Mind Games

CHAPTER 38: MOVING SLOWLY

       Present day

       Mariah almost gagged on her first bite of the gruel Rose had left out for her. Of course Rose would not have flavored it when Raul was there, Mariah realized a moment too late. 

       The door from the corridor opened and Master Gabriel walked in.  He glanced warily at Mariah before he turned to Raul to thank him.  “My mistress says to tell you that whenever you need me, I am yours to command, Master,” Raul said as he gathered up the socks and yarn.  Gabriel merely nodded equanimically. 

       When Raul shut the door behind him Gabriel said to Mariah, “As soon as you’re ready, we’ll leave for the clinic.”

       Mariah was facing away from him so that he would not see how raw she was from her conversation from Raul.  She steeled herself to recall the mindgame.  “And if I say no, will you force me?”

       Gabriel flinched. He did not notice that her voice was weak. His face turned increasingly white until last he said, quiet and deadly calm, “Come with me, or walk out that door.”

       

       It took a moment for his words to sink in.  What was this? 

       When Mariah neither moved nor acknowledged what he had said, Gabriel continued in the same tone, “If you’re going, go.  You’ve got your bracelet.  Take a pack of food if you like.  You’ve as good a chance as . . . ”  He stopped before his voice broke.

       Leaving would be madness.  Mariah knew it, Gabriel knew it, even Raul had known it this morning, Mariah realized.  She could not stay in the mansion on her own, she could not make her way to the wall on her own, she could not survive outside the wall on her own.  She was defeated.  She shrugged, and lowered her head.

       Gabriel took a deep breath. “If you’re staying here, under my protection,” he said, “you will afford me courtesy, and unless you have a good reason you will come with me when I ask you to.” 

       Mariah turned around slowly. It was all the energy she could gather.  “Is this how it works where you come from?” she asked, her voice low.  “You pretend there’s no slavery, but you give a choice that is no choice at all?”

       Gabriel closed his eyes.  He spoke patiently, as if to a very young child.  “It’s how friendship works, Mariah,” he said.  “And family.  And community.  People help each other.  And in return . . .”  He opened his eyes as he searched for an explanation.  And saw her pale face, her bloodshot eyes.  He resisted the sudden urge to hug her, which could only lead to disaster.  “I don’t want to fight with you,” he said instead, as neutrally as he could manage.  “I just need to know that you’re safe.”

       Mariah turned away under the pretense of bringing her bowl to the sink. “It’s a mindgame,” she said fiercely to herself. 

       Flashback

       Mariah jumped when her master slapped her ass. The slap stung more than hurt, but it was unexpected.  She had not heard him come in. Reflexively she gripped the dish she was washing so it would not slip out of her hands.  She placed it on the sideboard before turning around and falling to her knees. 

       Master Brandon was young, barely older than Mariah, and living in his own apartment for the first time.  He didn’t like Mariah much, she knew that. His parents had chosen her for him after discussion with Mistress Dominique.  The fuckslaves he ordered for most nights were giggly, soft, admiring.  He didn’t know yet that those girls were fine for a few hours, but they were no good for keeping an apartment livable.  Not that it took much to do that.  Mariah sighed.  Dishes, laundry, blowjobs, sweeping, cooking, occasional scattered conversation with her master.  Master Edwin had drilled into her that these were her duties no matter how apathetic her master seemed.  And, truly, Master Brandon was not as bad as Master Townsend had been.  At least he knew her name, and his parents came by often enough to make sure he kept her on routine and healthy. 

       She knew the other slaves in the corridor found comfort in each other.  Not physically, of course; but they managed to walk to the food exchange at the same time, or gather in the exercise yard.  Mariah avoided them.  She maintained carefully good relations with Aisha, the hallway monitor, who had some power to make her life easier or harder and, to Mariah’s relief, did not abuse it.  But she had no interest in gossip or, worse to her mind, friendship.   

       Master Brandon sighed as he looked down on Mariah.  He was bored.  He could have Mariah suck his cock, he supposed.  But he wasn’t really in the mood.  He wished Mariah were more fun. 

       Master Brandon was always bored.  His father had suggested that he request an assignment, but . . . what would he do?  Supervise a bunch of cunts sewing pillow cases?  Watch soybeans grow?  He didn’t think so.  His father taught school to snot-nosed kids, and his mother ran the silk factory.  Brandon would rather die. 

       He sighed again, and indicated his crotch.  Mariah dutifully unbuttoned his pants and took his soft penis into her mouth, as bored as he. 

       Present day, six weeks later

       Animal hurried through the corridor towards his apartment.  He was without inspiration and almost grateful that no students or assistants had bothered to show up.  Surveying the revel room, he had been surprised at how much progress he had made in the last few weeks.  The first two panels were finished, the third almost done, and the fourth and fifth well started.  On a whim he had decided to leave the revel room until the softer evening light, and in the meantime . . .

       Imagining how he and Rose would pass the afternoon, he smiled with one side of his mouth, scaring a rag who lowered her eyes and scurried past.  He was like a slaveboy recently, constantly aroused, as he thought about what he and Rose had done, what they might do.  Rose had always been a good fuck -- of course, he never would have kept her if she hadn’t been trained properly -- but now, increasingly uninhibited . . .  Yesterday, in the revel room, the way she had looked at him from across the room before she walked over to the supply closet, swaying her hips as she went, her invitation unmistakable.  He had no idea what he had said to his students.  He had locked the closet door and taken her standing up, kissing her -- it was amazing how she had learned to kiss, how sensual it was -- and the cries she had made into his mouth had pushed him over the edge. 

       What would they do today?  He walked faster, thinking over the possibilities.  Lying on top of her, her arms over her head, his arms on top of hers, rough and fast.  Or, in an armchair, holding her legs open with his, touching her as she writhed against him.

       The apartment was empty when he arrived. 

       Rose was supposed to be finishing the last of the yellow ochre pigment. Where was she?

       Animal heard laughter coming from the courtyard, Rose’s laughter, loud, not her usual shy giggle.  He looked through the sliding glass door.  She was sitting on the ground, the mortar and pestle between her knees.  And she was shaking with mirth.

       Near her, Raul, the hall monitor, was spreading mulch with a rake.  But as he was doing so he was gesticulating wildly with one arm, telling some story to Rose.  Animal slid open the door. 

       “So that night, who should show up on her doorstep but Penelope, ten pounds heavier and her hair dyed black!”  Evidently this was quite a punchline, because Rose practically convulsed.  “So she . . .”  Raul stopped suddenly when he saw Master Animal out of the corner of his eye.  He flashed Rose a baleful look before he fell to his knees. 

       Animal frowned.  Why he had never heard Rose laugh like that? 

       He looked hard at Raul.  “You are dismissed.” 

       Raul quickly touched his forehead to the ground before he stood and hurried out through Gabriel’s apartment, leaving his tools and mulch where they lay. 

       And Rose.  She was looking at him as though she would speak, although of course she would not, could not, without his permission. 

       “Yes?” Animal said coldly. 

       “Master,” Rose said softly, seriously, all laughter gone although she was still damp around the eyes where tears had leaked out.  “If Mistress Tabitha sees that Raul has not finished here, she’ll punish him, and he . . .” 

       

       Animal’s anger deepened. What did Rose care about Raul? “Would you like me to interfere?” he asked sarcastically.

       “If it pleases you, my lord.”

       Animal glared at Rose.  Was this boldness?  Or did she really not see his stern face, his hand on his whip?  She knelt in front of him, next to the mortar and pestle, her eyes down. Why was she kneeling? Gabriel didn’t like it.  But Gabriel wasn’t here. Animal wished Rose would look at him. 

       When she did look up, trust in her luminous gray eyes, he softened.  He turned on his heel and went back into his apartment before he melted altogether. He scribbled out a note on paper in his sketch pad, tore it out, and took it to the courtyard where Rose had returned to the mortar and pestle.  “Take this to Mistress Tabitha,” he commanded, holding the note out to her. 

       “Thank you, Master,” Rose said, rising to take it.  But Animal drew his hand back.  “Don’t dawdle,” he said roughly.  “I don’t want you talking to Raul.”  At Rose’s hurt, confused look he faltered, and indicated her tools on the ground.  “You were supposed to finish mixing the pigment this afternoon.”  He bit his lip in frustration -- his excuse sounded stupid even to him.  But he had no need of excuses.  He glared, ignoring the tears, not of laughter this time, welling in Rose’s eyes.  He handed her the note at last, and went back to the apartment as Rose exited through Gabriel’s quarters. 

       When she was gone Animal felt foolish and at loose ends.  He went back to the courtyard and looked at the tools left scattered by both Raul and Rose. A jar half-full of yellow pigment was carefully placed in the shade.  Really, Rose had worked hard these last weeks to mix the ochre.  Animal picked up the pestle, still damp from her grip.  Funny how the pestle seemed to be Rose’s now, although he had made it himself years ago, under his mentor Solis’s tutelage. He sat on a bench, grabbed the mortar and began to mash, taking up where Rose had left off, the old familiar rhythm calming him. 

       Rose returned a very short time later, out of breath.  “Clean up,” Animal said, standing up, “and then come to me.”  He stalked over to the divan chair in the center of the courtyard.  Kicking off his shoes he stretched out on it, watching Rose as she gathered up the bags and jars and tools and took them into his studio for storage. 

       And then she came to him, tentative, nervous, standing before him, looking down.  Where was the bold girl of the day before, the one who had lured him into the supply closet? 

       She was never nervous with Gabriel, Animal thought with annoyance.  But then, Gabriel was always kind to her.  Never snapped at her, or moved his hand to his whip. Didn’t even have a whip, and wouldn’t know how to use one. Of course Rose wouldn’t fear Gabriel.  If he owned her he’d ruin her . . . Animal stopped the direction of his thought.  Gabriel did own Rose; the Bearer had given her to him, told her to treat Gabriel better than she treated Animal. His fists clenched.

       And then Rose was falling to the ground before him, on her knees, her forehead touching the dirt.  Why was she doing this?  Animal generally allowed her to speak without begging permission, had since Gabriel’s arrival.  He didn’t like her down there.

       “What?” he tried to say, but it came out more of a bark.

       “Master,” and Animal could hear her tears, “I’m sorry I didn’t finish mixing the ochre.”

       Why would she say that?  She would have finished if Animal hadn’t interrupted her.  But then he remembered, he had scolded her for it.  Maybe Gabriel was right, he thought with a sinking feeling; maybe he was a brute. 

       “It’s okay,” he said. When she raised her head he added, “I know you’ve worked hard these last weeks.”

       Rose still didn’t look at him.  Where was the trust he had seen in her eyes when he offered to write a note to Tabitha?  Why did it disappear so quickly? 

       The answer was obvious, Animal knew: whether he was a pansy or not, his moods were a danger to her.  It was important that she remember the power he wielded over her.  Unlike Gabriel, he didn’t ruin slaves, he prided himself on that.  But still . . . He sighed. 

       “Did Mistress Tabitha read the note?” he asked, trying to remind her that he was . . .what?  Kind?

       “Yes, Master,” Rose said, her voice low, her eyes still downcast.  “She said she would not punish Raul.”  Good.  What more could Rose want from him? 

       But he said, to his own surprise, “I didn’t know that you and he were such good friends.”  His voice sounded sour, even for him.

       Rose shrugged, still looking down.  “He’s always been very good to me, Master.  Helps me when  . . .” She stopped, and started again.  “Never takes advantage of me.”

       “You have feelings for him, then?” Animal asked.  He was aware that sometimes happened among slaves, acting out a pale imitation of human love.  It had never occurred to him that anyone belonging to him, that Rose would . . . He felt an odd, sinking feeling in his stomach. 

       “No, Master,” Rose said. Animal expelled his breath, relieved.  Rose looked up at last, and continued, “Raul cares only for Wendy,  Mistress Tabitha’s housegirl.  He would never think of any other slave in that way.”  

       Animal frowned. But Rose was still looking up at him, and although her eyes were guileless, the slightest smile was twitching on her lips.  Was it possible she was teasing him?  Would she dare?

       “Should I do that for you?” he asked her.  “Take on a houseboy, and give the two of you a sleeping mat the in the spare room, and let you . . .”  He broke off, shuddering.

       “Would he be handsome, Master?” Rose asked.  And now Animal was sure . . . almost sure . . . that she was teasing him. He pulled her towards him. 

       “He would be ragged looking,” he growled.  He lifted her so that she was on top of him and they were lying length to length.  “But he would know just what you like.” He kissed her.  After a brief hesitation Rose kissed him back. 

       She was delicious.  He loved the feel of her against him, chest to chest, groin to groin, legs to legs.  He pulled away from her lips so he could look at her.  The boldness hadn’t appeared, but the fear was gone.  He moved his legs between hers, separating them.  “Like a good slave, he would care about your pleasure before his own,” he said, putting his hands on her lower back, and then moving them down, resting them there, his warmth penetrating her from behind.  He held her like that, massaging her slightly, until Rose made that sound of hers in the back of her throat, and gyrated on Animal as his hardness poked at her.  She shifted so that it hit her in just the right spot.  That sound again.

       Rose pulled away this time. “My slaveboy wouldn’t be wearing pants,” she said slyly, and undid Animal’s belt.  Then she waited, looking at him.  When Animal nodded his permission she pulled his pants off, trailing her hand along his inner leg. It seemed to wake his entire body up.  She did the same thing with his underwear, gently easing it over his hips, his erection, and down his legs.  And then she was laying on top of him again, his shaft against her clit, her juices warming him.  Animal held her head, pulling her in for another kiss. 

       But Rose pulled back.  “With my slaveboy, I would be in charge,” she said. Again she waited for the nod of permission from Animal.  He gave it, transfixed by her, lost in the power of her excitement. 

       Rose brought her knees forward, creating space so that Master Animal could enter her.  She kneeled up, guiding him in.  His eyes swam. 

       Slowly Rose lifted up and sank down, lifted up and sank down, the feeling exquisite.  There was not enough friction on her clit to push her close to the edge.  But not so with Animal.  His heart hammering, his breathing ragged, he was gathering.  Rose pulled up, and stayed there, only his tip within her.  “With my slaveboy, I would set the pace,” Rose said, a wicked glint in her eye.

       Animal reached his hand toward her, to touch her.  “But he would help you along,” he said.

       Rose shook her head and batted his hand away.  So beautiful.  “He would want to,” Rose said.  “But I would say no.”  Animal put both his hands behind his head.  He looked at her, drank her in, as she slowly, slowly sank down on him, and then slowly, slowly rose up.

       The sensation was exquisite.  Rose had been on top before, of course, but always Animal had grasped her hips, pushing her up and down like a sack with a hole in it.  She had never been in control like this.

       Animal became acclimated to her slow movement, and matched it with a slow thrusting of his hips.  It was as if she was riding not just his dick but his brain, if that were possible.  He was again ready to peak.  Rose stopped at the top again.  Animal breathed out hard, the denial exciting him even more.   

       When he had calmed down she rode him again.  Up and down again, again, again, each time slower than the last.  Rose’s excitement was equal to Animal’s own, but he knew she would not explode with direct stimulation to her clit. 

       She stopped again.  Looking Animal straight in the eye, she moved her own hand to her center.  “With my slaveboy I would take my own pleasure,” she said. 

       Animal was transfixed as Rose touched herself with her finger.  He should stop her; he had not given her permission, not exactly.  But Rose’s eyes closed and she crooned with pleasure, and he could not catch his breath; he was lost.  She pressed the back of her hood down so that her clit was against Animal’s penis, and as she moved up and down on him it rubbed her. And then she was crying out, and Master Animal was crying out, and it went on and on, her spasms gripping him, massaging him, and he exploded into her.  And just before they rested against each other he was kissing the top of her head, and then he was too tired, and she lay on him, and it was delightful.