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Yes.
Chapter Nine
I have been with my Masters for more than two weeks now, possibly as long as three. I am not supposed to track time—we slaves are meant to live always in the moment, trusting our Masters and Mistresses to tell us when it’s time to eat, time to sleep, when our contracts expire—and yet I can’t help myself. I have always been like this. Oh yes, always the over-thinker.
They have not had me speak again since my conversation with Master Séverin in the bathroom that morning, how many days ago? But I hear them murmuring to each other on the porch, or in bed. I have heard my name once or twice, as well as the name Master Séverin called out in his sleep that first night—Béatrice, his lost sister—and it’s a struggle not to ask what they talk about.
They torture me and fuck me, but Master Séverin only ever fucks my ass, which makes more sense since he told me that he never loves women. Not that love is a necessary element to fuck someone, but I felt I understood more in that moment than his words might have implied. He is also gentle with me, almost sweet at times, when he isn’t hurting me.
Master Erek is himself, as he always is, I think. Laughing often, punishing me in simple, wicked ways. He loves to use his hands and his teeth. He loves to chain me up in the bedroom, then leave me for hours, ordering me not to wet myself, then forcing me to urinate in the tub, or sometimes just outside the cabin on the bare earth like a dog.
They have given me more enemas while Master Séverin fists me, and I’ve come to love and abhor these little rituals of theirs. But that is the life of a slave, what I signed up for, the wicked and compelling combination of those things we love and those things we hate but endure. And it pleases me to be able to take it, both the enemas and Master Séverin’s fist in my cunt.
I crave to feel his cock there, but it seems it’s not to be, which sometimes makes me cry. But unlike other Masters and Mistresses, who have no patience for my nearly constant tears, these two seem to love them. Master Erek loves to lick them from my cheeks, and Master Séverin always smiles when his lover drinks my tears.
I sleep each night on my pallet of blankets on the floor, and while I am very much used to this, having spent that single night in their bed makes me think of nothing else. Each night I lie down, silently saying a prayer to any gods who will listen, asking to be brought back into their bed.
For the first time since I was a child, I feel lonely.
Finally, one evening after I’ve been given an enema and bathed, Master Erek has me crawl onto the front porch. The wood boards are hard under my knees, but the air outside is cool and lovely, a small breeze ruffling my hair. I breathe it in; those scents of green and bark, the leaves and the earth, and the darkening sky.
To my surprise, he pulls me to my feet and has me sit on the bench beneath the kitchen window, where he and my dear Master Séverin often sit while I am cleaning up after meals. He takes my hands in his, his body turned toward me.
“I want you to talk to me, Mina. You are to answer my questions. Do you understand me?”
My heart pounds. Is this to be some sort of test? And what if I fail?
He seems to take my hesitance as something else.
“Ah, yes, let me cover you so we are on more equal footing,” he says, before getting up and going into the house, leaving me to wonder what this is all about.
More equal footing?
He returns with one of his button-down shirts and a small blanket. “Here, put this on,” he tells me, and I do, feeling almost as if I’ve left my body; it’s such an alien sensation to be clothed.
Then he covers my lap with the blanket. “Better?” he asks. “You may answer. I want you to speak with me now.”
I bite my lip. I truly don’t know. “I’m…I’m not sure.”
“Yes, yes, of course this is confusing. Look, I’m not going to explain right now, but I need to know about you. I need to know you. And you need to know us, Master Séverin and I, as well.”
These are such odd circumstances, and I don’t know whether to look at him, or at the dark silhouettes of the trees standing sentry all around the cabin, our little lair.
Our little love nest.
The idea is so absurd as it flashes through my mind, I almost laugh. But it does help me to relax a bit.
“Mina,” he says, the sound of my name on his tongue making me tremble. “Look at me. We are going to have a conversation now. I will ask you questions, and you will answer. For the time being, it will not be as if I am your Master.” He pauses, then says, “No. I can never be anything but that. But let’s assume that the protocol has been relaxed to some degree.”
I nod, even though I still don’t quite understand.
He takes a breath. “Alright. Let us begin here. Séverin has told me that he spoke to you briefly. Tell me why you were alone at such a young age.”
I don’t want to talk about this. Bad enough that I dream of it so often. But it’s still my Master asking this of me, and I am too good a slave to deny him.
“My mother died,” I say, the words coming out far more stiffly than I intended. Apparently they are still hard to say, even twelve years later.
“Ah, I’m sorry. Tell me how.”
