Tethered Pt. 02

6

Trinity. The village's name was emblazoned in spray paint on a billboard. Half of a smiling baby's face, weathered and cracked, was all that remained of the original advertisement.

Her leash had been removed as soon as the village came into view, and she now stood at his side. For reasons that had been made dreadfully clear in the past, outward signs that she was his slave were best concealed when dealing with strangers. She tried not to fidget as her master banged his fist on the flimsy, plywood gate.

Villages along the road were few and far between. She'd long ago stopped thinking in miles. Now, it was days. Walking, they averaged about a month's separation. The rationale made sense: close enough to trade, far enough to discourage hostilities. A month on the road in their new world was wrought with hardships besides the very obvious night danger. Why risk it to fight with your neighbors?

A man with a round, puffy face poked his head out from the top of the ten foot gate. He and her master had a brief conversation, terse on both sides. They merely wanted shelter for the night and to barter for a few provisions, her master informed the man. She was surprised. They usually went into a village only for supplies. Rarely did they stay overnight, unless it was the only option. Her master distrusted strangers, and gathered groups of them even more. The man said there was an inn with reasonable rates, then laughed at the notion of procuring a bag of coffee.

The gate swung open with a wooden creak. The moment she stepped inside the rickety walls, her breath came easier. The village was little more than a collection of ramshackle structures, pieced together from whatever debris the inhabitants managed to scrounge together, and the wall surrounding it could only be described as fortified by the loosest of definitions, but even the semblance of security was more than she could pray for most nights.

The gate guard jutted his arm toward the village's largest structure. Unlike all the makeshift domiciles surrounding it, the inn was pure brick and mortar. It stood two stories high and boasted a front door of glass. Though most were boarded up, a few of the windows were actually intact. It was easy to see the village had sprouted up around this building.

From experience, she knew what they'd find within. The lobby would be a bar. There was always a bar, though the quality of liquor varied greatly from one settlement to the next. There would be rooms to rent for the night, and rooms to rent for an hour. Occasionally, there would be someone with some manner of instrument playing a tune, but not often. There would be food. The quality of that would vary even greater than that of the liquor, but it would be hot and prepared by hands other than her own. Trade currency varied as well. They had very few possessions of value to barter, so labor was their usual tender. For the now depleted bag of coffee grounds, they'd harvested squash and bell peppers in a garden behind a long abandoned convenience store.

Standing at the entrance to the inn, her master turned to her. "Do I need to tell you how to behave in here?"

"No, Master."

"Good."

The bar, she was surprised to see, had actually been a bar in the old world. It was a sizable room with a long, curved counter near the back wall. The wall was mirrored and supported rows of shelves, all empty save the bottom one. It held differing-sized jars of differing-colored liquids. There were booths lining the two side walls and tables with chairs in the middle. The booths were empty, but three of the tables were occupied by quiet drinkers.

Wrinkling her nose at an offensive smell as they entered, her eyes were immediately drawn to the dust-ridden piano in the corner. She noticed her master's gaze had gone to the exact same place. It had seen better days, but she silently prayed that it still held its tune. It had been such a very long time since she'd heard him play. Sometimes, when they'd bedded down for the night, he would sing in that voice as lovely as his face, and she'd spy his fingers moving nimbly at the air as if he had a set of keys in front of him.

Months ago, while scavenging in a derelict building in one of the many ghost towns they came across, she'd found an old guitar. She'd cleaned it up, and presented it to him that night with a bright smile warming her face. The smile he returned had been all the reward she needed, but she begged him to play for her. He obliged her gleeful request, but the guitar hadn't sounded true. He fiddled with the tongs and strings for a long time, his eyes closed, a look of intense concentration on his face. He tried again, and it was better, though not exact. He played and sang for her the rest of the night. She'd fallen asleep with the heavenly music still vibrating in her head. Sometime deep in the night, though, she'd been awakened by a crashing sound. She bolted up in a panic, but he immediately came into the room, told her everything was okay, to go back to sleep. In the morning, she discovered the splintered remains of the guitar. He'd smashed it in half against a doorframe. He never said why, and she didn't ask. She knew the answer. He couldn't make the thing match the melodies he remembered in his head, back before their life had been annihilated. He couldn't abide it and chose the memories instead of that pale imitation.

"Help you?" the man behind the counter asked. He was lean and wiry, his face cleaner than his bar, but not by much.

"We need a room for the night, supper, breakfast," her master said, "and, if possible, baths."

"I can do all those. We ain't expensive here," the man said, his eyes passing from her master and settling on her, "but we ain't free neither."

"I wouldn't think so," her master said.

"Got chicken and potatoes tonight. Eggs and beans in the morning."

"Perfect. Baths?"

"Yeah. Lye soap. Some people it burns like fire, but it'll get the job done. Water's hot."

"That will work," her master said.

The man's eyes hadn't left her. "What you got for trade?"

"Not her."

The man tugged his leering gaze from her and settled it on her master. "Oh?"

"Not me either, friend," her master said. He then produced something from his pocket. He rested his closed fist on the countertop. When he opened it, a glint caught her eye and she peered in wonder at the small pebble of gold resting on his palm.

The barkeep's eyes went as wide as hers. "Don't see too much of that anymore."

"I take it we have a deal then," her master said.

The barkeep made a slow move as if to grab the nugget, then frowned and pulled his hand back. He scratched at the back of his neck and sighed. "No sir. Afraid not. I'd love to, believe me, but it's too much. I'm a lot of things, mister, but a cheat ain't one of them."

"It's hardly cheating if I proposed the deal."

She could see the man thinking it over, trying to will himself into the trade. The small nugget was surely more currency than he'd seen in years in this nothing of place. Finally, though, he just sighed again. "Maybe not, but that little piece you got there would buy you a month's stay and probably half the liquor on my shelf. Unless you're planning to lay down some roots for a bit..."

"Just the one night," her master said.

"Then let's trade for something else."

"This is all… pardon me." Her master held up a hand, then put his fist to his mouth. He closed his eyes, took a long breath and held it. She watched him curiously. He swallowed hard, then let the breath out slowly through his nose. "This is all we have."

"Some work then," the man said hopefully. "Got some work in the chicken coops that needs doing."

"We've been traveling for weeks. We're tired, hungry, and disinclined to manual labor presently."

"It's just too much," the man said, shaking his head. When her master closed his fist around the small object, the man winced.

"How about this?" her master said, hand retreating into his pocket. "We put a pin in negotiations for a short while. We really are very hungry and a hot bath would be a Godsend. Have them drawn, let us clean up in the room, and then join us for a meal. Full bellies will help us come up with something agreeable."

The barkeep eyed them skeptically. No doubt, he was more than accustomed to attempted swindling by strangers.

Her master smiled. "Hold on to this until we've reached our terms." He produced the nugget again, held it out to the man.

"You aren't afraid I'll just keep it?"

Her master shrugged. "It was already yours for the taking, and you declined."

The man took the nugget. He looked it over, hefted it in his hand. "Room's just up the stairs. Take the last one on the left. Be a bit more private. I'll have the baths ready in a half-hour or so."

"Perfect," her master said, shaking the man's hand. He turned to her, leaned in close to her ear. "Go and prepare the room properly. I'll be up shortly."

She nodded, then wound her way through tables on the way to the stairs. They creaked and whined uncomfortably as she ascended. Halfway up, she stopped and glanced back. Her master was leaning over the bar, speaking more quietly with the man than he had been before.

7

The room with the bathtub was cramped and dark. A yellow-brown stain ringed the tub, and a few roaches scurried across the floorboards. The lye brought tears to her eyes, but the water was almost boiling, and the pair of towels folded next to the sink smelled of lilacs.

She wished she'd insisted he go first. She wanted to luxuriate in the divine water, soak up every morsel of this rare treat, but she worried she was taking too long, postponing his turn. Of course, there was no insisting with him. He'd told her to go first, so she'd gone first. The hot water and strong soap seeped into her pores, miraculously cleansing her of weeks, months of grime and grit from the road. Entranced, she lingered for what she hoped wasn't an unacceptable amount of time. When finally she was able to pry herself away, she stepped out and dried herself as he entered the still steaming water. He was quiet and distant as she bathed him. He didn't so much as acknowledge when she wrapped her fingers around him and stroked.

Afterward, she put on her cleanest dress. She'd beaten it with stones and a sliver of soap in a river they'd come to less than a week ago, but it felt filthy on her after the bath. She still wasn't sure why he'd chosen to stay the night in the village, but she sensed it was a special occasion, so she made herself up as well as she could. She did her hair without aid of a mirror, though she was thankful for that. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gazed upon her own face, and she had little desire to do so.

Next to a small table, her master stood buttoning his cuffs. How did he managed to look so dashing, even now? Men, she believed, aged better than women. Did they survive the end of the fucking world better too? She stared at the man she loved as long as she dared.

"You will be on your best behavior tonight," her master told her.

"Yes, Master," she said.

He gave her a long appraising look. She grew hot under his scrutiny. She heard him sigh.

"You're a good girl for me," he said, uncommon tenderness in his voice.

She went weak in the knees at the rare compliment. She willed herself not to look up at his face. She longed to see the pleased smile she prayed was there.

She almost screamed at the interrupting knock at the door.

Her master opened it to Robert the barkeep and a spare dirty boy of about seven. Both had their arms laden with steaming plates. The boy unloaded his burden on the table, helped Robert do the same, then he left without a word.

Appearing apprehensive, Robert clasped his hands at his back and worried over which leg should hold most of his weight. His thick black hair had been combed and slicked back.

"Have a seat," her master said to the man. He motioned to one of the two empty chairs. "It would be a shame to let this delicious-looking meal get cool."

Robert sat. Her master followed suit. Before she took her place at her master's feet, she spied the feast rapaciously. The chicken was lightly breaded with cornmeal and generous dollops of butter melted in the middle of the mashed potatoes. There was also a tiny portion of broccoli on each of the three plates.

"You have a nice establishment here," her master said as he took a plate from the table and set it down on the floor in front of her. "How long have you been here?"

It took the man a few moments to answer. No doubt he was confused about the woman being fed on the floor. She didn't blame him, but she'd long ago accepted her place. When it was just the two of them taking a meal, she didn't give it a second thought. With another party at the table, though, the degradation reared its ugly head.

"Oh," Robert stammered, "I guess it's been four years now. I came out of Kansas City originally."

About to plop a piece of broccoli into her mouth, she flinched. The man had broken an unwritten rule of the road. You didn't talk about the time before. If he'd named one of the numerous villages that had cropped up along the road over the years, that would've been one thing. Naming a city could only be a discussion of the past. There were no cities anymore.

Her master moved past the lapse in decorum agilely. "How many miles to the next village?"

"Ya'll came from the east?"

"Yes."

"Severance is a hundred miles, but you should give that hellhole a wide berth. Jericho's another hundred or so, but it's more hospitable."

The conversation continued on, but she stopped taking in most of it. She enjoyed her meal to the pleasant sounds of clinking dinnerware, closed her eyes, and pretended she was at a fancy dinner party. She summoned a few old memories, but kept them necessarily fuzzy. No specific parties. No specific places or people. Just the general sounds, smells, feelings of being anywhere that wasn't here. She thought about the taste of good wine on her tongue, her master tipping a glass to her lips while she sat beneath a table, lovingly stroking his leg, his cock. She filled her head with the memory of stringed music. Lost in this reverie, she could almost forget that their dinner companion smelled of boiled cabbage and stale beer. It wasn't an overly offensive smell, but neither was it pleasant.

"A deal's a deal," she vaguely heard her master say. "A man only has his word, don't you agree?"

"Suppose you're right," Robert said. He sounded unsure.

"Stand." Her master's word tugged her back to reality.

Momentarily disoriented, she rose to her feet slowly. Her legs ached from protracted kneeling. His chair shrieked along the scarred hardwood as he pushed it back and stood. Without looking at her, he took her firmly by the back of the neck and guided her, positioning her in front of the table. He moved closer to her, close enough his breath brushed the hairs on her ear. His thumb dug harder into her neck for a few excruciating seconds. She caught a whiff of the savory chicken on his breath, then it was gone as he forced her down, bending her in half over the table. Only grueling training stopped her from crying out at the swift, brutal change.

"Stay," he said, fingers leaving her neck to throb.

She closed her eyes. Boards creaked beneath his departing footsteps. For the first time this evening, she became acutely aware of the other man in the room. To her right, Robert's breathing had become heavier. His chair groaned as he shifted a handful of times. Though she hadn't been instructed to close her eyes, she was thankful she had. She was unsure whether or not she wanted to see the expression on the man's face.

In the corner of the room, her master rummaged through his pack. Her stomach muscles contracted at the rustling sound. What was going on? What was he planning? Was he searching for his rod? Was he going to beat her in front of this man? Was he going to fuck her and let this stranger watch? Fear tried to grip her with its icy fingers, but, with effort, she drove it back. Firstly, she'd learned long ago not to worry about things, until they actually presented themselves. Secondly, she was his property, his object. Objects didn't have feelings. And third, she was ashamed to admit, heat was already building between her thighs at the thought of her master plowing into her while this stranger watched on, leering at her open, exposed body.

The footsteps returned. He'd found whatever he'd been searching for. He didn't make her wait long to find out what it was. She felt his iron grip on her wrist as he beckoned her arm toward the far side of the table, then scratchy rope encircled her wrist. Pressure tightened as he tied the other end to the table leg and secured it. The rope bit wickedly into her skin as he grabbed her other wrist and fastened her to the other table leg, splaying her extended arms into a V pattern. Swiftly, her legs were similarly spread, ankles throbbing at opposing table legs.

Though the tabletop was cool against her cheek, beads of nervous sweat formed on her brow. As he lifted the hem of her dress and pulled it up to expose her naked ass, a droplet of sweat dripped into her eye. She tried to blink the stinging offender away, but only succeeded in making the burning worse.

A loaded silence fell on the room, sullied only by unsteady breathing. Not her master. Their dinner companion, a man she'd met a mere two hours before, who was no doubt ogling the pale flesh usually kept secret beneath her dress. She became very aware of her chest rising and falling against the smooth table.

She steadied her breathing. Her master had put her on display numerous times, in a myriad of mortifying ways. He'd stripped her and flogged her in clubs. At more than one dinner party, she'd been made to crawl on hands and knees all evening, a fluffy, pink tail inside her ass, matching kitty ears on her head. One memorable night, he'd fucked her in an alley, come all over her face, and made her walk the rest of the way home before allowing her to wipe it off. It never got easier, but she was no stranger to embarrassment by this man's deviant whims.

Yet, this felt different. Maybe it was the state of this place - dusty, dank, sad. It was a far cry from the lavish parlors and fancy dungeons of their old world. This place felt dirty in all the wrong ways. But then, the whole world was dirty in all the wrong ways now. It had only been the two of them for so long . Perhaps that was it. She felt the urge to cry. For what, she wasn't even sure. Too many emotions rushed her brain, fighting and clawing for prominence.

They washed away in a flood of sudden calm as he took her by the chin and tilted her face to him.

"Look at me," he said.

She did, straining to meet his eyes.

"Who owns you?"

"You do, Master," she said, having to force the words from her throat at this awkward angle.

"You are my property, and I may do with you as I wish. Correct?"

She swallowed hard and coughed. "Yes, Master."

Something strange and dark passed through his eyes. His thumb gently, lovingly caressed her cheek, a peculiar sweetness from her cruel man. Keeping his grip tight, so that her gaze couldn't escape his, he nodded. But not to her.

Robert the barkeep cleared his throat loudly as he stood.

She froze, ice replacing the blood in her veins.

"Ask my new friend to use you," her master said.

She'd misheard. Surely, she'd misheard. He was just going to let the man watch, the same as he'd let people watch a hundred times before. He wouldn't share her. He never had. Surely, he wouldn't do it now in this filthy place with a man who smelled of boiled cabbage. Completely taken by surprise, she willed her brain to work, to figure out what was going on, what she'd missed.