nothing other than you. It's fucking maddening, Pup.”
“Give it to me, then. Please. Oh, God,” I gasp as he rolls his hips grinding against my clit, and I’m stretched, I’m so full, my breath only comes in tiny gasps. “Give me your rage. I can take it.”
His eyes darken as he leans back, taking in the sight of me as he pulls out to the tip, barely bobbing it in and out of my clenching, soaked cunt. It’s a chance, an opportunity to take it back. My hands find his shoulders as I slam him back inside me, my head canting back as he picks up his rhythm, fucking me on his desk.
My body is all nerves as he works me over, his lips capturing mine again. Master fucks me daily, in all manner of ways. Never has he kissed me.
Never.
His hand knots in my hair, angling my head as his swollen cock stretches my core, my walls clamping and spazzing with each thrust. His free hand jerks me over to the ledge of the desk, dipping between us as he gathers up my arousal. My breath hitches as his thumb finds my puckered hole, pressing inside it with the same brutal efficiency. I bow, screaming out my orgasm as it jerks its way through me, but of course, he doesn’t stop there.
“There you go, baby. You scream so pretty.”
“Yes,” I groan.
“You want more? Should I stench your ass with my cock?’
“Please, Sir.”
With that, he jerks out of me, angling my hips up as the tip of his soaked angry cock presses against my asshole. My core is throbbing, still clamping and spasming around nothing, desperate to be filled again. I whimper as he slips the head of his cock in, my body immediately tensing as he pushes in further. “Relax your fucking ass, or I’ll choke you until you’re unconscious and take it then,” he warns.
“Yes. ”
“Play with your clit, baby.”
“My hand snaps down to work myself over, and God, I’m vibrating. Quickly, my body’s resistance subsides, whimpering as he slips into me, the overwhelming fullness making it hard to breathe, but still, I want more. I need more, and my master knows it.
“Poor Pup needs her little cockhole filled, doesn’t she? Such a greedy, whimpering mess you are.”
And I am, sobbing, begging, desperate as he kisses me again. Suddenly, he can’t get enough. When he groans against my mouth, I gush, my arousal slickening everything.
“I’m going to come again,” I yelp, leaning into that burning, taunting pull deep in my belly. It's only then that I see what Master intends to fill me with, but I’m too far gone to care.
He tsks. “Not until I work this inside of you.”
The oddly shaped, bulbous end of Master's wax seal is cold as it's pressed against me. A fleeting moment of apprehension fills me at the palm-sized object being slowly pushed against my entrance, even as my orgasm is looming overhead. His cock throbs deep, jerking in my tight hole as he forces himself to still, slowly spinning and twisting, manipulating the blub as he pushes and pleasures.
I cry out, my body thrumming. “It won’t fit. It’s too big, please.”
“Hush, baby. Breathe and bear down when I say, understand?”
Fuck, it hurts. I’m so full, so stretched. I can’t speak, can’t take it as he twists the seal again, pushing it deeper. My eyes widen as I look down, a choked sound leaving me because it’s not even halfway inside me. Master pauses, his breath heaving with the effort to stay still. “Fuck, I can already feel it pressing on my cock.”
The words leave him in a gruff moan, and it's nearly my undoing. I watch in part horror, part fascination as I gush, my cum slickening the bulb. The pleasure is long past bordering on pain as he makes a sound of approval. “Now, bear down for me. There you go, good girl.”
I do, whimpers and tears coating my cheek as my core and ass stretch and burn. I’m so full. God, I’m so full. I can’t. I’m sobbing, my body trembling as I open my mouth to ask—no, beg —Master to take it back out, but he leans forward, sucking my nipple into his mouth, and my body gives. My core sucks the bulbous end inside me, the seal itself sitting just outside my core, sporting the twin rifles and their serpentine counterparts.
Master releases my nipple, giving me a moment to adjust before he twists the bulb inside me, leaning back to appreciate his work. “Look how pretty you are, how perfect. My perfect girl.” I scream, my voice going hoarse as a violent climax rips through me.
“Fuck, Pup, there you go.”
I spurt, the gushing fluid soaking us both as he groans.
Master doesn’t move, knowing I’m too filled for that, his thumb finding my clit instead. I whimper frantically, trying to dislodge his hands, only to be slammed into the desk. “I’ve not said you’re done.”
“I can’t,” I sob. “It’s too much. I want to stop now.”
“Poor Pup. Her cunt feels too good, doesn’t it?”
I nod, pleading with my eyes for him to stop.
He smirks, working my clit with a fervor that makes me see stars as he forces another orgasm out of me. Only then does he gently, slowly work his cock out of my ass, ordering me to stay put as he rifles through his chest, pulling out sanitary wipes, giving his twitching reddened cock a quick wipe before skidding me across the desk. “Let your head hang. I’m going to fuck your throat now.”
I can only whimper.
“Keep those legs wide so I can see your pretty stretched cunt, or you’ll keep the seal inside you during your caning.”
He’s a bloody mess, and I assume now so am I, but I’m too exhausted to care. I struggle to keep my eyes open as I open my mouth, pushing my tongue flat to welcome him in. If his cock was stretching in my ass, it’s suffocating when he slams it down my throat. I’m spent, at his mercy as he fucks my throat, pulling out long enough to let me gasp, only to shove back again. I’m dirty, disgusting, even, and worshipped. My head swims with praise and pleasure as he stiffens, jerking with his release as his cum shoots down the back of my throat. I swallow, sputtering slightly, but he doesn’t let up, choking me until he’s finished. When he pops free, he stands back, tucking himself back into his pants, and I watch him with half-lidded eyes.
Something foreign crosses his face, something almost akin to shock. It’s there for a fleeting moment before his eyes narrow on me, his fist coming up to absently rub at his chest. “I—"
The doors behind him slam open, Stuart's reddened face barging through. His eyes widen on the scene before him. Suddenly, the indifference is back, my master firmly back in place as he glances over his shoulder at the man. “I suggest you keep your eyes on the floor. He’s the only mess I require your help with.”
Stuart is fuming as he nods. “Yes, Sir. I’ll be back up with the cleaners shortly.”
Master's attention is on me again, but the look his prickly second in command gives me is enough to wipe the sleep from my face, dread sinking low in my belly. The sensation is easy enough to ignore as Master collects me from his desk, bundling me against his chest in a way that makes me feel so tiny in his arms. “May I have a bath this time, Sir?”
“It depends.”
I pause, turning my eyes toward him as he walks us down the hall, not to my bathroom but his bedroom. “…. on what?”
“How well you take your caning.”
“Master! I can’t—"
His arms tighten on me in warning. “You get six on each thigh. One more word, the seal stays in, and I cane your ass instead,” he warns, placing me on my feet and instructing me to lift my hands above my head. I frown but remain quiet, watching as he takes advantage of the elaborate restraint system quipped to his bed, one that was formally fitted to mine. We long ago discovered I cannot keep my hands out of the way during punishments. He instructs me to squat, blush coloring my cheeks as I obey, bearing down until the seal slips out of me. I do my best to ignore the fluid that follows it. Dying of embarrassment would be the topping on a very shitty cake. My hands are chained above my head, my legs shaking with exhaustion.
He canes me, forcing me to count each hit until I’m trembling, only the restraints holding my weight, sobs wreaking my chest.
“I am not a good man, Pup. I had hoped to shield you from the worst of it,” he whispers, stroking me adoringly as I sob. “It was brutality. I regret not asking you to leave the room.”
“I didn’t mind. Truly, it didn’t bother me too much,” I assure him, trying to ease my crying as he undoes my restraints.
My breath hitches in my chest as he tucks me into his, holding me tightly. “Then I am even more sorry.” He says it under his breath before lifting me into his arms and carrying me into the bathroom.