Hear Me

But he wasn’t saying anything, and she’d already done one wrong thing. Once was a mistake. Any more would be considered willful disobedience. What did he want her to do?

She slowly looked up, already berating herself for the audacity.

Thick eyebrows made harsh lines across his face. His skin was tan and peppered with an uneven beard, as if it had been scraped at with an old blade by an impatient hand.

How long had it been since she looked directly at another person?

The long raised scar down his cheek shocked her. Only human, it said. But the cold cast of his eyes disabused her of that notion quickly. No understanding, no trace of pity. Uncontrollable shivers racked her body.

Impossibly, he frowned further.

She was an idiot. God, she knew better than to look directly at him, to show her fear without prompting. Hadn’t they taught her? Over and over again. The memories flashed.

She needed to show him that she hadn’t meant it as defiance. He wanted her on the bed, that much was clear, but based on his tacit displeasure, he wanted something else from her. She couldn’t ask, not without making everything worse. Her mind scrabbled desperately for some way to show her deference, her subservience, without words. Knowing it would fail but desperate, she bowed again atop the rumpled sheets.

Rough hands tightened on her arms once more and flung her back against the pillows.

“Stop that.” His voice rumbled through, over her.

She relaxed her body across the bed. Let him do with her what he would. Sex, violence. Her mind reached for that faraway place where none of this mattered. Where none of it was really happening anyway.

But when he put his thick hand on her ankle, panic rose like bile.

There had never been a more innocent place to touch her than her ankle, and the light pressure was more of a caress than anything, but it hit her like a slap. Her leg jerked, shaking his hand off of her. She stared in horror at her mutinous leg, shocked that she could ever do something so stupid.

The insults of her Masters played in her head. Disobedient slut. Willful little cunt. Worthless whore. God, she would deserve every lash he meted out.

“Stay,” he said then left the room.

Gone to get something to hit her with, ties to hold her down, probably. Pain awaited her, that message rang clearly in every stark plane of his face and thick muscle banding his body.

She had precious seconds alone with which to get her bearings. The last thing she remembered was being asleep in her cell. There had been extra activity for the past couple of days. While she got her daily whipping, one of her Masters had talked to another.

Who do you think’s going to get her?

Some rich fuck. Lucky bastard too. This one takes it like a dream.

They all do, tied down like that.

She’s quiet. The rest of them make a fucking racket. I hear the goddamned screams in my sleep.

She had been sold. The realization settled into her stomach with dread and resignation. That was what they were talking about. Wondering who would buy her.

The thought of leaving her cell terrified her, but it was already done. She couldn’t remember the transport, but that was probably just as well. She assumed it wouldn’t be pleasant, but then, she couldn’t remember her arrival at the compound either. All she knew was training.

At some point, her previous life had slipped away from her, like an old skin that no longer fit. She knew better than to try to remember. If whatever she had known or believed before threatened her survival in this life, she was better off without it.

The women who clung to their old identities suffered more. They fought until their last breath, finally mastered by their own stubbornness. What was the cost of sucking a cock or licking a boot when compared to life? No, she wanted to survive.

The men had whips and restraints. The only weapon she had was utter obedience.

Another thought occurred to her. Maybe they had given her something to knock her out or tamper with her memory. Gratitude welled inside her. They always took care of her. Sometimes it hurt, but she surely deserved it. Every lash to her skin raised a mirroring lash of self-recrimination and guilt.

The doorframe gaped, empty. Her Master had been gone a long time now.

The thought of his return terrified her, but the alternative was even worse. Maybe she was too much trouble for him, and he wouldn’t want her anymore. What if he wasn’t getting some painful implement to punish her? What if he was contacting her old Masters at the compound, demanding they take her back?

Her stomach clenched painfully. She didn’t know him, whether he would be cruel or merciful, but if she were returned to her old Masters, they would kill her.