“They said they were bringing in a new shipment, did you hear?”
“I did, but they won’t be ready to sell for a day or two. They’ll
probably fight a few to test them out, make sure they’re worth selling. You have to cull the weakest, you know?”
The second speaker, a large, robust man in his early sixties pet Bing-Bing’s head roughly, as though she were a dog to be coddled. Emotionless, the woman sat unmoving at his side, her black eyes staring straight ahead. Beneath the table, her clawed feet - hidden under the fall of her long, flowing skirt - were chained and bound, allowing only enough give for her to walk: proper, erect. Just as she sat, hands balled in her sleeves. The old man toyed with a piece of her white hair.
“Have you thought of getting a second? A stud, perhaps, for Bing-Bing, sir?”
Her hair was given a tug in a manner meant to be comradely, but her head jerked forward with the action. Bing-Bing did not react.
“I’ve thought about it, but it’s tough business. She’s so forceful, you know? I’m afraid she’d tear into whatever merchandise I pour my well-earned money into.” A laugh. “But it’d be nice to breed her - get some little fighters. I might make arrangements with Victor and his Ferrao.”
Bing-Bing’s face finally contorted, if only the shadow of disgust. The two men shared a laugh and shook their heads. The younger of the couple sobered quickly and took a drink from his glass.
“You think the breeding would take? Bing-Bing’s reptilian, Ferrao is equine - I’ve never heard of a scaly horse before!”
“Look at her! If humans can mate with animals, different species can mix as well. The child would probably look bizarre, but could you imagine the leg power?”
“Indeed!”
“The matches I’d win.”
A comfortable silence fell between the two, punctuated by the clicking of glasses. Servants and footmen milled about the enclosed yard - orchestrated beauty. Blossoms were in full bloom, and songbirds sat in cages lining the bushes, twittering. Bing-Bing liked to think they were singing for freedom. Her black-eyed gaze drifted towards those golden prisons, the sheer, gauzy dress she wore whispering in protest at her movement; at her feet, her chains clinked.
“Sir,” she said. Her voice was hoarse, belying her almost delicate features. “May she speak?”
He waved a lined hand.
She paused, lifted her chin and tilted her head, “She would rather swallow her own tongue before taking Ferrao to her bed.”
A hard moment of silence stretched across the table, stiff as an awakening cat. The young man coughed into his glass. Bing-Bing’s master barked a laugh. Though she did not respond visibly, his mocking response punctured her ego. Her lips came together. Her sir grabbed her chin as one would do to a distracted dog. He gave her head a gentle shake, though warning was budding in his eyes.
“You will be tupped by whomever I please,” he told her quietly, voice conversational. She stared straight at him. His fingers tightened, wrenching her jaw. Bing-Bing’s mouth opened, rattled. “I could tell Guillermo here that he could do as he pleased with you right now, if I wished. Would you fight my order?”
Bing-Bing didn’t answer. Her breath was harsh as it filed through her nostrils.
“Bing-Bing. I asked you a question. Would you fight my order?”
She stared at him, and he knew within those opaque, black eyes, there was a hatred so foul that it delighted him to the very core. His pet could act as complacent as possible, but, oh! how he knew her true feelings and how they rotted her from the inside out. His fingers bit into her scaled flesh.
“No.” He gave her head a shake, “No, sir.”
But he didn’t sit back. He did not release her jaw. His opposite hand rested across her knee, pushed them apart. He tossed the thin material of her skirt back, it bunched at her waist, and reaching forward, he pressed his index against the eternity symbol burned into the flesh of her inner thigh, skin that crawled with revulsion at his touch. Bing-Bing tilted her head back, stared into that blue, blue sky, and wondered if she would ever become accustomed to this small humiliation.
“Remember, Bing-Bing, that you are mine. You are bound to me. You are my slave, my pet, my toy. Remember that, Bing-Bing.”
Oh, she would remember. How could she ever forget?
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