Page 34 of Servitude to Serpents

I undo my pants.

My palm squeezing my cock in a strangling hold as I nibble at her.

This isn’t like you.

End it now.

I stand, stroking my cock as I palm her collar, forcing her to face me before shoving her to her knees. Her brown eyes are wide and consuming. My stroking quickens, and already, my climax is barreling toward me. Pup can tell, her mouth opening wide as she sticks her tongue all the way out, spit dripping off the end.It’s my undoing. I spurt, my cum decorating her pretty face and mouth. She takes it, moaning as I give her everything. My chest heaves, unease settling in my gut as I watch her spit and my cum dripping off her tongue and onto the floor. “You’re wasting it,” I breathe out before gripping her chin in a bruising hold, her messy face angled up as I spit in her mouth. “Rectify that.”

She snaps her mouth shut once I release her, swallowing like it’s the best meal she has ever tasted.

I make quick work of washing her in the shower, deeply fucking disturbed by my own actions. She coos quietly about how much she loves her gifts, and despite the unease in my gut, the off-putting, downright unholy feeling in my chest,I like that. By the time she’s clean, I’ve long since fallen silent, but she prattles on, animated and brimming.

I need you.

What the fuck?

Pup is practically vibrating as I jerk the key out of my pocket, undoing her day collar, wiping the steam from the bathroom mirror so she can see herself. Those teary doe eyes adhere to her reflection as I place the new one around her neck. It's fucking gorgeous, worth nearly as much as what I paid for her, but when I lay it across her neck, it looks like I bought it from a county fair. Her blonde hair falls in damp waves over her small breasts as I lock it. The silver base is inlaid with sapphire, but it’s the dangling charm her slender scarred fingers touch so reverently that jars me further. It’s the same crest she sees daily on my ring, the one I stamped on her neck the night of the auction party: twin serpents entangled, battling around two crossed guns, their eyes sporting the same sapphire decorating the base.

“I don’t think anyone has ever given me anything this beautiful. Such a kind gift.” She says it so quietly, I don’t think it was intended for me at all, so I don’t bother chastising her for forgetting her honorific.

I’m not kind. I bought her as a slave, a woman who was trained and abused. A woman I train and abuse, but the fucking way she’s looking at me makes me want to vomit. She meets my eyes in the mirror, her nude, dripping body dwarfed bymine. Judging by what little info Bloom tries to share about their girls, I know she just turned twenty-two. It shows, her innate innocence clear as I loom behind her, twenty-four years of bitterness and cruelty separating us. Even so, she looks atmelikethat. Her odd eye catches my attention for a moment, and I can’t for the life of me understand why they had her hide it. The upward slash of milky blue and bisected dual pupils are unique to her. I want to know why it’s like that. Was she born with it? Why are the hands of a concert pianist covered in scars? Why does she breathe heavier when I get water in her face during washing? What fucking damaged her so severely that she’s looking at me likethat?

Why haven’t I looked away?

Her hand grasps the emblem dangling from her collar—my emblem, one forged in blood, death, and war, devastation and terrorism. Yet, the maddening woman makes it beautiful again, delicate simply because it sits on her neck. “Thank you, Master. I’m going to make you proud tonight.” She says it so sweetly, I believe her, despite her propensity for mistakes. Her tears finally get the best of her, spilling over in fat droplets.

I frown, shaking my head, as if that’s going to clear it enough to let some logic through. No, instead, I bring my thumb up, gathering one of those big tears. My eyes catch on it a moment too long, but it’s better than looking at her right now. “Ridiculous, emotional little thing,” I murmur. Suddenly, I can’t expand my lungs fully, the steam in the bathroom too heavy. “Wear your hair up,” I order, spinning on my heel to leave. I slam the door to her bathroom before I can hear heryes, Sir.

I bring my tear-wet thumb to my eagerly waiting tongue as I stalk down the hall.

Chapter fifteen

To own is to…Control

Chloe

My hands shake as I discreetly try to wipe my sweaty palms on the seat of the car we’re riding in. Master glares out the window in the same silent fashion as usual, only tonight, he seems more on edge. My skin prickles when I think of the way he caressed me in my bathroom. It wasn’t like his normal petting that made my core flutter. This was…softer; I’d still fluttered, but it was somewhere far higher up. I felt butterflies for the first time since I was a child. I felt…adored. That feeling seems fit to linger, despite my unease.

If I hadn’t been worried enough about what tonight held, the short jet ride over here was enough to turn my anxiety bludgeoning. Much like our very first plane ride together, he ignored me. This time, though, it felt drastically worse. During our last few weeks together, I’ve spent nearly every waking moment at his side, soaking up his attention like a sponge that sat in the desert. After we boarded, I scurried to the seat closest to him, only to get a harsh scoldingfrom Stuart. Sir avoided my eyes, and more disturbingly, mybodyas his gruff right-hand man ordered me to stand so he could adjust the backing on my dress. Odder still is that my owner allowed me to be adjusted by another. Master only barked out a tense command to a half-naked and bored looking flight attendant to get him a drink.

My eyes drift again to the other collared women with us, all dressed much differently than me. Their clothes are elegant but lewd in a way mine isn’t, despite it being sheer. Red lace hugs their every curve, simple silver collars around their necks. Master’s otherdogs. They were kept in the cabin room of Master’s jet, but they’ve yet to be scolded, lounging on each other in a detached fashion. They look…sensual. The one on the left sports vibrant red, bob length hair, the perfect contrast to the spiraling waves of the woman on the right. Her brown hair is such a deep tone, I had originally thought it to be black. The dark-haired woman’s skin is golden, shining and warm. My eyes turn back to my pale complexion, noting every bump and imperfection, my blonde hair twisted up in a concert style loose bun, since it’s the only hairstyle I ever got good at doing.

It’s stupid—no,it's entirelyinsaneto feel inferior. These women are no doubt every bit victims who were trained, just like me. It's nonsensical, disturbing, even, to view their presence as competition, to be jealous, to want the attention of our captor, our abuser, more. Flush fills my cheeks as the red-haired girl’s green eyes turn toward me, taking me in with something close to indifference, maybe even a bit of annoyance. My chest betrays me, bracketing in on my lungs like a vice.

“Dog.”

I flinch, turning my attention back to Master. “Yes, Master.”

He signals for me to come closer, and I feel more than a little shame at how quickly I scramble to do so, my bare feet getting tangled in the hem of my dress. My eyes widen on the white ball gag he jerks from his pocket with unrestrained boredom. “Open.”

My cheeks flush as everyone’s eyes turn toward me. Stuart and the other women watch intently as Master places the ball in my mouth, securing it in the back. I spin to face him, desperate for some sign of approval, but he offers me none. His bored expression is firmly in place as he lifts his hand, giving the ball alittle flick that makes me jump. “There. That should keep your whimpering to a minimum.”

I nod, my lips and jaw feeling uncomfortably stretched despite its relatively small size. One of the other women snickers, whispering something to her counterpart. Stuart snaps his fingers at them as the limo-style SUV rolls to a stop. Behind the blacked-out windows is an abandoned warehouse. I frown, casting a worried look at Master, who is already staring at me with a tinge of contempt I feel deep inside my gut, plucking the wings from the butterflies that resided there earlier. Stuart exits first before Sir. Once they’re both outside, we hear the double click of his tongue, the girls filing out before me. The outside of the dark warehouse is bustling with quiet activity. Security guards, a few who seem to recognize my master, nod to him in respect as we’re ushered inside. The door opens into a vast, unlit area filled with rusting machines. It looks like every stereotypical place to commit crimes in any crime movie ever, like the good guys would be waiting just outside, ready to storm in and leave the villain bloody, begging for mercy. But there're no heroes here, and the bad guys are so good at what they do, their damsels wouldn’t dare leave their side. Master shifts his suit jacket, slightly exposing the handgun he always keeps on his waist. My breath leaves me in rougher shunts as we turn, heading up flight after flight of creaking metal staircases and wide double doors. Every now and then, he turns, glancing back, as if to make sure I’m still here. As if I’d dare to get lost in a place like this. My thighs are burning the moment we reach our desired floor. Sir removes his passive hand from his gun, his posture dissolving into a slightly less tense one. The enormous room we enter is from an entirely different universe than the warehouse that holds it. Its lavish speakeasy vibes cater to the same brand of hedonistic parties Bloom was known for, ones I could never attend. As grateful as I am for that, based on the auction party that ended up being far more pain than pleasure, I hate it just as much. Where others were taught to survive in this world, I wasn’t.

I’ve yet to learn how to stomach it properly.

Leaving my heart, my soul, raw and puffy.

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