Her fragile happiness lay on the floor of the kitchen in shards, plowed again and again by the fierce iron cock of her Master. It shouldn’t have been able to hurt her anymore; it cut her open. Her eyes stung, and throat felt raw. It was a cry for help, empty, soundless.
He groaned, a long exhalation that shook the air around her, moving it when she could not. Filling it with his satisfaction where her pain should have gone. The heat and weight of his body fell onto hers, flattening her. She was so far wrung out that there should be nothing left, as she struggled to draw breath under the pressure.
But a part of her burned, doused by the wind only to flare up on its reprieve. She no longer thought of survival alone; she wanted more. This afternoon he’d been lenient with her. Generous with her. And in doing so, he’d damned them both.
The air cooled behind her; it stilled. She was alone but found no relief.
She could leave. If she walked outside now, her chances would be better than they had been on her first escape. Better, because now she was full and warm to begin with. Maybe she could even pack supplies, find money to help her. These practical thoughts fell one after the other, a line of lanterns on a string. Somewhere inside her was a self-sufficient woman, trapped by her training. Silenced by terror.
Her head cocked to the side. She heard nothing. He must have gone back to bed.
She stood up, intending to leave. Surely she would at least make the attempt, even though a larger part of her doubted her ability to succeed. More than that she doubted her sanity, but then, didn’t every animal wish to be free? Or perhaps she was so contented as his pet despite his recent rough treatment that she wished to stay.
The desire for freedom felt familiar, like an old friend. It brought a burst of happiness, just the glimpse of it, but she wasn’t sure she really knew it after all this time. Had she ever really?
She found herself walking into the living room. Just to search for supplies, she reasoned. Here the moonlight was a bit brighter than the kitchen, and she could just make out the striped corduroy of the sofa and the low thick coffee table she now recognized as having been made by her master’s hand.
The bookcase was overstuffed, with small books jammed sideways, toppling over one another in an attempt to fit in. Each book wore its use like a badge of honor, the spine cracked and stripped from being bent open. A corollary to the scars on her back; she shivered.
The only other piece of furniture in the room was a black trunk in the corner. Unlike the books, it was gray with dust and disuse. She wondered that it was not wood. It would have stuck out with its leather siding and garish gold corners, if it had not been so clearly shoved away. Unwanted.
She fiddled with the lock, expecting resistance, but the top opened with only the slightest creak. The top layer was black fabric, probably meant to protect what was underneath. At one time, someone had cared about these contents. She was like an archaeologist, peeling back the layers to determine what once was.
Her fingers touched on leather, and she lifted out a flogger. It was large and heavy, though not intimidating to her. She knew it would make a pleasant thud on her flesh, not sting or mark. Though how she knew that was a mystery, since nothing she had experienced in captivity had been pleasant, and she most definitely had never been allowed to hold an implement.
Tucking that thought away, she reached in again. There were padded leather cuffs, yards and yards of rope. Everything a kinky person might desire; all of it intended to hurt but not harm. There was safety built in, care built in to every item. It was shocking to her, and then, not surprising at all.
She’d always known it wasn’t right. But there were only so many times her mind could scream for justice, for mercy, before it turned on her. Twisted her own beliefs until she thought up was down, bad was good, and slavery was life.
There were dildos and nipple clamps, some more scary than others but none of it vicious. She unraveled a soft leather package to find a sleek knife. She shivered. Knife play? Maybe she had been too quick to judge no harm, but she didn’t think so. They were too clean and their wrapping too meticulous. This wasn’t something taken lightly. Safety. Care.
She wouldn’t have minded these, but she knew they weren’t meant for her. She was the interloper here, touching cold metal and glass that had once been warmed by a body… but whose?
She found the answer at the bottom. By now she sat amid a sea of sex toys. The thought flitted through her head: what if he found her this way? But it passed quickly, eclipsed by her curiosity and perplexing but growing certainty that her true freedom lay somewhere in here.
The collar was thin black leather, very soft and supple. It had a ring in the front of it and an inscription along the inside.
Master’s Lovely Pet
Her heart contracted for this woman she never knew, for love lost. She knew with sudden certainty that the woman was dead. She knew she’d been loved.
One by one, she replaced every item in the trunk. The collar, the knives, the little clover nipple clamps in their clear plastic box. She laid the black blanket over the top and shut the lid, throwing up a cloud of dust that tickled her nose. Her idea to run had been put away as well for the silliness it was.
She had no memory of where she came from, no future outside these walls. There was
only a man, gruff and tender, haunted but hopeful. A thought came to her that she could aspire to this, a beloved pet, but she let it slip from her grasp. It didn’t matter. To be with him was enough and everything all at once.
She climbed into bed, beside the softly snoring form of her Master. The euphoria of the day had been stripped from her, but there was still a quiet satisfaction in servitude. Always that. Only that.
* * *
It was the smell of bacon she noticed first, making her mouth water before she’d fully come awake. But it was the sound of male voices in conversation that drew her upright, and quickly.
Had they found her?
Although if they had really come to take her away, surely they wouldn’t have let her sleep in. The bed was still musky with her master’s scent, her own body still aching from his anger. He wouldn’t let them take her, she hoped. But oh, he had seemed so different last night.
Another dress lay on the bed, this time a white sheath with bright red flowers. It was such the opposite of fetish-wear or sexy lingerie. She crushed it between her fingers before slipping it over her head.