AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Finally, she tries to rest. Her knees bend, and she almost sits down. But that is not what I want.
That is when I bring the whip to bear, cracking it in her direction. I want her up and moving according to my will. She will not rest until I allow it. She will take water when I give it. She will be fed only by my hand. She will come to learn that she is no different than an animal and that she is entirely dependent on me for everything she needs.
I catch her resentful looks, hardly hidden under those thick dark lashes of hers. She stays sitting, refusing to move from the simple cue of the sound. I flick the tip of it against the outside of her thigh. A little pink mark appears, and a curse escapes her pretty lips.
“Asshole,” she growls.
“Move on,” I insist firmly.
“Why? What do you give a shit if I’m moving or not… oW!”
She squeals and dances as my whip makes harsher contact. A horse would not stop to argue. It might toss its head, snort, paw the ground and try to go the wrong way, but it would not call me an asshole.
The tantrum might manifest differently, but it is the same thing. A battle of will. A refusal to bow to my authority, followed by a consequence. Another difference between this human woman and the four-legged beasts I love is she requires contact almost from the beginning. A horse will move from motion and sound. She ignores them until she feels the sting.
She starts to walk again. I know she is tired. I know she is weakened from captivity and from her flight. But what matters is gaining her obedience in this simple thing. From walk-on command, all things can be attained.
* * *
Blaire
I feel his eyes on me, big and intense. Every time I slow he twitches the whip. If I stop, he flicks it against my legs. It’s an annoyance more than it is a pain, but I know the annoyance will become pain if I don’t obey him. This is how you start a horse. I know what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to condition my obedience. He’s trying to make me obey him in a thousand small things so that in the end, I obey him in all things. My mind will become pre-programmed and even eager to submit to his will. I will feel safer, and happier when I do as he pleases. That is the theory of this kind of training, and it works better on some horses than others.
There are smart horses, and there are smart women, and both of us know how to give the appearance of obedience without actually being trained at all. I don’t need to please Equs. I need to get away from him and back to the transport freighter which will return to this godforsaken planet in a matter of days, probably.
I let him think this is doing something. I move at his whim and I bend to his will. I give him the satisfaction of the illusion of control. I turn toward him and I look at him. When he does not move, I take a step toward him.
“Good girl,” he praises. I almost let myself feel a sense of warmth at his approval. Almost.
“Are you hungry?”
I am starving. When I was captured I was putting off eating until after I’d caught my chosen stallion. I’ve been running ever since. It’s probably been about a day since I last had food. I last drank with the mare and her foal. Just thinking about them I feel an ache deep inside my soul. I miss them. I hope they got away and found the rest of their herd. I hope they run free forever. I don’t know if I’ll ever catch a horse again now that I know what it feels like to be captive myself.
“Yes,” I say, simply. There is no point elaborating. He knows I am hungry. How could I not be? He has made no attempt to feed me as yet, and he has harassed me across vast swathes of territory. He has made me his enemy, and there is no way I will ever consider him anything other than a captor, no matter how hard he makes me come.
I will be free of this brutal king. I will find my way back to my own world, and my own herd. I swear that to myself here and now, knowing that I will likely have to endure much and suffer even more in order to survive him.
“Come here,” he says, crooking his finger.
I step toward him, falling into his shadow as I get closer. He has not come empty-handed. There is a pouch at his waist. He shows me it, and I see that it is full of treats.
