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“Ah, there it is,” he says, delight in his tone.
I hear booted footsteps, and Master Erek appears just to my right. “Mina. Very pretty name. Very pretty Girl.”
As Master Séverin continues to hold my face, Master Erek steps closer, until he is only inches away. He leans in and takes my long brown hair between his fingers, then he gives a hard tug before leaning even closer and inhaling.
“She smells good, my love. Good enough to eat. But first, a bath.”
“Agreed,” Master Séverin replies. “Inside and out.”
He releases his hold, and Master Erek slides a big hand around the back of my neck and guides me to my feet, then down a short hallway to a bathroom. He pushes me to my knees, and the small hexagonal white tiles are cold and hard against my skin. I stay there as he moves around the room, turning on the taps to fill the tub, pouring some bath salts that smell like tangerines from a glass bottle into the running water. Even his hands are beautiful. They fit a man of his size, perfectly made for him. Perfectly made for me.
Made to hurt me.
Yes.
He lifts me as if I were a doll and places me in the tub.
“Sit,” he says, not unkindly, but I still know he is capable of the same wickedness all the Masters and Mistresses are. And very often, those who seem gentler at first can be the most cruel.
I hope he will be. I hope in a way that sits like a warm weight in the center of my body.
I lower myself into the tub, and after my run through the forest, it feels wonderful.
Don’t get too comfortable.
I know better, of course.
The water is shallow, and once I’m sitting, it barely reaches the middle of my stomach. With one hand on my shoulder Master Erek holds me down, while with the other he turns on the tap, and in moments I realize it’s only the hot water. With my feet just beneath the faucet, they feel the increasing heat first. Then, as the water runs, the heat builds around me, hotter and hotter, until it moves beyond simple discomfort on my skin to a scorching heat. Painful.
My pussy hurts, then, as the water rises, my nipples. And still, he keeps one hard hand on my shoulder. I don’t dare move or make a sound. He lets out a small, wicked chuckle as he turns up the temperature, and he reaches in to pull the stopper from the drain.
Moment by moment, it gets hotter, hotter, until sweat breaks out on my brow and tears fill my eyes. He reaches a hand out and brushes the tears as they begin to fall, then slips his fingers into his mouth.
“Ah, I love a slave’s tears perhaps more than anything. Anything but their blood. Your blood, Girl.”
The water gets hotter; I continue to cry. Not only to please my new Master, but because I truly cannot help it. And every few moments he wipes my tears with his fingers, then brings them to his full, sensual lips to suck the salt away.
The heat makes me dizzy—the heat and the odd sensuality of him tasting my tears even as he causes me to cry. It’s a rhythm I fall into, my eyes on that hand as he brings it to his lips.
The room is full of fragrant steam and the threat of what this man may do to me.
And something in me sort of breaks loose. No, maybe what’s happening is some sort of coming together. It’s the pain this man brings me so joyfully. That, and the kindness in his eyes.
Contrast.
Yes. The light and the shadow, so at odds with each other. But also more than that. So much more.
Because I am out of my overly analytical head for a few moments, and even though they might be mere moments, it’s the level I attain, the heights I float up to as if soaring on a current. Out of my head, for once. And it feels like fucking magic.
“Time to clean her inside,” Master Séverin says as he steps into the bathroom.
“Of course, love,” Master Erek replies, then he plunges his arm into the hot water to pull the stopper.
I sit as the tub drains, perfectly still, always the obedient slave. As my skin cools, it tightens and prickles as though I’ve been stung by nettles, and even itches a little. My eyes are on the faucet, and I do my best to pretend I have no peripheral vision, which is what we slaves usually do, but something has gotten into me—maybe the way this all started, with the frightening abduction scene? The way Master Erek made me feel only moments ago? I’m not sure. But I am back in my body again—in myself—and I can’t help but notice Master Erek opening the cabinet beneath the sink. I am fairly certain it’s enema equipment, and in moments my suspicions are confirmed when he hooks the hose to the faucet.
“Stand,” Master Séverin orders me. “Lean over and brace your hands on the wall.”
When I do as he says, he forces my thighs apart, his hands strong and hurting. His fingers are longer than Master Erek’s, and there is less flesh on them. Even if I didn’t know what they were about to do to me, the feeling of those strong, spare hands on me would make me tremble.
