Page 22 of Servitude to Serpents

I peek up at him, lounging in the oversized love seat in the corner of the bare but expensively furnished room. My relaxed muscles are long gone and my entire body aches, bringing new life to the healing wounds. I wait for the bite of flesh striking flesh, but he doesn’t move, simply repeating his question.

For a moment, I debate lying but decide against it. “I was thinking about hanging myself from the rafters.”

He pats his leg twice, and my blonde hair curtains the side of my face as I crawl toward him. I’m proud of myself for remembering that much, even if I’m going to be punished. I kneel before him, my breath shuddering as his long fingers capture my chin, tilting my head up to face him. “Seems an awful waste of my money, doesn’t it, Pup?”

My lips part, allowing him access as his thumb explores. “Yes, Master.”

His golden hazel eyes are transfixed and empty, at least on the surface. Something about him seems so quietly angry, but I don’t think it has anything to do with me. My skin heats as he thumbs my lips open further, slipping the digit into my mouth.

I struggle to swallow my spit before he captures my tongue, pinning it down with his thumb. “You will eat three meals a day and will do your best to finish each one until you are back to a healthy weight. Ialonewill tend to your needs. You may use the bathroom on your own if I am not present. When I am present, you will ask to use the restroom. You may not care for yourself without me unless given instruction to. You are, from now until I re-home you,my dog. ApetI will care for as any responsible owner would. In turn, you will offer me pleasure, loyalty, and obedience. Disobedience will result in punishments. Those punishments are doled out on a case-by-case basis based on the infraction, ranging from kneeling on rice to getting a bullet in your skull. Am I understood?”

Tears well in my eyes, fear battering my chest as I nod.

He hikes a thick brow, making me whimper as he increases the pressure on my tongue, my spit dribbling over my chin.

“Y-Yes, Master,” I struggle around his thumb, the words garbled.

“I am not like the swine you are used to, but I am not agoodorkindman. IfI instruct you to attend to me with people present, I expect you to do so well. Your behavior reflects not only me as a master but the House of Serpents.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I won't tolerate the use of inappropriate language. Talking back to me is not allowed. You will not sayno, wear underwear, or touch yourself without my permission.”

More spit dribbles out of my mouth as I acknowledge him, making himtsk. “Messy dog,” he admonishes. My eyes widen as he lifts his wet fingers to his mouth, popping them inside to clean them before wiping them on my bare chest. When he rises to his full height, I’m again surprised by how tall he is.

He says nothing else as he retrieves a cart and tray from outside the room, coming to sit in the chair beside me before offering me a bite of the oatmeal from a dog bowl. My stomach churns. I’ve always hated the slimy, lumpy food, but I open my mouth, grateful to have anything at all. Each spoonful is loaded with strawberries and blueberries, nasty texture and all, but my mouth waters, savoring each bite. Between them, I’m given sips of ice water, another luxury I had taken for granted.

The sound of his phone ringing catches me off guard, my eyes widening on the device. It’s the first phone I’ve seen since I was taken. He regards me with a warning stare before answering the call, placing the phone on speaker before giving me his full attention again. “I told you I wanted no distractions today.”

“Yes, Sir. I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t important. It seems the US ticket was delayed.”

He speaks to the woman as he feeds me, the phone on speaker forgotten on the arm of the chair, as if me grabbing it, screaming for help, isn’t even an option. The words are on the tip of my tongue.My name is Chloe Tyson. I’m twenty-one years old. I was abducted from Hepton City, Illinois on November 17thoutside the Sour Grape bar.

I’m alive.

My breathing labors as I stare at the phone.

Do it.

Say something, Chloe.

Tears well in my puffy eyes, and Master has gone still, the bite he holds out for me ignored.

I want to go home.

My core aches at the memory of Sir’s prod, at the humiliation that hasn’t stopped burning a hole in my gut. The spoon of food being offered to me is gone now, and Master makes a sign with his hand that I pay no attention to. The other woman’s voice is a beacon, a chance.

A chance to go home.

My first one.

To tell Mom and Dad I’m sorry again.

Maybe this time they’d forgive me. Maybe they’d tell me how worried they are. I could smell the Pantene shampoo Mom uses, and she’d hold me while we sobbed.

I open my mouth, getting one word out before my luck ends.

Help.It’s one word, but one that holds power. Maybe if I’m lucky, it’s the only one I need.

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