Page 35 of Servitude to Serpents

Ormaybe it was just always like that.

A loud man dressed in an off-white suit seems to be the star of the show as he roughly claps everyone on the back, laughing until his cheeks are red, a thick cigar trapped between his fingers, its ash seconds from breaking loose into the amber-colored liquor it’s balanced above. The man is so animated, it's almost amusing to watch, the slightest smile tugging up the corner of my lips as he laughs at his own stupid joke.

Master clears his throat; I can feel his disapproving stare as my teeth score my inner cheek so hard, it makes my eyes water.

“If it isn’t the infamous Basilisk in the flesh!” The man booms, shoving through the party goers crowded around him. “An honor you would attend my little soiree, and with such lovely party favors too.” The man breathes out a puff of earthy smoke as he shakes Master’s hand. It’s odd, the way his bolstering seems to quiet the longer Sir stares, like a simple look was truly all it took. A sharp pinch on the back of my arm makes me frown, jerking away from Stuart's damned fingers as he holds his hand out for my slippers. I bend, earning a glance from Sir, his hazel eyes always watching and tracking me, much like how a serpent watches his prey.

How fitting.

It takes several uncomfortable seconds before he speaks, leaving the rowdy nature of the man tattered around my feet. “I can’t say we’ve met.”

The man laughs. “I only recently bought my way into your inner circle, but your reputation precedes itself. Yourlikesanddislikestoo.”

There’s something more to whatever he just said, but my eyes are caught on something entirely different now. It’s both a bed and a stage, a stunningly beautiful woman lying on it further into the venue. Her skin is such a rich, dark shade, she looks unearthly, divine, as she moves, capturing the attention of everyone around her. The burnt orange dress she wears dips off her slender figure, as if it was draped there, not a garment she slipped into. Her shaved head only serves to add to the regal air she gives off. The golden collar around her neck tells me her situation isn’t any different from mine.

She adjusts the neckline of her dress, letting it expose her breasts as she leansback into the pile of pillows she was propped on. It's only then that I notice the collared men at her sides, touching and caressing her. Each one stays just shy of the spot everyone wants. Their cocks are hard, their skin dusted with a sheen of gold that seems to compliment hers. It’s no doubt their presence is meant to be an accessory. My lips part as I watch her, my thighs pressing together as she cants her head back, exposing her slender neck, letting the men sample the delicate skin there. Unlike the shows I grew accustomed to, even bored watching at Bloom, nothing about what she does looks fake. She’s alert, animated, in control.

“I hope your girls will follow the house rules. Within my establishment, I will be called Master, my wife the same.”

My eyes snap begrudgingly away from the show to Sir, his stubbled jaw clenched. “Do with them as you please. Perhaps if the night goes well enough, you can keep one. Think of it as a gift.”

The man’s eyes roam over me as my gut sours.

Master clicks his tongue, getting our attention. “Go make yourself available.”

Saltwater laps at my face as hungry, incessant hands grip and pull. They take my breath as I’m ripped wide and spread. I’m positive that off in the crowd, I glimpse shiny snakeskin boots, even though I know that’s unlikely.

My knees feel weak, and when the other pets behind me mutter theirYes, Master,I don’t. The words are lodged somewhere underneath the lump in my throat, pushed further from the surface by the swelling ball of anxiety. I dip my head as I take a step toward the crowd before Master's harsh voice halts me. “Pup, stay.” My breath leaves me loudly as I step back toward him, back into his magnetic orbit of sage and oak, clasping my hands in front of me to hide their shaking.

The man laughs. There’s no doubt he’s the one Stuart spoke about earlier today, the one who can help Master. “Her reputation precedes her as well. We’ve yet to earn a spot in one of the infamous auctions, but we’re certainly on our way. Is it true, pretty one, that your trainer prodded you? I knew that slimy fuck when he was on his knees. It’s abhorrent, the treatment of the ones they take.” The man reaches out, grasping my chin, angling my face up toward his, makingme gasp.

Master’s hand grips the man’s wrist, removing his hand from me. “House rules do not apply to this one. You simply have the privilege of playing in my world.I still own it.”

The man lets loose another tense laugh. “Of course, Basilisk. Forgive me. I was so enamored, I didn’t even notice how you’d adorned her.”

How he’d adorned me…

My hand drifts up to my collar, the emblem there. My eyes scan the room, noticing for the first time how the Sirs and Mistresses aren’t engaging me directly. Nobody is meeting my eyes in the way they did before the auction, nobody battling for my attention, nobody asking for a turn in the way my training told me they would. That was among my most important lessons. They would ask for me, beg, buy, but I was not to engage unless instructed.

Master nods, patting his thigh, urging me closer. “No doubt my presence at one of your parties gives you the legitimacy you lacked. I’m interested to know what you’d offer for an invitation.”

The man waves over a server, who offers my master a cigar from a wooden box. The expanse of his tattoos peeks out as he accepts one, but when the woman goes to light it for him with the Zippo held between her fingers, he turns away from her. I watch in confusion as she nods and rushes away.

“Pup.”

My eyes slip back to him, realization dawning on me. I scramble, looking around for a lighter, making Sir roll his eyes. “My right pocket.”

My throat bobs, working overtime to swallow my spit around the ball gag, my heart thrumming in my chest as I gently dip my hand into his pocket. The hardness of his handgun presses into my wrist as I grip the small box of matches.

“You’ll come to find I am quite generous with my friends, but let’s not waste the party talking business. Find me after the main show, yes?”

Master doesn’t bother looking at the man again. His only response is a slight tilt of his head as he puts the cigar between his lips, allowing me to bring the quickly shrinking match up to it. Hazel eyes meet mine, allowing the rowdiness of the room to quiet. My hand stills its shaking as I stare back at him, his quietanger seething below the surface as he tilts his head, his auburn hair shifting before he pulls his cigar from his mouth. His free hand grasps my wrist before he leans closer, my breath hitching in my throat as he blows out the match. “You were about to burn yourself.”

I nod, my eyes dipping to his lips, wondering how something so harsh could be so soft. I want to taste them, and I think he can tell. “Focus, pet,” he whispers, leaning forward so those harsh lips tickle the spot just before my ear. “I’d hate to remind you of the damage a bullet can do when it encounters flesh. Let’s be on our best behavior, yes?”

Yes, Master.

It’s whispered in my mind as I nod again, following behind him, my ball gag still firmly in place.

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