“Maybe her skill is pie eating.” Felice says, and the others snicker.
Mistress’s lips curl and she makes a point of staring at my hips. “Maybe.” She murmurs. “Let’s find out…”
The weight of the leather collar around my neck is a constant, suffocating presence. The chain attached to it lies coiled beside me like a sleeping serpent, its other end held loosely by my Mistress.
Her dark eyes never leave me but there’s no cruelty in her gaze, only the quiet certainty of a person who understands I have no escape.
I spent the entire day performing tricks, dancing, doing anything and everything she demanded in her pursuit to discover what my talent is. I didn’t dare tell her that Antonio bought me not because I have a talent but because he hates me, hates my family, murdered my father and was almost certainly in love with my mother.
I almost wail as that thought, as the overwhelming emotion hits me. Antonio ruined my life and yet here I am, already broken. Already on my knees, doing what he wants, playing his docile little I don’t even know what.
I blink back furious tears, focusing on the hall, on the lanterns, on the way their glow catches the jewels around the throats of the other women, turning them into living constellations.
To them, this is paradise.
To me, it’s a gilded nightmare.
I curl tighter, pressing myself further into the floor as if I could sink into it and just disappear.
Anya arches her back, her body a sinuous curve as she dances, the sheer silk of her dress clinging to every dip and swell. Julie laughs, high and bright, twirling until the fabric flares around her thighs. Felice lounges at Antonio’s feet theway a contented dog would, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his calf, her lips parted in a smile that’s all teeth and hunger.
Theywantthis. Theythriveon it.
I don’t understand.
Antonio claps his hands, and the music slows to a pulse, a heartbeat, deep, rhythmic, primal. The sound coils through the room like smoke, thick and intoxicating.
The women respond instantly, their bodies swaying toward him as if pulled by invisible strings. Anya is the first to reach him, her lithe form sliding between his legs like liquid silk. She presses her cheek to his thigh, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his knee, her lips parted in a sigh. Julie follows, her red curls spilling over his lap as she nuzzles against his hip, her teeth grazing the fabric of his trousers in playful hunger. Felice drapes herself across his other side, her dark eyes gleaming as she licks a slow, deliberate stripe up his wrist.
They move like creatures born to worship him, and he lets them.
His fingers tangle in Anya’s hair, tightening just enough to make her gasp. She arches into his grip, baring her throat like a perfect, delicate offering to a vampire. The rubies at her collar glint in the lamplight, catching fire as he tilts her head back further, exposing the flutter of her pulse.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs and the word is a command, a benediction.
Julie whines softly, her fingers creeping higher, teasing the laces of his shirt. Felice answers with a low laugh, her hand sliding between Julie’s thighs from behind, her fingers dipping beneath the sheer fabric of her skirt. Julie’s breath hitches, her hips jerking forward into Felice’s touch, into Antonio’s space.
And then, without warning Anya twists in Antonio’s grip, her mouth finding Julie’s in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss. Julie moans into it, her hands flying to Anya’s waist, pulling her closer. Felice watches for a moment, her lips curving in wicked delight before she leans in, her tongue tracing the shell of Julie’s ear.
I can’t look away.
Suddenly my skin is too hot, my breath too shallow. The air is thick with the scent of them, perfume, sweat, and something darker, muskier. Julie’s dress is tossed away as Felice’s fingers work between her legs, the wet sound of it obsceneabove the music. Anya breaks the kiss only to sink her teeth into Julie’s lower lip, her own hand slipping between her thighs, her fingers moving in slow, teasing circles.
Antonio watches them like a king surveying his court, his eyes heavy-lidded, his lips parted in quiet approval. One hand remains fisted in Anya’s hair, the other stroking Felice’s cheek, guiding her closer, urging her deeper.
“Let her taste you,” he murmurs to Julie, his voice rough with command.
Julie shudders, her thighs trembling as Felice’s fingers push inside her. A broken sound escapes her and Anya swallows it, her tongue laving over Julie’s as if she could drink the very pleasure from her mouth. Felice’s free hand grips Anya’s hip, pulling her back against her, her teeth sinking into Anya’s shoulder.
They move together, a tangle of limbs and want, their bodies slick with sweat, their moans mingling in the hazy air.
And I, I don’t understand.
This is a sin. All of this is.How can Antonio be a Brethren Lord and partake in this, whatever this is?
My pulse hammers, and my skin prickles with something between horror and fascination. The leather collar around my neck feels heavier suddenly, the chain still coiled beside me like a promise. The woman’s grip on it hasn’t loosened, but her thumb strokes the back of my hand, once, twice, like a silent question.
I let out a silent whimper because I don’t know what any of this is, and I don’t know how to navigate this.
