Bloody Shackles

Chapter 4: Something In Your Mouth

This chapter is inspired by the song Something In Your Mouth by Nickelback. 

Marcus’s POV

            “Come join me, Pet,” I murmured lowly.

            She came willingly, her body swaying from side to side, as she sauntered towards me. I had long since forgotten her name, but she has been one of my favored harlots over the years. With her warm, brown eyes, smooth, olive skin, and shiny, black hair, it was a wonder that there was any other woman in this estate. She has always been, and will always be that beautiful. Exotic, one might say, but beautiful nonetheless. That is why I have called for her many a time, more so than the others.

            “Is that longing I see in your eyes?” I wondered as I pulled her close.

Slipping the sleeve of her dress off her shoulder, she whispered seductively in my ear, “Sorry, Master, I believe you’re mistaken.”

“So you’re saying that you haven’t missed me?” I mumbled into her neck, as I pulled her other sleeve off, and watched her dress slide down her body.

            She stayed quiet for a moment as I breathed in her scent. My lips found hers, and they moved together in movements that were natural and familiar. Regretfully pulling away, I let her catch her breath.

            “I-I didn’t miss you,” she sighed, before I closed the space between us once again.

            “And yet you came to me, when I called for you,” I chuckled.

            She let out a low snicker. “So I did, it is my job, you know,” she suggested as she wrapped her arms around my neck and drew me closer.

            “Hm, only you can speak to me like that and get away with it, Woman,” I grumbled playfully.

            “Enough talk,” she uttered softly. Pressing her body roughly against mind, she pushed me down, and let her lips guide the way.

            After a moment, I had to pull away, but when I did, and she opened her eyes, I was immediately drawn back in. Those chocolate orbs of hers could hold a man still for hours. I lost myself in her. She lost herself in me. We lost and found each other in a way we never had before. It was, dare I say, magical.

            As we lay in the rumpled sheets, with our hair tangled, and our breath mingling together, satisfaction flooded over me. It was a feeling that I have seldom felt, but I welcomed it.

            “So I heard some of the other servants talking,” she whispered, as she trailed her fingertips lightly up and down my torso.

            “Hm…and what did they say?” I wondered, trailing my own fingers through her long, wavy, locks.

            “They say that you have a new one.”

            “And?”

            “...and that’s it’s a girl.”

            “So?”

            “So…they say that she’s…different,”

            “Are you worried?” I chuckled.

            “No!” she exclaimed before continuing in an embarrassed, hushed, tone. “I-I just, want to know what’s so…different about her.”

            “If you must know, Pet, she is my personal servant. No different from you.”

            She sat up abruptly, scratching her nails across my skin, and locked her eyes onto mine.

            “How can she be no different?” she questioned, flailing her arms about, “How dare you pay for some low-life bi-”

            A low growl escaped from my lips as I held her wrists in my hand.

            “And how dare you, insinuate that you are any different from her, any different from the slut that you are. And how dare you even think that this, thing, between us is anything other than a master and his servant. I know my place. It’s time you remembered yours.”

             She opened her mouth to reply, but closed it again without a sound.

            “Leave me,” I commanded as I released her wrists.

          Without a word, she crawled off the bed, and pulled her dress tightly around her body. Once her eyes had been vibrant and full of warmth, but as she glanced back at me, they emanated only a dull, cold, ache. Surely her hair had been shiny and bouncy before, yet now it limply hung from her scalp, falling over her shoulders like lifeless vines. Her once full, smooth, lips appeared swollen and cracked as she offered me a broken smile, and closed the door behind her.

           The blissful moments are gone. They are unable to return. At the beginning of the hour, I had passion and pleasure running through my veins, yet bitterness and rage are the only things coursing through my blood now. How dare a servant – a concubine – no less, talk to me in such a way? And somehow it does not matter. What matters is my little servant girl has not come to my chambers like I requested. I could feel my eyes slide into an angry, crimson hue. The audacity of that child, making a man such as me, wait, it is completely unnerving. How I despise waiting.