A/N: Thank you to babygurl1944, Masamune'sSong, and hichigomate for their reviews and making me so happy! Thank you for your support!
Chapter 3
Isis awoke to the sun's caress on her eyelids, her body strangely comfortable and warm. She felt like she was sleeping on a bed of cotton balls, the warm sun and soft breezes embracing her. This was a nice dream…
Her eyes flew open and her senses began to react to what was around her. She wasn't asleep and this wasn't a dream, she realized with slight confusion and alarm. She looked around her surroundings slowly, noting with tremendous relief that she was alone. Sitting up, she saw that she was in a huge hand-carved bed with the softest sheets and fluffiest, most enormous pillows she had ever laid eyes on. Terror jolted through her as she realized that she was lying in her new master's bed!
Jumping out of the tangling sheets, she noticed two things. One, her abdomen and ankle felt much better. And two, she was wearing perhaps the most beautiful dress she had ever worn in her young life. The dress was only a plain sleeveless one-piece that touched her feet and slightly trailed behind her, made of soft shiny material that was dyed a beautiful shade of blue, but it was still magnificent to her. Looking under the dress she could see that her master had completely redressed her. Had he thought her previous clothes unbecoming of a slave in his household?
Thinking on the subject of her new master, brought back the tumultuous flashbacks from her first meeting with him the night before. Sitting on the floor, she remembered her first thoughts when she had looked up at him leaning over her in inspection. The first word that appeared in her head when she saw him was: immense. Even though the room had been in virtually total darkness, she could see him with ease. She had never had any trouble seeing in the dark, and it seemed neither did he.
The man was definitely tall, a good 6'4, his black shirt, jeans, and boots blended him in almost completely with his surroundings. He had the physique that the models on the television which she had only seen briefly, could have only dreamed of. Wide hefty shoulders and sculpted muscles that could barely be restrained by the clothes he wore, his slender hips and well-defined legs completed the picture. His skin was flawless; his milky pale complexion had a natural golden tan that gave him the look as if he had already worked many days in the sun before he was even born. His hair was the most brilliant, vibrant crimson she had ever laid eyes on! It was quite long and he wore it pulled back in a simple ponytail, looking like a living river of blood on his snowy white skin. His smile was dazzling and his voice with its strange mix of accents, sent shivers down her back. Nevertheless, his gleaming white teeth and the silkiness of his voice, along with his entire demeanor in fact, seemed to scream of a restrained predator. That behind this beautiful façade was something that was very deadly and very dangerous, and that worried her.
Isis had seen many men in her life, and most if not all of them, she wanted to completely forget about. On the other hand, she had to admit her new master was definitely the most handsome man she had ever seen. But of all his attractive features, she had to say that his eyes were the most defining feature…
They were ancient eyes, filled with both untold wonder and untold sadness. They seemed to say everything, and yet nothing at all in only a glance; she had seen none like them before. They were not one single color, but seemed to shift between the entire color spectrum at will, always changing as if they held a life of their own and it was the most natural thing in the world. She knew that one could get easily lost in eyes like those, those enchanted orbs could swallow a person whole and never give them back. However, to her, they only seemed to send unfamiliar feelings of inner fire and electricity running down her back. She desired to look into those eyes again, and she didn't think she would mind the punishment she would get for breaking the rules when it came to slave and master etiquette.
Speaking of which, she had to go to the bathroom badly once again. She guessed that the small door on the side of the room was the private one attached to her new master's bedroom. Walking quietly, she opened the door but saw the vacant hallway, no one at all in sight. Sighing, she closed the door and headed over carefully. She didn't want to start off on his bad side by disobeying right off the bat, but she had to go now! Thank goodness that Le Creuset so far, was not the "irons and restraints" type…
Doing what needed to be done and cleaning up afterward as to not make her presence known there, she actually got a chance to look at the bathroom and wasn't surprised to see that it was quite spacious. It held all the essentials one should have, but also included a huge marble Jacuzzi as well as a multi-directional shower. Looking at herself in the massive mirror above the sink, she could see that while some of her bruises were still covered by the vast amount of makeup she wore, others like the one on her ankle still showed.
The shower called to her, and although she knew that she would be in quite a lot of trouble if she used his shower without asking, she knew that her masters had all been even keener about her hygiene. Coming to a decision, she slipped carefully out of the beautiful dress and folded it, carefully laying it on the floor before removing her bra and panties with the exact same fragility. As she stepped into the shower, she was surprised to see the water start automatically, send warm water spraying all over her body.
Isis didn't get to have many real showers, and none of them had been warm. The new sensation made her jump slightly, but the water soon calmed her and she quickly began to enjoy it. She loved water and always had. It had a habit of invigorating her and making her feel alive and strong. Though she was experiencing a new sense of delight at the simple feel of hot water on her skin, the slight sting of her wounds brought her back to reality. Grabbing a bar of soap she began to wash the heavy makeup from her body.
Many of her masters, in order to hide scars or blemishes on a slave's skin from guests, authorities, or potential buyers, they would have them use flesh-colored bandages and concealing foundation makeup. She had been made to do just that to hide the recent wounds and the past scars from the several floggings she had endured, but with the water from the shower, the makeup had washed off and the many bandages were becoming ineffectual.
Taking off the wet bandages one by one she washed her body, ignoring the sting of her still healing injuries. She washed her hair as well with the soap and then just simply let the water sooth her sore flesh. She would have some explaining to do to her new owner as to why she was more damaged than she was last night. She knew that most new masters didn't like to see that they had been duped and sometimes even got violent, usually taking it out on the slave. Hopefully, Le Creuset wouldn't get too mad.
As all the suds and soap washed away the layers of dirt and cosmetics, she wondered if she was clean enough for Le Creuset's tastes. There was a strange want to please him, and it was more than because she wanted things to go as smoothly as possible between them. His presence confused her to the utmost, because while she was quite frightened of him and what he could do to her, he also sent her soul into a bizarre frenzy that she had never felt the like of before. Every man who had looked upon her sent a feeling of pure revulsion and disgust running through her; they had all wanted something from her and usually got it with interest. However, Le Creuset, the man with hair the color of blood and eyes that seemed to come from the gods, sent new feelings rushing over her. She didn't know what to do with these new sensations, and they frightened her beyond any of her other recent apprehensions.
She reached over and turned off the water, even though she wished she could just stay there all day and not have to face her new owner. The thought of Le Creuset as her master, brought back a recollection of the events of yesterday morning, when she had awoken to a rough shake by her previous owner…
Her body ached all over and she was barely awake, but that didn't stop the other slaves and servants from doing as their master bid. She was quickly unshackled and yanked up from the ground. They roughly and callously moved her out of the room and through the halls into another room, one full of concrete and several open showers. She gasped with anguish every time they accidentally or carelessly hit her body.
One person threw her to the tile floor, while another blasted her with a high pressure hose. She yelped and held back a scream as the cold water bombarded her harshly. After a minute or two, the water ceased and she was pulled up from the ground and roughly toweled off by aides. They quickly dressed her in sparse, barely covering garments and then one person began yelling at another in some form of communication, as both men and women scrambled around her trying to get things done. She was yanked up again and a man quickly placed bandages on her most recent and/or her most horrendous wounds and scars, while a woman went behind him and covered her body with a generous supply of make-up, making her quickly but effectively, a semi-equal tone. When she finally got a look at herself later, she would have to admit that they had all done a good job at concealing her marred skin. She knew as they worked what was going on, even though none of them looked her in the eye, she knew these servants of her master's were just doing their job: Preparing one of his belongings to be transported to its newest location…
When everything was done, and they had hid all they could, she was taken, now fully awake, back to her master's room. Thrown to the floor, they closed the door on her tousled form and left. Her owner was sitting at his table eating and had not even spared her a glance when she was brought back in. She immediately assumed her correct knelling posture before him.
After a few minutes of silence he looked towards her briefly. "Stand."
She immediately got to her feet, despite the pain working its way like a javelin through her ankle. She made sure to keep her eyes on the ground as he told her to turn around slowly, his roving eyes examining her body. When she had turned a full 360 degrees, he told her to stop. Sitting back down he said noncommittally, "I guess you'll do. You must be hungry, Icy. I don't think I fed you yesterday, did I?"
Isis knew better than to answer the question. She simply stood there, keeping her level of vision low.
He beckoned her towards him, which she answered immediately, sinking to her knees by his side at the table. Taking her chin in his hand roughly, he captured her lips wholly and totally, claiming every part of her mouth with ease. Letting go, he reached into his drawer and withdrew a short leather strip. Strapping it around her throat, he pulled tight letting the edges bite into her skin, and the metal buckle that was used to secure it, pinched at her neck cruelly. The front of the black leather collar had a metal loop with a leash attached to it…the end of the leash was in her owner's hand. He pulled it up slightly, causing her to look into his clear, dark eyes…
"This was a little going away present I got for you, Icy. We won't be seeing each other again for a while, but don't worry your pretty little head about that. We'll be together again, I can promise you that. I have a certain little business venture that you're going to help me with. Once it's done, I'll make sure you are returned to my home—and my bed—where you belong."
He held out a half-eaten crust of bread to her, which she took gratefully, trying not to look too famished as she wolfed it down. He of course noticed, but indicated nothing.
"The men you'll be serving for a time are named Le Creuset, and they are both really big thorns in my side and the sides of the people I work for. Le Creuset…stupid name if you ask me, but hey, to each man their own—and these are very important, very prominent men. If you fail me in this, I promise you, you will regret it, Icy."
He pulled her leash hard, dragging her even closer to him. "You are to seduce these men, make them tell you their secrets. If they will not tell you, make sure they are so addicted to you that they cannot think straight. I want their minds filled with nothing but you. It should prove easy enough since you Icy, were born to seduce…"
She grimaced within herself, not understanding why this was true. Every man for the past thirteen years had looked at her with lust in their eyes, and dark desires in their minds. She seemed to be able to "seduce" men so easily, as her masters had put it, but she had no idea how. She wasn't beautiful or graceful or anything; how come they all looked at her like that? She wished that someone could tell her, so she could turn whatever it was—off.
Her master gave her another crust of bread, followed by half a strip of overdone bacon. Isis took them both with surprise. Her master had been so angry with her the other night, but today he was feeding her much more than she was used to. Why? Did this have something to do with her leaving? She wondered how Le Creuset would feed her. She would love to one day be able to stand and eat without kneeling or get a crick in her neck from looking down all the time, but as expected, that almost never happened. And if Le Creuset was as bad as her master had made him seem, then she could forget that hope right now. And hadn't he said "men" as in more than one? The situation was getting worse and worse, to serve more than one new master was a worse case scenario. She hoped they didn't like doing things together all the time. Threesomes and such were very humiliating and very painful; to have to please more than one man all at the same time, while still trying to keep her sanity in the midst of it, could drive her off the brink. Speaking of which, her master, who had pushed the empty plate away, was giving her that look again. She inwardly sighed and waited for him to make the first move.
She didn't have to wait long as his hand that had been combing through her hair, began stroking her neck and fondling her breasts. He grinned as he felt the tremor of anxiety run through her. Her constant state of fear was always an aphrodisiac to him. It was near impossible to find a woman who could please you so completely and let you do whatever you wanted to do to her, without one word of resistance or backtalk. A woman whose very purpose was just to please him…it made him hard just thinking about it. "I should take you right now, but that would mess up your nice make-up job and we wouldn't want you to be late on your first day with the French twits. So…we'll have to improvise. Why don't you show me once more, how well you appreciate me and that you'll miss me? Show me how much you love me…how much you're going to crave pleasing me again with that sweet mouth of yours."
He pulled her towards his bulging crotch, and she had to stop herself from throwing up the food she just ate. She wished that he would just go from the room, and leave her to her loneliness; let her lie there in the blackness of the thoughts that clashed within her mind. For even now, her mental attention was almost entirely taken up by the idea of the faceless, mysterious Le Creuset. It wouldn't be long now, when she would finally meet this man who was somehow strangely consumed her mind, and would soon be the one holding her life in the palm of his hand. It was strange how a man she had never met, had so much power over her, and held her existence, her freedom, and her futile but strangely unwavering quest for contentment, captive to do with as he will. But then, this was always the way wasn't it? Those three things had been passed from hand, to hand, to hand, and had never once touched her own, and they probably never would…
She mentally sighed as she began to slowly undo his pants, her master's thick arousal immediately emerged, pulsing and anxious with the wanting of attention.
Isis immediately closed off her mind as she began to lick and stroke the length of him with her tongue, knowing by now how he liked things done. It was routine, and she had learned his wants well, just as she had every master that came before him, and would with every one that came after him. Putting her lips around his sensitive tip, she heard his moans and felt his hand grab her hair and push her violently closer, making her take more of him in. His voice was guttural as he spoke, but his words stung all the same. "That's it…good girl."
She stopped herself from gagging and simply wrapped her lips over her teeth, using her tongue to swirl around the head of her owner's cock and along the underside. He began to thrust into her mouth now, as she sucked hard trying to make him come as soon as possible. Inwardly, she was relieved knowing that this was half over, and he could leave her alone, at least for a little while.
A minute or two more of her ministrations and she could tell he was about to release. Opening her lips to let him go before he came inside her mouth as was their custom, she was surprised when the hold on her head didn't loosen, and instead got tighter!
Great fear washed over her as she realized what her master was doing; that he wasn't going to let go of her. But why? He usually let her go and was perfectly satisfied with just seeing her body dripping with his seed, as if marking her like a dog marks his territory. Yet, in all the time she had been with him, he had never made her consume the white sticky substance that she couldn't wait to get off her skin. Only one of her master's had made her do that, and she had answered by involuntarily throwing up the entire vile mixture. That little stunt had earned her a beating and a whole night with her master's soldiers. That night was even too horrible for her nightmares, and just the thought made her want to scream to the heavens to strike her dead. She hadn't been able to sit or even move properly for two whole weeks after that night, and her everyday sessions with her master didn't help either.
Just the memory of that incident sent chills all over her body as Isis suddenly felt her current master burst inside of her mouth, the sour, salty taste invading her sensing and instantly making her bile rise within her. Trying to take control of herself, she reasoned that maybe she could hold it in her mouth, until she could find a bathroom and a toilet…
Her owner came out of her and watched his frail bed slave covertly struggle with what he had just forced her to take. A smirk came to his face as he held her head up in an iron grip and looked into her frightened blue eyes. His voice was husky, but held steel-like authority as he spoke, "Swallow it, you little whore."
Her silent face flinched with terror, and he watched her carefully placed mask begin to crack. He had never disillusioned himself; he knew that she hated doing this, but was terrified of his reaction should she refuse, as she had right to be. However, this time it wasn't just simple pleasure he was looking for. He was teaching her a lesson that she would remember during this little absence they would have from each other. He was proving a point, he was proving that she was his property and that he could do what he liked with her when he liked. He had molded this little Egyptian goddess into the perfect woman, one that didn't fight back and did exactly what he told her to do.
She was his and his alone.
Isis realized she couldn't get away from him this time. She was once more defeated and would have to take the consequences of whatever punishment her actions would grant her. With the quickest moment she could maneuver, she gulped down the man's revolting, gooey seed, feeling it burn down her throat and immediately begin to churn her stomach.
Her master watched her face twist as her stomach turned, the smirk never leaving his lips. He released her of her leash, unclipping it, and she immediately turned away from him, heaving onto the ground everything that had been in her stomach the last day and a half or so. Once she had finished, and her stomach had felt mildly better, she wiped her mouth and waited for her owner to strike her. This time, she had not only messed up his floor, but had also insulted him by vomiting up everything he had just ordered her to swallow. She was certain he was furious with her once again.
Nonetheless, when the beating and kicking didn't come, she quickly moved to kneel before him apologetically. "I'm apologize, Master. It is my fault. I shall learn to better control my stomach."
He looked down at her languidly, zipping himself back up and rising from the table. He stifled a yarn as he walked around her and the mess on the floor. "That's alright Isis. It's just a shame that you threw up your meal for today as well. Maybe Le Creuset will feed you, who knows? He might just take pity on you and give you something tomorrow, or maybe the next day…"
She shuddered at the thought and was suddenly angry at herself; she had fallen for her master's false benevolence once again. She had thought he was giving her extra food because she was going away, but it wasn't so. He had only wanted her to eat so much, so that she would feel an even bigger sense of loss when she had to vomit it all up. Why didn't she ever learn her lesson, and remember that kindheartedness was only an ideal for her dreams? In real life, there was no such thing…
Her master put on his jacket and shoes, and then looked over at her still kneeling figure. Walking over, he pulled her small frame from off the ground and forced her arms around his waist as if she didn't want him to leave her, and was grabbing on for one last embrace. Isis simply laid there against him, her body exhausted both mentally and physically.
He looked down at her and smiled. "I have to go to work now Icy. By the time I get back, you'll be in your new home already. You gonna miss me?"
The words had been addressed to her like it was a question, but she knew from the malice the overshadowed his voice, it was more like a command. Sighing within herself once again, she latched onto his waist with a little more vigor, rubbing her head against the man's damp crotch. "Yes, Master, I will miss you very much."
He pets her hair, and she smiles at the "reward" even though she hates the feel of his hand on her. He asks her another question, "What will you miss, Icy?"
She blinked in surprise but quickly came up with something, "I will miss you're kindness, Master. How good you are to me…"
He laughed slightly, "Don't lie to me, Isis. I was never good to you. I have broken you with pain and suffering, because that's what a slave like you needs. So are you saying you need me? You need that pain and suffering?"
She was surprised he had used her real name, which told her that he wasn't playing around this time. She knew he wanted an answer and not a crappy one either. His eyes were watching her intently now and she answers the only way she can, the only way she knows how. "Yes Master, I need it. I need you."
"Why?"
She pulled herself closer against him, searching her mind for suitable answers to all of these unusual questions. "Because I'm your slave—your whore, and I-I love it . . . I want the humiliation, the abuse, the pain . . . I need…I need…"
She was stuck for more to say to him, but her master suddenly pulled her up off her knees and made her look at him in the face. There was fire in his eyes. "I had hoped that after all this time; you would have learned to lie better than that."
Striking her face, he threw her to the ground. "I'm going to call my secretary and tell her that I will be a little bit late."
He turned from her and opened the door. "When I come back in a few minutes, we'll see just how much you need me and how much you love being my whore. While you're mine, I'm going to make total use of your tight little body, like that of a female dog in heat."
She quavered on the floor, telling herself how stupid she was for trying to attempt to trick her master. Why was she always doing all these stupid things instead of just keeping her big mouth shut?
As her owner slipped out into the hallway, he spoke to her matter-of-factly. "And Icy, if you try to escape out the window again, not even the importance of this deal will save you from my wrath. Just to let you know…and also, clean up that mess you made on my floor, would you?"
He nodded to the vomit that lay on the ground, and eager to dispel his anger, Isis got up quickly to go to the bathroom and get some paper towels. But the minute she reached the door, his voice once again stopped her. "No Icy."
She turned back around and faced him, careful to keep looking toward the ground. "Yes, Master?"
His eyes sparkled heartlessly, but his voice and smile were still as nonchalant as before. "I want you to clean it up……with that lying tongue of yours."
Terror and nausea returned to her body, shaking her to her core once again, her soul crying tears of shame and pain. What had she done to deserve this? What had she done to deserve ever have been born at all…?
He continued as if he had not seen the agony that surfaced on her face. "I want you to have licked up every bit of it by the time I come back. Is that clear, Icy?"
The man watched her stand there for a minute before answering quietly, "Y-yes, Master."
He watched with eyes of conquest as the little vixen slowly got on her hands and knees and moved toward the sour and sordid bile. When he was sure that his order was going to be obeyed, he closed the door and left her. He had broken her again, and it felt so good… Those Le Creuset brothers should be thanking him, since he had done most of their work for them. Yet…they didn't know that this particular gift they were going to receive would prove to be their undoing. Icy was a born temptress and needed a stern taskmaster to keep her in line. The two business tycoons were going to be too busy with their new "present", that they would hardly be able to pay attention to their company anymore. If his sources were right, the men hardly gave any interest to their business anyway rather letting it run itself. Tossing Icy into the mix, should be able to shake things up even more. It was exactly what he and his employers were hoping for.
However, a dark look came over his mind as he thought of his woman being touched by another. He knew it must be done, but that didn't mean he had to like it. But she was going to be his again. Once all this mess was over, he was going to take back his property and break her all over again, make sure she knew who her true one and only master was. Remind her that he owned her now and forever, and it didn't matter how far she went, or who she was with. She would always be his…
Isis, now dry and fully clothed in the clothes she had been given, walked over to the window in Le Creuset's bedroom. Looking around her with hesitation; she pulled on the heavy drapes and was astounded by how much sun burst through the windows. Blinking for a bit, she glanced through the glass and took a step back, gasping in awe at what she saw before her.
A sea of land stretched before her as far as the eye could see, and every type of topography seemed to be here, collectively at the mansion's doorstep. Cliffs and canyons, grasslands and plateaus, even ravines and small forestlands were all part of the magnificent surroundings to which this house had been built. The sun sparkled on the surface of the sparkling river, which cut through the land about half a mile from the house. She placed a hand on the window, the flowing warm waters calling to her just as they had when she had first heard them on her way here.
After she had finished "cleaning up", her former owner had come back as he had promised, and took her once again into his bed. Such brutality, torture and lust had come from him, such as she had never known to ever come from a single man. Putting a hand to her head, she tried to push back the painful images from her mind: of him forcing her legs open to give him full access, of his searing lips on her bruised skin, and of how he groaned out her name as he assaulted her rougher, deeper and harder. She was eternally grateful that once he was through with her, the vomit that she re-ingested and had forced herself to keep down, along with her heavy emotional stress, had caused her to lose consciousness.
When she had awakened once again, her body was re-clothed and fresh make-up applied. She was thankfully alone, and blessed darkness surrounded her. She had quickly found herself nailed shut in a wooden crate, on a moving vehicle. Splinters scrapped and punctured her skin, it became oppressively hot and stuffy, air in very short supply except through some very small spaces between the wood planks, but even in all that, she was grateful that she was finally leaving her master and the cold, horrible room that was her prison.
True, that she had just left one prison to enter another one, carried on the backs of men in a wooden crate like a shipment of iced trout, before being dumped and left in a unfamiliar bedroom for hours and hours alone, but for the first time in four years—the amount of time she had belonged to her former owner—she breathed a single breath of fresh air and expressed a single feeling of hope, though a dark hope it might be.
She had stayed there kneeling on the ground as time went by, wondering and in suspense for the time when her new master would come, yet dreading it as well. She had been too afraid to look at the room, much less the outside terrain, and had too many butterflies within her stomach to fall asleep. Her stomach still ached from the bile she had been made to swallow, and she had to calm her abdomen again at the thought of it. Heat, pain, and tiredness consumed her, but she pushed these things away as well. Her mind was too preoccupied to be consumed with such trivial matters.
What would Le Creuset be like? What would he look like? Would he approve of her? Would he even care? And where the heck was he all this time? Many questions ran through her head one after another, her curiosity for some reason had been whetted more keenly than it had been with any other master she had had.
Why do I feel this way? I haven't even met him, and these feelings I am getting…they overpower everything else that I have ever felt. I don't understand this feeling I have about meeting him, that no matter how cruel he will be, no matter how brutal he would act towards me, or how much degradation and torture he will submit me to, I still want to meet him, to see him and know his voice. I want to know, who this Le Creuset is…
She had arrived during twilight, and as time passed she was aware somehow unconsciously, that it was now the wee hours of the morning. And just when she had begun to think that the man would never come, she had suddenly felt his footsteps in the dark. She had been surprised that she had not heard the door open, and she was even more surprised at the deliberate pattern of his feet, as if the man was in a trance. She stayed on her knees, the shivering and apprehension in her body increasing as the man came closer to her. She somehow knew, even though it was pitch black in the room, that the man could see just as well in the dark as she could. It was like he belonged in the dark and to the night and that he was like a ravenous wolf on the prowl, waiting to devour her as prey. She had been quite scared, and like a spooked antelope, was ready to bolt at a moment's notice.
However, something changed when he had laid his hand on her shoulder. She had felt a spark that had made her look up at him, no matter what the rules were. And when he had fallen to the ground, she felt she had to touch him, to help him, not caring that it was slave taboo. The last thing she remembered, was fainting under the intensity of those eyes. Those eyes that looked as if they were saying a million words, and were trying to compel you to say them too, she couldn't begin to comprehend eyes like those.
She had been so afraid of him, so afraid of what he would do when he had reached out to touch her. She knew he was about to punish her for laying a hand on her, and had quickly cringed before him, silently begging for him to forgive her. Yet when he had taken her into his arms and spoke to her, and when he had licked her wounds gently somehow healing them, she had been too stunned to do anything but lie still in his strong embrace. When he had asked her, her name, and had promised that he wouldn't harm her, she had been amazed at how sincere he sounded. She knew that he was lying of course; she had had quite a few masters who had promised to never harm her, only to go back on that promise in a day or so when they finally got used to her being around, and fully realized that she was theirs to command. However, of all of them, she had to admit that he was the best liar she had ever met. Maybe it was those accursed eyes that had been able to so enthrall her that she had fainted, that gave him such an ability to deceive others. She was sure that in no more than a week's time, this man would turn out to be just like all the others. She was a slave, and he was her master, that was all there was to it, and all there ever would be. He could treat her how he saw fit, he could entrap her as much as he wished, and no matter how sad it made her heart, she was his to do with as he wanted. Isis laughed slightly as she remembered how Xyra had put it: "A dog on the streets has more rights, than a human slave in her master's household does. Look at it this way; in their eyes, we're lower than a pet, but higher than a cockroach."
Thoughts of her magical friend dampened her restless spirit. She had not heard a word about Xyra since her escape that night, and she felt her heart go out to the young woman. She hardly ever knew the location of the homes of her owners, (mostly because she couldn't read a map) and so she didn't know where she was or where she had been. Had Xyra come back for me, only to find out I am no longer there? She's most likely been caught by now, I wonder what he will do to her…please God, if there is one out there, don't let her die. She was the only friend I've ever had, and she is not the hideous monster that I am. Please let her live…
Stepping away from the window and the magnificent view, she sat down on floor and sighed, wondering what she was to do till her master's return. She was afraid to leave the room, not yet knowing the rules of the house. Most of her owners didn't like their bed slaves to be roaming their home, and so she had been kept locked in bedroom after bedroom for most of her life after she reached her preteens. She had been fortunate to have some who let her roam a little, as long as she stayed close and answered their summons. Hopefully, if she was lucky, Le Creuset would be one of those.
Quickly bored, she stood up and began to look around her new master's quarters in more detail. Stepping over the other gifts that had been given to Le Creuset along with herself, she glanced over the many trappings around the room that looked neither male nor female, but was definitely ancient. She recognized several artifacts as priceless, and from many different civilizations. One of her masters had been into art collecting, and he had talked about his different pieces to her over and over again that she now knew what to look for when she saw it. That master had been particularly nicer to her than most. He had not summoned her to his bed often, and had not been very cross with her. It was only when she would break one of his precious artifacts, or he had been angry over being conned into buying a façade, or when she had not expressed the correct opinion about a work of art, that the man had beaten her.
But even he had not had as many authentic relics as she saw inside this room. Roman, Greek, Chinese, Native American, Mayan…many different cultures all came together in this room in a type of menagerie of art that was neither gaudy nor cluttered. Somehow, all the different cultures melded together as one rather than clash into each other, and all of them were genuine as if they had simply stepped out of one time and had landed instantly in this one. Looking at a Qin Dynasty set of jade knives, she laid a hesitative hand on one of the blades. Well, he definitely has a taste for beautiful art; that much is for sure. However, this room doesn't look lived in at all. It's as if it is only for show, not for sleep…
After learning the layout of the room, she quickly made up the bed and then cleaned her fingerprints from off the window, before finally airing out all the dusty drapes and letting in the sun, making sure nothing was out of place. Finding nothing else to do and her curiosity oddly kicking back in again, she slowly went to the door to the bedroom, and before she could convince herself not to, she grabbed the handle and opened the door!
Looking stealthily outside, she was relieved to find an empty hallway. Taking a deep breath, she took a step outside the room, than another, than another. Why was she doing this? Her new master would be furious with her. He would think that she was trying to escape him. He would thrash her for sure. But for some reason, she could not turn away; she wanted to see the rest of this new place that was to be her home. It seemed as if it was calling to her…
Her body strangely tingled as she walked down the carpeted halls, her bare feet soft and noiseless as she tip-toed around the mansion. She was amazed that she found the house almost completely bare of people. There wasn't anyone around, and no sound at all was made. It had been clear earlier that her master (or masters) wasn't home, but she had thought she would have seen some staff, some servants, some other slaves like herself, anyone at all! But the place seemed entirely deserted, not a person heard or in sight. This place is furnished lavishly, but there is no one here to enjoy it…is this how my master lives his life?
A slight hope came to her, if she was her master's only slave, she would probably have other household duties and she wouldn't just have to serve as his bed slave. She would have to cook and clean and do laundry as well, which would give her some freedom to roam the house, instead of being cooped up in that room all day. However, her hope was dashed once again as she went down the stairs to the first landing and began to hear voices—arguing voices.
The stairs descended onto a balcony that overlooked a breathtaking black marble entrance hall and a grand arched doorway, bordered by two great Romanesque columns. The balcony had a black wrought iron railing, which she inched closer to as she looked down into the foyer. Two strange people stood next to each other arguing, one holding a letter in his hand. Isis tried to remain unseen as she listened in.
The taller of the two, a man (the one who held the letter), talked to the shorter woman, "I still say he ain't got no right to just fire us like that! Isn't he s'posed to give us six weeks notice or somethin'?"
The shorter, stubbier woman answered back. "Those two are rich, Jasper. You know the rich do what they want."
The taller, hawk-like man—Jasper—responded back angrily. "Horatia, we could have taken anythin' we wanted from those bloody snobs, 'alf the stuff in here is worth three fortunes. They're never here during the day, and 'ardly here at night. They wouldn't have missed nothin'. We been loyal all this time, and they got the nerve to do this to us?!"
Horatia hunched her shoulders, "I don't know about those two, Jasper. The Le Creuset brothers don't miss anything. I think they can see absolutely everything behind those mirrored sunglasses of theirs. I told you not to let those moving people in here."
"I'm the gardener, You're their 'ousekeeper. It was you who decided who comes and who goes and they seemed to be anxious to get in here and then leave. So if anyone should be blamed it should be you!" He snapped at her accusingly.
"It was you who told me to open the door so they would stop their constant knocking!" she bit back angrily.
Horatia looked around anxiously, "I say let's cut our losses and get out of here, Jasper. This place is now giving me the creeps. They said they'd pay us our entire salary for the month. Can't we leave it at that?"
Isis listened to the two go back and forth and got the gist of what was going on. So there were two Le Creusets. Well, serving the two brothers shouldn't be too bad. If what the two had said about her owners was true, she wouldn't be seeing much of either of them, and that was always a good thing. However, the one who had those ethereal eyes…she maybe, just a little, would liked to have seen him again soon. If just to look into those magical orbs once more…
As her mind wandered, she didn't notice that she had begun to push against a display table, a large vase of sunflowers sitting atop it. It wasn't until she heard the resounding crash in horror, that she realized what she had done. And not only that, but her presence had been announced to the only other two beings in the house!
There was a sound of feet running up the stairs, and before she knew it, Isis found herself in the presence of the two disgruntled employees she had just been observing. "Who are ya? And what'cha doin' here?" Jasper yelled at her, Horatia behind him silently watching her with a hand on her hip in impatience and haughtiness.
Looking down at the spilled flowers and broken vase, Isis backed up against the wall completely petrified. She cursed herself for thinking to do such a stupid thing as to leave her master's room in the first place! Now she had not only broken one of her owner's antiques, but she had also let his servants see what she had done, which they would surely report back to their employers.
Clutching her shoulders, she edged to the right keeping her eyes on the angry man and woman. If she moved fast enough, she might be able to make a break for it. "I-I-I'm s-sorry, I'm n-not sup-posed to be here. Please, d-don't tell him—"
Before she could even finish her half-cocked explanation, Jasper grabbed her arm tightly, knowing she was about to run. "Oh no ya don't, ya little sneak thief! You was here trying to steal from the Le Creusets were ya?"
Isis knew she was in trouble, and so didn't bother telling the man that he had just suggested stealing from them himself, when he was talking to his female partner downstairs. She tried to pull away, but was no match for his iron grip and superior upper-body strength.
Horatia came up behind Jasper and looked at Isis in apparent condescension, "I'm not sure she's a thief, Jasper. I mean, she don't look like no thief, she looks more like a harlot. What if she's just a woman one of them brought home?"
Jasper turned to her, dragging Isis around with his movements. "You know just as well as I do, that those two 'aven't brought anyone 'ere, ever! They're 'ardly 'ere themselves. She's a thief, and she can 'elp us get our jobs back."
He pulled her close and sneered in her face, his breath was obviously thick with alcohol. Isis turned her head away to avoid his gaze, wondering why she was always getting herself into these situations. He continued talking about her, as if she wasn't there. "If we show this little Sheila to the brothers, they could look past wot we did yesterday, and cut us a break."
Horatia was still not convinced, "But I've been thinking Jasper—"
Jasper grabbed the woman's blouse with his other hand, "You've 'been thinkin''?! Now what have I told ya about that thinkin' Horatia? Ya'll give yerself an 'eadache."
The former housekeeper pushed the man away in disgust, "Get your hands off me! If you were my husband, I'd—"
"I'd rather roast my 'ead on the barby than marry an empty-'eaded woman like you!" He retorted.
The minute he had taken hold of Horatia, Jasper's grip on Isis loosened and she jumped at the chance. Wrenching her arm from his hold, she jumped around them and took off down the stairs as fast as she could go. The house seemed big; maybe she could find a place to hide until either of her masters came home…
However, she was only four or five feet away from the marble hall, when her head suddenly slammed down on the stairs, someone having grabbed her hair from behind!
Hissing in pain, her body was suddenly dragged down the rest of the way, Jasper's hand still securely on her head. The sleeve of her dress caught on the wrought iron banister and easily tore as she was pulled forward without a thought. Once in the center of the entrance hall, she was thrown down on the ground, the marble cold against her skin, but her body was hot as her heart continued to race. Breathing raggedly, she knew she was caught, and she could only look up in fear at her captors and what they would do to her. She had had a few run-ins with servants over the years, who wanted to secretly try out their master's toy, and they never ended well. And then there were some servants who were jealous of her position as the master's personal pet, and had been brutal and very cruel to her because of it. If only they had known, that she would have given anything to switch places with them…
Horatia's beady black eyes looked at her in simple disdain as she came from behind her co-worker, but Jasper was seething. He grabbed the female slave again and held her up by her neck in a choking grip. "You little—"
The shorter woman tapped the guy's arm, "Let's just get out of here, Jasper. She's not worth it. What if she really is a 'guest'?"
"Then she wouldn't be scared stiff now, would she? She's a simple thief, and she just proved it. I mean, would a piece o' alley trash just try to run like that?"
Suddenly the housekeeper got a malicious look on her face, and a smile that would shame a piranha. She looked at Isis with a happily-vindictive, knowing look, before turning back to Jasper. "Why not let her prove her trade? If she isn't a thief, then she should be willing to show you her true talents, hmm?"
The man looked at the stout housekeeper for a time, trying to understand her statement, when everything suddenly clicked into place. He too looked at Isis with cruelty, malevolence, and something that was not in Horatia's eyes—a look of wanting desire.
Isis had seen that look in so many ways, in so many men; she could recognize it right away for what it was. Her body still ached horribly from the results of such a look in her former master yesterday morning, and she didn't know if her body was able to go through it all again so soon, and she most certainly didn't want it to be with this man, who didn't even have any authority over her. However, she had to admit, that had never stopped other men in the past. No one cared how she felt; they only took what they thought they should have: end of story.
Yet, that didn't mean she didn't fight back. The men that owned her, she could do nothing about; neither did she have a choice when her master ordered her to please another. But with this man, at this moment, she was neither ordered nor compelled. And so she struggled in Jasper's grip as he dragged her to a couch and forced her down. She could smell the smothering odor of alcohol everywhere on him and see the cold frenzy in his eyes as he tried to restrain her.
Horatia simply sat down on the opposite couch and watched the scene, mindlessly picking up some pistachios from a bowl on the coffee table, and breaking off their shells in her hands before popping them into her mouth, as if watching her co-worker rape a totally random girl was as entertaining as the soap operas she usually watched at this time. If the little slut was really a prostitute and not a thief, than let her prove it. If she really was a thief, than this little "lesson" would teach her not to continue such a trade in the future. Horatia had always been a prudent woman, and she believed that harshest lessons were often the best ones.
Isis quickly found that she could not overpower the stronger male who was pushing down on her. She tried futilely to keep pushing up on his chest as he tried to pin her down with his body. Ripping at the torn sleeve of her dress, the man held her down forcefully, his fingertips bruising her skin. She cried out as the man wrenched her arms above her head, stretching the muscles beyond their natural limits. Not again—I can't take it…
"Come on ya feisty little whore. It's not as if ya 'aven't done it before." He growled at her as he tore her clothing further, revealing more of her body.
Isis closed her eyes tightly as her strength gave out, her body not having the energy to resist his advances. Tears fell silently down her face, unheeded by the man forcing his way with her, or by the woman who was enjoying the show.
As she felt him reach under her ruined dress and try to tear away her frail underwear, she stopped struggling and began to regress into herself, as was her way of mental protection. However, this time, she couldn't think of any pleasant dreams to fill the black void within. She could only feel the great loneliness that resided inside of her, the hatred of what she had become. Mother…Okaa-san, why did you give birth to me and then leave me to face this Hell? Why didn't you take me with you when you went to heaven? Why did you leave me here without your love and protection? Why, Okaa-san?
A picture of her mother's smiling face appeared in her mind. Her long black hair and her petite little figure that made her look so delicate, as if she would blow away in the wind. Her brown eyes that twinkled with happiness every time they looked upon her, they seemed to scream out her mother's great love every chance they could get. Without her mother, she would have never known what love was. She had never met her real father who had died before her birth, and her step-father had treated her as her masters did: as a tool to be used for personal gain.
It was a fact that the only reason that Isis had not taken her own life in all these years of servitude, was because she remembered that she was her mother's treasure, her mother's only living reminder of the love that she and first husband, Isis' father, had shared together. Her mother had always called her "kamichama" or "hime-chan", cute girly names that spoke of her child as a little goddess or tiny princess. She had always said that Isis was her world, and that she would never leave her. That if she ever needed her, all Isis had to do was call.
When her Okaa-san had succumb to the deadly strain of virus, Isis was overdrawn with grief, which didn't let up even when her step-father almost immediately sold her off on the black market to pay for some gambling debts. She had felt betrayed by her mother who had left her alone in this merciless world, and had tried to forget about her. Finding herself unable, she finally began to draw on her memories of the happy times with her mother for strength. But in all that time, over all those years, she had never, attempted to call her mother…
She didn't know why it was this moment, with this insignificant man, that caused her resolve to break so. Maybe it was the fact that her last master had broken down so much of her resistance, so much of her spirit, that she could no longer protect her own mind anymore. Perhaps it was because she was slowly and simply dying inside, and this was her last scramble for survival. People said it was the other way around; that the body could not live without out the spirit, but she had come to believe differently. Her spirit had begun to die long ago, and who knew the how or why, but life will struggle to continue, even if the spirit is no longer willing. She was simply tired of fighting, and whatever the reason why, Isis had nothing else to lose. And so, it was at this moment in time—that she called to her.
Isis opened her mouth to scream for help, but found herself suddenly unable. Her energy was totally spent, and she was as helpless as a baby who had cried out all its tears. She couldn't even whisper; her voice just wouldn't obey! Oh, it's hopeless! It was foolish of her to hope for someone to come to her rescue; she was no princess, and there was definitely no handsome prince on a white horse waiting to come save her. So why did she even try?
And it was in that single moment of weakness and self-doubt, that she decided that she couldn't give up. It was a foolish hope, but it was all she had left, and she had somehow foolishly inherited her parents' determination. If she couldn't call her mother in so much as words, she would use music! Her mother had said that if Isis ever needed something and couldn't speak or find the right words to say, she should do so through music, a language understood by all living creatures…and that's what she would use now.
In her mind a song formed. It was a spontaneous song that seemed to somehow be able to express her want for aid, her want for help of some kind. The song had no words, only a melody of different harmonious sounds strung together to send a particular message, similar to the ways that dolphins or whales communicated. She had never heard the song before in her life, yet she in some way, knew what every pitch meant, the meaning of every crescendo and every tone, was as clear to her as running water.
As she felt the vile man's hand caress her skin before grabbing her own and forcing her to touch him; renewed urgency caused her to song to grow louder, until it seemed to fill her entire consciousness. If there is anyone out there, anyone at all—will you please hear me? Help me…
'I have heard your song, and I feel your distress, little one. But I need you to open your eyes in order for me to help you.'
She gasped sharply, as she realized the sudden voice that spoke within her head wasn't her own. There was something oddly familiar about the masculine voice that sounded like iced velvet. It seemed to instantly wrap around her and fill her with wonder so that she practically forgot the situation she was in.
The voice had not forgotten however, as it spoke again, this time with more urgency and authority. 'Open your eyes now!'
Isis knew that tone. She had just been issued a command, and her body had been conditioned and trained to obey such commands automatically. Quickly she opened her eyes and looked directly at the man who was assaulting her.
A feeling of darkness and death came over her, like a sudden winter's blast on a summer's day. The presence that was with her in her mind was more than angry. Even "enraged" and "infuriated" seemed like too tame of words to describe the feelings she was getting from the voice's aura. She had never felt fury like this before…it was almost alive and wriggling like a living creature. Isis would never forget this feeling. It scared her thoroughly, yet on some level—it excited her too…
Horatia, who was totally enjoying seeing the little dancing girl get the ride of her life, was the first to spot the change. The prostitute had been trying to escape, eventually closing her eyes and crying for all the good it would do her, when but a minute or two later, she had opened them again, and this time there was a strange spark there that hadn't been there before.
No more than a second after her flashy little orbs had opened, Jasper's arm where he had held her hand to stroke his hard length, suddenly burst into flame! Letting go of the girl like she was diseased, the man began yelling and screaming, waving his arm in the air in a vain attempt to put the fire out. But the flames paid no heed and instead traveled up his arm and onto his chest and back, licking and devouring his flesh, causing him to screech and curse even louder!
Horatia jumped up from her seat and went to try to help her comrade, when she suddenly felt the ebony-haired girl's eyes on her. Suddenly, the priggish woman found her throat has suddenly closed, her windpipe crushed as if by a vice-like hand! Staggering from the lack of air, she looked directly at the strange female, who only sat up from her position on the sofa and continue to gaze at her former tormentors in shock.
She's a witch! A freakin' witch! Horatia's last rational thought flitted through her mind, before she staggered toward the door to try to get away from the force that was killing her. Little did she know, that it was already much too late.
The post-housekeeper fell to the ground right outside the front door. She had been dead before she hit, and was now only food for whatever animal decided to come along. It was the circle of life, and nature as always, would take its course…
Horatia's death barely registered to Isis as she crouched on the sofa watching the voice's work. And she knew it was the voice that was at work here. The voice was a magical being like Xyra, and it had answered her call and had come to protect her. She smiled a little despite the macabre death that was happening in front of her. All this time, and her mother had still answered her call, by sending the voice to give her aid.
The fire had totally consumed Jasper, and he no longer screamed or yelled or even stood on his own two feet. He lay now, a flaming pile that was beginning to lose its human features, on the cold dark marble. Isis could only look at the man in silence, knowing he was dead, but not knowing what to do except to watch the mesmerizing flames. She sat there like that, perfectly still until the flames suddenly extinguished themselves, only leaving a pile of ashes in their wake.
The presence within her head had been with her the entire time and even still exuded out small waves of anger, but none of them were directed to her when it again spoke. 'Are you alright, inamorata? Did he hurt you?'
Inamorata…
The minute the strange foreign word was said, everything seemed to fall into place. Isis now knew where she had heard that voice before, but this time, with the realization came the feeling of dread and desolation. That voice, it belonged to…the presence in her mind, was none other than the man from last night! The man who had eyes like a crystal prism and hair the color of blood—Le Creuset, her master!
Tears spilled from her eyes once again as she realized all that her master had heard and seen. What had started off as a dream come true, had quickly turned into a nightmare. She realized that maybe all that anger had been aimed at her after all, and that her master was another jealous type. He would say that she had seduced the gardener and that he would make her see that she was nobody else's. He had killed his servants, but he certainly had something more torturous in mind for her!
Jumping up from the sofa and hardly giving a glance to Jasper's ashes or to the half opened door that shielded Horatia's corpse, she raced across the floor and back up the stairs, through the pathways and back the way she came, fear giving her the burst of energy required. Even through her clouded eyes, she could instantly find her way, having a photographic image of the paths she had taken within her mind.
Le Creuset spoke in her head once again, this time the worry that lined his voice was obvious. 'Why do you not answer me, ma chérie? Are you alright? Are you hurt?!'
Isis put her hands to her ears to try to block his voice out. Why did he have to speak to her that way? Why couldn't he just come out from whatever shadow he was lurking in, and talk to her directly? Did he enjoy terrorizing his slaves with his strange powers? She was now in uncharted water, never once having a master who could do what Le Creuset could. How would he use those powers on her…?
Entering her master's bedroom, she ran inside before slamming the door closed behind her and collapsing on the floor. Curling up in a favored fetal position, she waited in trepidation for her master to enter, the sobs raging her throat and the tears never-ending. Why did this pain never end? That was always the question wasn't it—why?
Soon, Isis could cry no more, and her throat could not make a sound. Exhaustion took over her entirely and she could no longer move. She just simply laid there, her eyelids beginning to flutter closed from pure emotional exhaustion. The lack of food or water in her system didn't help, and neither did the waning rays from the sun as they stretched through the window and over her body. As the panic of her mind finally gave way to her tiredness, she found that her last thought before she fell fast asleep, was not of her brittle future, or of her fearsome and mysterious new master…but that she actually would have loved to have seen the sun settle over the horizon…just once…