by Cerys du Lys
She smiles at me, but her eyes are a black void. I start to question myself. I thought she enjoyed this, but she doesn’t look like she’s enjoying anything. Maybe that’s what it is. This really is just business to her, plain and simple. Find a guy, take him, train him, ship him to the buyer. She’s got two of the things on her to-do list done already, but the other two are never going to happen.
“Would you like some eggs?” she asks. “Or do you prefer some sausage?”
She holds a fork in her hands, hovering above my options, swaying back and forth while I choose.
Fuck this.
“Sausage,” I say.
I give in to her, at least for now. Not because I want to or because I accept this, but it’s dangerous to my health if I don’t. I need to recover a little first, then I can enact my plan for vengeance. Fuck if I know what that plan involves, but I’ll figure it out on the way.
She grabs some fluffy scrambled eggs with the fork and brings it to my mouth. I keep my mouth shut and stare at her, dumbfounded. Is she really that stupid?
“I said--” But before I can finish with “sausage,” she’s stuffing the damn fork full of eggs into my mouth. She shoves it in deep, too. I choke on the metal and the food, but she doesn’t seem to care.
Somehow I manage not to kill myself by choking to death. I chew the eggs and swallow. They’re hot as fuck and burn my throat and my tongue.
Simply, because I’m trying not to piss her off right now, I say, “I said sausage, Angeline.”
“I know,” she says. “You looked as if you could use some eggs.”
“Can I have sausage now, then?” I ask, trying to hide the incredulous look on my face. I doubt it works.
“We need to have a talk, Noah,” she says.
“What the fuck are we going to talk about, love?” I reply. Shit. That’s two things she hates in one sentence. She’s going to fucking drown me with orange juice now.
She does, she starts to. She picks up the glass of orange juice and brings it to my lips, which I’ve got firmly shut because I don’t want to die.
“Open,” she says. “Drink, Noah.”
I shake my head, no, or I want to, but there’s a leather belt strapped around my forehead, keeping me restrained to the back of my chair. I move my eyes side to side instead, hoping she gets the point. She doesn’t.
“I will not hurt you, Noah. I promise. I am attempting to feed you.”
That’s a drink, bitch. It’s orange juice. You’re not trying to feed me, you’re trying to quench my thirst. I doubt you’re even trying to do that, though. I don’t trust your promises.
I end up opening my mouth anyways, because she refuses to go away and after a few minutes like that I feel like I’d rather drown and get it over with than have her staring at me and holding a glass of orange juice to my lips forever.
She spills some into my mouth. I drink, and drink. She watches me and waits for me to close my mouth, then pulls the glass away.
Fuck. She didn’t drown me at least. This is new.
When she pulls the glass away, some stray orange juice spills onto my lips and down my chin. She stares at me. This is really fucking uncomfortable. The chair is uncomfortable, and my splinted up broken finger is uncomfortable, and my fingers missing nails are uncomfortable, but Angeline staring at me like I’m chicken cordon bleu is the most uncomfortable thing I can think of.
She eases her chair away from the table and stands. She comes closer to me. Fuck. She was two or three feet away to begin with, and that didn’t seem far enough. Now she’s right in my face, staring at me with those empty, soulless eyes.
“I will not hurt you, Noah,” she says softly. “I promise.”
She licks her lips when she says it. It doesn’t instill a lot of trust in me.
She comes close and teases her tongue out, licking at my lips. She cleans me like that, kissing and licking. Her tongue darts out, tasting the dribbled orange juice on my face. I sit there, waiting. What choice do I have? The last fucking time she kissed me, she bit me after. Yeah, it was a decent kiss, all said and done, but I could do without the biting and the bleeding parts.
Her mouth opens and she sucks my lower lip into her mouth. Here it is, I think. Here it fucking is.
She lets my lip go. I didn’t see that coming. Her lips trail sucking kisses down to my chin, where she licks and laps up the mess of orange juice.
This isn’t much better. I’ve got psycho bitch slobber on my face instead of orange juice. A napkin would have done fine, Angeline. I would have preferred a napkin to a tongue bath.
It was kind of hot, though. If she wasn’t fucking crazy and trying to kill me, I’d probably be into it. Maybe.
“Noah,” she says. She’s back to my lips again, breathing into my mouth. “I will not hurt you. I promise. Kiss me?”
I can’t fucking kiss her. I just can’t. It’s really fucking hard. Kissing should be the easiest thing in the world. I’ve kissed plenty of people. Usually it’s when I’m forcing them to the ground before I shove my cock inside of them, kissing them out of some sadistic pleasure gained from forcing love onto and into them, making them humiliated at the intimacy and closeness of our bodies, but this isn’t that.
Angeline is standing over me, not even touching me, and she wants me to kiss her.
I stare at her, trying to figure out what her game is in this. She stares back at me. I could spit on her, I think. That’s a terrible idea, but I could do it. That’s my option, my only choice. Or I can kiss her, which seems like an equally shitty option. Spit or kiss? Hm... what the fuck would you choose?
I can do nothing, too. That’s what I do. I look her straight in the eyes and do nothing. She looks back at me. Our noses touch, side to side. She leans in close and drags her bottom teeth across my lower lip. Gently, she sucks my lip into her mouth, then presses her teeth hard against it, adding more pressure with each passing second.
Yeah, that’s it. She’s going to bite me. My lip is fucking trembling, fearful of her. I’m not, I’m just staring at her, but my lip is fucking terrified. She presses harder, digging her teeth into my skin, aggravating my previous wound.
Then she stops.
“I will not hurt you, Noah,” she says. “Kiss me.”
It’s not a question anymore, it’s just a thing. It’s the truth. It’s what we’re going to do. She knows it, even if I don’t. I don’t know how she knows it, but she does.
I kiss the fucking crazy bitch. It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I used to think I was intelligent, but not anymore.
She’s kissing me, frantic, and I’m getting into it. Her teeth--fuck, her teeth--but my tongue is in her mouth and she hasn’t bit it off yet. She matches mine with hers and we fight for dominance in the kiss. I’m losing, but it’s not my fault. All I’ve got are my lips and my tongue, because Angeline doesn’t play fair.
I can understand why. If she unstrapped my wrists from the table, I’d fucking strangle her.
She presses her palms against my cheeks, holding me there. I can’t fucking move to begin with, so there’s no point, but she still holds me. The nails of her thumbs dig into the lower lid of my eye, pressing against the bone of my eye sockets. Her other fingernails rake against my cheeks like she’s drawing cat whisker’s into my skin.
This is seriously dangerous. I am going to die, and yet here I am, still kissing her.
Her lips are soft and sensuous. I taste the cherry lip gloss again, like the other day, with an added hint of orange from the juice she licked off my face. I don’t know why I’m enjoying this, because I fully realize it’s going to come back to bite me. Not even it, but she is. She’s going to bite me and rip out my eyes.
Some part of me tries to rationalize, though: she’s going to do that anyways, so why not enjoy it until it happens?
She moves one of her hands off my cheek and trails a line down my chest. I can’t move my head to see what I’m wearing, but it feels like a loose button-down shirt. Ma
ybe something fancy. I wouldn’t put it past her to think of some cracked idea like that. I could be wearing a full fucking suit for all I know, bowtie and everything. I don’t think I am, but how the fuck should I know?
She goes lower, towards my lap. Suddenly, Angeline is squeezing my crotch and my cock. We were kissing. We’re not kissing anymore.
A sliver of saliva connects us, trailing from her lip to mine. She’s still close to me, a couple inches away. I can’t kiss her anymore. She looks content to keep us close like this, not worried about our bridge of saliva.
Fuck. That’s hot, too. It’s barely sexual, but it is. It reminds me of when you’re getting a blowjob from a bitch who’s really into it, slobbering and sucking on your cock, then when she comes up for air there’s a slip of drool going from her lips to the head of your cock. That’s what this is to me, except it’s my lip connected to Angeline’s.
Why the fuck does she have to be so psychotic?
Her hand squeezes my cock. Yeah, well, that’s a good way to make me erect. The kiss started the job, and Angeline wants to finish it. My cock throbs and hardens in her hand.
“I wish I did not have to keep you restrained,” she says. “Noah, I want to see your cock. I want to feel it in my hands. I want to take it out of your pants and I want to sit on your lap while I kiss you and stroke you.”
“Do it,” I say, my voice husky and strangled. “I dare you.”
That’s a challenge, of course. That’s the sort of thing you want to slap out of a slave right from the start. You think I won’t? I’ll fucking show you what you get for challenging me.
Alright, I won’t lie, the thought of Angeline giving me a handjob is hot, too, but that’s not the point. If she does it, if she accepts my challenge to her dominance, and she unstraps my hands, I can win this. I can free myself and get the fuck out of here. I can do a lot of shit that’s a lot more useful than what I’m doing right now.
“I cannot,” she says. “I know you, Noah. I know what you would do. I promised not to hurt you, and I have not. You would not do the same for me.”
“Fuck it,” I say, almost laughing. “Sure. Why the fuck not? I promise, Angeline. I won’t hurt you. You’ve got my word.”
She smiles at me, serene. Then she becomes a crazy bitch again. She squeezes my cock hard. This isn’t rough sex, it’s fucking painful. My engorged erection doesn’t seem to care, or it can’t tell the difference, because it’s getting harder and harder. Her grip clamps onto my cock like a slowly-turning vice. Harder... harder...
My eyes clench shut. “You’re right,” I say. “Seriously, fuck. Ange, I’m sorry, love.”
She lets go immediately. “I will accept,” she says. “You must correct your apology immediately, though. If you do not, I will be forced to punish you again, Noah. If you do, we can sit nicely together and finish our breakfast.”
I open my eyes and look at her. I can still feel the impending doom her hand is going to bring to my manhood. She let go, but it’s hard to tell if she actually did or not. Throb, pulse, my fearfully aroused heart pumping blood to thicken my erection while also sending stabs of pain into my fingers with each beat.
What the fuck does she want from me? Oh.
“Mistress Angeline,” I say, remembering. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“You are so sweet to apologize, Noah,” she says, smiling.
She leans in to give me a quick peck on my cheek, then she returns to her seat across the table from me.
“Eggs?” she asks. “Or sausage?”
I want sausage, so I say the opposite. Angeline gathers a bite of eggs on her fork, then brings it close to feed me.
I don’t understand a fucking thing about her.
*** Angeline
I stare at the computer monitor in my private quarters, my eyes transfixed on the images it shows me. I am looking for something particular, and I believe I have found it. I scan the picture of the man from top to bottom, questioning everything I see. Is this him?
I switch to an email web client and investigate further. There is a note of correspondence indicating a specific email address, but I do not believe it is correct. I click a few things and convert the email to its source data, then scan through multiple lines of droning code, seeking one precise piece.
Yes. That is it. After a couple of minutes, I find what I am looking for. This is good. I should be happy about this, and so I smile. I see a hint of my reflection in the computer monitor and I see my smile, but I know I do not look happy. I should be happy. I do not know why I am not. I still smile, though.
With my newfound piece of information, I go back to the picture of the man. I browse through the information I have on him, then do a brief search through a database of other information I have set up. I input the information from his email, then do a quick reverse image search to ascertain whether I have other images of him on file. I do not, but I can get some. I will tell someone to do that for me. It should be simple.
That is done, then. I know I have accomplished something important just now, which is good. I get up from my desk and go to my bed, where I sit on the edge. Rocking back and forth, I consider what I should do next.
I want to go find the man immediately, but that is the incorrect course of action. It is an improper emotional response, because in my mind I have correlated finding him with finding happiness. That is a simplified version, but it is what I believe. It is not just what I believe, but what I know to be a part of one truth. It is not the entire truth, though.
I want to see Noah again. I miss him. I cannot, though. I have left him alone for days now. It is difficult. He is so sweet, but he is not always sweet. We are not good for each other. If I do not control myself, I will kill him. He would kill me if he had the chance, as well. It is a mutual understanding between us.
I think I will not, though. I dream of it. Oh, I hope for it. I dream of seeing him again and he will love me and listen to me and I will let him call me Angeline. I will show him something and he will think it is wonderful, except, no, I do not think he will think that. Not yet, at least. He may think it some day. I will hope for that.
I want to taste him again. It has been too long. How long has it been? I did not during our breakfast, though I wish I had. I gave him my promise, though. I wanted to kiss him, and for him to kiss me. I do not trust him. I do not know if I will ever trust him. I would like for him to trust me, although I do not trust myself. How can I ask that of him? I cannot.
I must stop. I cannot see him now. Later. Later today? No, Angeline, I tell myself. Tomorrow? No...
The day after? Maybe...
I have informed them of their need to maintain Noah’s well-being. If I learn they have not, I will kill them. I will make him trust me. I will show him.
I want to kill him, too. This is so difficult.
*** Chastity
I still didn’t know what happened to Noah, and I couldn’t find him anywhere. I hadn’t seen that woman ever since she came and told me I could wander around her house, either. I tried to find Noah through the winding passageways and the millions of rooms, but he wasn’t here. Some of the doors were locked, so I knocked on them instead, but he didn’t answer.
Maybe he wasn’t even here anymore? Maybe she wasn’t, either. I hadn’t seen her for nearly a few days now. I heard screams once, or I thought I did, but I hadn’t heard them since then.
I tried to ask someone about them. No one would answer me. It didn’t help that there weren’t any girls in this place, except for me. I was the only one besides that woman, and everyone else was a man. They looked like they were in shape, and sexy, too, but they barely even looked at me. Was I not pretty enough or what?
After two days of searching, and quickly growing tired of it, I remembered something she’d said to me.
If you should desire it, you may dally with them.
What did that mean? I didn’t know, but there was a library here somewhere, so on my third day I went there instead of wandering the hal
ls aimlessly. There were way too many books. I couldn’t find anything. Where was the computer to help me? There should really be something like that here, because otherwise how did anyone find anything? There was this weird box with drawers in it, and when I pulled one of the drawers out I found it filled with cards printed with descriptions of books, but none of them told me where to find those books. They just had a bunch of weird numbers on them.
This place was dumb. I went through four whole shelves of books, trying to find a dictionary, before finally giving up. I couldn’t give up, though. I needed to do this. If I couldn’t even find a dictionary, how was I going to save Noah? I couldn’t even find Noah either, though.
I still didn’t know if he was here. Maybe she had tricked me. Maybe she brought him somewhere else or... or maybe... did she kill him? It looked like she was going to kill him before. She hit him so hard and hurt him. His blood covered her dress and his shirt and the floor.
No, Chastity, I told myself. Don’t think about that. Just find a dictionary.
I didn’t find a dictionary on my own, but I saw someone passing by outside the library and I stopped them. He looked at me with a strange, confused expression.
“Can you help me?” I asked, trying to sound sweet and nice. That woman wasn’t sweet or nice, so I definitely had a leg up on her in that department. “I’m looking for a dictionary but I can’t find one.”
He didn’t say anything to me, but he walked past me and into the library. He went to a podium with a large book on top of it, then tapped the cover. I hurried over and checked, and yup, that was a dictionary. Why wasn’t it on a shelf? Who kept books on podiums? Really now.
“Thanks!” I said, wrapping my arms around him in a hug.
He didn’t hug me back. He just stood there. It got really awkward really quick, so I let him go.
“Well, uh... thanks a lot,” I said again. “That’s all I needed. I’ll let you go back to what you were doing.”
