sigridharem

The stench hit Sasha the moment he pulled open the rusty door, a nauseatingly familiar conglomeration of sweat, blood and piss. This was what failed rebellion smelled like.

And yet, the new slave chained to the wall wasn't nearly as filthy looking as the foul odor suggested. Though it was impossible not to notice that beneath the dirt he was... extremely well formed. Muscular, even.

"The fuck are you?"

Two sharp blue eyes glared from underneath hair was so matted it was impossible to tell what its real color was, and Sasha started, nearly dropping his bucket.

"No one," Sasha said quickly. "They sent me to clean you up."

"Hell no. If they're going to torture me, they might as well suffer doing it."

Sasha almost smiled. "Don't be stupid."

"And who are you to call me stupid?" he snarled.

"No one," Sasha said again, calmly. "But if you stop fighting them, they'll give you regular meals. Maybe even let you see the sun. Don't you want that?"

"Not if it means a collar around my neck!"

Sasha shrugged, setting down his bucket. "You think you're being strong, but you're not. You're just drawing it out, making it all the more satisfying for them when you finally give up. They'd rather humiliate you than kill you. Is that what you want?"

There was a pause. "You can't be one of them. They're not this sneaky. Why are you telling me this?"

Sasha did smile then. "I just want to clean you in peace."