“Are you looking to make a spectacle of yourself? Is that it? You want me to put you over my knee again and spank you in front of everyone here?”
“No,” I hurry to say.
“Liar. I felt how wet you were after I beat your ass yesterday. Your little whore cunt craves attention. A part of you loves being on show.”
I shake my head. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I?”
“Why won’t you answer me?”
He leans forward, his stubble scraping the side of my cheek as he whispers low and erotic in my ear, “When you ask questions worthy of my answers, you’ll get them. For now, I want you on your fucking knees crawling through this house at the end of my very short leash. Are we clear, Pet?”
I hate him. God, how I hate him.
I drop to my knees in supplication and stare up at him, his doting slave. One who’s going to murder him in his sleep. I wonder how long it would take to strangle him with his rope.
“Come. It’s almost time for the races.”
“Races?” I ask in confusion.
He grins. “It’s punishment for the other slaves when they behave like animals.”
I have no idea what that is supposed to mean but I follow behind him with my head bent low, the way he’s taught me.
My gaze flicks up every so often to absorb my surroundings. Other slaves mill about, dressed in leather lingerie, carrying food and liquor-laden trays outside. Ares leads us through the doors and across an enclosed porch. The yard beyond is enormous. Lush and green and well tended to despite the December snowfall. It overlooks a stable and a large round pen. Inside the painted white fence are people, people dressed in black rubber suits, saddles with leather boots, horse-shaped ears, and ornate bridles that are held by their Masters. I inhale sharply.
“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?”
I glance up at Ares, frowning at the amusement on his face.
“W-why?” This is the only word I have.
“Texas owns this ranch. His tastes have always leaned toward animal play, but the equine kink seems to have . . . flourished in the last few years.”
“Why would you want humans to dress up like horses?”
“I don’t know, but we don’t judge others for their proclivities.” He pats my hair, and bends down to chuck me under the chin. “There are many faces of kink, Pet. None of them are wrong if it’s sane, safe, and consensual.”
“But it’s not consensual, is it?” I search his gaze for answers I know he won’t give. “Not when you’re stealing men and women.”
He lets out an exasperated sigh and tilts my face up to his. “Let me ask you something. This morning, when you begged me to fuck you, was that consent?”
“That’s not—”
“And the first time I undid your cuffs, all those weeks ago, and I brought your body to orgasm, did you fight?”
My eyes widen. I relive the event in the bathroom. I didn’t struggle. I didn’t stop him. I was free. My hands were unrestricted. I could have tried harder to push him away, but I didn’t.
“That’s what I thought. You can protest all you want, but this is who you are. It’s who you’ve always been . . . submissive,” he whispers the last word like a caress, a taunt. “It’swhyI stole you.”
My mind reels. What does that mean? That is more than I’ve ever gotten from him and still he’s said nothing at all. He’s left me with riddles.
I’ve never questioned my behavior, my actions, and my lack thereof. All this time I’d been focused on what Sir does to me, how he takes me, he hurts me, he brings me pleasure, but I’ve never turned that scrutinization inward, not for long.
Without another word, he turns and snaps his fingers. I follow closely behind him because the alternative is too terrible.
“Master Muerte, we were wondering if you’d ever emerge from your room,” Texas proclaims, handing Ares a glass of amber liquid that looks like whiskey. “Your little Pet here keeps you rather busy. We’ve hardly seen you all weekend.”