Page 52 of Servitude to Serpents

Cheeks burning, I turn my attention back to his hands, which only flame the desire building deep inside me. I squirm, my teeth scoring my innercheek to hide my smile. Master loves my little games, despite how much he pretends not to, but this time… Ever since my bike accident, things have been different. Master doesn’t give me a playful swat or make some kind of threat that only serves to bring out the most erotic thoughts in me. I watch as he sets down his glass of wine, turning his hand palm down.

A command. Stop.

I do—for now. Pissing off Master for fun is painful, sure, but I endure his punishment because I know after, he’ll give me soul-shattering pleasure. Flat-out warnings, like the one I just received, can be scary, despite me trusting the man with….everything.My life. He would never harm me in any way I couldn’t handle—at least, I don’t think. I’m a good girl, so it shouldn’t be a problem either way. He’d certainly not prod me, so that’s an immediate win.

I’m jerked from my thoughts when Sir lays down our shared silverware. “Tell me, were the scars on your hands meant to be a punishment for allowing your sister to drown?”

I choke.

The steak I was chewing lodges down the wrong pipe as I sputter, coughing until air can pass freely again, but my heart is hammering in my chest. For the first time in weeks, I can taste the saltwater again. Master sighs—I can never tell if it’s a good or bad sign—as he lifts his wine to my lips, giving me a small sip. Its peppery flavor bursts on my tongue, and if I wasn’t seconds from vomiting, I’d beg for more. Suddenly, maybe for the first time, his arms aren’t comforting, but caging. I watch my chest rise and drop, the black plunging neckline of my gown serving as an alluring accent to my panic. Suddenly, I don’t want him to hold me. I shoot to my feet, my hip connecting painfully with the table, only for him to jerk me back to his lap.

"I didn't give you permission to rise," he warns.

Again, in an instant, everything has changed.

He knows.

Of course, he does.

That guilt is never far away. God, how terrible have I been to have enjoyed mybreak from it? Tears well in my eyes, and I embrace it like a soggy blanket, the panic and shame of having made it out of the water pushing down on me again.

The shame of having enjoyed what has happened to me here. With him.

God, I’m sick.

“Pup.”

I clear my throat, my eyes on the moon casting the gentle fields that surround Master's estate in an ethereal light. It looks like one of those aestheticwhich walk would you takevideos I used to love on my phone. The wind moves the grass like waves, and again, there’s too much water in my lungs to scream.

“Pet…”

“No,” I blurt out before sucking much-needed air into my lungs. “Most of these happened before that.” My voice doesn’t sound like me at all, but I recognize it as the one I used after I woke up in the hospital and the days following. The one that took over when my chest felt too tight under Mom’s accusing, hateful stare. I think he asks me something else, but I don’t hear it. I wiggle my toes, remembering how uncomfortable it was still having sand between them despite being surrounded by sterile hospital walls. I washed and washed my hair, scrubbed my scalp raw in those first days, but the smell never left.

A shriek leaves my throat as my collar is jerked, slamming me against his chest, those harsh soft lips on my cheek. “Who hurt you?”

“I-I did it to myself, really.” There’s a sob working its way up my throat. “Always making mistakes.”

“You have one last chance to answer me clearly,” he warns, his breath fanning my pebbled flesh.

“M-my grandma. They were my punishment for being bad at the piano.”

Master makes an annoyed sound. “Bad at the piano? You were aprodigy.”

“I-I made a lot of mistakes.” I wipe angrily at my tears, hating them so much right now, hating that my collar is still held captive in his fist most of all. “I was bad. I’ve always been bad.”

“That’s why you stopped playing after she passed.” It’s not a question, but I answer anyway.

“My final disappointment.”

My skin prickles as he releases my collar, trusting me to stay in place. His warm, firm hands trail down the length of my long-sleeved dress until he reaches my hands. His rings are smooth where the slightly calloused palms of his hands are rough. It’s all sensation, but my vagina is too miserable to care. I can’t describe what happens to my chest when he brings my hands up, pressing his lips against them, only that it's deafening and riotous. My eyes widen on the moon outside, despite it being far too blurry with tears to see. “Good.”

“Good?”

“Saved me the trouble of having to kill her myself.”

Ice enters my veins as I wait for his next question, the same fear I felt in the bath that day slamming through my self-pity.

“Your parents, they hated you after your sister died.”

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