I had gone to the Inn as I usually do when my chores are finished at the Tavern and my Master is busy, keep me busy and out of trouble. Besides... such interesting people visit that place, the drama always unfolding, the freewoman. Usually the freewoman that enter the Tavern aren't the most pure of creatures and sooner then later end up in my Master's furs. What I thought was turning out to be a peaceful night, swiftly went downhill. It was my fault, I just wasn't thinking when the man said a bota and I foolishly brought him a bowl. A mistake... a grave mistake. The paga was poured over my head and once I was finished serving his mate I was allowed to fetch him a replacement bota. It came as a simple request, to beg a beating from my Master. So when I was dismissed and cleaned up the spill I went to my Master's boots to beg punishment. In my ear, he whispered, a plan hatched. I touched his boot, a sign to being the performance. It happened so quickly, I was yanked up onto my knees and soundly backhanded across the face, before I was forced back down upon the floor. He twisted my hand behind my back and withdrew his dagger. Oh the touch of cold steel, dull or not, against my flesh made my blood freeze. Now the game truly began, which finger would I lose for my slip up? The right index finger would be the victum. But it was not my finger. With a broken vial of blood and the finger of a dead man I am sure, my Master put on a show and I, the performer that I am played my part. I could hear them shuffling out, but I kept my head low, my Master's laughter not from the cruel punishment they thought he dealt but from how easily we could make them believe... I assume. When we return home to the Tavern, I could not help but cry. I am a shameful slave for allowing such a mistake.... but I know I am a wicked one as well for playing my part well, letting them believe I am now a 9 fingered slave.

Sometimes with addiction comes pain. You know it's going to hurt, but you do it anyway. Last evening my Master teased me until I could hardly stand it and without reaching my peek he stopped and pulled out a kit, placing it between my legs. "Tonight I am going to mark you." So with needle and black ink upon my right hip he made the inking of his personal mark into my flesh, the spider, matching the one upon his back... Heureusement, not as large. It took time and by the end the leg I was leaning against was numb and the flesh upon my right hip was red and puffy from the poking. Mais il est beau! With some salve, I was finished. Marked as his. His little french barbarian. And yes, he did finish was he started, driving me mad with lust upon the top of the bar. Merveilleux orgasme. I love that bar top.

Last night I was allowed another taste of my favorite drug. As always he made my skin crawl with lust, my heart beat faster, and my thoughts became clouded with only one thought. How to make it last longer, to keep my body from surrendering before I wanted it too, not let the pleasure fade. Mais malheureusement, il avait à la fin. It was ended. Sanwiched between him and his beloved en'girl, dawn, we all relaxed... letting our breathing even out, talking. Soon the tension would rise again, ready for the next hit, the next rush. Dawn offered me to him on a silver platter to be used as he liked. My body rocked under his until we all heard stomping from upstairs and he vanished for a few ehns. When he returned, he was changed, full of rage and needing to release, I became the vessel. He was brutal! Sans mercy! I was in pain, afraid, and held fast under him. His teeth marked my shoulder in a savage bite and I am sure some of my hair is tangled in his fingers. What had changed in such a short period of time? There is his usual rough play then there was last night. I was so frightened! Peur, faire mal. The rage passed and he became tender... later I realized I had passed out shortly afterwards. Who had made him so angry? Poussé ses boutons juste? Perhaps I will never know. I do know today, sore or not... If he called me to him and touched me, I would go willingly and melt in his hands. I am addicted.

Sometimes all it takes is a taste, one single lick, one small amount touching the tongue and melting within your mouth... and in that brief moment, you know your hooked and there is no turning back. It is... sweet addiction. So I have become the addict and Spider of Port Kar has become my drug. Ma drogue de choix. Day by day I am becoming more of what he wishes me to be... a lusty slut with an eye only for him. Ready to perform and any task. There is one performance that still haunts me though. I lured a woman's guard away, danced in his lap so my Master could drag the freewoman away into the kitchen. Just when I thought this guard was going to take me to an alcove, giving my Master more time to handle the woman, I felt myself pulled and thrown from the guard's lap, looking up in time to see a meat cleaver sink into the guard's neck and blood squirt in the air. That night, still so fresh in his collar, I learned a little about the darker side of my Master. But that's the problem with being addicted to something. You know how dangerous it can be and you still come back for more... and it is never enough. Jamais assez. Last night I was proclaimed his luck girl. His charm to be kept close during special times when luck is needed. Lucky lapin du pied. It seems I am not the only one with an addiction.