Seer

by Raven Dark

  “Are you going to make me wait until sunup, or are you going to wash my hair, woman?”

  My cheeks flamed. Right. His hair. Feeling foolish and out of my element, I widened the loop of the leash around my wrist and pushed it up to my elbow. I picked up the pail, went in behind him, and poured half of the water over his head. Some of it splashed down his face and ran down his chest, soaking the towel under him, but he didn’t seem to care. I took up a gold shampoo bottle and squirted a liberal amount into my palm.

  A pleasant scent filled my nose as I rubbed the shampoo into his hair, the smell spicy and masculine. I worked the cream through his thick locks, reveling in the soft, silky feel of them running through my fingers. His hair wasn’t straight but had a hint of a curl to it, and it fell nearly to his shoulders, leaving plenty to wash.

  I worked from the front of his scalp and the sides through to the back, making sure to soak every strand, massaging his scalp the way I did when I washed my own hair. Then I tilted his head back a little more and used the rest of the water in the pail to rinse the shampoo out.

  When his hair was rinsed, he squeezed the excess water out while I went back to the water’s edge and refilled the pail. He picked up a white bar of men’s soap and the washcloth beside him.

  “Here.” He slapped the soap into my palm.

  “You want me to wash you?”

  His smile was mocking. “Every inch.” He scooted forward on the rock, to give me room, I realized.

  If my cheeks had grown any hotter, my face would have been in flames. Why, I couldn’t understand. It wasn’t as if I’d never touched him or been intimate with him before. But washing him implied an intimacy that seemed to go deeper than sex. It also carried an unmistakable reminder of my role. As his slave.

  Weeks ago, after the incident with Madi’san, I had started to feel like so much more than a slave. But since last night, Sheriff had found ways to constantly remind me, whatever status I’d been elevated to before, that status was now gone. My actions had brought me back down to where I’d started when I’d met Sheriff and his men, and here, no doubt I’d stay.

  No one would give me the slightest chance to endanger the Legion again.

  I squatted, soaking and soaping up the washcloth. He watched every move I made, his gaze drinking in my nakedness as if my body was made for him. I was glad he wanted me to start with his back, so he couldn’t see the way my nipples peaked under his stare or notice the slickness of my sex.

  Standing behind him again, I worked up a good lather and then ran the soap slowly over Sheriff’s wide back. Tattoos covered the muscled expanse, dark, harsh lines and swirls I couldn’t make out well in the darkness. I loved the feel of his smooth skin, the muscles that bunched and ticked in response to my touch.

  When he was soaped up, I lathered the cloth again and began scrubbing away the dirt and grime of the past day from his gloriously tanned skin.

  “Scrub harder, Setora. I’m not made of fucking glass.”

  I did as he commanded, scrubbing down every muscle, cleaning his neck and shoulders, too.

  It should have made it easier to focus on washing him as if it were a task no different than washing clothes at the Grotto laundry hole with Cherry or helping her drop off the clean clothes to the men’s caves. But who was I kidding? We weren’t in the Grotto, and this man loved mocking me too much for me to think about anything else.

  “Better, Master?”

  “Much.” His eyes danced when I moved to his side and started working the soapy cloth down his chest, over his tattooed pecs. “You’ve never bathed a man before, obviously.”

  “No, Master. I’ve seen it done, but I’ve never had any…hands-on experience.”

  He took my chin between his fingers. “You’ve seen it done? How? Damien showed you?”

  Jealousy made his voice gruff. Jealousy and that familiar bite of hatred for my former master.

  “No, Master.” I shuddered at thought of watching the man who’d betrayed and nearly sold me to the barbarian Talek making me watch one of his slaves bathe him. “Damien had one of his slaves show me how to bathe a man. She did it for one of the J’nai, one of the personal guardsman.”

  “Why didn’t he make you do it?”

  I licked my lips and focused on his face while I worked my hand lower, washing his abs. The muscles twitched under my fingers and I froze, withdrawing my hand. I lowered my gaze to his knees.

  “Bathing is a very intimate act.” I cleared my throat. “At least it is when a slave does it for a master. Damien had maids or slaves show me certain things, so that I wouldn’t be completely unfamiliar with how they’re done, but he didn’t want anyone enjoying my…skills except the man who would eventually buy me. I practiced on the higher-ranking women in his house.”

  A hint of a smile touched his mouth, and I couldn’t decide if it was gentle or not. He placed his hand on mine and guided the soapy cloth in my palm over his stomach, over every place I hadn’t already touched.

  “I was beyond livid when Pretty Boy and Steel stole you from Damien,” he murmured, his fingers tracing my lips. “Now when I think about what would have happened if they hadn’t…” He shook his head. “The idea of some fucking cannibalistic barbarian having his hands on you. That you could be bathing him or his men right now instead of me…”

  The image of Talek, that ugly, smelly, yellow-toothed barbarian Damien had almost sold me to, touching me, made me shudder. And not just because of the stories about Critians like him being cannibals. After the way Ivek had treated me, like a special jewel, I didn’t think the stories were true, but it didn’t matter now. I belonged to the Dark Legion, and I would never have to worry about men like Talek getting near me again.

  I hated it, but the idea of what Sheriff would do if any other man got close to me sent a wild thrill through me.

  “I’m glad Pretty Boy and Steel stole you,” Sheriff said, running his thumb over one of my nipples. It peaked, and he did the same for the other.

  I focused on his chest. “So am I, Master.”

  Sheriff raised a brow.

  “I am,” I said truthfully.

  “Good.” He bent but kept his lips an inch from mine, close enough to feel the heat of them without touching. “I own your body, Setora. All of you. I will find a way to instill the obedience you lack. And I will own your heart.”

  My chest shook on a sigh, but I bit back my apology, as well as any clumsy attempt to tell him I couldn’t love him the way he wanted. Not so long as he refused to give me nothing of himself. He would only use it like a barb.

  When he released me, I focused on his arm, scrubbing all the way down to his hand and his short-cropped nails.

  He said nothing more while I worked on his other arm and hand. To break the silence more than anything else, I said, “Master, does it bother you that I don’t know what I’m doing? That I don’t know how to bathe you?”

  “No. I like it.”

  I looked at him.

  “I like teaching you to do it the way I want. Which I suspect was the point of Damien’s not having you bathe another man. You would be taught to do it just the way your masters wanted.”

  I bit my lip and stepped away from him with a nod to let him know I was done. His smile was fierce.

  “You aren’t finished yet.” He stood, pulled me in front of him and guided my hand to the one place I hadn’t yet given any attention. His cock, which was still hard, solid as iron.

  I flinched, shocked by the heat of him against my palm, like burning steel. Sheriff’s hand tightened on mine, guiding my palm and the soapy cloth over his shaft. I licked my lips, unable to help staring at him, my mouth watering to taste him. When I nearly dropped the cloth, he captured my chin in his hand.

  “Focus.” The light in his eyes made it clear he knew what I was thinking. “Use your hand. Just wash me off. I don’t need more than that right now.”

  All but panting up at him, I abandoned the cloth and wrapped my hand around his
cock. I ran my soap-slicked grip up and down his shaft, over every inch of him, soon loving the feel of him against my palm. His skin was like silk over steel. I looked down. The silver ring that pierced through the head of his cock glinted in the moonlight.

  Captivated, both of my hands worked him now, exploring, feeling him grow even harder at my touch.

  “Stop.” He pushed my hands lower to his balls and guided me in washing them quickly. His chest rose and fell heavily. “Finish up with my legs and feet. You still need to bathe, and we’re running behind.”

  Such self-control. He had to be hard to the point of pain. But then this was the same man who’d tattooed the Dark Legion’s emblem on my back with his cock buried inside me the whole time, yet without taking his pleasure.

  My sex throbbed.

  I scrubbed down his legs and feet and then straightened.

  “Let’s go.” He grabbed another bar of white soap that smelled of vanilla and a bottle of shampoo, then took me by the leash and led me into the water. “You have three minutes to wash before I take you back to camp.” He handed me the soap and shampoo. “The others are waiting.”

  Waiting. For my punishment. I gulped.

  “I…um. Could you please take off the leash, Master? So I can wash?”

  “Nope. It’s long enough for you to wash with it on. Go.”

  While I washed my hair, he dunked under and rinsed off.

  Trying not to think about what lay ahead of me back at the camp, I scrubbed my hair, rinsed, and washed my body. The memory of my hand around his hard cock filled my thoughts. The ache between my legs intensified until it almost hurt, and Sheriff watched me so intently he must have known how close I was to stroking myself.

  When I was done, he led me out of the water, and we dried off.

  While Sheriff packed up the toiletries in the pail and wrung out the now soaking wet towel he’d been sitting on, I glanced around.

  “Looking for something, sweetheart?” He pulled on his pants and cut.

  “Yes, Master. We didn’t bring any clean clothes for me.”

  “You won’t be wearing any.” He tugged on his boots, the glint in his eyes full of delight.

  My jaw fell open. “You’re going to walk me back to camp naked?”

  “Yep. Hurry it up.”

  I shouldn’t have been surprised. Twice before in the Grotto, Sheriff had taken me in his bed, only to leave me to walk back to the laundering hole stark naked through the busy Grotto.

  I dropped my arms and let him lead me back through the forest, barefoot and without a stitch on.

  As humiliating as I knew the moments ahead would be, I had a feeling the worst was yet to come.

  Chapter 4

  The Way Others Live

  The walk back to camp couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, but it felt like the longest walk of my life.

  My stomach knotted with the thought of who might see me when we returned, but putting that aside only left me considering much darker notions. Images of what Sheriff might have planned for me tore my thoughts to shreds until my skin hummed with dread.

  He’d said we were running behind, that the others were waiting. What did the others have to do with my penance?

  Maker’s Mercy, help me.

  When we arrived, Pretty Boy, T-Man, and Crash were sitting around the campfire. All of them looked up as we approached, Sheriff leading me by the length of that leash. I didn’t see Hawk, but the rest of the Legion men were far from the only ones there.

  Utar and a couple of his men were playing a game of dice near the fire. Utar’s brow rose when he saw me, but I couldn’t read his expression beyond that before he turned back to the game. The two men playing with him followed Sheriff and me with their eyes, visibly trying not to smile. No fewer than six of his men, including Striker, were shaking out sleeping bags nearby. Striker’s shoulders shook, and the man with him dropped his end of the sleeping bag.

  A number of the other men and women moved about various tasks throughout the camp, the women murmuring or covering mouths when they saw us.

  Just my luck, my masters wouldn’t be the only ones out and about, even though it had to be close to one in the morning by now. If the Maker had chosen to split open the ground at my feet and let the forest floor swallow me whole, I’d have thanked Him.

  “Have all of you suddenly decided you don’t have things to do?” Utar called out, looking around at those who’d stopped to stare at me.

  Mutters of affirmation and clearing of throats rose up before the Lone Rebels’ General put his head back down over a game board.

  Sheriff stopped beside Pretty Boy and winked at me. He was loving this.

  Pretty Boy was no better. His pale blue eyes sparkled as he stood up and greeted Sheriff, his gaze on me the whole time. With that blond ponytail that grew to the middle of his back, and his sculpted features, I’d always thought he looked like one of the angels told of in stories of the Old World, but the way he looked at me now was anything but angelic. Heat made his eyes look like glittering sapphires.

  He pulled me to him, running his hands down over my ass cheeks. His warm, calloused palms, rough the way a swordsman’s hands were, explored my back, my hips, then my ass again, as if he were making up for lost time.

  “Time to pay up, is it?” He looked at Sheriff.

  Sheriff nodded and looked around. “Where’s Hawk?”

  I didn’t miss the way Pretty Boy winced at the mention of Hawk’s name. “He relieved one of Utar’s men on guard duty. Want me to get him?”

  “Not yet.” Sheriff nodded at me. “There’s something we have to take care of first.”

  Before Sheriff could lead me away, Pretty Boy squeezed me closer and put his lips to my ear. “We haven’t had much time alone since we left the Grotto, Princess. We’ll have to fix that when this is over.”

  “Yes, Master.” My voice shook with a mix of uncertainty and lust.

  The faint scent of moonshine I’d smelled on his breath earlier was gone, probably the only time I hadn’t smelled it on him since we’d come back from the Dreg camp. Since Steel had fallen ill. Was he angry with me? There was a dangerous note in his voice, the promise of something I didn’t quite understand, but it could have just been that wildness that always radiated from him.

  Or he could have been plotting to pay me back in some personal way for the perilous situation I’d put his best friend in.

  Once Pretty Boy released me, Sheriff tugged on the leash and led me past a few of the trees Utar’s people occupied. What was he up to now?

  Before I could think too long on where he might be taking me, he stopped at one of the trees and nodded up toward the branches that grew low over my head.

  “Cut your switch, Setora.”

  “Cut…” My face drained of blood. “Oh.”

  My mind fully realized what he’d said, and the implications sank in. I hadn’t heard that phrase since I was a child, once or twice from Mama, the woman I’d been taken to when those poachers found me when I was six, and before that, a handful of times when my father had said it.

  In this world, there were certain phrases every female understood, ones that never lost their impact even if she went years without hearing them. When your warden told you to cut a switch, you knew what was coming, and yet the words always seemed to hit harder when a man said them.

  I swallowed hard, nearly wishing he’d chosen his belt. Some stupid part of my mind tried to come up with a way out of this, even while a strange rightness settled over me at the thought of submitting myself to his obvious intentions. I didn’t think that feeling was only because I knew I deserved whatever happened to me for my mistakes.

  I didn’t move, trepidation freezing me in place. For a few heartbeats, all I could do was register the lust that swirled beneath the controlled anger in Sheriff’s eyes and how the front of his leather pants bulged. My core clenched in a way it definitely hadn’t when my father had given me the same order.

  Pushing
down the urge to beg or plead, I drew a long breath and reached up, breaking off a suitable branch, supple but strong. It was too long, and smaller branches with leaves bristled on either side of it, but he took it and nodded with satisfaction.

  “I’ll make it work.” He handed it back to me. “Come.”

  He led me back toward the same trees where the Lone Rebels stayed, toward the campfire, only this time, he didn’t tug me along by that leash. Instead, he walked beside me, his hand on the back of my neck, his palm almost hot on my nape. My anxiety intensified, while somehow his grip, without force but firm, grounded me. My heartbeat filled my ears until my head felt light, yet the heat of his hand acted as a tether, reminding me of who was in control.

  It dawned on me what he was doing. Sheriff could have carried the unmade switch himself, but he had me carry it, and I knew he did so for the same reason any master had his slave cut her own switch. He wanted the submission that came with choosing the instrument of punishment, then carrying it to the place where payment would be doled out. By doing so, I let him know that I accepted what was coming and chose to put the power in his hands.

  But another thought followed on the heels of that as we passed the trees occupied by some of the Rebels. There were trees everywhere, plenty with branches he could have used, but he’d chosen to take me through the camp and now marched me past the Rebels’ hollows.

  Looking over at the fire, I noticed Utar wasn’t there anymore.

  “Have you ever been switched before, Setora?”

  Sheriff’s deep voice yanked my attention away from the Legion’s guests and back to him.

  “Yes, Master. But it’s been a while.” My voice shook. A hundred years could have passed, and I would never have forgotten each and every time.

  “Damien.” His voice was dark all of a sudden.

  “No. My father, Master. Damien never touched me. My father didn’t do it often.”