of regret in it. “I humiliated you the other night, Sascha. You know, I hope, why I did it?”
“Because I was disrespectful,” I answer instantly, without thinking. Slave training goes deep, and it comes out at the strangest times.
“Don’t think or answer like a slave,” he orders, staring expectantly. It occurs to me that he’s not demanding obedience; he’s demanding that I work to my potential, that I think critically as he’s always known I could do.
I think a little harder. “Because Torenze demanded it, or could have,” I realize. “Based on your history, he expected you to whip the skin off my back, break my jaw, something of that level.”
My master nods. “I humiliated you so I could avoid the pressure to hurt you badly. I would have warned you beforehand, but I wanted it to seem genuine, and you’re a terrible liar. Also, I was furious at you, and at myself. You couldn’t have known the problems you could have caused, because I didn’t tell you. I would do differently now, but the other night, I was rather vindicated to see you afraid. I suppose that was cruel, but you’ve got to understand the risks inherent in such an outburst.”
I nod. It’s strange to realize that he hurt me like that to avoid hurting me worse in other ways. I can’t decide which I would have preferred, given the choice, but I wasn’t given a choice anyway. “That’s why you didn’t follow up with the gag when we got home.”
“What, did you think I forgot?” My master rolls his eyes. “It was unnecessary. No one was watching, and you knew well enough that you had done wrong. I think you knew that from the moment the words left your mouth.”
I don’t want to ask the next question, but I can’t help myself. He’s sitting here, talking about the horrible treatment that slaves are subjected to, and yet he’s done some of the same to me. “Then what about the other times?”
He studies me for a moment before answering. “You needed to be reminded of your place, Sascha. I had told you politely and it wasn’t getting through. I felt something more severe might get through in its place.”
I glare at him. He doesn’t deserve a response to that.
“You couldn’t be reasoned with, couldn’t understand because you were too busy trying to act like a slave and too full of fear,” my master continues. “I told Bobby once that you were smart enough to know better, and it’s true. If I didn’t think you could hold your tongue, I would never have expected you to.”
It’s like a burning salve on an open wound. It takes some of the sting off, but replaces it with a different kind of pain. If he thought I was just a stupid animal, his treatment made sense, he could be excused. He’s telling me that he knew otherwise, but he hurt me, anyway, repeatedly. “Maybe if you had told me about you plans, I would have been more agreeable. Master .”
“I was wrong.” My master looks away as he says it, glancing out the window into the darkness outside. “I was wrong to keep it from you as long as I did. Even when I realized that working with you was easier and more pleasant than working against you, I still didn’t think that something of that level should be shared with a slave. I let that color my decisions, and I don’t think it was wise.”
“You told me about your research, but not about your family,” I remind him, unsure of whether to be grateful to be let in now or angry that I’ve been kept in the dark for so long. “Your mother came over here and put her hands on me, and you still didn’t tell me. I covered for you while she was here, after you tormented me for days, and you still didn’t tell me.”
“I know,” he admits. “Old habits die hard. You keep fucking the same things up, putting me at risk, and it infuriates me. It makes me want to hurt you; not talk to you, but I think I’ve tried that enough times. It’s not working any better than your behavior is.”
“You’re kind of
“Because I was disrespectful,” I answer instantly, without thinking. Slave training goes deep, and it comes out at the strangest times.
“Don’t think or answer like a slave,” he orders, staring expectantly. It occurs to me that he’s not demanding obedience; he’s demanding that I work to my potential, that I think critically as he’s always known I could do.
I think a little harder. “Because Torenze demanded it, or could have,” I realize. “Based on your history, he expected you to whip the skin off my back, break my jaw, something of that level.”
My master nods. “I humiliated you so I could avoid the pressure to hurt you badly. I would have warned you beforehand, but I wanted it to seem genuine, and you’re a terrible liar. Also, I was furious at you, and at myself. You couldn’t have known the problems you could have caused, because I didn’t tell you. I would do differently now, but the other night, I was rather vindicated to see you afraid. I suppose that was cruel, but you’ve got to understand the risks inherent in such an outburst.”
I nod. It’s strange to realize that he hurt me like that to avoid hurting me worse in other ways. I can’t decide which I would have preferred, given the choice, but I wasn’t given a choice anyway. “That’s why you didn’t follow up with the gag when we got home.”
“What, did you think I forgot?” My master rolls his eyes. “It was unnecessary. No one was watching, and you knew well enough that you had done wrong. I think you knew that from the moment the words left your mouth.”
I don’t want to ask the next question, but I can’t help myself. He’s sitting here, talking about the horrible treatment that slaves are subjected to, and yet he’s done some of the same to me. “Then what about the other times?”
He studies me for a moment before answering. “You needed to be reminded of your place, Sascha. I had told you politely and it wasn’t getting through. I felt something more severe might get through in its place.”
I glare at him. He doesn’t deserve a response to that.
“You couldn’t be reasoned with, couldn’t understand because you were too busy trying to act like a slave and too full of fear,” my master continues. “I told Bobby once that you were smart enough to know better, and it’s true. If I didn’t think you could hold your tongue, I would never have expected you to.”
It’s like a burning salve on an open wound. It takes some of the sting off, but replaces it with a different kind of pain. If he thought I was just a stupid animal, his treatment made sense, he could be excused. He’s telling me that he knew otherwise, but he hurt me, anyway, repeatedly. “Maybe if you had told me about you plans, I would have been more agreeable. Master .”
“I was wrong.” My master looks away as he says it, glancing out the window into the darkness outside. “I was wrong to keep it from you as long as I did. Even when I realized that working with you was easier and more pleasant than working against you, I still didn’t think that something of that level should be shared with a slave. I let that color my decisions, and I don’t think it was wise.”
“You told me about your research, but not about your family,” I remind him, unsure of whether to be grateful to be let in now or angry that I’ve been kept in the dark for so long. “Your mother came over here and put her hands on me, and you still didn’t tell me. I covered for you while she was here, after you tormented me for days, and you still didn’t tell me.”
“I know,” he admits. “Old habits die hard. You keep fucking the same things up, putting me at risk, and it infuriates me. It makes me want to hurt you; not talk to you, but I think I’ve tried that enough times. It’s not working any better than your behavior is.”
“You’re kind of
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