Page 51 of Bear Hunt

“Slave!” The single word is roared aloud and echoes down the stairs, tearing me from my own thoughts. A deep sigh escapes me as I prepare myself, because while I have no idea what exactly is coming my way, I know it won’t be a friendly interaction.

Heavy footstepsbang bang bangdown the wooden steps… two people. I shudder, my body now trembling in anticipation of the fear I know is about to overtake me.

“I have guests coming tonight. Youwillbehave.” Master’s looming frame towers over me, the smell of his cigar smoke wafting up my nostrils. I try my best to not be affected by it because a burn from a cigar is one of my least favorite punishments, but it’s not easy. The scent is a stark reminder of a life I left behind.

Mrs. Grouse steps forward—the mistress—waving what looks to be a few pieces of string and fabric in her hands with a manic look on her face. I fall back into my well-known role, the one I was trained for, and my face remains emotionless.

“I was sad when you ran from us. I missed dressing you up. You always look so good in my designs.” She grins, but it’s not the nice, happy kind. Her top lip is curled and it all mixes into more of a sneer.

I don’t speak, don’t respond at all, because when she’s here, I’m basically her living doll. And dolls don’t speak. Theyendure whatever abuse their owner puts them through without complaint.

Eyes that have haunted my nightmares pulse. It’s a sign that she’s excited as she widens and narrows them in quick succession right before she lashes out, the back of her hand connecting with my already bruised cheek. I hiss, unable to control the sound, and the master immediately cries out in annoyance. He moves like lightning and grips my hair in his fist, pain ricocheting through my skull as he pulls me up to stand.

“Shut your dirty fucking mouth, Slave. You’ve disappointed us more than enough. You can’t afford to do it again.” He takes a large pull of his cigar, then blows the smoke into my face, oh so slowly.

I hold my breath, willing myself not to react. He’s trying to provoke me because punishing me is fun to him. He wants me to break the rules, he wants the excuses he needs to do the things he does because making me feel like it’s my fault seems to get him off more. This strong sense of right and wrong is a huge part of his personality, and the only way I can ever get back at him is to behave impeccably—which is near-impossible considering the circumstances.

Before, I had my attic room. Life was awful, terrible, almost unbearable, but I had my room, a bed—albeit uncomfortable—and my few meager things. I miss my DVDs. I miss sheets.

I miss Bear.

I hope he’s okay.

A searing heat builds near my shoulder, the smell almost unbearable, and I have to grit my teeth, taking short, sharp breaths as the pain increases… a lone tear escapes my left eye, and even when the master steps back, his cigar no longer burning directly on my skin, the sting remains.

With a smug and satisfied look on his face, Master rests his chubby palm on Mrs. Grouse’s arm and presses a kiss against her cheek.

“Have fun playing, darling. Bring her up when she’s ready.”

She practically purrs under his attention before turning to me as he heads back up the stairs.

“You’re disgusting and need to bathe. I can’t have you around guests like this and I certainly won’t sully my clothes on you as you are. Follow me.” Swift as a cat, she spins, the sound of her heels clacking against the ground is my only warning.

I know the repercussions if I don’t follow.

On shaky legs, I move slowly up the stairs after her. She takes a left and immediately walks through another door. I stumble a few times, but eventually we make it to a small bathroom where there’s a tub filled to the rim with hot water. So hot, in fact, steam is wafting from the top.

“Get in.”

I don’t question her.

I take a deep, steadying breath and lift my first leg. Holding on to the side of the tub, I close my eyes as my foot hits the water. It’s hot, too hot, and I’m trying not to hiss but I don’t think I can get in.

“Hurry up. We don’t have all fucking day.”

I don’t have time to think or control my reaction because she shoves me forward, causing me to stumble then fall into the hot water—thankfully—not as scalding as I’d anticipated. It’s been worse.

The water splashes all over the clean white-tiled floor, and within seconds, Mrs. Grouse is there. With a rough scrubbing brush she begins to scour my body, spreading soap suds and shedding skin all at once. It stings and I want to cry out in pain when she scrubs over my fresh shoulder burn, but I hold it in, letting her think the rolling tears are from the bath water.

“Stand up.”

I know what’s coming. She likes to clean me everywhere when she does this. My stomach lurches like I’m going to be sick, but that would only make this so much worse, so I stand, slowly, with my legs shoulder-width apart and face the wall.

Taking her time, she leisurely slides on a pair of black latex gloves and lathers them up with soap before roughly pushing a finger into my ass hole. I close my eyes again to try and detach myself from the situation. It’s the only way I can ever get through these moments. Living through them in real time always seems so much worse than in my nightmares. At least those eventually come to an end.

With Bear around, the nightmares were almost non-existent, my mind consumed with more thoughts of him than my life as a whole. I was so close to spending the night with him, being held by him, and that kiss… I have never known anything so right. It was like we perfectly melded together. His large frame against my small one, like two puzzle pieces destined to be placed together.

I hope his brothers found him and I’m sure he’ll lead a wonderful life without me. I was a mere blip on his radar. A minor inconvenience. But regardless, I’m still going to cling to my memory of him, of my short week of freedom that I wish could be my forever.

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