#slave whumpee

[linecrosser]

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi suggested "possessive whumper"

my instant thought was "marking/branding as property", so here we are!

[abhainnwhump]

Whump Contracts

They're verstitle.

(Content warnings: Workplace abuse, pet whump, manipulation, possession, slavery, victim blaming, financial abuse?)

Demon Whumper forcing Whumpee into a contract to possess their body.

Whumpee is signing up for an acting role and they're over the moon about it. The problem? They look at the contract they have to sign for it. Whumper wants them for a little more than acting.

Whumpee signing themselves into being a slave/pet because of their self-hatred.

Whumpee unwillingly signing themselves into being a slave/pet.

Whumpee can't read, so they rely on Whumper to explain what is on it. They lie.

That fantasy trope where someone snaps their fingers and the paper and quill appear out of thin air. - Bonus points if it's out of fire or there's some ghost chanting as Whumpee signs it.

Whumper using the contract as a defense in case the authorities/Caretaker find them.

"You should've read the fine print."

Whumpee actually reading the fine print.

Caretaker signing papers to adopt legally be Whumpee's caretaker.

[mj-iza-writer]

I don't want to talk about how long this sat in my drafts waiting for me to figure out the ending 🤦- Mj

Whumpee adjusted how they were lying on their pedestal. They were bored to death for this last-minute dinner party Whumper planned. They hid a small yawn, not wanting to seem too bored.

"I saw that", Whumper stepped up, and handed them a plate of goodies, "a few more hours and you can be done."

Whumpee sat up and eagerly took the food, "thankyou master."

Whumpee watched as Whumper talked with their guest. The food they had just received made it worth being their master's eye candy for the guest.

Whumpee was considered a Chattel slave, Whumper had purchased them from the black market. A chattel slave was pretty much considered someone's property, no different than livestock or the couch in the corner.

Whumper used Whumpee as an ornament, an object of their money. The guest often marveled at just how beautiful Whumpee was. Whumpee had been conditioned by their traffickers for this type of work.

Whumper never laid a punishing hand on them, they didn't have to. That hell was all done by the traffickers. Whumper could just enjoy their doll... or honestly, their puppet.

Whumpee was often dressed in the most expensive, often revealing outfits Whumper could find. Whumpee looked down at the lacy skin tight outfit they had on. They had lacy wraps around their wrist to match, but to also hide the rope burns from last night's fun in the master's bed. Lastly, they looked down at the sparkly shackle on their ankle, that was followed by a sparkly chain cemented into their pedestal.

A lady came up and started to ask Whumpee questions about themself and Whumper.

Whumpee stared straight ahead, not acknowledging the woman. They wished she'd go away though so they could eat more.

"Look at me, and talk to me, you useless...", the woman comanded, "how rude", they took their wine glass and threw the drink at Whumpee.

Whumpee gasped as the dark wine spilled over them.

Whumper came running, two butlers followed.

"What the heck is going on", Whumper looked at the wine covered Whumpee, then the woman.

"They wouldn't answer me. It's just like you to have a rude servant", the lady answered.

"She came up and started asking me questions about you, and about me master", Whumpee also answered while awkwardly holding out their arms do to the wine dripping from them, "I didn't acknowledge her, and she threw wine at me."

Whumper's anger flared at the lady, "they are not supposed to talk to people. They are furniture to look at. They were doing exactly as they were trained", Whumper spoke through gritted teeth, "the only way they can talk to someone is if they have my permission to talk to them."

"So you purposely made them rude", the lady looked up at Whumpee, who now was looking right at them.

"No that is how they were trained, and who are you to think you have a right to talk to my property", Whumper argued, "I literally started this party explaining how to interact with Whumpee, and if you wanted to talk to them to ask me, I would have happily introduced you. Everyone else has followed that rule, and that is much appreciated by me and Whumpee. Whumpee enjoys talking to people under the correct circumstances."

"I'm sure they would appreciate being able to talk to whomever they want", the lady fired back.

"And they would want to talk to you because?", Whumper asked sarcastically.

Whumpee grinned a little, hiding a laugh.

"Well I've never", the lady gasped.

"Well, it's about time someone talks to you like that", Whumper frowned, "your invitation to my parties is being revoked, my butler will escort you out.

When the lady was gone, Whumper turned to Whumpee.

"I guess that outfit is done. There is no coming back from that grape wine", Whumper stepped up, and unlocked the shackle, "I'm relieving you for tonight, go get cleaned up and relax in my room", Whumper caressed Whumpee's face.

Whumpee leaned their face into Whumper's gentle hand.

Whumper looked up at a butler, "Whumpee didn't get to eat much thanks to the lady, have chef cook them something."

"Yes sir", the butler bowed.

Whumper gave a hand to Whumpee to step down from the pedestal. They watched Whumpee as they left the party.

"I'm sorry for the disturbance in our party. Please continue to enjoy yourself", Whumper looked around, "I do apologize. Whumpee won't be joining us for the rest of it though."

The crowd had watched Whumpee leave, they all seemed sorry to see them go.

Later that night, Whumper went into their bedroom. They smiled when they saw Whumpee resting on the bed reading a book.

"Master", Whumpee closed the book and sat up, "how was the rest of the party."

"You have no idea how many people asked about you once you left", Whumper walked to them, "all so concerned about you", they started to get undressed.

Whumper caressed Whumpee's face lovingly.

"I'm going to shower, then we can go to bed", Whumper grinned.

Whumpee leaned into the touch.

"Are you tired, my dear?", Whumper smiled.

"Yes sir, I'm sorry about the wine spill", Whumpee frowned.

"That wasn't your fault. You were doing what you were supposed to do", Whumper turned toward the bathroom, "it only means I need to find you a copy of that outfit. You looked stunning in it."

"Thankyou master", Whumpee smiled weakly.

That night, Whumpee was cuddled into Whumper's arms.

They moved up and down with every snore Whumper made.

Whumpee blinked away a tear.

"I wish I was free", Whumpee whispered before forcing themself to go to sleep.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109 @idontreallyexistyet @thebejeweledwatercat @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

[whump-queen]

A pretty slave boy draped with gold and jewels.. only for the auction of course. Accessories not Included.

[urlocalwhumper]

slave caretaker desperately begging their master to let them take their dying fellow slave, whumpee, outside.

whumpee is so weak, their illness/injury/infection quickly catching up with them, they couldn't possibly run or try to escape. it's so nice outside, warm and sunny with a relaxing breeze.

caretaker knows they can't save whumpee. whumper is going to let them die. all they can hope for is that whumpee will be allowed to spend their final moments lying unbound in the warm sun, instead of chained on the cold stone floor.

[rizzoto-whump]

"Whumpee, tell me one thing, don’t you ever feel the desire for freedom?"

The question dumbfounded Whumpee. Freedom was an elusive concept to them, nearly mythical. Their eyes widened, and they responded in their usual naive way, "Freedom? What could be better than being here, serving you?"

Interested in Whumpee's thought process, Whumper probed further, "Surely, you don't want to be serving me forever? What about your dreams, Whumpee?"

"Dreams, Whumper… are for free men."

[the-baby-storyteller]

Cw: minor whumpee, mentioned abuse, fear, slave whump

Whumpee was used to being sold, but it didn’t make the process any easier.

They kept their head down in the back of the car, their wild heartbeat contrasting the tight way they held themself. They thought about who their next owner would be. They wondered if they might be...kind. A wishful thought, they knew. They weren't foolish, they knew they would take anything; they didn’t have a choice. They just hoped….

They just hoped they wouldn’t be as bad as their last owner.

A shudder ran through them. Whumpee didn't...they didn't know if they could deal with someone like that again. If they did they might...might...-

Stop that, they thought with a frown, mentally slapping themself.

They didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on the past. They had to focus on the now, focus all their attentions on making sure their new owner was satisfied with them. That meant looking appealing, pleasant, and not wholly petrified from the scars of their last owner.

So many scars.

They sighed and fought to quell their quivering. They just- they couldn't. They couldn't deal with another-

And then the car jerked to a stop.

Their heart jerked to a stop as well.

Get a hold of yourself, they seethed internally. They couldn't be trembling and whimpering over memories.

Even if those memories could become their reality again.

They plastered a smile on as the seller pulled them out of the car, roughly enough to be domineering but not enough to harm the merchandise. Not before the real buyers could anyway. It doesn't matter, they thought to themself.

This is who they were, this was their life, they thought as they walked to the door of the house. They were an object, an amenity. A thing to be sold and used as others pleased. They didn't get to decide what happened to them, and if someone wanted to hurt them and use them and shatter them until them-

Whumpee choked.

Until they were so terrified they cowered and begged and cried and they still would never stop?

They would take it. It was not their choice to make.

They realized their smile had dropped. They took a deep breath. They smiled. It was shakier then last time. It was best they were going to get.

They opened the door.

-

Inside was nice. It was a regular looking house. They never got any information about who they were going to beforehand, (obviously not, who would tell a thing like them anything of importance, they only deserved taunts and threats), so they had no idea what to expect. They didn't know how many people they would be serving, if it would be one person, a whole family.

Whumpee didn't need to know or be told. They would adapt to them or be made to adapt.

The only thing they knew was that they needed to keep smiling and looking pleasing, and that's what they did. They weren't new at this.

A man walked over to them. He didn't look especially high-class; he held himself loosely and his clothes looked vaguely old. His face seemed to be stuck in a permanent tired-bored look. He also didn't look especially interested in Whumpee.

That was very okay with them.

They knew never to get their hopes up, though. They dropped their head. No speaking unless spoken to.

"I expect," they heard his strangely laid-back voice from above them, "you to not ask questions and just do as you are told. Understand?"

"Y-Yes, Master," they answered.

"Good. I'm sure you have experience in this anyway. Now follow me."

"Yes, Master." They said briskly, immediately rising and hurrying to catch up with him as he started walking further into the house.

He showed them around the house, the rooms, the closets, all the places they would need to be for their chores. He got a little close sometimes and they cringed from fear of being hit, but it didn't seem like he noticed as he just continued on with the pseudo-tour.

He took them to the dining room where they saw a man (man? He kind of looked more like a boy) sitting at the table, distracted on his phone. He looked up when they arrived. It didn't matter his age, Whumpee thought, Another Master. they instinctively looked down.

"This is my younger cousin." Master said, "He's staying here for a week."

They tried for a smile, albeit a weak one, and bowed. "H-Hello, Master," They ground out.

The man boy master looked at them a little inquisitively, and they froze, frightened, but he just went back to his phone without saying a thing.

They held back a sigh as they moved on. That would not be welcome in front of their new Master.

Master took them to the back of the house and then down a few steps towards a door. He opened it and suddenly a gush a cold air rushed out.

"This is the basement." He said, walking in as Whumpee physically resisted shivering.

"It's where you will be staying." He pointed idly to a bell that seemed to connect outside the room. "Stay here unless we call for you with this bell or if it's time for you to clean or cook something." He looked them up and down, then left the room

"Y-Yes, Master." They rasped, quickly bowing. They stayed in that position, not looking up, until the door closed, and then sighed and sagged down to the floor.

Everything threatened to come out, then. Tears pricked their eyes and they began to tremble as they couldn't hold anything in anymore Memories of writhing on the floor in pain, starved and beaten, came to mind and they paled. They were just so, so scared. They couldn't stop thinking about pain and their past master and what would be done to them and what if they were just like him-

Whumpee grasped their arms, digging their fingernails into them until they were on the brink of bleeding. They took a deep breath. They were fine. It was fine. It was good to be scared. Slaves like them were meant to be scared, they were meant to live in fear. They should be afraid of their masters, of what they could do. It should make them that much more set on serving their masters and doing what they said. What they could not do was let it affect their work.

They were fine. And yet, they trembled.

They steeled themself, stood up, and started to muse as they walked, exploring the small room of the basement. There was no bed or blankets, so Whumpee chose a small corner of the room to be their sleeping area. One lamp barely illuminated the whole room. Despite the cold, hard floors with no rug, the forbidding metal walls that trapped in the cold and didn't allow for any warmth, and the constant sound of wind blowing, they weren't upset. They never expected good conditions, and honestly the place had been pretty good so far. They were surprised none of the masters had done anything to them yet. They'd only ever been with one other person like that before, and even he got violent when drinking.

B-But what if they don't actually want to hurt me and just need me to work?

They shook their head violently, trying to expel the thoughts from it. That's ridiculous, stop dreaming. Just act as you normally do and hope they aren't anything l-like t-the last g-guy.. They grimaced painfully, looking away.

They came to a small clothing closet and pulled on a outfit suitable for cleaning. Their legs were mostly barren, offering them no protection in the frigid room, and they shivered. They had just finished fixing themselves up when the bell rang. They jumped, startled, then composed themself and entered into their servant mode, blank-faced and controlled. They quickly exited the freezing basement and climbed up the steps, trying to simultaneously hurry to get their orders, yet not look rushed or frantic like a novice slave.

They'd done this before.

They could do this.

[justbreakonme]

It has to be perfect.

He drags himself up, forcing his trembling hands together as if in prayer.

It has to be perfect.

He straightens his back, even as it makes every whip mark shift and crack, reopening the wounds that had just started to scab over.

It has to be perfect.

This was his last hope, and he was throwing every ounce of strength he had left into it.

It has to be perfect.

He looked up and out, over the sea of potential buyers, and forced a smile.

It has to be perfect.

If he wasn’t bought today, he was never going to be. So he needed to be anything that would get him a second glance.

A tool, a trinket, a bargain, a bitch.

His performance has to be perfect. It didn’t have to last. It just had to be enough for him to escape.

[pleasantly-painful-fiction]

Longing To Break

He wasn’t broken, not truly. All of the beatings didn’t teach him to be broken. They taught him to be smart; to hide. They taught him to know when to fight, when to obey, when to cry, and when to be silent. They taught him how to play his role. He played the part of the perfectly broken slave, or at least he tried to. 

No, he wasn’t broken. But he was empty. And sometimes he thought it might have been better if the beatings had broken him. A broken slave wouldn’t feel empty. A broken slave wouldn’t long for more than a crudy role in his master’s play. It wouldn’t feel anything. There was never anything behind the eyes of the broken slaves. 

Closing his eyes, a tear ran down his cheek and sunk into the cold dirt floor. Why couldn’t he be broken? Why had he stayed whole? It would have been so much easier if he’d given up! If he just stopped caring; if he could calm the storm inside him and be broken like the rest, this life - no, this existence of his would be so much fucking easier! 

Why can’t he just… break?

[whump-blog]

Whump Art 8

Whumpee in a dog carrier.

This drawing belongs to the second chapter of the story I'm writing, where Nicky, a box boy is waiting for his new owner to pick him up. If you are interested in reading the story from the beginning here is the first chapter.

[mortifiedatbeingknown]

"The Gentle Giant" (Epilogue)

Masterpost:

When the day arrived, there was no fanfare, no grand gestures or intense emotions. She merely wished him goodnight one day, and then woke up the next to find her giant sound asleep at the foot of the hallway. All of his blankets and pillows were piled around him, leaving the garage bare and empty. 

He did it. 

He did it! 

As if to seal the deal, the door to his former room had been firmly shut, for the first time since he had come to live there. He’d closed the door to his past with his very own hands. 

She was suddenly very glad he was asleep, for her face always got blotchy when she cried. She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve and tiptoed out, leaving him to rest. It wasn’t polite to stare after all, and she had breakfast to prepare. Today was a special occasion, after all, and that called for a treat. 

As the sun rose and the kitchen grew lighter, her nerves started to kick in. This was new territory for both of them, after all. How would he act now? If she didn’t know, then she couldn’t guess the proper way to react. It was stupid, this was nothing to be nervous about, but her heart didn’t listen. It never did. Crossing over to the sink, she pulled on her elbow-length dishwashing gloves to preemptively stop her scratching. 

It was fine. It was going to be fine. What was she even worried about anyways? He was her giant, and she trusted him, whether he knelt immobile or not. There was nothing to worry about. Everything was going to be… 

And then she heard a shuffle. A rustling of blankets as her giant began to stir. She forced herself to stay still, to let him come to her. This was it. What she had been waiting for all this time. 

Don’t screw this up. 

But when he poked his head out anxiously from around the corner, it was as if her anxieties no longer mattered. He was here. He was here, he was safe, and if she played the tiniest part in his recovery, then nothing would make her happier. 

How could she be nervous? How dare she be afraid, when for her charge, every step was infinitesimally worse? 

It’s not about you, she scolded, and it wasn’t. Right now, all she cared about was the large, gentle face that stared out, half hidden behind the wall. She focused on those eyes that glanced at hers for approval, as if checking to see that his presence there was really OK. 

Yes, yes it is. And it always will be. 

When she smiled in greeting, her eyes grew misty. “Good morning!” She said, willing her voice not to crack under the weight of her emotions. 

“Welcome home!” 

[abhainnwhump]

Whumper purposefully chooses the hottest day of the month to make Whumpee do yard work. The sun burns their skin and sweat coats their body. They aren't allowed water or breaks until they finish. And if they pass out from heat exhaustion? Well, that's not Whumper's problem.

[whump-softie]

Set the stage:

A prestigious pet-training academy has offered their finest product yet: a perfectly bred slave, hair and eye color and everything in between suited to their buyer’s preferences,

A perfect slave, a pretty pet, presented before the King. The ultimate buyer, a lifelong bloodline of loyal customers. And the Academy is proud to offer their services.

“Kneel before the King.”

They kneel, a practiced and perfected ritual. They were raised to serve the King, barring no mistakes. They were ready.

“Will you follow my every command?”

“Yes, my King.”

“Will you kill for me?”

“Yes, my King.”

“Would you die for me?”

“Yes, my King.”

The room’s atmosphere darkens as the King himself stands from his throne and approaches his property.

Their gaze don’t move from the floor, trained better than to dare look upon the King’s features without permission.

“Look at me.”

They turn their chin upwards, and the King stares down at them, eyes void of emotion.

“I am not your King. I am your Master.”

-

[urlocalwhumper]

illiterate slave whumpee being told to read things by their master, then punished when they cannot.

hoping to please their master and avoid further punishment, whumpee painstakingly teaches themself to read at at least a basic level.

only to be left afraid and confused when successfully reading the text their master ordered them to only leaves their master more enraged, gripping them by the throat and demanding who taught them that.

[comfy-whumpee]

Vow

Whumptober 21. CW: forced marriage.

Savvie and Brayden are @ashintheairlikesnow's characters.

@bloodybrambles, @wildfaewhump, @lektric-whump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @burtlederp, @rosesareviolentlyread, @eatyourdamnpears

-

The house was quiet as Jax stepped over the threshold out of the bedroom. His foot sank into the carpet, absorbing all hint of sound from his step. He took another, holding his breath. A third step, as soft and muffled as the ones before, and he was fully out.

With one hand on the doorknob, he let the door swing gently shut. He didn’t pull it onto the latch; that would make a sound. He left it almost completely closed, the slight scrape of the door’s edge against its frame barely enough to hold it in place. His fingers slid off the handle one by one, and he held his breath again as he watched to see if it would stay.

It did.

Jax allowed himself a small exhale. He began taking more steps, slow and careful over the carpet, cautious of the memorised spots that he knew would creak. The house was old, and parts of it creaked anyway, even whistled, when it was a windy day. But the weather today was still, the air unruffled, and the only sound was Jax’s own breathing and the distant thrum of the heating.

Each hard-earned step took him closer to safety. He made it across the landing slowly, ears strained at every moment for the sound of movement from behind him. When he reached the lip of the stairs, he paused.

The long, polished banister stretched out under his hand, waiting for him to sail down, but something stopped him. Some instinct, some greater silence, a sound beyond his hearing that had stopped.

He just wanted to go downstairs. He’d just wanted to go somewhere she wasn’t.

Nothing came of the sound, as Jax stood waiting. Nothing happened to unfreeze him from his position. No call back. No grabbing hands.

Whatever had made him stop felt nebulous already in his memory. He didn’t know why that feeling had suddenly sparked.

He tensed a little across his shoulders to hold in the impatience. He wanted to run, to sprint down and get away. It beat in his blood like a drumroll that never reached its peak. Constant danger with no relief.

He took one small movement, foot down onto the first step. His hand rested on the smooth banister, glossy with wax. He was able to grip on because of years of practice and the rough callouses of his hands. He took another step, fully off the landing. No way to deny where he was going. His only defence would be the reason why.

The monster didn’t wake.

I couldn’t sleep, he rehearsed to himself. I didn’t want to wake you. I thought I’d get a head start on cleaning, so I had more free time to spend with you.

He could segue easily there from the truth into the lie. If it was her, she would just wake him. Or she would stare at him sleeping, take photos and crop them to brag on Instagram about her true love.

I don’t know, he’d say, if she asked why he couldn’t sleep. I was just restless.

It’s true that he didn’t know, but he also did. He didn’t know why tonight. He didn’t know why now.

He reached the ground floor. Here, his feet tiptoed more easily on solid ground, and he arrived at the dining room in the farthest corner of the house. He pulled the handle on the door all the way, so the latch was completely inside the casing. He pushed the door shut, slow and ever slower until it came to rest inside the frame. He leant against it to make sure the latch didn’t click, and slowly returned the handle to its resting position.

He exhaled.

He sat down at the table where the cameras wouldn’t be able to see his face. He set his hands in front of him. He turned his left hand upward and slipped the wedding band off his finger, and placed it between his hands. He covered it.

He didn’t know why tonight. They’d been married, or so she insisted, for at least a couple of months. The whole exhausting process was done with. The judge in Isaac’s pocket, the witnesses he didn’t know, the signing, the rings, the fucking vows.

For better and worse. For richer and poorer. In sickness and health.

Her eyes, wide as the sky, waiting for him to say it.

To love and to obey.

Nobody had said a word. Brayden might have sniggered.

The ring on his finger often feels like just another collar he can’t take off.

He puts it back on. He gets up again. There’s no fucking point sitting there; he can’t do that even when he tries. A moment of quiet reflection just makes him feel worse. He’s married to her. Whether it’s properly legal or not – and he’s pretty sure not, despite her claims – the law doesn’t bloody matter here. Reality doesn’t matter. He lives in her fantasy world and here, he’s her one true love.

She said she would love and cherish him. He’d wanted to scream in her face. He’d waited the whole way through for someone to at least pretend they were going to do it properly. He knew there were interviews before a marriage could be properly made.

It wasn’t real. Fake as her fucking eyelashes. But nothing about his life felt real.

He turned the handle and opened the door. He walked, slowly and silently, back up the stairs. He nudged the door open. He slipped back between the covers.

She didn’t wake, but her arms reached out for him. Till death would they part.

[magdalena-writes]

Sorry for the hiatus, I've been working overtime and have been crazy busy 😞

Bite the slave Part 7

"Ania." Lena hissed out. "Ania wake up." She shook the blondes shoulder. "Come on. You can't sleep for much longer. Rylee will find out."

The woman was curled up beneath the thick quilt of the bed. She looked so soft and peaceful, Lena thought it was a shame she wasn't more like this awake. Ania woke up, groggily rubbing her eyes. "Miss Samaria said to go easy. She took a lot of blood." Lena put a small plate of food in her hand. "Small bites. I'll get you some water."

"Thanks." Ania murmured out, slowly eating the toast on the plate. "I don't remember much."

"I only caught sight of her bringing you back into the house. You would have gotten sick being out in that rain all night." Lena handed her a cup of water and grabbed a brush to start to tame her wild bed head.

"Gods. If I get sick we both know Devin would catch it. He's weak enough as is."

Lena hummed in response. "Are you okay? Did she do anything to you?"

"No. I mean the bite hurt like hell but then I fell asleep. She must have tucked me in. That's a little weird." Ania winced when Lena brushed over a knot in her hair.

"I don't think I could handle another person like the Mistress. I'm glad she's the opposite."

"Don't expect it to last long. We're just food to her. Eventually she'll strike one of us. Nickolai did." The cook had started off being nice to them, but when Devin accidentally ruined dinner one night he'd slapped the slave.

They learned quickly that they couldn't trust anyone except for themselves. Devin insists that Rae is kind to him and would never hurt them, but Lena and Ania didn't believe him. She could read their thoughts, and that alone made them stay far away from her.

Lena finished brushing her hair. "Come down to the library with me, I can keep an eye on you while I dust."

"No." She was firm. "The bitch will just punish you if I'm not back outside to tend to my usual duties."

"Ania!" Lena hissed. "Don't call her that. It's Mistress or Miss Rylee."

Ania slipped out of the bed. "Don't worry about me. I can handle the punishments and pain. At least it keeps her attention off of you and Devin." She grinned, and took the plate with her as she left.

Lena sighed. If Ania would just act like a slave then she wouldn't be beaten. Or left outside like an animal. The winter solstice was coming, and with it the snow. Lena shivered at the thought of any of them being forced outside in the snow as a punishment.

She cleaned up Samarias room and went to tend to her chores.