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Cold. Confident.
“Okay, stop.”
My eyes cracked open as fingers halted in my hair. After my fun at the auction, I had my male slave shower me. He’d even surprised me by going down on me, but he stopped from moving further on his own after I’d had my orgasm. I like that he recognized I wasn’t in the mood for more. It wasn’t going to take much to train him. He read me well. Too well, if I wanted to be honest, but I liked the intensity he had, studying me. He was so eager to please and make me happy just like they said in the classes; I just had to keep it that way. To be soft or let him have more of me would defeat any sense of ownership I carried. I was his Mistress, not his girlfriend. Men always seemed to blur the line and try to take more than I wanted to give. With him being a blank slate1, I technically didn’t have to worry about that, but I’d make sure I wouldn’t let that happen just in case.
Sitting, I yawned, fixing the robe as I walked to the vanity just outside the bathroom door. It was feet from the end of my bed, and I didn’t miss my slave’s movement from the pillow to the bottom of the mattress. He was waiting. Not relaxing like I thought he would.
Point for him.
I pulled out the chair, picking up my brush as I glanced up at him in the mirror. He went to stand but stopped at my hard shake. Frozen, his eyes studied mine. He was thinking he upset me somehow. The slave was questioning himself after my abrupt stop to his affection. And that’s what he’d been trying to give when he was playing with my hair. I knew expressions and how to wear every single one flawlessly, and he was perplexed.
“Mistress?”
“No.”
I left it at that. I would not give him a reason for my distance. He had to accept my decisions no matter what they were.
Minutes went by as I brushed my long hair. I went to stand, stopping as I glanced back at his reflection. I spun on the rectangular stool, facing him. What had his name been before he came here? What was his personality like before he was taken? Hobbies? What were his dreams? The questions registered, but I pushed them away. It was pointless to know, but it could give me insight into his mindset, which might help more than the generic profile I’d read through when I chose him. But would it be okay to bring those up? Surely, it wouldn’t mess him up somehow. It’s not like they warned us not to bring up their past.
“This robe I’m wearing is wet. There’s an ivory silk nightgown set hanging at the back of the closet. Retrieve it and dress me.”
There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation as the slave pushed to his feet and headed for the closet door. I stood, stopping at the bottom of the bed so I could watch him. The space wasn’t anywhere as big as my closet in my Hollywood penthouse, but I also didn’t have much of a wardrobe here either. That was something I needed to change. I didn’t have many options for clothing if I wanted to explore the city and actually participate in one of the many events they hosted.
Head up, my slave stepped over the curled-up girl, not even glancing down as he took the hanger from the wooden pole and turned back to face me. As he returned, he was already removing the ivory silk top and unclamping the matching shorts. My hand came up causing him to slow.
“Do you know how to braid?”
I lifted my arms, waiting as he brought the top up to slide it down my chest. He quickly grabbed the shorts, bending to allow me to step into them. Teeth sunk into his bottom lip, and he slowed at my lower thighs, tracing one of his index fingers over my skin. As quick as he stole the touch, he blinked through his mistake, sliding the shorts to my hips.
“I know how to braid, Mistress. Not very well, but I will practice until I make you happy.”
“Good. I want you to braid my hair, and come morning, you’ll take it out. But you will not brush it. That is a treat you haven’t earned yet. Maybe in time you’ll be so lucky.” I adjusted the top, fixing it to hug my breasts, showing how displeased I was that he hadn’t done it first. “Or maybe not.”
Dismissing him, I stepped around his tall frame, gazing into the closet at the helpless heap on my floor. She was awake, but she wasn’t moving much.
“Weakling, if you have to go to the bathroom or take a shower, do it now. Once I go to bed, you will not wake me. Not ever. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“There are two dressers in the back of the closet. One is full of my slave’s clothes; the other is mine. You can have a pair of my panties from my drawer and a T-shirt from his. You will keep yourself covered at all times. Is that clear?
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Hurry up and do whatever you need.”
The girl flew to her feet, disappearing to the back of the closet, only to race for the bathroom. I sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to grind my teeth through the anger at even having to deal with her. I didn’t like females. Not really, and especially not ones like this crying, cowering girl here. I saw myself in them. I saw my mother. Weak. Both of us back in those days. Pathetic. Punching bags. Playthings for predators, and she allowed it. Even gave me to them if it helped to support us.
My fists gripped into the comforter as I stared ahead. All I could see was white metal from the old trailer we’d lived in. It wasn’t even a big one, more of a travel trailer size, sporting one bedroom in the back, and the table that I used that turned into a bed. But he didn’t get me inside that day. No…I didn’t make it that far. I hadn’t even made it to the front door before I felt hands grip my hips.
“Your momma says you got the rent this month, Char. Is she right?” One of his arms slid around my waist, locking in tight as the other tried forcing my legs apart. I threw my body off to the side to try to break his hold, but I’d been here before. There was no winning. There was also nowhere to live if I didn’t do this. Could I, again? Could I endure letting our landlord touch me down there as I jacked him off? I was a virgin. That was one thing I had going for me. That didn’t excuse my mouth, ass, or hand. I wanted as far from this old, stinky man as I could get, and ultimately, I had.
Shame was empowering. Life changing for me. Getting caught with Mr. Gorbes by my neighborhood crush shouldn’t have made such an impact, but for me it scorched the fighter I had inside. It brought her to life making her run right to the one place littered with more predators than that rundown trailer park, but I made it, and I grew stronger. I found my backbone and worked on my self-esteem. I also grew angry as fuck, and with each man who touched me, the festering rage built. It still was locked away inside, whispering sweet nothings of murder and mayhem as I tried to kill that weak little girl I used to be.
“Mistress?”
The whisper was so light it barely pulled me from the outside of the trailer. I blinked the memories away, taking in the brush and hairband my slave held. I hadn’t even seen him get it from my vanity. This girl couldn’t be here for much longer. Not when I knew I owned her very weak existence. And I wasn’t helpless anymore. I wouldn’t be associated with such low vibrations or have it around me. Nor…would I look at it.
“Bring the chair for me. You’ll sit on the bed.”
