The Dragon Master's Pleasure Slave

Margot

"You wanted to see me, Father?" I don't dare look at him.

He hates when I look at him because he says my eyes are too much like hers-my mother's. And he doesn't want to think of her.

She vanished after a night out with my father when I was a hatchling, but I try not to think about it. Right after my mother disappeared, my stepmother and her awful daughters showed up...daughters who turned out not to be my stepsisters but my half-sisters. Who were born before me.

While my father was married to my mother.

Father's office makes my throat constrict. The shelves filled with gambling books, maps of the world, dragon history, and other such assorted fare seem like the walls of a jail cell I'll never escape. Each shelf is like a row of bars meant to keep me caged in my prison. I desperately wish I could peek inside the dragon books. To see if there is a way to connect with my dragon side or to do anything about this wretched gold cuff. But I'm not allowed to touch anything in here.

And I don't dare disobey him, because anything my father would do to punish me would be far, far worse than what my stepmother or half-sisters dish out.

I stand before his large oak desk, trying to remain as still as possible, to not ask all of the questions swimming around my head.

I want him to tell me what is happening, what I've done wrong, so I can correct it and make my way back into the basement. Instead, I take a deep breath to lessen the terror pushing in on my chest.

I have no way out, no escape. My father is the key master, and doing just as he says is the only way to stay alive. I've tried to think of ways I can escape from this life, from these people, but they keep a close watch.

I'm not allowed to leave the yard anymore. Not since I was an idiot and brought up talking to someone at the bakery once.

I'm not supposed to speak to anyone. Ever.

It'd cost me twenty lashes with the leather strap. But honestly? It was worth it. For once, I felt in control, like I had the power.

Though he'd taken it away from me in the next second.

They haven't taken my outside chores from me, but I think it's only because no one else wants to go near the pig pens. Of course, if they knew how much I enjoy it, they'd take that from me, too.

But the fresh air when I'm out taking care of the pigs-those simple moments of walking through the field from the house to the barn-give me hope there is more than this.

Unfortunately, I know I'll be trapped here forever. I blink back tears as I shift my weight. The tracker bracelet around my ankle is heavy-like a lead balloon reminding me that, no, there won't be anything more for me. I move my focus from the dark carpeting to the hard, black band around my ankle.

I've tried so many times to get it off, but obnoxious beeping gives me away when I get too close.

I've tried to cut it with a saw and hit it with a hammer, but that only resulted in more cuts and bruises. It is too tight, and every time I attempt to shove it down, I cut the back of my heel or my ankle bone.

I've dislocated my thumb try to get the gold cuff off my wrist, but it's no use either.

Between the ankle monitor and the gold cuff, there isn't anything else for me.

They've ensured I can't get away.

Not until they decide to release me.

And why would they let their servant go?

I've long since given up.

Sometimes, I sneak glances at the TV while my stepsisters are watching and I'm cleaning. I make up stories about who and where I might be in those shows.

Does the dreaming make it worse? Maybe. I'll take what reprieve from my life I can get, though.

"Margot, you disgusting swine. Look at you! No wonder you're worthless to us. Don't you even know how to bathe?"

Of course, I know how to bathe. I'm just never allowed to properly do so. Who can bathe with only a water bin outside a barn surrounded by pigs?

I remember my mother bathing me

in the luxurious bathrooms in the house before she vanished. She'd

sing a beautiful melody about heret

baby mine while I giggled and popped bubbles. She was always smiling, laughing, and loving life, but it's getting harder to remember her.

It hurts my heart and soul to think about that loss.

Even though I'm not looking at him, the sneer on his face flashes in my mind as he snarls at me. I've seen it enough to have it burned into my head.

I'm sure he's wearing one of his

black suits and sitting behind his desk, leaning forward, his fingers steepled together and his elbows resting on the top of the thick oak. His gray hair is probably combed and parted to the side, and his full beard and mustache neatly trimmed.

"I'm sorry I'm so dirty, Father," I whisper.

He snorts and lights up a cigarette.

"You're such an embarrassment. I'm glad I have your sisters to represent me. They're better company and will help provide a wonderful future when they secure husbands. Unlike you. You disgust me. But those girls, those lovely sisters of yours, they'll redeem us."

Half-sisters.

If they were family, the family I long to have, they would never allow me to be treated like this.

"Yes, Father."

I'm not sure what else to say, but he expects everything he says to be met with acknowledgment. Since I can't look at him and nod, I'm forced to use words.

Dragons are supposed to be protective as well as possessive. Sure, we're known for hoarding, but the only reason my "family" is possessive of me is because they don't want to lose their slave.

I like to dream about having a real family someday. A mate. Hatchlings. Love.

Or is that too much?

Maybe just...to not be a slave. To be able to properly bathe. To be able to eat real food.

My grimy bare feet dig into the fibers of the dark-blue plush carpeting as he spits out his next words.

"At least I'll be done with you. You're leaving tonight."