But when he put his thick hand on her ankle, panic rose like bile.
There had never been a more innocent place to touch her than her ankle, and the light pressure was more of a caress than anything, but it hit her like a slap. Her leg jerked, shaking his hand off of her. She stared in horror at her mutinous leg, shocked that she could ever do something so stupid.
The insults of her Masters played in her head. Disobedient slut. Willful little cunt. Worthless whore. God, she would deserve every lash he meted out.
“Stay,” he said then left the room.
Gone to get something to hit her with, ties to hold her down, probably. Pain awaited her, that message rang clearly in every stark plane of his face and thick muscle banding his body.
She had precious seconds alone with which to get her bearings. The last thing she remembered was being asleep in her cell. There had been extra activity for the past couple of days. While she got her daily whipping, one of her Masters had talked to another.
Who do you think’s going to get her?
Some rich fuck. Lucky bastard too. This one takes it like a dream.
They all do, tied down like that.
She’s quiet. The rest of them make a fucking racket. I hear the goddamned screams in my sleep.
She had been sold. The realization settled into her stomach with dread and resignation. That was what they were talking about. Wondering who would buy her.
The thought of leaving her cell terrified her, but it was already done. She couldn’t remember the transport, but that was probably just as well. She assumed it wouldn’t be pleasant, but then, she couldn’t remember her arrival at the compound either. All she knew was training.
At some point, her previous life had slipped away from her, like an old skin that no longer fit. She knew better than to try to remember. If whatever she had known or believed before threatened her survival in this life, she was better off without it.
The women who clung to their old identities suffered more. They fought until their last breath, finally mastered by their own stubbornness. What was the cost of sucking a cock or licking a boot when compared to life? No, she wanted to survive.
The men had whips and restraints. The only weapon she had was utter obedience.
Another thought occurred to her. Maybe they had given her something to knock her out or tamper with her memory. Gratitude welled inside her. They always took care of her. Sometimes it hurt, but she surely deserved it. Every lash to her skin raised a mirroring lash of self-recrimination and guilt.
The doorframe gaped, empty. Her Master had been gone a long time now.
The thought of his return terrified her, but the alternative was even worse. Maybe she was too much trouble for him, and he wouldn’t want her anymore. What if he wasn’t getting some painful implement to punish her? What if he was contacting her old Masters at the compound, demanding they take her back?
Her stomach clenched painfully. She didn’t know him, whether he would be cruel or merciful, but if she were returned to her old Masters, they would kill her.
She had barely made it through some of the harsher beatings. It was one of the reasons she was always obedient from early on. There wasn’t a lot of rope in her to begin with, she couldn’t afford for the Masters to burn through it.
She wanted to live. That had become her mantra, something she repeated to remind herself. Or maybe to convince herself that it was still true. On the bad days she felt like a ghost, going through the motions long after her death because she refused to accept it.
Thuds on the floorboards signaled the return of her Master.
He didn’t have a cane or whip with him, and that lent credence to the worry that he was getting rid of her, but she was too distracted by the food. He carried a glass of water and a plate with fragrant bread. Her stomach grumbled. She cringed in fear of reprisal and a small amount of embarrassment.
He set the plate down in front of her and pushed the glass into her hands. “Drink.”
It seemed unbearably luxurious, compared to the greasy scraps she was accustomed to. This room too, with its plain wood furniture and open window. Her new cage, gilded with cleanliness. She ached to keep it.
The cool water soothed her, revived her. He replaced the empty glass with a chunk of warm, crusty bread. She gobbled it up like the ravening animal she was. He tore off another piece from the plate and handed it to her, continuing to feed her from his hand until the plate was empty.
Warmth settled in her core and spread to her limbs, sated by both the sustenance and his kindness. No dog bowl held fetid water. No mealy scraps picked off the floor. Charity like this was unheard of, but she thought she understood the message. If she pleased him, this could be hers.