Damaged Gods

He makes me stand there, frozen in silence, for several more seconds before he speaks again. “I’m only going to say this one more time, slave. You are here at my pleasure. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and thoroughly go over the rules with you. Then you will make us breakfast, you will put on that ring, and you will go into town and purchase our essentials. Now I’m going to let you go, but when I do, I expect you to agree immediately. I will not tolerate your insolence.”

And then I am unfrozen. I stumble forward, just like I did yesterday. But the bookshelf catches me before I fall.

The beast growls. “Do you understand me?”

I turn. I force myself to look him in the eye. And then I say, “Put. On. Some. Pants.”

CHAPTER SEVEN - PELL

I growl at her. “Satyr chimera do not wear pants.”

“Well, the sight of said satyr chimera’s package is disgusting. And I refuse to talk to you until you put. On. Pants.”

“Package?” I mutter more to myself than to her.

But she answers me through clenched teeth. “Your dick.”

“My cock?”

“Yes.” She’s fuming now.

But I’m enjoying myself. I like her flustered because when she’s flustered, she’s tolerable. Amusing, even. “Does the sight of a man’s sex parts make you… tremble?”

“Tremble? No.” She points to my lower body and waves it her finger around in a circle. “This whole thing… I can’t. OK? I just can’t this morning. Just… cover it up.”

I look down at my package, then back up at the girl called Pie. “What’s wrong with it? None of the women I’ve pleasured have ever had any complaints.”

She scoffs. “Were they human?”

“I’ve had thousands of human women. Always satisfied.”

“Gross.”

She has still not looked down again. I could order her. I could wait until she slips and then freeze her. Make her stare at it for hours. But I’m hungry. And this is a tantalizing opportunity for another time. This slave is going to take months to train. And now that I know that my natural supererotic state makes her blush like a virgin on the eve of Ostara, I will want to use this to my full advantage.

So instead, I turn and look at Tomas. He’s got his hand over his mouth like he’s hiding a smirk, quite enjoying our little interaction. But I’m not sure if he’s happy about her dismissal of me, or the way her cheeks went bright pink the moment she said ‘pants.’ “Show her where the kitchen is, Tomas. I must excuse myself to go find pants.” I shoot her a look, but she’s turned her back to me. And that pisses me off. She has no right to judge me. She is a slave. “You will have breakfast ready in one hour. And after that, we will go over every rule. I will explain my expectations in detail, so there is no misunderstanding. And then you will put on that ring and go into town to run my errands like a good slave caretaker should.”

Her shoulders go stiff when I say the word ‘slave.’ And that is enough to satisfy me.

I turn, push past Tomas and his smirk, and exit the apothecary.

I spent last night exploring the hidden floors of the upper levels. And I did actually find a room filled with satyr clothes. Centuries ago, when I was paired with a particularly adept slave caretaker who could sew, we threw parties in the sanctuary and I wore this finery. This was back in the old world when humans barely needed to be drunk to accept a satyr chimera in their midst.

I sigh as I climb the magic staircase and enter the maze of hallways. I miss the old world.

Sometimes the rooms move and you can’t ever find the one you need when you need it. But today, I am in luck because I find the closet room easily. The clothes are magic, so they have not rotted and the colors have not faded. They are as bright and fine as the day they were made.

I will wear pants for this girl. But it’s not going to be enough to hide my package, as she puts it. Because the pants are tight. They were not made to hide the shape of me. They were made to accentuate it.

I draw the line at shirts. And she didn’t ask for a shirt, so if it’s a shirt she requires to be comfortable during her first years here, she is out of luck. And she will learn her lesson. If you’re going to ask a monster for a favor, you had better be specific.

The breeches are a rich, green velvet. The color of the forest. And they make me look like the woodsy monster-thing I am. Something akin to Pan himself. All I need is a pipe flute and I could be the wood god incarnate. Though my horns are much nicer than his ever dreamed of being.