Whatever he wanted, she would do. She would have done it anyway, because he was her Master. She paid her keep with obedience. She might earn reprieve from the pain with obeisance. But this generosity came freely, and gratitude suffused her. Maybe he liked her.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
Her heart sank. They must not have told him about her. So much for pleasing him.
Bracing herself, she slowly shook her head.
He grasped her chin and raised her head. Prompted by his touch, she raised her gaze to meet his. His eyes flickered, as if a dam barely leashed something within.
She flinched.
His fingers tightened, not enough to bruise. “Tell me.”
Her mouth worked, but nothing came out. Nothing ever came out.
She couldn’t remember her name, but that wasn’t the problem. She could have told him that it was “slave,” or if she could manage without sounding precocious, asked him what he wanted it to be. She could have explained that she couldn’t remember anything before her captivity.
The real problem was she couldn’t talk.
He sighed. “Do you have someone I can call?”
Oh God, he really was sending her back. The ultimate failure as a slave—rejection—and she’d managed to achieve it within an hour.
No. She would never survive the punishment. And besides, she liked this Master with his gentle touch and cozy bed. It was presumptuous to think she had a choice, blasphemous even, but there it was.
For as long as she could remember, which albeit wasn’t long, she had wanted to be owned. Not in the compound amid the huddle of slaves and litany of trainers but by one Master. Now she stood on a precipice between a generic slave and one with hope. She wanted this Master.
She flipped through the ways she knew to please and placate, all of them sexual. Her body was torn to bits, not pretty or sexy right now, if it ever was. She had no feminine wiles – none. Her body was too skinny, all the trainers berated her for it. Scrawny, weak.
In a reckless burst of courage, she reached out and put her hand directly on his cock. At first it felt like nothing, just the flat stiffness of his jeans. But then, there, it jumped beneath her palm, lengthened.
This was solid ground. She could arouse him, then she would get him off. Any way he wanted it, she had probably done it before, or she could learn. He would see her value then. It wasn’t exactly obedient to grope your Master without express orders to do so. The opposite, really, but she was desperate.
He put his hand on the top of her head, not pushing her closer or away. It was sweet, his hesitation, and she thought for a moment that he would let her get away with it. God, she would do anything. Please.
He gently pushed her hand away.
She wanted to live. How pathetic.
Tears fell in hot tracks down her cheeks.
“Someone really did a number on you, didn’t they?” he asked.
At his words, she looked into his eyes. Amazingly, they were filled with something like understanding. It was probably better that she couldn’t speak then, because she would have begged for him to help her. But she didn’t deserve his benediction. She’d failed.
“Here’s what we’re going to do.” He slid his hand around her neck, grasping her firmly from behind. She melted into the firm touch. “You’re going to sleep now. Stay off the floor. Nod for me.”
She nodded vigorously, her eyes downcast in joy.
His fingers still curled behind her neck, he swept his thumb along her cheek, then down over her neck. Back and forth, he caressed her. She stayed still, watching as her breath ruffled the dark hairs on his forearm.
He moved his thumb against her mouth then pushed it inside. She closed her lips around it, eager to suck it. He tasted of salt and earth and hope. This was her chance to touch him, to please him, to show him badly she wanted this.
She swirled her tongue around the tip, worshipping his thumb like she wanted to worship his cock. Like she wanted to lick every part of him, if it meant she could stay. The soft wet sounds filled the room, tangling with the harsh sounds of his breathing.
She begged with the warmth and wetness of her mouth. She implored with the skill of her tongue. Every swipe promised pleasure, if only.
He pulled his hand away.
Her lips were still parted, damp from his ministrations. She stayed perched on the bed in supplication. A bulge rounded his jeans. His nostrils flared with what she recognized as arousal.
He turned and left the room.
She stared at the door for what felt like hours, until her limbs ached and her eyelids grew heavy. No trick. She sank into the clean bed.
She caught the slight sound of crickets outside, serenading her under the window. He had been surprised to learn about her defect, but he had worked around it. Nod for me. Maybe he would keep her after all.
Chapter Two
She had been naked before, cold before, but not like this. The chill bit into her skin, penetrated her bones, until she couldn’t imagine ever being warm again. Stripped not just of clothes, but of humanity, of hope.