by Lana Hartley
I look in the mirror and wonder who is looking back at me in the mirror. The negligee looks more expensive than any of the old cotton sundresses I regularly wore at home. I'm older, somehow. I'm practically glowing if I'm honest, I know because of just how much I detoxed the shitty life before me with the ridiculous number of orgasms I had and moving into this fancy house. I pee, wash my hands, brush my teeth, , and then I decide I'm going to take a shower. I don't know if he's expecting me or if he's gone. I just know that I have a few moments of freedom, and I want to feel hot water against my skin. I'm a shower thinker. I know that when the hot water hits the top of my head and soaks through my hair, I'll start to feel better, no matter what's before me.
The bathroom is gray and white, and the shower is the size of my entire bedroom. There's an enormous tub in the room as well. I'd love to soak in it some time, but for now, I'm happy to figure out how to work the nine showerheads in this massive bathroom.
They're pointing in every direction, and they're not even all shaped the same way. I'm overwhelmed with the knobs and the sheer number of them. I slip out of the nightie, watching it slink down at my feet. I start to fiddle with the shower and figure out how to get some hot water going. I'm alone and there's nothing but the sound of water and my thoughts...and then cello. That's what that is.
There's a speaker system connected in the shower, and I saw a speaker by the sink, and inside the bedroom. A light cello sound filters into the room at a very light volume; I could almost miss it. The cello is my favorite instrument because it sounds like so many things in every bellow. He couldn't know this. It must be a coincidence. But it ruffles me. I'm not sure why everything that I should be pleased with upsets me and everything that should upset me turns me on, but I'm not here in the shower to feel more confused. I run the hot water through my hair, feeling the full length of my hair getting hot. There's a showerhead that's pointing to my stomach. One on my back. Several on my shoulders. I can relax like this and I should.
So why is everywhere the water heating making me imagine what it would feel like if Jacob were touching me instead?
Maybe because he's going to fuck me soon. I know that's what's coming afterward. I might get to eat breakfast first. I might not. I don't know if I can eat right now, though I should be hungry. I normally eat very early. I run my hands over my stomach, and that natural hunger that I would have after waking isn't there. I know it will be soon. I listen to the music and run my hands over my body. I know I'm imagining Jacob touching me, and why not? I should soften myself up for what's coming.
And I have to wash every inch of me. After the way his mouth was all over me yesterday, I'm self-conscious. I have to be perfect for him, not because I want him to enjoy it so much as I would die of shame if I stunk. After all the sweating I did yesterday, I should smell terrible. I see that there's a lot of Lush bath products in here, something I've heard about before. They live up to the name, and I smell almost as rich as Jacob when I'm done.
That thought makes me think about my stocks. How different my life is already. I usually wake up hungry and head right to the ticker to do my research. I keep thorough notes and track everything. Now I'm using an insane amount of hot water with a thousand showerheads before an impossibly dangerous, sexy man takes my virginity and will smugly know I'm looking forward to it. God, yes I am. Soaping every inch of my body had me imagining how, after getting it so clean, I would probably be drenched in sweat all over again.
Fuck, the cello and the heat and everything has my head dizzied. I rinse off and go to towel my hair. I need to eat. I feel the pang in my stomach right away, and I'm not surprised after all the calories I must have burned not just last night but with all the internal heat my thoughts generated.
I realize as I step out of the bathroom and I'm alone...I don't have my phone. That's where I see my whole world start, generally. I'm not in the mood, for the first time in my life, to study the ticker, but I'm feeling very disjointed now. My hunger has done that. I need to eat and have a moment where that's all I'm thinking about, though I don't know if I'll get that.
I bring my towel to the sink and grab a hairbrush, taking the time to brush out every strand and finding a hair tie that I use to put my hair up in a bun. I don't know if I'm supposed to do anything different than I normally would. I'm not even sure I want to leave this room and try to figure out what I should be doing. I'm so nervous I am about to start shaking. It just washed over me, and I looked at myself in the mirror and saw that I was even paler than usual. The music changed from cello to light piano, and for some reason I'm grateful. I just needed something tranquil that wasn't tugging so much at everything tearing apart in my soul.
Because that's my crisis now. I'm torn between the genuine relief of never having to see my father again and the fact that I have no idea what my life is going to be like now. Today, I'm going to have sex, real sex, for the very first time. Jacob's massive cock will be inside me, and even though he's already made me come, that's different. I just feel that's different in my head and I'm nervous all over again. I remember how he broke me out of my nerves before but I feel like my mind will rush and my heart will race, and I won't be able to contain my anxiety. The fact that he will calm me down before he fucks me just makes me angry. If he even does. I remember the kinkiness he alluded to. He's going to tie me up. I know that.
Oh god.
Leah
I'm crying. I want to make myself stop, but right now I just need to feel it. I'm desperate to be able to breathe and feel my emotions without having to feel like I'm being tested. How is it that even though Jacob is not here, it is like the weight of that, of when he'll return, is stressing me out even more? I need to be able to have a modicum of expectations. I'm angry as hell, and I know it is totally irrational.
How could I feel safe when I'm owned now? My father set expectations for me as his property by utterly ignoring me. Having me homeschooled and keeping me sequestered away from the whole world. So, of course, that wasn't preferential to my current situation. But at least I knew what to expect then.
I get myself angry enough that I realize I don't have to keep crying. I wipe my tears away and look at the blood rushing to my face, making me flush and making my eyes blaze. This fortifies me somehow, and I'm grateful. I am not going to be Jacob's fucking sex toy. I am more than that. I know that he technically owns me, but he cannot fucking own me. I'll bide my time, and I'll figure out a way out of here. I'm not going to get anywhere by not at least playing along if I can stand it. But I don't have to focus on that. I'll do what I can to cope, and I'll not think about how conflicted his touch makes me feel. I'll concentrate on this fire that I feel now, and I'll figure out a way to get out of here. It makes me think about my phone. I have to get it back, as I assume he's not planning on letting me go free, no matter what he says. He says he's giving me a position at his company. A salary. That I'm not in a cage. We'll see about that. I'm not willing to believe that a man who can buy a human being, accept them as payment in a business deal, has any idea what he's saying when he makes those promises. Jacob Renaud owns almost everything in the world, but he's not going to own me. I can see his smug grin in my mind, and I know that he won't even expect it. All he knows is he made me come. So what? That doesn't give him any right to my body.
Now that my strength is summoned, I look in the mirror, and I feel bold. Powerful even when I look at my body. I know how much he wants to touch it. How much he values my body. He loves that I'm a virgin. He'll love changing that.
I push back how I want him to be the one to change it.
He's at the door, and he walks in. "My chef has made everything for breakfast," he announces. The tone is passé, but the statement so isn't. Jacob Renaud is so wealthy he probably owns more restaurants than most people have even seen in their entire lives. So he must not be skimping on his own chef. My hunger in the morning is never picky, but I have to admit I'm thrilled to have choices. I couldn't be picky at home. I wasn't allowe
d to shop for groceries, and I was to eat what I could find. My father ate outside the home most of the time, and there wasn't always much to go on. I wonder for a moment if I tell this to Jacob if he'd take me out for breakfast one day. I've never eaten breakfast in a restaurant. I've been to a few dinners, even a couple of lunches, but never have I eaten breakfast that I didn't forage for in the kitchen when my father wasn't around. I never left my room when I might run into him.
It was part of what made running into Jacob so jarring. I almost never saw another person. I look at myself in the mirror, summoning my self-awareness to keep the surreal feeling I have from overtaking me.
"Fantastic, I’m starving. ," I say, not bothering to stifle my enthusiasm. Let this be the false olive branch. Better my stomach that the rest of my body to make Jacob feel like I'm not plotting how to get as fucking far away from him as possible. Nothing can stand in the way of my freedom. Not even the truth. "I...do you have my clothes?" I think back to the negligee still on the bathroom floor.
"I actually thought you'd like some new clothes. My maid, Tatiana, she'll help you with that today while I'm gone. I have some of your clothes in this wardrobe for now." He walks to the opposite end of the room. I follow him to see my clothes all hanging, pitifully only a few outfits, in this massive wardrobe that opens into a huge room where I could store thousands of outfits. Hundreds of shoes at least. I feel like I'm in a funhouse version of a mansion, I'm so shocked by how much space is in the room. Fuck, I knew he had a lot of money, but this is just too much. I bristle. "I'm fine with my clothes," I say, and I think I'm probably just mad that he put me in some fancy lingerie and now he's acting like my admittedly pathetic clothes aren't good enough for him. I'm not some doll for him to dress up.
Maybe I'm being irrational. Or maybe he's the ass who thinks he owns me. He can't take over my life like this. I can't let him. Even if my shitty clothes don't make me happy, they're at least mine. I got them one day when I left the house because I didn't want the trashy stuff one of the women my father fucked had left there at that house. That's not home to me either, but that was where I lived, and that was what I had to put up with. I don't want to have another person who thinks of me as property getting to dictate what I'm to wear.
I grab something to wear and I close the closet door behind me, him on the other side of the door. I want a modicum of privacy. I can't take the way his eyes are looking at me. Thinking about all the things he's going to do to me. If I'm honest...I'm thinking about those things, too, and I don't want to deal with the weight of his gaze for just a few seconds. He doesn't open the door while I'm dressing, and when I step out to see him standing there, I'm frustrated but grateful I had the bathroom and this stolen moment in the closet alone. He pulls out his phone and answers a few pinging messages -- I'm not surprised how busy he is as I've read about his prolific business nature -- but he looks up at me, taking in the sight of me in my very crappy jeans. He looks like a million bucks...he may be wearing something that expensive as I know he wears Brioni. The fabric is so damned astounding to look at; I'm a little in awe. He's the only person I've seen, online or in person, I thought could adequately wear something that expensive and make it look just at home on him. He fucking exudes power. It wafts off him and envelops me in the air around us. I can practically see a thick cloud of silvery gray fog wrapping me up and strangling me like spider's silk. I feel powerless next to his presence. How will I ever escape him? The nerves I felt before are minuscule in comparison to how I feel in these clothes. It feels demeaning to look this shitty in front of him. But I can't let him know that. I put my chin up a little higher than I feel like doing. I have to stay strong. Find my fire. Because the only fire I'm feeling is his. The heat around us that he brings. The dark power, the danger he emanates, is snuffing me out. I feel my lip tremble, just slightly. I curse my weakness because he notices. He brushes his thumb over my lip.
Leah
"Let's get you fed," Jacob says, shoving his phone into his jacket pocket and taking me out of the room with his arm on the small of my back. Smugly I wonder if he thinks he needs to do that because I might bolt. I almost laugh, absurdly thinking that I have to follow him since I don't know where the food is.
I remember that he mentioned a maid, that she was going to help me with my clothes. Well, she was before I said that I didn't have a problem with my clothes and basically made it clear I had a problem with him getting me clothes. Still, it seemed like a wonderful thought that he might be able to provide me with someone else that was practically under his ownership. His maid. Someone that could be a person to talk to.
Tatiana, I think her name was…
And surely her loyalty was to her employer. He probably didn't own her. Or maybe he did. Maybe she's another virgin that he has holed up in his house. Maybe when he gets a new virgin, I'll be the new maid. Maybe it is all some twisted game.
I can't think about any of this when I see the dining table adorned with every breakfast food that I've ever heard of and then several things that I don't recognize at all. The table is massive like something a castle would hold. He's got a seat set at one end of the table, and me at the other. It seems absurd that we should head a table so far away from each other, but I'm excited to have space. Of course, after I sit down, he sits in the seat next to me and starts on a cup of coffee I see that he drank some of earlier. The maid, I assume, brings it to him from that other room. I see her face redden, but if she feared some sort of admonishment, Jacob offers none. I realize that her eyes are following me. Maybe I am onto something with the maid theory. She is maybe ten years older than me, if that, and undeniably attractive. I feel a twinge of fear and then...and I'm ashamed when I realize it, jealousy. I tell myself that it's self-preservation. I don't want to be the maid, or something worse if Jacob decides that once I'm not a virgin, I'm not worth anything. I'm suddenly terrified, this woman watching me so intently, that I fear that if I let Jacob take my virginity that I'll immediately become worthless. And if I don't let him fuck me, and he really doesn't just rape me and take it, maybe I'm still worthless. I take a too fast gulp of my orange juice before me, and I sputter some out. Jacob looks at me with what looks like genuine concern. That pisses me off. He doesn't get to look at me like that. Not when he’s the reason I'm a twig in the ocean, a soggy, shitty mess in the vastness of his infinite power. I feel the tears want to well up in my eyes. I can't let them. They're anger, but I'm sure he thinks they are sadness with the way he looks at me. It is almost like he actually gives a shit about how I feel, but I know he can't. If you care about people, you don't buy them. I hate that I'm born into this life, no matter. With my father, it hurts that the person who should care for me and love me is a worthless person who thinks I'm just a pawn. With a man who acts like I'm the most delicious thing he's ever put his mouth on, I'm a payment and a sex object. None of that translates into caring about how I feel. Not really.
It's really foolish, but the girlish part of me hates that the person to whom I'll give my virginity is taking it, no matter what I say or do, because I'm never going to be touched by someone who cares about me. After the way I felt about what he was able to do to me, how he made me come, who knows if I could even enjoy sex ever again.
I look at the maid, trying to ignore the way that Jacob is looking at me. He puts his hand over mine, and I don't want to look at him. "Don't fear me, Leah," he pleads. It is strange, but I want to believe the emotion I hear in his voice. I look away from the maid, who gives me a sweet smile. Huh?
"Oh?" I say to Jacob, my mouth hanging open stupidly.
"I know you're nervous. I want you to be comfortable. I know that you had a very cloistered life with your father. I know that this is all so strange. But I'm not trying to scare you. If you'd like to eat alone-"
"Yes." I don't let him finish that sentence. I don't want any consideration. None of his platitudes or shitty attempts at comforting me. I want him to go away if he's willing to do that.
He
stands, taking his coffee with him. The maid walks toward me, and I feel confused as to how I'm supposed to talk to her. Does she know that I'm a prisoner? Is she a prisoner?
"H-hi," I say to her. She starts to pour me a cup of coffee. "Thank you," I say, giving her the best smile I can manage.
"Hello, Miss Leah," she says, smiling back at me. She starts to head out of the room, and I realize, I really don't want her to go.
"Wait!" I say, a little too loud. She turns around with a sweet smile on her face. "Can you sit with me?"
"You don't want to be alone?" she says. There seems to be more to what she's saying, but I don't quite get it. I just don't want to eat by myself when a seemingly nonthreatening person could possibly be a source of conversation. Maybe I am jealous or upset, wondering if there's something nefarious to her, but I think I can trust the maid. At least I can talk about something, anything, with her that might distract me from my current predicament.
"No, I'd like if you could stay with me. Would that be all right?" I say in a calm, measured tone. I don't want to sound desperate. I don't know if this is even allowed or acceptable. Hopefully, I haven't done something to cross some invisible barrier or break some unknown rule. I let my mind wander for a moment to consider where Jacob has gone after he actually left to me to allow me to have breakfast without him there. I kind of thought he was going to stalk me until he could pounce on me and fuck me.
I focus on eating instead.
"Sure, I'll sit with you," the maid says. "I'm Tatiana.” I’m grateful she says her name again because I was struggling to remember it.
"I'm Leah," I say, giving her my best normal smile. "How long have you worked for Mr. Renaud?" I ask and instantly regret it. What if she's a slave and I'm asking something horrible? She seems so calm. Maybe she's been here a long time...
"Five years now," she says with a smile. "I have a five-year-old boy, my son. Mr. Renaud, he helped me put him in a good school this year, and he hired me when I was pregnant."
