Page 13 of Servitude to Serpents

“I’m sorry, Mistress.”

She makes a disgusted sound, tossing me back again. “Don’t be sorry. Play. Idon’t see why you bother with the soft girls. That breeds entitled fucking brats, not obedient sex slaves.”

Sex slave.

Those words settle in my gut like a blade each time I hear them. A tear slips down my cheek as I walk toward the piano, their eyes following me across the extravagant room. My breath is short and rapid as my fingers trace the ivory keys. My brain is panicking, waiting for the cut of a ruler against the faded scars on the backs of my hands, despite it being years since I felt that particular sting. Still, I hold my breath. I wait for the slash, for the cutting, hateful voice that always followed it, the air of disappointment. For the life of me, I can’t think of a single thing to play. My fear drowns everything out. When the Mistress' heels clank loudly against the marble floors, panic rears, making me slam out the first few notes. I’m rusty, but like riding a bike, the music…the terrible, ugly music comes back quickly. Tears stream down my cheeks as I play, that serrated blade sinking into my gut that housed it for so many years.

“Remove the bench, dear,” she orders Master, and his chuckle comes seconds before he urges me to stand. I don’t stop playing, my chest contracting around my lungs and heart like a vise, the open gash that makes me miss people who I’m unsure even miss me back festering.

I want to go home.

It’s thought with such jarring, aching sincerity, I worry I said it out loud, as Mistress undoes the back zipper of my dress, letting it expose me from behind as I slam away at the keys. Even now, I seethe at the mistakes I’m making, but neither of them seems to notice. It’s when those sharp nails urge my legs apart that I jolt. I’m shaking, spread and terrified. When no more sensation comes as I finish out the sonata, fading it into another, I risk a shaky breath. But I canfeelher behind me…below me.Waiting.

My fingers mash loudly against the keys as a scream rips from my throat, her teeth cutting into my sex. She bites me,hard.I resist the urge to reach down and cup myself, knocking her head out of the way. I gasp as her tongue laps at the throbbing flesh. Quickly, I’m missing notes—not because it hurts, although itdoes, and I’m almost certain she drew blood, but because it feels…good. I moan as her tongue drives in and out of my sex before coming up to my clit. I switch to a simple song, giving myself less opportunity to fail.Für Elisefills the room as she sucks at my me, a deep heat building along taut lines from my belly to my core. That feeling Sir gave me barrels through me at breakneck speed. My fingers halt on the keys as everything inside me tightens. Then, she bites again, somehow harder. Pleasure and pain burst through me, making me cry out and buck in an attempt to pull away from her, which only serves to make her teeth dig in more, holding my labia hostage.

A choking sound leaves my throat when she releases me. My hand is shaky as I reach down, testing the damaged, bloody flesh. I sag against the piano, panting, my legs heavier than they were moments ago.

“Come to the bed, baby,” she coos. “Show me what you just learned.”

My head is light as I stumble toward where she has laid herself out. Her pencil skirt is hiked up around her slim hips, and her core is wet, dripping as I kneel between her legs. “Yes, Mistress.”

My core throbs and stings at the idea of tasting her, touching her like she did me despite my rampant fear—that, or maybe I’m just glad to be on the other side of the room from the piano. My first taste of her is hesitant, gentle. Mistress groans, wrenching her core up into my tongue, forcing more pressure. I watch her closely, her eyes fluttering with pleasure as she watches whatever Master does behind me. She seemed to like that, so I press my tongue harder, mimicking the way she lapped and swirled it around my clit.

“Yes, yes, baby. Good girl.”

My core gushes at the praise, catching me off guard, and more tears spring to my eyes as I suck her clit into my mouth, sucking on it gently as I flick it with my tongue. When Master hikes my dress up over my ass, making a sound of approval, and I’m floating in need. Need to pleasure Mistress, to feel the burning push of Master’s cock. To be called agood girlagain. After years, a lifetime, of punishment, I’m starving, desperate for it. My nipples are oversensitive, my skin flushed as they rub against the lace top of my dress.

“Slow down, little Lily. You’ll make your Mistress come too fast. That never ends well for her girls.”

I back off with a heavy pant. My spit and her arousal make a bridge from my lips to her puffy, swollen core. I moan as Master enters me from behind, surprised when it goes in with a glide of pleasure. No burning or ripping, no pain. My own arousal drips down my thighs as I lay my head on Mistress’ thigh, languidly lapping at her sex as she moans and grinds into my tongue.

“Unbutton her shirt and play with her breasts,” Master orders as he thrusts into me.

I do, mimicking the way Sir showed me on mine. I pinch, knead, and roll her dark nipples, plunging my tongue in and out of her tangy core until I feel a rough patch on the inside. When I hit it, Mistress makes a sound that hurtles me toward the edge, Master still slamming his cock in and out of me at a surprising pace for a man of his age.

I play with that rough patch because I need to be a good girl. To please her.

The pleasure I’m given is second only to the praise I desire.

I’m wanton, doing all the little things Sirs like. I keep soft and sweet, but I’m being fucked like a whore. I suppose that’s what I am, a whore. Sir made me one, just like he promised.

“Now bite her, Lily.”

I bite down on her clit, not too hard, trying to find the line she crossed, trying to do it right for her.

A surprised yelp leaves me as fluid streams from Mistress, coating my face as I try to contain it all. My orgasm lifts me to heights I never knew possible as Master becomes jerky, his hot cum splattering my insides. We’re all panting when shame finds me again, branding and hot like an iron. Master pulls out of me, letting me find my appropriate position. I stare at my slick inner thighs.

“I’ll give you whatever you want. Let me keep her, you bastard,” Mistress gasps from the bed.

He chuckles. “Best I can give you is a return clause with her next owner.”

A return clause, like a t-shirt that didn’t fit right.

“Then I pray she fucks up badly enough to be sent back.”

My emotions are numb and my brain fuzzy as they go about righting themselves and discussing me. My tears have dried, but I can’t seem to swallow past the lump in my throat. I stay like that until I’m directed to sit at a table in the room's corner. Mistress is terrifying again as she stalks toward me, slinking through the rich room like a wraith. “You may face me.”

I do, reluctantly, swallowing past the bile edging my throat.

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