Master Over You

by Cerys du Lys

  When I start to cut through the waistband of her tight jeans, I intentionally press the back of the scissors against her soft skin. She squirms. She's going to. She'll lie to me any second and start to scream and pull away and she's going to get cut and hurt herself no matter what I do. Maybe I should lie to her first. Maybe I should prick her with the tip of one of the scissor blades just to see what she does.

  I don't. I'm a lot of things, but I try not to be a fucking liar. I don't always tell the truth, though. Sometimes I just don't say anything at all.

  She doesn't lie. I don't, either. I slice through her pants, all the way down one leg, then I slice through the other. I don't bother with her ruined clothes; I let them lay in a heap on the floor at her feet. I return the scissors to the table next to my pitcher of water. I pour myself another glass, drink it, and admire my handiwork.

  She stares at me, shivering. "I'm cold," she says.

  "I'll warm you up, love," I say, gentle and sweet.

  She smiles. Chastity Fucking White smiles at me. She thinks I'm nice because I didn't cut her like some fucking sadistic butcher? Right. That's exactly how this works, Chastity White. I hate her fucking name. I hate everything about her. I don't want her to die, but I wish she never existed in the first place. I wish the guy who paid me for her was dead. Everything would be simpler then. I wouldn't have to do this. I could bide my time until the next one.

  I walk up to her, smiling, pretending I'm going to embrace her. I imagine the mental conversation going on in her head.

  Maybe he won't fuck me? Maybe he's misunderstood? Maybe I can change him with my love. I trusted him and he didn't hurt me, so he can't be all bad, right?

  No. Wrong. First mistake, Chastity. I want to point it out to her, I want to write it on a chalkboard like I'm some instructor at her college. She doesn't go to college anymore, though. She's mine. She has nothing left in her life except for me.

  I do point it out to her. I walk close to her, smiling at her, then I slap her hard across the face. She blinks, confused, and I slap her again with the other hand, across the other cheek.

  Before she can protest, I shove my hand down the front of her panties and cup her warm sex. She squirms then, starts to say something, but it's too late.

  I press my body against hers, hard, my hand clenching her bare cunt. I force one finger between her lower lips and slowly wriggle it inside of her while she fights against me. Leaning close, I whisper into her ear.

  "My name is Noah," I say. "You're mine now, love."

  She's so warm and soft down there. I tease her roughly while nibbling on her ear, enjoying the way she keeps trying to pull away from me. I move gently, catching her off guard, then I slam against her hard. I thrust one finger deep inside her, reveling in the way she bucks her hips against me in pleasure, then pulls back, fighting her own instinctive needs.

  She wants this. She wants to fight me and to hate me, but she wants me to fuck her, too. It's nature, and there's nothing either of us can do about it. We'd all like to pretend we're civilized as fuck, but courtesy doesn't continue the species. Rutting couples, the man deep inside the woman, thrusting hard until he fills her with his seed; that's how we've made it so far.

  Technology, science, and a better way of life are wonderful, but we wouldn't have any of it if we didn't fuck each other for hundreds of thousands of years before today. Why stop now?

  I feel her warming up to me despite her best efforts to stop herself. You can't stop this, love. You don't want to and I don't want to. I pinch her clit, watching her spasm at my rough touch. I want to rip her fucking bra off and bite down hard on her nipple until she screams out in pain.

  I plan to do more. I plan to unhitch my pants and push her panties aside, then shove my ready and erect cock deep in her cunt. I plan to bounce her up and down on my shaft, slamming into her over and over again, making her back scrape against the wall behind her. I want to stare into her eyes while I show her exactly how evil and vicious I am, all the while watching her slow realization dawning in the depths of her very soul. I want her to fight me, I want her to deny everything in some false attempt at defiance, and then I want to break her down until she never thinks of defying me again. That would be all according to plans.

  That's not how it worked, though.

  *** Chastity

  He sliced through my clothes, but he didn't hurt me. His cuts were smooth and sleek, practiced. He must do this a lot. I wasn't the first one he's done this to, I realized.

  His hands moved with steady determination, never wavering. He knew exactly what he wanted to do and exactly how he wanted to do it.

  He was going to hurt me. I shouldn't be admiring him like this. Maybe he wasn't, though. He wasn't hurting me now, was he? I didn't know this man, I didn't know anything about him, but he looked painful to me. Agonized. Maybe he needed something. Maybe he was doing this for a reason.

  He seemed driven and with purpose. It was foolish of me to think this, because he admitted he was going to fuck me whether I wanted him to or not, but I thought he might just need someone. Maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe I could help him. Maybe I would be able to show him that not everything was bad and there were some good things in life, too.

  After he finished with my clothes, he went to get a drink. Without anything to keep me warm, I shivered. I thought that was why I shivered, but I didn't know if it was that or if I wanted him to continue. If I wanted him to take me, to be rough with me, to fuck me. All the rest of my life was filled with peace and gentle touches, but for some reason this seemed so much more real.

  I was twenty-one years old now. It was my birthday yesterday. Maybe it was still my birthday now, but I didn't know what day it was anymore. I'd gone out drinking with my friends, and planned on having a good time. In my pants, shred to tatters by his scissors, was a piece of paper from a fortune cookie I ate. The actual cookie was probably on the ground outside the backdoor of the club from when I threw up, but I still had the fortune that went along with it.

  Today is a day of many changes.

  This was a change. A big one. This was wrong, but it was real. It was exhilarating in all the worst ways and I knew I shouldn't be excited by it, but I was. I wanted to feel real and alive. I wanted change.

  "I'm cold," I said, but I didn't know if I was.

  He smiled at me. "I'll warm you up, love."

  His words were so soft and sweet that I almost believed them. I wanted to believe them. He'll unshackle me and take me down and we'll lay in bed together, happy, forgetting any of this ever happened.

  Why did you kidnap me? That's what I would ask him. Are you lonely? Do you need someone? Because... because maybe I... I can...

  He slapped me hard and my head jerked to the side. I opened my mouth to gasp and he slapped me again, this time on the other cheek.

  Before I knew it, his hand was in my panties, cupping the front of my body and feeling the warmth of my core. Oh! No, I wasn't cold anymore. I was hot. I was...

  His hand moved further, dipping a finger into my wet slit. I didn't mean to be aroused, and I didn't know what I was aroused about. Maybe not aroused, but excited. I was excited at the possibilities. At the raw reality this man possessed, at what he could show me about really being alive.

  It was a sick idea, a depraved obsession, and I knew this, but that didn't stop me. He moved gently, soft, then hard, pressing against me and pinning me to the wall. My senses and my body were reeling at his touch, unsure whether to push against him or to pull away.

  I did both, one after the other, sometimes the same as him, but other times fighting against him.

  Yes... please... fuck... fuck me...

  He was squeezing my... my pussy... my cunt! I could be dirty, too. I could be real and raw and rough just like him. He was squeezing my cunt, two fingers pressed deep inside of me, holding me like I was some fruit he stole from a basket, ripe and ready to eat. I felt owned, wanted and needed.

  He told me his na
me before, whispered it harshly into my ear. Noah. What a sweet name. What a lovely, beautiful, handsome, raw and real name. That was who was doing this to me. No one else could, no one else would. Just him. Noah.

  Suddenly he slumped to the floor. I blinked open my eyes, trying to figure out what went wrong, feeling lost without his vicious fingers inside of me. Someone covered my eyes with a blindfold and stuffed a gag in my mouth, then unshackled me and threw me to the ground.

  (Day Four)

  Name: Noah (Surname unknown or unnecessary)

  Age: 28

  Birthday: November 14th

  Height: 6' 1" / 185cm

  Weight: 187 lbs / 84.8kg (Fit)

  *** Noah

  I wake up and open my eyes and I'm not in my house. I'm not in my fucking training room. I'm not fucking the shit out of that fucking bitch, Chastity White, and she's not begging me to stop. None of the fucking things I should be fucking doing are fucking happening and I'm really pissed off about it, actually.

  I am not patient or understanding when it comes to this, and I never will be. I wanted to get everything over with, and now I can't. I don't know what happened and I don't want to know.

  I was probably arrested. I think about that sometimes, wondering what would happen if it ever happened. It's unlikely, because I'm careful and I'm good at what I do, but there's always the possibility. Someone might rat me out. How entertaining would that be? Really entertaining if you think about it.

  Why would anyone think about it? This isn't the sort of thing people put a lot of time and effort into worrying over. It's something that happens to anyone else but them. You can't relate. You can never relate.

  So that's that. I look around, expecting to see police interrogators. There's none of that, though. I'm in some pure white room with white walls, white tables, white everything. Everything's white. Fucking white. What the fuck is this about? White is the most fake color I can think of. Everything about it is a lie.

  There's some woman wearing white standing in front of me, too. Her skin is tanned and she's got pitch black hair, but her dress is so white it's almost colorless. The bodice clings to her upper body, accentuating her breasts and her curves, but it loosens from the waist down, hiding her hips and her legs in free, flowing cloth.

  It's a simple dress, nothing fancy about it. I don't know why the fucking dress fascinates me so much. It's not even the dress that does it, it's her. Her in the dress, her standing there, staring at me, smiling.

  I realize that it's not even really her that does it, either. It's me. It's the fact that I'm standing here, chained to a wall, shackled and caged, while this bitch dressed in white just stands there in front of me, pristine and perfect. Who the fuck does she think she is?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Chastity White shackled on an adjacent wall. She's awake and staring at the woman in front of us, too. Fuck. What's she doing here? She's not involved in this. She's my fucking victim. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  "Noah," the woman in white says, inclining her head slightly in a nod. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I have heard so much about you, that I admit to being curious. I do not know if you will be what I expected, but I am very intrigued."

  She speaks with a perfect, even tone, almost regal. Classy and sophisticated, that's what that is. I don't like it. It's fake. All of this is fake. This white room, her white dress, her steady, majestic voice, talking to me like she's a fucking princess or something.

  She doesn't know who the fuck she's dealing with. I have no idea how she knows my name.

  "Who the fuck are you?" I ask her.

  She smiles sweetly and sighs. "We will need to work on your vulgarity," she says.

  "The fuck?"

  She ignores my annoyed confusion. "You may call me Angeline."

  Oh shit. This isn't good.

  When I don't say anything, she smiles again, pleased with herself. "You know of me?" she asks.

  "I know of an Angeline," I say. "Excuse me if I've got my doubts about you being her, love."

  "Understandable."

  And then I realize it. This is all just some big mistake. A misunderstanding. We're in the same business, her and I. A different side of it, but the same is the same is the same. That stupid fucking prick who hired me must have doubted my abilities, so he went to Angeline for help, too. I know that doesn't make sense, because I know some things about Angeline that would make it not make sense, but that's the only thing I can think of.

  "I didn't mean to move in on your job," I say. "We've got a misunderstanding here, Ange. If you want the girl, you can have her. I'll give the money back to the stupid fuck who hired me to grab her. I didn't know he hired you, too. I thought he'd know I was good enough. That's a right stab in the back, eh?"

  "I have no need of the girl," she says. After a slight pause, she adds, "Did you call me Ange, Noah?"

  The fuck? "Yes, love?"

  "Do not," she says. "Ever again."

  The way she says it, so innocent and sweet, but with dark eyes that stare at you like she's some monster in the closet, it's terrifying. I'd be terrified if I was anyone else, at least. It's still not something I'd want to see in a secluded dark alley at night.

  The problem is that Angeline isn't just some ordinary monster. She doesn't just scare you in the middle of the night, then go back to hiding in the closet. Oh, no. She's the kind of monster that creeps out while you're sleeping, then ties you to your bed. She might wait for you to wake up, or else wake you with a gentle kiss, and then she'll destroy you. She'll rip your soul from your body, you'll feel her sucking it out of your chest, past your throat, and you'll want to scream, but you can't, because she's already ripped out your tongue, too.

  And then you're laying there, staring at her, soulless, unable to scream, trapped, no longer able to move. That's just the start. She doesn't go back to the closet after. Who knows if she ever goes back to the closet at all. One night becomes two becomes twenty, and eventually nothing is left. You're a shell, a vessel.

  Basically, she does what I do. Apparently she's good at it. I doubt it, though. She's a woman, first off. And she's got these prancey fucking games. What the fuck is with all this white?

  "You seem confused, Noah," she says. "Would you like me to explain?"

  "Yeah, that'd be great," I say.

  I'm sure we can get this over with sooner rather than later. If she doesn't want the girl, my poor Chastity White, then once we settle matters, I can get back to business. This'll put a dent in my plans, for sure, but I'm willing to improvise.

  "You will refer to me as Mistress Angeline from now on, Noah. If I am feeling particularly kind at any given moment, I may allow you to simply call me Angeline. If you prefer to be safe, I understand if you would rather stick with Mistress. It is what most people do."

  "Yeah," I say. "Nice joke, Ange."

  I said that to piss her off, but also because she makes no fucking sense. Who the fuck does she think she is? Why the fuck does she think I'll call her Mistress Angeline, or Angeline, or anything else? Stupid bitch.

  She doesn't laugh, nor does she correct me.

  "You know of me, Noah, correct?" she asks.

  "Yeah," I say. "Enough. I doubt half of it's true, though. Sorry, love. I don't know what you expected with this. It's real sweet of you to go through the trouble of tracking me down and bringing me here. I get that it's hard to date in our line of work, but you could have just sent me flowers and a note if you wanted to let me know you like me. Would have been a whole lot easier. You're a pretty bitch, too. I would have at least given you a sympathy lay before telling you to fuck off."

  She smiles at me, but there's that empty look in her eyes that says she wants to devour me. I can't shake it, and I can't stop looking at her. She steps closer, then again, and now we're face to face, except even closer than that.

  Our noses touch and I'm going to headbutt her or bite her, but she beats me to the punch. She grabs my cheeks and forces me to stay still, then s
he's kissing me.

  Yeah, that's it. She's kissing me. Huh. It's not bad. She's not bad. This is what I expected, actually. I doubt she's as horrible as everyone says. Rumors lie, just like this white is a lie, just like everything about Angeline is a lie. I know nothing about her, and I don't want to, but she's not a bad kisser, so I just go with it. Easier that way.

  Maybe I'll give in a little. Oh, yes, Mistress Angeline, I've seen the error of my ways, I'll do anything you want. Then when she thinks she's won, when she unshackles me from this wall, I'll destroy her. She's just some stupid bitch. What the fuck can she do to me? She's just a woman. They're all full of themselves. Her idea of controlling someone is probably just having sex with them until they're stupid enough to think they're in love with her, then they do whatever she wants.

  Sorry, Ange love, but that's a bunch of bullshit and we both know it. If she thinks that's going to work on me, she's wrong, but I'll let her believe it for now. It's not like I can do anything while I'm chained to the wall.

  That's how that idea goes in my head, and she's kissing me, I'm kind of getting into it, then the stupid fucking whore bites me. She literally rips into my lip like it's a fucking Grade A steak, then she laps up the blood.

  When she backs away to survey her work, she's smiling again, devilish. Some of my blood paints her bottom lip like scarlet lipstick. She sucks her lower lip into her mouth, almost like a coy pout, and when she lets it loose, her lip is clean again.

  "This, Noah," she says in that formal tone of hers, "is a simple test. You may either pass or fail. It is as easy as doing as I say."

  I suck on my bottom lip, trying to ease some of the sting from it and to stop my bleeding. I don't know what she's getting at, and I don't care. The fucking bitch bit me. Who the hell does that?

  "I love this room. I find it elegant and pleasing in its simplicity and its statement. Sadly, white is a difficult color to maintain. On occasion, everything must be replaced or repainted. These white carpets?" she says, tapping her foot on the ground. "They are especially difficult to keep clean. I have allowed you your shoes for now, but in the future, you will not be wearing them here."