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I can’t wait to find out.
Once I am rinsed to his satisfaction, he sits me upright, then helps me to my feet. I hate that I am unstable, barely able to stand. But once more he is sweet with me, supporting my body with his as he helps me to a stool. I sit, doll-like once more as he dries me with a thick towel, squeezing the water from my long hair, and then rubs a soothing cream into my skin before combing my hair out.
“You were out for some time,” he finally says. “We will feed you, then you will sleep.”
I don’t answer. I am not supposed to. And I’m almost shocked at the way he’s talking to me, as if I’m human, which is something we slaves are not supposed to be to those who own us.
He is like no Master I have ever come upon before.
He lifts my limp body in his arms and carries me into the bedroom. I get a glimpse of a large four-poster bed made of smoothed logs and piled high with quilts and pillows. The room is filled with the delicate scent of a fire burning in a fireplace, and I catch a glimpse of a large hearth to my left. Master Erek sets me down on a rug at the foot of the bed, and I collapse there, too worn to do anything else—not that I am supposed to. At least, I don’t think so. But I don’t know yet what these new Masters will demand of me.
He covers me with a soft blanket, then Master Séverin kneels down next to me and places two bowls on the floor, one filled with water, the other with some sort of thick soup.
“On your knees so you can eat and drink,” he orders, and I obey.
I am terribly thirsty, and I drink most of the water before turning to the bowl of soup. It’s thick and creamy, some sort of potato soup with bits of ham, and I lap it up, not realizing until I’m doing it how hungry I am. When I’m done he wipes my face roughly with a cloth napkin, but worn out as I am, I barely notice.
“Go to sleep, Girl. We begin anew tomorrow.”
I’m so tired. Perhaps more tired than I’ve ever been. The day has been a series of shocks, and the care these two Masters have shown me has been as much a shock as being caught in the snare trap. But I’m far too sleepy to even think about it, or to anticipate what tomorrow might bring. My eyes close, and I drift off.
I wake up in the dark to groaning and the scent of sex in the air. The bed shakes rhythmically, and I lean my back against the footboard, wanting a little bit of it, their fucking. I hear one of them moan—Master Erek, I think—and my pussy pulses with need.
Their breathing grows harsher, and I can smell their sweat, and it’s like some heady mixture of desire and maleness and the untouchable.
God, if only they would fuck me. If only they would invite me into their bed and place me between them, penetrating my body in every way possible: my cunt, my ass, my mouth.
The bed shakes harder, their breath coming in short, sharp pants, and my body heats even more.
If only I could see them, and yet this is somehow more delicious, this secretive voyeurism. If I concentrate, I can imagine every move. Every thrust of their hips, the stroking of a cock, their heated mouths on each other.
I could almost come simply listening, smelling them, imagining what I cannot see.
There are nearly simultaneous groans, then a deep growl from one of them, then the bed quiets. The air is sharp with the scent of male come.
Yes.
My pussy is throbbing, my clit so hard and swollen, I swear I can feel it rubbing between my thighs, aching, aching.
The room grows quiet as they settle into sleep, then all I hear is their breathing, and my own. I let the sound lull me, and soon I am dreaming once more.
It feels as if I haven’t slept for long when a muffled groan wakes me, but it’s not sex this time. No. It’s distress. I nearly bolt upright, but my years as a slave have taught me well. I don’t move, forcing my body to hold still. I wait, wondering.
Unintelligible murmuring from one of them, then he says, “Béatrice … Nooo…”
The voice is deep. Master Séverin?
Then again, but this time it’s said with a loud, anguished, guttural groan. “Béatrice!”
“Sev, my love.” Master Erek’s voice, husky with sleep. “Shh…it’s okay. Come on, Sev. You’re alright.”
There is some murmuring, but I can’t make out what they say. But one thing is unmistakable; Master Séverin had a nightmare, and Master Erek is comforting him, so sweetly. And it makes me wonder about them both. Who are they? How did they come together? Who is this Béatrice Master Séverin dreams of? What secrets do they hide?
We all have secrets, don’t we? And those of us in this bizarre and very formal world of kink more than anyone else, perhaps.
But I am merely a slave, and I have no idea how long I am to be with them. I may never know anything more about them than I do at this moment. I am not supposed to, which I understand quite well. I’m usually content enough with that idea, the not knowing. It’s part of us losing our identities within our slavehood, why our names are taken from us. Part of the supremely effective mind fuck that is crucial to our existence in this role. Why my curiosity has been awakened now, I don’t know.
With a quiet sigh I lay my head back down on my little pallet on the floor and close my eyes, returning to my own dreams.
