Page 25 of Servitude to Serpents

Right there.

God, I’m so embarrassed, but somehow, the embarrassment only makes it…more.

A scream leaves me as I’m suddenly jerked to the floor, crashing against it with brutal force. Master looms above me, his head tilted to the side. “Oh, poor Pup. You were about to come, weren’t you?”

I stare up at him in shock, gently rolling out my palms and shoulder that tookthe brunt of the impact. “Yes, Sir.”

He releases the chain, letting it crash to the floor in front of me. “Start again.”

I frown as I get back to my feet carefully, waiting for another sudden whip of violence. Retaking my place against the wall, I’m slower this time as my fingers drift past my breasts to my core, but I’m wetter than before.

I want that burning, sharp stretch before my body adjusts, the pain before I relent.

I spread my legs, coating my fingers so I can fuck myself with them, tenderness be damned, when Master's voice cuts through my pleasure-filled haze like a whip made of honey and sex. “Put your fingers inside yourself, and I break them. Understand?”

“Yes,” I groan, frowning at the floor because I’m scared to aim it at him. I’m terrified, actually, but my body doesn’t care. My toes curl as I go back to work on my puffy clit, making a frustrated sound.

“Don’t be a brat. Did you really think you weren’t going to be punished for that little stunt you pulled back there?”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” I moan.This is a stupid punishment.

I fight to keep a secret little smile off my face, but I don’t think it works, judging by the huff that comes from the other side of the hall. Remembering my order to keep my eyes on the handsome man, I open them, grinding my hips down into my palm as pleasure swathes and pulls at me, lulling me into a wonton bliss. The veins that stand out on the backs of his palms flex as he runs his hand over his daunting erection, adjusting it in his slacks. That fact that I can make a man who looks like him feel aroused is…flattering. Not that I should be feeling flattered by the man who bought me with the purpose of raping and holding me against my will.

But you are flattered, aren’t you, Chloe?

My flush spreads down to my neck as I avert my eyes. My arousal reaches supernova levels, my breaths growing rushed and heavy.

“Are you embarrassed, Pup?”

“Y-yes, Master,” I moan, that question thrusting me to the precipice.This time, when he grabs the chain, I notice, still strumming away at my clit like it’s an overture when he jerks it. I yelp, crashing against the floor again, hissing in pain when my knees knock roughly against it. Frustration overwhelms me, but with it comes determination.

“Only good dogs get to come, pet. You’ve been abaddog.”

Tears fill my eyes as I look up at him, my mouth opening and closing before I tilt my knees together, hiding my soaked core from him in my sprawled position. I feel so small and stupid, my core still soaked and throbbing.

“Start again.”

He’s blurry as I stand, and this time when I touch my tender clit, it’s pleasure, sure, but edged with pain. Still, it does nothing to hinder what’s building inside me, nor does the salted wound nagging at my chest. I work my clit harder, faster, desperate to take what he’s depriving me of. Soon, my core clenches, making me squeal, a sound I didn’t know I could make. His head tilts again, the smirk gone. I watch his hand tighten on my chain, but when he jerks, I work myself harder, trying to beat him to it.

I don’t.

I slam into the floor, crying out in frustration. “Master!” As soon as it leaves my mouth, I suck in a sharp breath, my head slamming to the ground. Anxiety is an instant and palpable thing, making sweat bud along my hairline.

But there’s no strike; he doesn’t even move.

“Yes, dog? Something to say?”

“No, Sir,” I breathe, grateful he doesn't kick or batter me.

“Good. Again.”

We repeat this until I can no longer stand, until my wet, blurry eyes are overflowing with tears and I’m sobbing, a pitiful, flushed, needy mess on the floor. Each strum is painful, too much and not at all enough, but still, I’m desperate to complete myself. My face presses into the cold hardwood as I hold my cramping hand still, humping the back of it like a derangeddog.

“You look so pathetic down there, humping your own hand like that. It’s a pity you’re such a bad pet.”

I sob. It has been hours, the muscles in my lower belly straining. “Master…please. Ihurt.”

I’m covered in my own spit, tears, and arousal, lost to the pleasure, the pain. The soul-bendingneedwon’t end, something shattering teetering on the edge, and each time it looms closer, I realize this isn’t a stupid punishment at all.

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