by Abby Angel
At least from here I'll find some way to escape. I'll make sure that I never have to deal with my parents ever again, either, because I can never trust them again. How they could do this to me, I can’t understand. It's all so surreal. I get frustrated with my reactions, but then I wonder if I'm being too hard on myself because of just how strange this all is.
I'm trapped here. At least Damien is a busy man. Because when he is away, when his staff isn’t around, and it's just me alone as the day is winding down and he isn't coming home that night, that's when I meticulously snoop. Don’t roll your eyes.
He’s a mystery. And sure he said no speaking. But he didn’t say no snooping.
I have to touch a thing and replace it exactly after I look at it. The kitchen, the dining room, not even the bedroom has anything useful or important that I’ve found. There has to be something important that I can find and that can help me get out of here.
Of course, I know where Damien must keep his important paperwork. The things that he doesn’t want me to see. While I think I'm doing an excellent job at covering my tracks, there's still a chance that he knows I go through his things whenever I get a chance. Even if he doesn’t know, he probably suspects.
That's why he keeps the study locked every day. I saw him close and lock one of those doors the other day, and the brief flash of a deep cherry wood desk informed me of the room’s identity as his study. I knew then that I would need to get into that room. I could never break in. I have literally none of those kinds of skills, particularly to break in a way that would remain undetected. I would have to be able to get in some other way.
So, when he was gone, I undertook my snooping ritual, attempting to find anything and everything that might help lead to my freedom. I wasn't going to lose my whole life without putting up a fight. I was locked in the house, the doors and windows all locked so that I couldn't get out. I wondered what I would do if his home was on fire. Would I die in here because he'd locked me up? I had a truly morbid thought, wondering if things got worse...if I should...no, I was fighting to live and I didn't want to die. I may have been trapped in here now, but I was going to find something. A way out. Paperwork. A secret. Anything. I couldn’t decide if I was more or less horrified that my guard at the door would probably save me, should the condo go up in flames.
After so much searching, knowing most days that he would be home soon, I knew that perhaps I’d lied to myself thinking that I would be able to find a way out of Damien’s clutches. I had thought that if I simply put in enough time, eventually I would find a way to my freedom.
So every day I tried the study. I hadn't tried it yet, today, because I'm so disheartened when I look at the same things every day. I've tried the same ways out, and nothing has worked. Still, I need to wiggle the door handle and see if it'll open.
And that's when I realize that the damn door has been slightly ajar all day. Perhaps Damien was in a hurry that morning and had forgotten to lock that door? To even close it? I don't know what he's done before breakfast, but I’m not wasting this entire day when that damn study is open right now.
Walking inside to the study, I smell cigars, bourbon, leather, and wood. It's a den of male pleasures. At least, the kinds that don't involve a girl. I wonder if Damien has fucked women in here.
He's probably fucked countless women all over this house.
Was I next? While he'd turned me on before, I'm now terrified at this notion. I can't help but be frightened. Damien is a menacing, intimidating figure. His very presence fills me with a sense of foreboding, and when he's not around, I feel like he's in every shadow, and somehow also in every shard of light that enters the space I'm in. It's not just being in his house or being his prisoner, even, that makes me feel like I have to keep myself on my toes at all times. There's a power surrounding him, even when he isn't here, that stirs me toward fear.
The longer Damien doesn't touch me, but looks at me longingly…the more my arousal mixes with fear. Neither of my reactions to Damien entirely go away. They don't replace each other, either. Instead, my anticipation, longing, and terror all creep inside me like scars on my mind that keep me from being able to breathe. I imagine a black smoke fogging my lungs, curling around my heart, and never relenting a moment of sanity to me.
Going through the files for hours isn't going to be an option. Before, Damien wasn’t going to be home all night, and I’d gone crazy, and now it's past midnight. Who knows how early he will be back to the penthouse? I can't take any chances. I need to find something and get out because no way am I going to be able to get another opportunity to go through the papers in his study if he catches me in there in the twilight hours or into the morning. I need to not let this moment over-excite me and lead to me getting caught. I have to be the same level of meticulous with this room that I've been in every other room in the house. In fact, I probably need to be more careful in this room.
That's when I see tickets. Between all the manila folders with relatively mundane financial and real estate holdings, there are tickets of some kind that pertain to me. I don't quite understand what I'm seeing, but there's a basic physical description of me, my birthdate, and my height and weight, inside the folder with the documents labeled as tickets. I don't know what this means, but I know this is key. Somehow, I've found this ticket to both my current imprisonment, and the freedom I know I have to fight for.
I have to be on the lookout for Damien's every move, for any other openings. That way, I'll be able to get my freedom.
Taking a final look at them, I commit them as much to memory as I can; I try to piece everything back together. I can’t scuttle from that study fast enough.
As I leave, I don’t know if I should close the door or not. I decide to err on the side of making it looked untouched and to try and keep the door the same level of ajar as it was before.
Crawling into my bed, finally, I can breathe. I'm exhausted, and yet wide awake. I finally fall asleep not long before breakfast. In my nightmares, I have the ticket tattooed all over my body and can’t hide it from Damien. I wake up before he reacts, and I’m glad. I can’t take much more of this restless sleep. My mind is in tatters from the anxiety.
Sarah
For a full week after I find the tickets, Damien is home at the condo every day and night. If he has to work, it must be what he does in his study. No longer absent from the condo, Damien is torturing me. I mean, he tortures me by not talking to me; he tortures me by not touching me, kindly or otherwise. I'm totally silent the entire week. He never tells me I can speak, and I don't want to find out what happens if I disobey him.
Well, I don't want to find out what would happen to me or how Damien would react…at first.
After a full week of eating the food his chef prepares, wearing the clothes he brings me, and sleeping in the bed in the room he says is mine...and I'm starting to wish I wasn't being such a good girl.
Those are the only things he's said to me.
Two seconds ago, he says I'm being such a good girl.
And now, after a week of going crazy, I don't want to be good anymore. I want to be bad. Do I want to be bad enough to see how dark Damien might go? Not yet, but another day of silence and I might reconsider my gentle nature and how I'll break this silence.
Sitting there, thinking about how I want to keep my cool and not say anything, I wait for him to speak. Somehow, the tangled mess in my mind decides that my brain and my mouth don’t need to communicate.
My lips start moving before I can stop them. "Are you going to keep me?" I speak, my voice so soft from being unused I hardly recognize it. I relish this sound; I won't let it fall weak in my ears. I'm gathering my strength.
This is a calm before a storm. Where I save energy for figuring out how to get out. And right now, I'm rattling my cage. But why in the hell would I dare ask something so leading? Something that speaks to him owning me? I can’t allow that. Can’t accept that. Can I? God, why do those words infuriate and thrill me? And more tha
n anything, I’m aching for Damien to respond. I want to hear him say something to answer it. I want him to react. God, do I want him to punish my disobedience? My breathing goes ragged and shallow and I try to regain my composure.
I let my eyes rise to meet Damien’s. That’s the wrong way to regain my composure.
He's looking at me with a touch of anger...and something else that looks like frustration. Maybe he's not as calm as I thought. I've clearly disobeyed him, but I can see there's more at play here.
Damien is dangerous. I poked this bear.
God, why did I do that?
Why did I want to?
Damien stops eating.
I finished eating before I spoke; I wasn't going to risk being punished by not getting to eat.
I mean, a girl’s gotta eat, right?
I savored those bites like they might be my last. At least my brain had enough sense for that when my voice decided to jump out of me.
Still, the clank of his fork on his plate makes me jump.
He pulls his chair out from the table loudly.
I gulp.
"Get over my knee," Damien says. His voice is thick. Oh, that's more than anger. That's...lust.
Is he doing what I think he is going to do?
He's going to spank me, over his knee?
I'm not a child! I want to scream out at him that this is wrong. I don't want to get up. I'm moving like I'm not connected to my body, not in my mind. I obey out of fear.
Well, I feel something warm pooling in my belly. Oh god…no. Not this. I can’t feel that way about this.
Bending over his knee is strange. I hover over him for a moment and he pulls me down, my breasts smashing against his legs. My nipples get hard at the feel of his body heat against them.
Again, I'm not connected to my body, but this isn't just fear. It's my own lust.
Damien desires me like this, and that makes me wet.
I'm grateful spankings happen on the butt. He doesn't have to know I'm wet because I shouldn’t be aroused by any of this, but he doesn’t have to know that. My mind flashes back to how wet I got sitting on his lap. God, why then? At least I didn’t know what was going to happen then. I know what’s happening now and I should not be aroused by it.
After all this time that I was frustrated he wasn't touching me, now I'm terrified he'll feel that I'm wet. Not when he's angry. I don't want Damien to fuck me when he's angry.
Except I know, if I'm honest with myself, that I want him to fuck me, angry or not.
So his hands running up and down the seam of my panties under my dress makes me tremble. Moan for him. I yelp out a little strangled cry that I know he hears. My nipples ache now with his touch. I squirm over his lap.
"You were so good, but now you're so bad, little one," Damien says in a quiet, dangerous voice that makes me think of him as a predator.
His hands tear down my panties in a way that labels me instantly as prey.
"I can't believe how long you lasted. You wanted to be good for me, didn't you, Sarah?" Damien purrs, and my body trembles. His hand is so close to my bared ass, my exposed pussy, that I can feel the heat of him near me.
"Yes, Damien," I answer. I think I'm allowed to answer. The way his voice shoots thrills through me, I have to answer him. I have to release my voice trapped inside of me. I have to do something about all this lust and tension in me right now.
Damien exhales, and speaks in measured words. "I have to punish you, but I'll reward you as well. You've earned both."
There’s something more to what he’s saying and I feel like I just don’t get it. But I don’t know what to do about that. I can’t just ask him.
His voice turns my body to cinders. He's dripping with heat, making me ache for him. I hear the lust in his voice, the promise, and I need it. I need pleasure, pain, punishment, and reward. I just can't be trapped in nothingness or need like this. I want to beg, but I don't know for what.
"Squirm, Sarah, you look so good doing it," Damien growls smugly. He knows that he’s making me crazy.
He knows the real torture he's inflicting. I'm afraid but I'm so eager I can't help but writhe.
Then his hands slap down on my pussy. Hard, smacking, right on my wet pussy!
I gasp.
The wet impact makes me cry out, and the vibrating tremor running through my body makes me ache with need. Pressure builds in my stomach. I push my ass up and squirm more. He pulls me down to his lap and holds me down tight, and sinks his fingers inside my pussy.
Then he spanks my ass.
"Damien!" I cry out. How can he spank my pussy and my ass? Why is he spanking me at all? And why does he now shove his thick fingers inside my pussy?
My pussy is clenching around him because those fingers make me ache with need.
"Oh God!" I scream out. Every smack down makes me groan with need and shake. It hurts and it feels good. He spanks and finger fucks me and I am dying over here. How can it feel so good? How can I want this so much? I don’t understand what’s happening to me. I don’t understand why he’s doing this. I don’t know why I seem to like it. Why I don’t want it to stop. I mean, I want him to stop but I also…don’t.
"You can be as vocal as you like, Sarah. Music to my goddamn ears," Damien moans.
I didn’t realize I was moaning as much as I was and crying out random things until he said that. I’m allowed to talk when he takes the words out of my mouth…through my pussy.
If I wasn’t moaning at the sound of his moan I might laugh.
That sound, his voice, God that's so damn sexy. I shouldn’t find him sexy at all, but I fucking do! And that sound, his pleasure from me? That is the sort of thing that undoes me. I can’t think logically when he’s moaning at me and touching me. This is what insanity feels like, and I’ll keep falling down the rabbit hole.
Damien’s moan, the wet squelching sound of my pussy getting fingered so fast, and the thwacks of the spanks he lands on my ass are staccato notes between my constant symphony of sighs. I'm trembling, shivering, shaking around him. His fingers in my pussy feel so damn good feeling me up I'm screaming for them. I don't know how they can feel so good. If they feel this good, then Damien's thick cock inside me might kill me from the pleasure.
Oh, God, no, don’t think about that. I'm trying so hard to stop thinking about what it would be like for his huge cock to dive into my pussy and sink into me until I’m breathing him in. I need to stop thinking about him like that. I need to think about how wrong this is. How much I want to get away. But I can’t think about that. I can barely think about anything surrounding how much I need him.
"Get out of your head," Damien commands. "I’ll help," he says with a dark laugh that sends chills through my body.
Damien's spanking hand comes down hard, and when I cry out, that hand comes to my mouth. Clamps over it. His other hands pumps his fingers faster into my pussy and I scream against his hand over my mouth. I feel the ecstasy and pleasure building up inside of me, and his hand trails down my neck and chokes around my throat.
And his fingers slide out of my pussy just before I can orgasm.
"Damien, please, oh please," I start begging. He was right. I am out of my head right now. Out of my fucking mind because I'm begging this monster to never stop, to keep going somewhere that I don’t even know where it is going.
Damien’s choking me hard, but that's not why I'm begging. I need to come and he stopped me. That’s why I'm begging. God, he’s the not the monster. Or if he is, so am I. Because I cannot focus on anything but the fluttering, tense agony of the pressure building within me and he’s keeping on the edge with no control over my body. I’m deeply in his control and I’m terrified. Terrified because I don’t fear him right now. All I fear is that he’ll stop. Silence was bad enough, but this would be murder if he didn’t let me come now. I need Damien so much that my body is starting to make little promises of trade. I’ll do anything to come. I writhe, I whimper, I gasp. I don’t know what to do.
Damien’s fingers squeeze at my neck and I feel like a warning shot has gone off. "You wanna come, baby girl, but you forgot that you're being punished. Your reward is over," Damien says with the scarily calm voice.
"Over?" I yelp, gasping as he releases my throat. My reward? How could that be my reward? I didn’t get to have an orgasm. That was my punishment, right?
No. That was the reward. Here comes punishment.
He sets me back up against his lap and my legs wrap around him. I start to grind on him, instinctually needing to hump him like some kind of animal. I know Damien wants me. Can’t he give me what we both want? I don’t know much about sex, but I know that I feel his erection knocking at the door and I want him to answer so badly. I want him to fill me up and erase this agony his started in my body.
Damien grabs my wrists swiftly. It almost feels frantic. Damien shouts, "Stop!" That sounds like panic in his voice. I can feel that his cock is rock hard. He wants me. But he's not going to fuck me.
He pulls me back so that I’m not grinding on him anymore, as if I could after his stern voice shook me to my core in fear…and, goddamn me, arousal.
I whimper.
"You will not come," Damien says, and that devilish snare in his tone makes me dizzy with need.
I can't! He won't let me rub my pussy against him. I could feel the wetness from him fingering me when he was holding my wrists. We both know how fucking bad I need this. I felt his massive, hard cock and I know he wants to fuck me with that huge rod too. So why does either of us have to suffer like this when he wants what I want?
Over a few words that I said when I was supposed to be silent? I need his cock in me and I want him to make me come with that huge cock so badly. He wants to fuck me too.
God, I hate this! I hate being trapped in desire like this and somehow it is so hot at the same time that I'm buried in the taste of delicious agony.
