He caught me before I fell off the bed. His large warm hands held me tenderly, but still forcefully.
I flinched away from his hold and held my hand out.
I felt his coldness the second before he stood. “You wanted me once. You sought me out. Drooling over me once a week for four months straight. Staying late, wearing those sexy outfits. The skirts, the makeup. Those glossy fucking lips. Brushing against me when you asked for help. The emails. The promises. You wanted me and now you’re going to get me. Maybe you have to be starving first.”
The door slammed.
I searched for the water bottle, finding it on the floor. I guzzled it down, eyes closing in bliss. The moment it was empty, my terror returned. I wasn’t thirsty anymore, but I was afraid, and though the last thing I wanted was food, I knew the time would come for me to give him something he wanted in exchange for nourishment.
Unless it was him I hungered for.
2.
For days, he came in, gave me a bottle of water, and smoked a cigar while I drank it. He refused to speak.
I felt his refusal, his rage.
I felt his want.
And he felt my stubborn fight.
My desire.
Mr. Damon’s first name was Jaxon. I didn’t have any questions about who the man was. I already knew. I didn’t know this side, but I didn’t know how to form the questions I thought he wanted me to ask him. Because he was right. I had once wanted him so badly, I’d spent my entire hour in his class deep in lust-filled thoughts.
I’d never met a man who made me so ravenously horny before, the way he had. There was life in want that deep, and I’d never felt it until him. I’d wanted to go as far as to grab him and demand he love me back. He had to feel it too. He had been so male. So large, muscled, and masculine.
I was nineteen now. I’d forbade myself when I returned to campus this semester from seeking Mr. Damon out. It was a lust-filled crush and there was nothing that could or would be done about it. But that hadn’t been enough. Nothing was enough unless it was him.
Apparently, he’d picked up where I left off.
Soon, my water consumption caught up to my dehydration. My bladder came back to life.
I set my half-drunk bottle aside and rolled over, catching a whiff of my armpits and sweaty hair. I felt like a sweaty disgusting animal chained down at the zoo.
For the first time in days, I turned to him in the dark. I’d grown used to it in a way. The glow of his cigar tip was so bright it seemed to light up his entire face, casting it in half shadow and half amber. The lines of frustration were etched in his brow. His full lips were pressed tightly, the cigar holding itself up in his mouth. I realized in dismay that my eyes had completely adjusted to the dark. I wasn’t seeing him the way I would in the light.
I was seeing him the way I did in the dark.
He was a part of it, blending in with his black clothes.
“Bath—” I started to ask, but my throat closed and I had to clear it. “Is there a bathroom, Mr. Damon?”
I heard him shift in his chair. “Not in here.”
What was I supposed to do? Pee my bed? I was suddenly so full of pee, I was going to burst. I didn’t know what to do. I bounced in the bed, hearing the squeak of the springs. He wanted me to ask him.
Asking him to pee meant leaving my prison.
But leaving my prison, meant going back to the light, and walking into everything he’d brought me here for.
I wasn’t ready yet.
I held my bladder, squeezing my thighs together and focusing on other things besides the overwhelming need to urinate myself. It was then, when I started to wonder what kind of freak locked a woman in a room and handed off water bottles without a place to pee, when I realized where I was.
A basement.
A house.
And for some reason, that was far more unsettling than if he had thrown me in a wet sludge-covered dungeon. The comfort mixed with my terror once again, throwing what I should feel in my face and taking what I shouldn’t feel and twisting my thoughts. It left me wondering if my fear was warranted.
“You have to pee?” he taunted.
I glared into the dark. My body felt too weak to move more than what I was doing. I needed to walk it off, but it was too hard to see. I’d done my own sweep of the place. Finding one door, a bed, and cement all around. It almost felt like a room within a room. If this were a basement, that was entirely possible.
“All you have to do is want this and you can get up and go to the bathroom. Take your panties off and sit down on the toilet. The relief it will make you feel.”
I mewled into my hands, rocking back and forth on the mattress.
“If you wet yourself, it won’t be good for you. I wanted to wait until I had your submission, but I don’t need it. Your emails said it all. I’ll punish you. Strip you of your clothes, take away your water. Your food. I don’t want to be the bad guy here, but I will be if you keep this fight up.”
“What do you want?” I screamed, whipping around to glower at where the smoke of his cigar came from.
“Crawl to me. Put your head on my lap and give me your submission. It will be worth your while, Miya, this I promise you. I want to take and you want to receive. We both know even now you can’t resist me. The sound of my voice. You wait to hear it, even once. Even now you listen, glaring at me with your beautiful eyes. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them in the light.” Longing and frustration coated his every word.
He was the one yearning for me, not the other way around. I was infatuated once, when I thought he was normal. I wasn’t sick sexually. I was normal … right? Something he obviously wasn’t.
Something I hadn’t questioned until I laid eyes on him. Or when I sent that first email …
His hand patted his lap softly. “Rest your head here. I will take care of you. In every single way.”
“Sexually?” I spat.
“Yes.”
I snorted. “I change my mind. I don’t want you, Mr. Damon. This. I just want to go home.”
“Lies will get you nowhere,” he roared. “You did this. You made me see you, and then you disappeared, taking your stare from my body, your want from my blood. Emailing me in private. That desire doesn’t just go away, Miya. It burns. You opened my eyes to you. I want to see nothing else. If you wet yourself, I’ll spank you until you’re raw.” His boots pounded on the ground and the door slammed shut, the lock on the other side sliding into place.
I squeezed my thighs together, glaring into the dark.
I got an idea. My water bottle was half empty. I grabbed for it with shaking hands, fumbling to find the cool plastic bottle. I drank it down and then took my jeans and panties off, setting them aside within reach. I parted my pussy and then used my touch to wedge the empty bottle close. It was too late to risk testing my aim out. Once I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop.
I let my bladder go, moaning in deep relief when I did so. I was off. The warm pee dripped over the sides of the bottle and onto my hand, but it was too late. I let go, closing my eyes and feeling pleasure for the first time in months … years … decades.
When I was done, I shook the bottle to find that most of it ended up inside. I set it down and felt the ground, finding a small puddle of urine. I got dressed and put the cap back on the bottle, tucking it under my pillow and lying back in relief.
I wiped my hand off on my shirt. My pee smelled better than me at this point anyway. I was rotting in my own stink. I wanted a shower, to comb the sweaty warm brown snarls in my hair loose.
What made me the most depressed in all of this was what I imagined when I thought of going home.
Nothing. There was nothing at home for me; there never had been. In foster care since birth, I’d been passed down like an old heirloom no one wanted. I scored a scholarship to college and settled in Portland with frightening ease. But there was always something missing.
Until I laid eyes on Mr. Damon. And my lif
e came into focus. I felt want, where there had only been emptiness. I felt lust, where there had never been desire. I felt like a woman who would do anything to lose herself to the man she wanted.
If only I knew where that want would get me. Hindsight might not have been strong enough. Locked in a dark, dark, dark room with the one man who was supposed to make my life full of reason and love.
Peeing into bottles and sobbing into the darkness.
3.
I heard the door and Mr. Damon returned. It hadn’t felt like he was gone that long, but my eyes had closed, so maybe he had been.
“Give me the bottle,” he ordered, tone so cold it made me flinch.
“What—?”
“Give me the bottle!” he roared, making me cry out and scurry away, hitting the cement floor so roughly my elbow screamed too.
I dug the bottle out and tossed it into the dark. “Please, Mr. Damon. I’m sorry. I had to go really bad.”
His boots sounded and then his hand was in my hair, wrenching my head back and putting his face close to mine. In the dark, his eyes gleamed.
“Stop this. You’re making this so much harder on us both. Give me your submission.”
I closed my eyes. There had only ever been one option.
I leaned close and searched for his lap, resting my head against his strong thighs.
The bottle dropped from his hand and hit the floor, rolling away from me. He touched my face, stroking me tenderly, pushing my sweaty hair from my face and cradling it in his large grasp. “Good girl, Miya. Give me your submission.”
I kissed his palm and gazed up at him in the dark. “I give you my submission, Mr. Damon.”
“You’re so good already. In your submission, I no longer have to ask permission. I’ll assume you want my wants, do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Damon.” I squeezed my thighs together instinctively. I didn’t like this. I didn’t. In the beginning, I’d wondered how I could do this.
Be this for him.
“I’ll assume you crave my touch and will do anything to have it, do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Damon,” I whispered, licking my chapped lips.
“I’ll assume your body is mine to do what I please with, do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Damon.” A shiver ran down my spine.
“Master is preferred.”
“Yes, Master.” Master it was.
His thumb moved across my lips. So soft and warm. “Get up, Miya.”
I tried to stand, but my knees gave out, and I fell back onto the bed. Panic surged through me. I didn’t want him to think I was defying him. I struggled to stand, feeling his hands on my body a moment before I tensed.
“Do you need help?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Ask me, Miya. If you want something, you must ask. I’m not a mind reader.”
“Can you help me?”
He growled. “What?”
“Can you help me, Master?” I corrected myself quickly, the sentence coming out in one long garbled word.
He pulled me up and easily cradled me to his chest, still a part of the darkness. He held me tenderly and began walking. “You’re going to regret that little stunt,” he whispered in my ear.
I whimpered as my body jostled in his arms. He didn’t say anything as he situated me so he could open the door. The room we entered was just as dark. But there was a flash of light in the shape of a square. Another door. He opened that and the flood of light hurt me so badly my stomach turned. I rolled into his chest, hiding my eyes from the glaring light.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t think about your eyes. I’ll turn the lights down.” He walked with me somewhere. “Is that better?”
I opened my eyes barely into his chest, finding him wearing a black buttoned dress shirt. I peeked through the dirty strands of my hair to find the light was barely on. But it still looked so glaring. We were in a basement. A finished lavish basement that stretched for thousands of feet. There was a living room, a kitchen, hallways and doors. No windows. And only one door I’d bet was at the top of the only set of stairs I saw. I didn’t have to check to know that door was locked up tight.
The door we came from led to a squared off chunk of cement inlaid into the basement.
“We’ll go upstairs once you’re ready. For now, this will be where we live.” He didn’t ask me anymore.
He told me.
I stared around me as he walked me down a small hall and kicked the door opened with the toe of his black boot. A bathroom. A large, beautiful bathroom. White, pristine, and clean.
I felt slimy and smelled worse. How could he hold me this close the way I smelled? I squeezed my arms close to my body to keep the odor of my armpits sealed.
“Go use the bathroom.” He carefully set me down on my feet.
My legs felt rubbery as I made my way to the toilet beside the sink. I wasn’t a submissive person. I usually only checked with myself before making a choice. I’d spent my entire life owning my choices. I wasn’t sure how long I’d last following his orders.
But I came here for this. I had to try.
When I sank down and looked up, I found him leaning over the immaculate white tub. I studied his body as he turned the water on and poured soap. He was so large. Taller than most men. His personality made him even taller. Self-possessed—now I knew why—and internally powerful, he’d exuded masculinity through every pore in his body.
His hair was the color of night, this deep black that seemed almost fake against his creamy pale skin. His stubble had become the faint makings of a beard. It darkened his prominent jaw and down his throat. His face was violently handsome. Every angle of his beauty impressive. I felt my clit pulse the longer I studied him. I tore a handful of tissue from the roll on the hook and wiped myself, giving my clit a stern talking to when it tingled from the contact.
He wore all black. Black suit pants, black dress shirt, and black boots. His sleeves were rolled up as he tested the water temperature.
His gaze shot to mine for the first time. My heart lurched and my stomach dropped. In the light, he was the handsome monster in my daydreams. Mr. Damon. And my body instantly came alive.
My mouth filled with saliva.
My heart hammered.
Blood rushed my body, pumping lust into me at alarming rates.
This couldn’t be happening. My lust for Mr. Damon was frightening. Consuming. It turned me into a dark little thing. Combining that with this dominant version of him and taking me out of that dark room was like stroking every sensitive part of my desire and heightening my fears at the same time.
My emotions were raw and sensitive.
“Take your clothes off and come,” he said, the bob of his throat making my pussy clench.
He felt it, too.
Shit.
Crap.
He was a bad guy now. He wasn’t my obsession anymore.
I was his.
4.
He watched as I disrobed.
I hated it. I was dirty, and I hated that I wanted to be clean and pretty for him. I took my shirt off first, my now dingy white shirt with the gold anchor printed on the front. I kept my bra on and then unbuttoned my jeans, my fingers shaking as I pulled them down my legs.
I peeked to find him watching me intently. He gave me a little nod of approval when I hesitated with my panties. I ignored how dingy the white cotton thong was now and pulled it down my legs. I unhooked my bra and slid it down my arms, leaving myself bare to him.
He motioned with two fingers to come.
I walked to him, taking the hand he offered and letting him help me into the tub. You can do this. I sank down quickly, submerging myself below the water as fast as possible. Like the water he’d brought me, it felt amazing. I moaned in relief and let my head fall back on his lap.
When I looked up, he was smiling softly down at me. My desire lurched at the sight of those smooth, full lips smiling crookedly at me. He held my fa
ce and stroked my cheek with his thumb, dragging it over my chapped lips.
“You are so exquisite. You know that, sweet Miya? Do you have any idea what you did to me? You ruined all other women for me.” He swallowed hard. “I cannot wait to taste these lips. To hear them moan as I fuck your tight wet pussy. To see them smile when we’re done.”
I arched into his lap. My teeth bit down on his thumb. I wanted all that right now. To be on my back with his cock deep inside of me. I scrambled for him.
My body rose out of the water and I attacked him, grabbing for his face.
“No,” he ordered, fighting my wet slippery body. “Miya, no. You’re not even part way ready. Get. Down. Now. Or I’ll have to put you back in your room.”
I froze, one hand on his face, the other on his shoulder. I smelled my body odor mixing with the soap. He probably didn’t want me anywhere near him. I shuddered at the threat of going back into that room.
“Do not cry,” he ordered softly, bringing my face close and pressing a kiss to my nose. “I won’t put you back in there unless you make me. That was all a part of gaining your submission. I don’t want you in there. It hurts me to have to do it. Please sit down. Bathe. You’re mine now, Miya. Remember that.”
I did what he told me to do.
“Finish bathing. There is everything you need to pamper yourself. I’ll set out a robe for you. You’re to go into the room across from this bathroom and get dressed and ready. It is our bedroom. Everything you want is yours. Okay, sweet Miya?” He leaned close to kiss my temple.
I wanted him to kiss me everywhere. My lust for him was like an alter ego. I saw and felt nothing but my want for him.
He knew it when he brought me here. That’s why he’d done it. Because maybe he wanted me that badly too.
He left me to bathe. I did so, finding the counter beside the tub littered with soaps, conditioners, razors, and scrubbers. I washed my body meticulously and then my hair. I drained the water and then restarted, shaving my legs and freshly cleaned armpits. I paused when I thought about shaving my pussy. I usually did, but it felt strange to do it now. I would be doing it for him.
Dark Master (Dark Masters Book 1) Page 2
