The Dragon Master's Pleasure Slave

Chapter 1 Margot

"Margot! Finish up with that laundry! Your sister has to leave in two hours. What's taking you so long?"

I wince at Stepmother's grating voice as she screams down into the basement. My hands are raw from handwashing endless amounts of fancy lingerie and overpriced clothing. I had tried to wear gloves, but Stepmother decided against it. "Margot, we spend a lot of money to put your sisters in the finest clothes money can buy to find them a husband. We cannot risk you ruining their attire with your slovenly gloves, so earn your keep."

I wasn't sure why she had decided against it. Until I saw a sly smile spread across her lips when she saw the cracks, the raw blisters, and the overall unbearable nature of my hands. She liked seeing me hurt, seeing me in pain.

If I were normal, my injuries would heal quickly. But thanks to the non-removable hexed gold cuff around my wrist, I can't access any of my dragon's powers.

I don't even know if I have a dragon because my father had the witch put it before I reached the age of being able to connect with her. Many dragon shifters don't get their full dragons anymore because our bloodline has become so diluted. I'll never know if my dragon blood is strong enough to afford me a dragon.

"Do I need to come down there?" Her voice is ice.

"No, ma'am. I will hurry."

I gaze into the bubbly water my hands are plunged into and wonder why I had lost out on life's luck lottery. Who is the girl gazing back at me? Round blue eyes that are dull and lifeless, high cheekbones, and a head of tangled thick blonde curls pulled away from my face beneath a rag.

I sigh and go back to concentrating on the wash.

My half-sisters change clothes three times a day-at least once for each meal-and every change includes a matching La Perla lingerie set. They could only wear one outfit at a time, but they insist I do the wash daily.

How many clothes did one person need anyway? I get by in my single blue dress with an apron. Even though I should change at least three times a day given how much food they throw at me. "It's too cold, puppy!" they'd say as they flung their plates at me.

I scrub faster and harder as soap nips at my wounds. I've tried to balm them, but they're so parched my skin is almost brittle.

It takes about half an hour to wash and wring everything, but damp is unacceptable. I pick up the hair dryer to gently dry everything when pounding footsteps make their way down the stairs. I know her steps. I know the sounds of each person in this house.

Before I can turn around, a fist grabs a chunk of my hair and yanks my head back. The force brings me to the floor, sprawled out. Stepmother glares down at me.

She's pretty, in her own right. A short

bob of silver hair, sleek cheekbones,

a stout nose, and full lips. Her eyebrows are perfectly manicured, and the glare...she shouldn't be able to wrinkle her forehead like that.

swny

It was time to book a Botox appointment, and I make a mental note to call later.

"I thought I told you your sister has to leave soon." She kicks me in the ribs with a pointy-toed shoe, and a smirk presses into her lips. She enjoys it when I beg and cringe in pain. Instinctively, I curl into a ball, preparing for more kicks as I plead.

"I'm sorry! I thought I'd have time to do everything!" I cover my head. "Tell me which dress set she wants to wear. I'll dry and press it first."

"She wants to have ALL of her options! Are you trying to upset me?"

She aims another kick to my already bruised and beaten ribs. It hurts to breathe, and I'm almost certain if she continues kicking me, she'll break them if she hasn't already.

The beatings are almost daily, and Stepmother always wears shoes. Those awful, awful pointed-toe

shoes to ensure her kicks do the net

most damage. She once told me she likes to see my "polka dots," calling me her little Dalmatian.

Sometimes they watch the Disney movie and make me yelp like a puppy. Or pose on my hands and knees like a table, so they can prop their feet up while watching the cartoon.

"I'll hurry, Stepmother. I'm so sorry I failed you again," I whimper. "I promise I won't make you have to kick me anymore. It hurts so much."

She steadies her hands, clasping

them together in front of herself, and nods. "Good! It's supposed to. If you would just do what you're instructed to, wouldn't have to punishŷou for disappointing me." FindNovelContent property of NôvelDra/ma.Org.

Unfortunately, there's nothing I can do that doesn't disappoint her.

"Yes, Stepmother. I'm sorry for being bad."

"When you're done cleaning up your mess, your father needs to speak to you, puppy."

I freeze.

Father never wants to speak to me. Ever. I'm a humiliating stain from his past life, and he doesn't so much as breathe near me as I serve their dinner plates, as if I'm some disease he can catch. What can he possibly want from me?

In his eyes, I'm as good as dead. I don't exist other than to be at the whims of my stepmother and stepsisters.

If he wants to speak to me, it can only mean something horrifying is in store.