Page 67 of Servitude to Serpents

He smirks, working my clit with a fervor that makes me see stars as he forces another orgasm out of me. Only then does he gently, slowly work his cock out of my ass, ordering me to stay put as he rifles through his chest, pulling out sanitary wipes, giving his twitching reddened cock a quick wipe before skidding me across the desk. “Let your head hang. I’m going to fuck your throat now.”

I can only whimper.

“Keep those legs wide so I can see your pretty stretched cunt, or you’ll keep the seal inside you during your caning.”

He’s a bloody mess, and I assume now so am I, but I’m too exhausted to care. I struggle to keep my eyes open as I open my mouth, pushing my tongue flat to welcome him in. If his cock was stretching in my ass, it’s suffocating when he slams it down my throat. I’m spent, at his mercy as he fucks my throat, pulling out long enough to let me gasp, only to shove back again. I’m dirty, disgusting, even, and worshipped. My head swims with praise and pleasure as he stiffens,jerking with his release as his cum shoots down the back of my throat. I swallow, sputtering slightly, but he doesn’t let up, choking me until he’s finished. When he pops free, he stands back, tucking himself back into his pants, and I watch him with half-lidded eyes.

Something foreign crosses his face, something almost akin to shock. It’s there for a fleeting moment before his eyes narrow on me, his fist coming up to absently rub at his chest. “I—"

The doors behind him slam open, Stuart's reddened face barging through. His eyes widen on the scene before him. Suddenly, the indifference is back, my master firmly back in place as he glances over his shoulder at the man. “I suggest you keep your eyes on the floor. He’s the only mess I require your help with.”

Stuart is fuming as he nods. “Yes, Sir. I’ll be back up with the cleaners shortly.”

Master's attention is on me again, but the look his prickly second in command gives me is enough to wipe the sleep from my face, dread sinking low in my belly. The sensation is easy enough to ignore as Master collects me from his desk, bundling me against his chest in a way that makes me feel so tiny in his arms. “May I have a bath this time, Sir?”

“It depends.”

I pause, turning my eyes toward him as he walks us down the hall, not to my bathroom but his bedroom. “…. on what?”

“How well you take your caning.”

“Master! I can’t—"

His arms tighten on me in warning. “You get six on each thigh. One more word, the seal stays in, and I cane your ass instead,” he warns, placing me on my feet and instructing me to lift my hands above my head. I frown but remain quiet, watching as he takes advantage of the elaborate restraint system quipped to his bed, one that was formally fitted to mine. We long ago discovered I cannot keep my hands out of the way during punishments. He instructs me to squat, blush coloring my cheeks as I obey, bearing down until the seal slips out of me. I do my best to ignore the fluid that follows it. Dying of embarrassment would be the topping on a very shitty cake. My hands are chained above my head, my legsshaking with exhaustion.

He canes me, forcing me to count each hit until I’m trembling, only the restraints holding my weight, sobs wreaking my chest.

“I am not a good man, Pup. I had hoped to shield you from the worst of it,” he whispers, stroking me adoringly as I sob. “It was brutality. I regret not asking you to leave the room.”

“I didn’t mind. Truly, it didn’t bother me too much,” I assure him, trying to ease my crying as he undoes my restraints.

My breath hitches in my chest as he tucks me into his, holding me tightly. “Then I am even more sorry.” He says it under his breath before lifting me into his arms and carrying me into the bathroom.

Chapter twenty-five

To own is to…. Agonize

Warrick

Everything is fucked.

Chapter twenty-six

To own is to… Hurt

Chloe

Something is happening to me. Well, something more than everything that has happened to me since my twenty-first birthday. My feet pad on the hallway runner as Sir inputs the code to his armory. I’m valiantly resisting the urge to ask if the numbers are random, or if they have significance to him. The only thing keeping the question at bay is how much it’ll suck to be scolded for remembering his access code. It’s the third time we’ve been down here this week, where my master attempts to ignore my existence as he polishes and disassembles, only to reassemble, the same weapons over and over again. His hardened confidence is in place, sure, but now it’s laced with an angry type of nervous energy. He’s unsure. Of what, I have no idea. I only know that when I ask, I’m punished; not in the overt ways, but by his silence, his distance…which is far worse than any caning or prod. I haven’t been eating well, and he’s too preoccupied to tell. Dark circles are becoming more pronounced under his eyes as he makes himself busy reading over logs, seeing which weapons are logged in and out for the day. God knows whyso many are. It has been easy to forget this is my master’s job. He deals weapons of all kinds, from handguns to chemical warheads. He rarely goes on individual runs, but when he does, I’m usually stuck sequestered to his plane for hours at a time.

I make myself busy too, flipping through some weird semantics I don’t understand. Looks like some kind of bomb, though for the most part, I ignore it, pretending my anxiety hasn’t been at critical levels for a week now. My thoughts seem…different, not the internal dialog I’m used to hearing from myself. I’m not someone I recognize. My heart pounds as I lay awake all night, waiting for Master to come back to his room. I’m acting out before I decide to, like my actions aren’t my own, but most of all I’m…angry.

His attention has been so firmly on me that to live without it feels like I’m living without reason orair. My mind is a muddled mess of listless anxiety without his praise or reinsurance. I watch him from under my lashes as he takes a rocket launcher off the wall to inspect it. I imagine it will pass just as well as it did yesterday and the day before. The man is readying himself for something, and for the first time since my arrival, it’s information I’m not privy to. He never minded before, just the way you wouldn’t mind sharing your deepest, darkest secrets to an armchair. It’s never going to talk, anyway.

I sigh, louder than necessary, irritation flooding my chest. I don’t like feeling this way, shut out by someone who I suppose never really even let me in, although I can’t shake the suspicion that I was close. Like if I’d dug a little harder, I’d have found the ooey gooey center of my master. I washed him after my caning, humming out loud for the first time since I was a child, feeling…rightfor the first time ever. Then, he held me so tight I could barely breathe. It felt like the culmination of something…altering, and when we woke up, my master was gone, somewhere hidden from me.

I would rather he caned me within an inch of my life than endure his rejection. Anxiety needles my chest as I watch him, not even pretending not to. He knows; he wants to watch me too. Instead, he takes that stupid thing apart, methodically. Slowly.

“Dog.”

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