11. To own is to…Direct
Chapter eleven
To own is to…Direct
Bow by Reyan Heartly
H e’s going to kill me.
His hand is bruising on my neck, and already, my head goes light. Dizziness makes the room spin as he squeezes, his eyes brimming with lethal anger. He’s squeezing my throat, but my breath continues in harsh pants. It doesn’t bring with it the numb, shattering fear the water did, no visions of my sister slipping from my fingertips. Master continues his conversation on the phone, the woman oblivious to my weakening struggle underneath him. My help goes unheard. I’m kept in limbo, my mind floating away, darkness crowding my vision before he eases his grip, jerking me back to the present. I have no idea how long they speak, only that his molten eyes never leave mine. When I’m ripped back into my body a third time, my panicked fighting leaves me, and my weakening hands grip his dress shirt, patting, stroking, begging.
He releases me but makes no move to back away from where he hovers over me. “ Bad dog . ”
I whimper, my face beat red and flushed, his words needling my chest.
I want to go home.
I think I must say as much out loud, but I can’t be sure. I’m not sure where he gets the marker from. I don’t even see it, so much as smell the sharp chemical scent of permanent marker.
“Remain still or I’ll choke you again. Understand?”
“Yes, Master,” I pant. My hands finally drop free from his shirt, slamming limply onto the wood floors as he brings the marker to my chest. It tickles against my flushed skin as he pens something there, jerking his forgotten phone from the armchair and pointing it at me. Master’s polished shoes toe my legs apart, making them fall open, exposing my core to him, to his camera, before the sound of a shudder fills the otherwise quiet room. When he turns the camera toward me, what were silently falling tears pick up.
I hate it.
The word bad is beautifully penned across my chest in all caps, and suddenly, I’m that little girl again, my bloody hands staining ivory keys. I barely pay any mind to the state of the rest of me, my core open and exposed to the camera, my neck an angry shade of red. I’m bad . The knowledge swirls in my gut, upturning the heavy food settled there, when Master finally pulls the phone away, recapping the marker. All these years, it’s the reason I’ve stayed behind, removed from everyone around me. The constant anxiety, shame, and fear I’d never been able or put my finger on… this is it.
I’ve always been bad.
“On your knees.”
My limbs feel heavy, like they’re made of stone, but I comply, my tears dripping onto my thighs.
“When I do this,” he flattens his hand, palm toward the ground in the same gesture from moments ago, “it is a warning. I suggest you heed it next time.”
“Yes, Sir. I-I –“ hiccup. “I-I’m sorry.” God, you’re pathetic, Chloe.
He sighs again, kneeling in front of me with a perturbed look on his face. My breath hitches as he takes my chin, angling my head up toward him. His perusal heats my already-burning cheeks, and he simply watches, watches me choke back my sobs as snot threatens to run from my nose until something of a smirk, if you can call it that, fills the angled planes of his face. “Save your tears, pet. Your punishment is far from over.”
I watch, dread filling my gut as he turns to a locked vanity in the bedroom, typing in a few numbers before the door pops open with a whoosh, displaying all manner of horrible-looking things. When his hand clasps around a length of chain, my chin wobbles as my teeth dig into my bottom lip. I break my position, letting my forearms rest on the floor so I can cover my head.
I wait for the bite of metal striking flesh.
Instead, I feel a tickle. The length of cold metal runs up my spine, making me shiver.
He does it again, running the thick chain up and down, teasing me. His movement is so fast, I don’t even realize what he has done until the back of my collar is yanked. Master jerks me brutally into my presenting position. The heavy chain he’s holding fastens to my collar with a resounding click. My brain is reeling, my body still waiting to be whipped, my mind ready to slip into a place where I can take it, at least in the beginning. I watch as he wraps the chain around his hand, making the veins seem even more pronounced.
Then, I catch up.
The chain goes taut as he pats his thigh, urging me to follow. It’s a leash. I shouldn’t feel relief in that, but I do either way. My legs are wobbly as I work to stand. He lets me reach my full height before jerking me roughly into him, his hand now closer to my collar. He directs me down with a swift and violent jerk. Pain flares in my back as I crash into the floor. “Are you a human, or are you a dog?”
“A dog,” I sob.
“Then the best place for you is at your master's feet.”
I crawl behind him as he leads me outside the doors to my room, down the wide, lavishly decorated hall. My eyes scan everything as we pass, my tears slowly drying on puffy cheeks. I want to wipe them, to clear the snot I keep sucking back into my nose, but I don’t dare. When the doors to what I recognize as Master’s office come into view, my teeth score my inner cheek, keeping my anxiety at bay. If I can take it out on the tender flesh there, I can control whatever is about to happen to me, as if that flesh held brutally between my teeth is all I have left in the world. Once we’re stopped, I ease back on my bruising knees into my presenting position, watching his toned muscles flex and pull underneath his tailored dress shirt as he bends, unwrapping the end of my leash from his hand to secure it to some kind of hooked brace on the floor.
Shame swathes me as a nicely dressed woman starts down the hall, a cleaning caddy in her hands. “Oh Sir, my apologies. Should I come back later?”
“Yes.”
She nods as Master makes another gesture, one I’m assuming means I should stand. I do, keeping my eyes averted, my chain scraping across the edges of the hardwood. What’s not covered by the trillion-mile-long hallway runner, that is. The calculated and assured steps that could only belong to him fade as he heads back down the hall.
My eyes stayed glued to the now humble length of chain in the wide hallway landing before flicking to the banister. I know there’s not enough length to hang myself with. That would be a huge oversight on his part. He doesn’t strike me as the type of man who makes mistakes like that, so I resist the urge to even try. I wouldn’t have the balls to fling myself off the edge, anyway. I lost count of how many times I’ve brought myself to the cusp, only to chicken out, how many times I’ve bought the razors, even brought them to my wrist. How many times I’ve tasted the bitter pills in my mouth, only to shove my fingers down my throat.
I don’t want to live, but I lack the bravery required to die.
I’m scared of what awaits me.
Scared to face what I’ve done.
None of my attempts left any marks, but she did. I shut my right eye, looking over the banister at the enormous chandelier through the blurry vision in my left.
My nails prick my palm, the murky water lapping at the edges of my throat.
“What are you doing?” Master asks .
I open my good eye, turning to stare at his lips, not his eyes. My blonde hair curtains my face as I give him a teary slight smile. I know what to do, what’s expected of me. I was trained by the best, right? Whatever punishment he’s going to inflict on me, perhaps I could lessen the blow. Keep sweet.
Chloe Tyson has never been anything but.
“Looking through my bad eye, Master.”
His brows furrow in the middle, just a bit, and I’m surprised by how badly I want to smooth my thumb over the lines. “Why?”
“It helps to put things into perspective, despite me not being able to see much of anything.”
I keep the emotion out of my voice, but there’s little I can do about my tears.
He holds out a wall of semi-sheer cloth that I quickly realize is a simple emerald dress, one to match the decor. “There will be guests over for business shortly. I won’t have you on display out here.”
I nod, although the concept of modesty almost makes me laugh. I turn my back to him so he can help me get my arms into the sleeves, putting the button-up dress on me like a jacket. My lips part as he steps closer, pressing his chest to my back. Wavy auburn hair tickles my cheek while his fingers skim the length of the dress. My skin prickles, nipples pulling taut as he runs them past the valley of my small breasts, slowly, painstakingly so, until he reaches the hemline that stops just below my knees. I inhale him, letting myself sag into the affectionate gesture despite the madness of it. Sir takes his time; his skilled fingers brush my pebbled skin with each button. When he’s done, I gasp as he suddenly hikes up the dress, exposing me. His fingers prod my sex, discovering the shameful wetness there, coating his fingers in it. “Does this hurt?”
My mouth is still hanging open in surprise as he forces my legs apart, a hiss escaping my throat as he eases two long fingers in. “Yes, Master.”
He makes an appraising sound before he extracts them gently, coming up to swirl my arousal around my clit. “And this? Do you hurt here?”
“No,” I breathe out, lying without a second thought, pressing into him, wanting— no, needing —his touch.
I freeze as his hand suddenly tightens around my collar, making it dig into my throat. “Try that again.”
“I-It’s a little tender, Sir, but-“
My words cut off abruptly as he leaves me, taking his scathing warmth with him. I can’t remember the last time someone touched me that… affectionately , if ever. It feels like being swaddled by the sun before being shoved out in the rain.
I’m still reeling when he leans against the far wall, crossing his broad arms, making the black dress shirt strain against toned muscles. “Touch yourself.”
My eyes scan the hall again, as if someone will pop out, and again, I’m struck with how ridiculous that is as I hike up the dress. My fingers gently gather up the arousal coating my slit. I watch him, and he watches me intently. For a moment, I’m the only thing in the universe. I struggle at first, trying to find that same sweet spot he had. It doesn’t take me too long. Soon enough, my head knocks back with pleasure, earning me a sharp, “Pup!”
My eyes fly open, but I don’t stop working my clit, my lips parting in little gasps.
“Eyes on me.”
“Yes, Master.” My cheeks flush as I grind into my hand. It feels good, so damn good, and I’m racing toward the finish line. I keep my eyes on him, because maybe this isn’t my hand. Maybe it’s his. It’s so screwed up, but my lower belly feels hot and tight. Everything is building into a crescendo, and I’m desperate for the release that’s soon to follow. He stalks toward me, gently gathering the length of my chain in his hand, a devastating, sinister smirk on his handsome face. That build quickens, matching the pace of my fingers as I play with myself.
I’m there.
Right there.
God, I’m so embarrassed, but somehow, the embarrassment only makes it…more.
A scream leaves me as I’m suddenly jerked to the floor, crashing against it with brutal force. Master looms above me, his head tilted to the side. “Oh, poor Pup. You were about to come, weren’t you?”
I stare up at him in shock, gently rolling out my palms and shoulder that took the brunt of the impact. “Yes, Sir.”
He releases the chain, letting it crash to the floor in front of me. “Start again.”
I frown as I get back to my feet carefully, waiting for another sudden whip of violence. Retaking my place against the wall, I’m slower this time as my fingers drift past my breasts to my core, but I’m wetter than before.
I want that burning, sharp stretch before my body adjusts, the pain before I relent.
I spread my legs, coating my fingers so I can fuck myself with them, tenderness be damned, when Master's voice cuts through my pleasure-filled haze like a whip made of honey and sex. “Put your fingers inside yourself, and I break them. Understand?”
“Yes,” I groan, frowning at the floor because I’m scared to aim it at him. I’m terrified, actually, but my body doesn’t care. My toes curl as I go back to work on my puffy clit, making a frustrated sound.
“Don’t be a brat. Did you really think you weren’t going to be punished for that little stunt you pulled back there?”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” I moan. This is a stupid punishment.
I fight to keep a secret little smile off my face, but I don’t think it works, judging by the huff that comes from the other side of the hall. Remembering my order to keep my eyes on the handsome man, I open them, grinding my hips down into my palm as pleasure swathes and pulls at me, lulling me into a wonton bliss. The veins that stand out on the backs of his palms flex as he runs his hand over his daunting erection, adjusting it in his slacks. That fact that I can make a man who looks like him feel aroused is…flattering. Not that I should be feeling flattered by the man who bought me with the purpose of raping and holding me against my will.
But you are flattered, aren’t you, Chloe?
My flush spreads down to my neck as I avert my eyes. My arousal reaches supernova levels, my breaths growing rushed and heavy.
“Are you embarrassed, Pup?”
“Y-yes, Master,” I moan, that question thrusting me to the precipice. This time, when he grabs the chain, I notice, still strumming away at my clit like it’s an overture when he jerks it. I yelp, crashing against the floor again, hissing in pain when my knees knock roughly against it. Frustration overwhelms me, but with it comes determination.
“Only good dogs get to come, pet. You’ve been a bad dog.”
Tears fill my eyes as I look up at him, my mouth opening and closing before I tilt my knees together, hiding my soaked core from him in my sprawled position. I feel so small and stupid, my core still soaked and throbbing.
“Start again.”
He’s blurry as I stand, and this time when I touch my tender clit, it’s pleasure, sure, but edged with pain. Still, it does nothing to hinder what’s building inside me, nor does the salted wound nagging at my chest. I work my clit harder, faster, desperate to take what he’s depriving me of. Soon, my core clenches, making me squeal, a sound I didn’t know I could make. His head tilts again, the smirk gone. I watch his hand tighten on my chain, but when he jerks, I work myself harder, trying to beat him to it.
I don’t.
I slam into the floor, crying out in frustration. “Master!” As soon as it leaves my mouth, I suck in a sharp breath, my head slamming to the ground. Anxiety is an instant and palpable thing, making sweat bud along my hairline.
But there’s no strike; he doesn’t even move.
“Yes, dog? Something to say?”
“No, Sir,” I breathe, grateful he doesn't kick or batter me.
“Good. Again.”
We repeat this until I can no longer stand, until my wet, blurry eyes are overflowing with tears and I’m sobbing, a pitiful, flushed, needy mess on the floor. Each strum is painful, too much and not at all enough, but still, I’m desperate to complete myself. My face presses into the cold hardwood as I hold my cramping hand still, humping the back of it like a deranged dog .
“You look so pathetic down there, humping your own hand like that. It’s a pity you’re such a bad pet. ”
I sob. It has been hours, the muscles in my lower belly straining. “Master…please. I hurt .”
I’m covered in my own spit, tears, and arousal, lost to the pleasure, the pain. The soul-bending need won’t end, something shattering teetering on the edge, and each time it looms closer, I realize this isn’t a stupid punishment at all.
I want to be good. I want to earn this.
“Sir, the gentlemen from House Ragnar are here.”
I ignore the voice, screaming out in agony as my chain is yanked again. This time, I don’t stop; I can’t I need this. I can’t. I can’t.
Fucking hell, I can’t.
Master's hand wraps around the back of my collar, jerking me up off the floor as I cry out. I don’t try to stand on my own. I’m beyond exhausted, letting his grip on my collar support most of my weight, despite the painful and terrifying way it cuts into my neck.
“Serve some drinks and tell them I’ll be ready for them shortly.”
“Yes, Sir,” the woman replies as he lets me crumple back to the floor. My body is convulsing, my brain numb as I cry.
His footsteps leave, but I barely hear it, pressing my thighs together tightly. I barely notice it when I start grinding them, rolling onto my stomach to fuck myself against the floor.
Something soft thuds a little bit away from me, the gush of air cooling my heated skin as I rub myself against the decorative runner. The friction is bliss and hell all in one.
“Do you need to use the bathroom?”
“No,” I moan.
Master plucks me up from the ground, cradling me to his chest. I don’t open my eyes as I’m laid gently down on some sort of plush bedding. It’s only when he rolls me to my back, spreading my legs wide, that I look. My tears abruptly stop at the prospect of release. He fastens a cuff to my ankle instead, reverently, taking his time. I watch, sniffling as he does the same to my other leg, using his hand to lift the bar attaching the two leg restraints, running a single finger over my oversensitive core. I hiss, trying to close my legs. He doesn’t like that.
“You will never shy away from my touch, even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts. Understand?”
"Yes, M—" The hitch in my throat steals my words as he presses something on the bar, causing it to extend fully, spreading my legs to capacity before he puts them down, laying them back on the bedding the same way you’d lay an artifact on a display.
Sir crawls over the top of me, hovering there. The heady scent of him adds a layer to my torment. I can’t stop myself as I arch my back, trying to wiggle closer as he brings another attachment from his waistband, using it to cuff my wrists to the chain collar on my neck. My lips part as he frowns, running his thumb over the scars on the back of one of my hands. “I’ll undo these when I can trust you not to touch yourself.”
I struggle, my entire body humming as he helps me into a sitting position before leaving again. My eyes land on the now-smeared word penned on my chest.
Bad.
Exhaustion weighs heavily on me when he returns, lifting a full bowl of water to my lips. “Drink.”
I just want to collapse, but even that seems like too daunting of a task in my trussed and gaping state. When I press my lips to the edge of the bowl, he takes it away, shaking his head. “What are you?”
“A dog,” I rasp. He brings the bowl back, this time allowing me to lap at the water. It’s frustrating because I don’t get nearly as much as I want, but I’m too tired to care. Master helps me lay down, adjusting my messy, soiled dress to cover me before he stands, straightening his suit and the painful-looking erection in his pants before heading away from me, down to get whoever has been waiting on him, I’m assuming.
I adjust as much as I can on the large dog bed, surprised that it’s actually quite comfortable. Or maybe I’m just that tired. A bed of hay would probably offer more comfort than the stone bench of a bed from Bloom, the plastic mattress just barely thick enough to be considered one .
I must drift off to sleep for a little while. When I wake, the light has changed, and it’s to a cacophony of footsteps. My eyes flutter open as my master comes down the hall, flanked by a group of other powerful-looking men of various ages, his eyes dipping to me so quickly, I’m sure I imagined it.
One of the men whistles. “I see the Lily is settling nicely.”
“Any chance of sampling that today, Basilisk?” Another adds as they continue past into his office.
Basilisk… Repeating the name in my mind, I’m tempted to test it on my tongue but don’t dare.
“No.” His words are icy, jaded, making a shiver run down my spine. I’m relieved when the heavy doors close, blocking off the conversation so sleep can claim me again.