by Linnea May
“And I won’t come back for you, no matter how much you cry and bang against that door,” he adds. “Remember how cold it was in there? Do you really want to find out what it’s like to spend an entire day and night in that room without anything to keep you warm?”
I bite my lower lip.
“You’re a fucking monster,” I hiss at him.
He smiles, suggesting a subtle nod. “Maybe, but you’re mine now.”
I’m lost. I believe him when he says that he will lock me back in that room, and that’s the last thing I want to happen.
I close my eyes in defeat, slowly relaxing my clenched-up arms as I lower the towel and let it drop onto the bed sheets. There are people who say they go to their ‘safe space’ in their mind when they are faced with something unpleasant, like a dental procedure or a blood draw, or when other people do something horrible to them. Like rape.
I don’t know where my safe space is, though. I don’t know where to go when he gently pushes me back, telling me to lie down, my core bared to him. His hands trail from my shoulders down to my breasts—only cupping them for a moment, accompanied by an approving growl—before he wanders further, tracing along the sides of my upper body. It tickles and I cannot help but let out a giggle that feels entirely out of place.
“Ticklish, huh,” he comments. “Good to know.”
I don’t respond, but just stare at the white canopy above me. The thin curtains are draped around the dark bed frame in an elegant fashion, seemingly random but with a deliberate grace. I try to focus on the elegantly swung fabric that spreads out above my head like a cloud formation, as his hands lazily travel further along my body.
His touch is surprisingly gentle, but I refuse to enjoy this. Only a sick person would find pleasure in what he’s doing to me.
I suppress a moan when he places his hands on the inner side of my upper thighs and spreads my legs farther apart. His face is so close to my exposed core that I can feel his breath on my lips.
I close my eyes, preparing myself for an assault that doesn’t come. He caresses the inside of my thighs, moving ever closer to my center, so close that his fingertips almost touch my soft labia, but before they do, he retreats and moves in the opposite direction toward my knee. His warm touch explores every inch of my body, going all the way down to my feet and toes, massaging my ankles and my thighs before he moves back to my knees. Then he’s stroking along the outside of my upper thighs before he reaches my hips and traces along the bones that poke out as I lay on my back. I try to hold it together, but cannot help flinching and giggling as he finds the ticklish point on the side of my waist again.
He greets my sensitivity with a chuckle before he lifts his hands, only using one finger as he follows the outline of my pelvis back to my core.
But this time he doesn’t stop before reaching my most sensitive area. I gasp when the tips of his fingers fondle the soft skin of my lips.
I refuse to enjoy this. My mind is set.
My body, however, turns out to be a traitor.
“Look at that,” I can hear his arrogant voice as he moves farther to the inside, approaching my wet entrance. “You’re practically drooling, you little slut.”
Heat rushes up to my face, and I close my eyes, as if that could make any of this go away. Of course, I’m wet as hell after all this teasing. Isn’t this my body’s way of protecting me? I’ve heard that rape victims do get wet as the deed is happening because our body creates fluids no matter what. It’s a mechanism of protection.
But he hasn’t done anything. He’s barely touching me, especially not there, and he has not been inside me. Yet.
A slick sound confirms my body’s betrayal when he finally slips a finger inside my channel. I moan, still in denial that this feels good. It can’t feel good. He’s evil. This whole situation is fucked up.
He moves slowly, testing, waiting for my reaction. A hum of approval vibrates through the air when he sees me arching my back and moving my hips closer to him.
I give up. This is insane, it’s sick, and it’s scary. But if I have to endure it, I might as well make it as easy as possible on myself.
So what if my safe space is right here? In this room. With him.
“Good girl,” he coos, sending another spark of pleasure through my body. “Very good girl. Just stay like this and let go.”
There’s no protest. Even my mind has surrendered to my horny body. I don’t even care that I let out another moan when he leans forward and I can feel his tongue circling around my wet clit. The sensation is electric, better than any man has ever made me feel. He’s so gentle, so careful.
Too careful.
I want more, and I can’t keep myself from verbalizing that wish.
“More,” I breathe, thankful that I cannot see him right now. I would hate to see his condescending smile as he realizes my defeat.
He closes his mouth around my clit, alternating between sucking on it and drawing circles around it with his skilled tongue, while he adds another finger to spread me wider. A little bend of those fingers is all it takes for me to feel the first harbinger of an impending climax.
Why am I even surprised? He said he was going to make me come, and that’s exactly what he’s doing.
Chapter 17
Joseph
She explodes on my hands with such a force that it looks as if she might lose consciousness again. I know how to get a girl off, but every time I do, I’m met with the same accusing look that she’s casting at me now. This face of indignation and confusion that tells me only one thing: you’re not supposed to be this good.
But very few have been as responsive as Ruby. She was glistening wet before I even touched her between her legs, and she began quivering as soon as I started fingering her. Bending my finger inside of her was all it took to send her over the edge, finding that magic spot that seems to be a myth to other men, and to most women, as well. And yet it works so well.
I can feel her tension squeezing around me, her tight pussy clenching around my fingers as she’s overtaken by waves of pleasure, arching and straightening her back, while her hands dig deeply into the sheets, grasping them for dear life.
Her breath only calms down slowly, and I can see a single drop of sweat traveling down the side of her left temple. I withdraw my fingers and make sure that she’s watching when I lick them clean, relishing the taste of her juices. Of course, she blushes at the sight and casts me another exasperated look.
“You’re sick,” she breathes, but her eyes are passing right through me as she says it. Those words could be directed at herself just as much as at me.
“You’re delicious,” I retort, making her squirm with shame.
She tries to gather the towel around herself to cover her body and shield it from my hungry eyes, but I hold her back by grabbing her wrist.
“I didn’t say you could do that, did I?”
She frowns at me.
“Of course,” she whispers. “You’re not done with me, are you?”
I laugh at her words.
“I won’t be done with you for a long time,” I say. “We’re just getting started.”
I let go of her wrist and get back up on my feet, now looking down at her, as she’s sprawled out in front of me, completely naked except for the collar around her neck.
She looks up at me, fighting the urge to shield herself from my gaze. I can see her arms and legs twitching, moving ever so slightly, but never daring to cover herself up.
“Did you enjoy that?” I ask her. The question is redundant, but I need her to confront her pleasure. I need to see how honest she is.
She shakes her head. “No, I didn’t.”
I raise my eyebrows, cocking my head from one side to the other.
“I think you’re lying to me,” I say. “Your body is more honest than your mind.”
“You tricked me,” she hisses.
I laugh. “Tricked you? How?”
Little Ruby blushes, unsure what to say. She looks like a young virgin who just had her first orgasm. This lady set her mind on playing a certain character, and she sticks to it no matter what. She’s so convincing at conveying her role that I would even consider giving her a raise. She’s far too good to be nothing but an elaborate prostitute.
“With… that,” she says, waving me off. “Whatever you did there.”
She flinches when I climb on top of her, forcing her to lay back as I hover above her, placing my hands next to her pretty face as I lean down close enough for our noses to touch. She freezes, her gray-blue eyes sparkling with fear and curiosity alike, as they lock onto mine.
“I made you come,” I whisper in her face. “And you loved it. Stop lying to me.”
She inhales audibly, objection dancing on the tip of her tongue.
“You liked to be touched like this, you liked to be ordered around, you liked my tongue on your greedy pussy,” I continue. “And you were begging for so much more, clenching around my fingers, yearning to have my big cock inside you. Weren’t you?”
Her chest heaves under me as her breathing accelerates and her cheeks glow with pink heat. She slowly shakes her head, biting her lower lip as if to prevent herself from saying something stupid.
“What will you do to me now?” she asks instead of answering my question.
“You want to come again, don’t you?” I ask back.
She swallows hard, not deigning me with a response.
“Well,” I say, getting up from the bed. “You may have an idea of what this is going to look like, but I will explain it to you anyway. Get up from the bed.”
As she follows my command, I walk over to the dresser next to the bed, opening one of the upper drawers. Everything in here, even the drawers in this dresser, can only be opened with keys that I possess. She’s not supposed to have access to the toys I will be using; it’s better that way. She’s going to get addicted to the thrill I give her, the pain and the orgasms, but I want to own every single one of them. She’s not allowed to do anything to herself and not to try anything without me present.
I retrieve what I was looking for and bring a black leather leash with me when I return to her. Much to my surprise, she’s standing next to the bed, still naked, not even attempting to wrap the towel around her.
“Good girl,” I say to her, even though her look suggests that she doesn’t understand what I’m praising her for.
“Now, get down on your knees,” I add, pointing to the floor right next to my feet. “Sit on your heels, hands on your thighs.”
She pauses for a moment, giving me a look as if to say that there’s no way in hell that she’s obeying my words. But she doesn’t need more than a raised eyebrow to be reminded of her place. She kneels in front of me, placing her hands on her thighs, but not in the way I want her to.
“Palms up,” I say. “And straighten your back. Look up at me.”
She sighs and even though I cannot see it, I’m sure she’s rolling her eyes at me before she lifts her chin and meets my eyes.
“Better,” I say. “Not good, but better. Stay like this, but open your legs for me.”
She sneers at me through narrowed eyes, but obliges and moves her knees apart.
“Good,” I conclude. “Remember this position. I want to see you like this every time I walk into the room, and every time I tell you to kneel. Understand?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
A bolt of fury races through my chest. Is she really that forgetful, or do my words mean nothing to her?
“What have I told you to?” I snap at her. “How are you to reply to me?”
She sighs again. “Yes, Master.”
“All that forgetting and sighing won’t be ignored,” I warn her. “You better watch yourself.”
She presses her lips together, most likely to keep herself from retorting with a sassy response. Her eyes follow me as I drop down onto my knees in front of her and attach the leash to the ring on her collar.
“Every pet needs a leash,” I say. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Her eyes are piercing, dazed with anger and worry. She’s angry but alert at the same time, sensing my fury. She may not fear me in the same way she did when I first brought her here, but she has an idea of the beast existing inside of me. She knows I don’t want to hurt her, but she knows that I will if she gives me a reason.
And she has given me plenty.
Chapter 18
Liana
He’s clasping the other end of the leather leash in his hand, hovering next to me like a possessive dog owner. It’s humiliating and degrading, but I find myself yielding to the role more easily than I would have imagined. This role play was embedded in the crevices of my darkest fantasies, a collar, a leash, a handsome man using me for his pleasure and rewarding me with bliss in return. It’s scary how much of this closely resembles the images that have been haunting me for years. Images that I tried to bring to life in my failed relationship with Luke, who only considered my fantasies to be psychotic. He said I was disgusting and sick, and I let him believe he was right.
Now here I am, coerced to be someone I always wanted to be, stripped away of everything I was in the real world outside of this gilded cage, my core still throbbing from the most intense orgasm I have ever experienced.
This could be perfect, if I knew I could go home tonight and return to my normal life.
My normal life. The life that was robbed of everything that was good in the days leading up to this terrifying event. It’s a Saturday morning and I have nowhere to be, no one waiting for me, no one wondering where I am. No one will miss me until Monday, when I’m supposed to show up for work at the university. They will notice I’m gone, but I’m not sure they will be worried about it… definitely not worried enough to search for me.
Sadness overcomes me when I realize there really is no one else. I haven’t spoken to my mother in years. She will only hear about my disappearance once the police get involved, if then. How long will that take? Days? A week? Two? Will Luke realize I’ve fallen off the radar? He and I haven’t spoken a single word since I threw him out of the apartment nearly a week ago, and I see no reason for him to contact me at this point.
Two days, at least, maybe three, that’s how long it will take until someone becomes suspicious that I’m no longer where I’m supposed to be. Will I still be here then? Will I still be alive?
“Are you hungry?” the man I’m supposed to call Master asks, jarring me away from my depressing thoughts.
I am hungry, but I don’t want to admit it to him. Judging by the light streaming in through the window, I’m assuming it’s still early morning. I only had a light dinner before leaving the house last night. The last thing I consumed was that cheap drink at the bar last night.
“I’m thirsty,” I tell him, not admitting my hunger. My thirst is far worse than my hunger.
“I imagine you are,” he says. “And I’ll give you some water in a minute. But food is a different story. You’ll have to earn food. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master,” I say, ignoring the silly sensation of pride in regard to my obedience.
Silence stretches between us. He looks at me with a questioning face and I reciprocate the look.
“You don’t want to know how?” he asks. “What it is you have to do for food?”
“I’d like to know a lot of things,” I hiss back at him. “Food is the least of my concerns.”
He narrows his eyes, and before I can fully grasp the meaning of his expression, he yanks on the leash, choking me and forcing me forward. I lose hold of my stance as I have to support myself with my hands on the floor. I’m coughing and gasping, caught by surprise and trying to process the pain in my throat.
I almost fall over when I try to reach for my burning throat, and he yanks the leash again, now pulling me behind him as he drags me across the room. I’m forced to follow him on all fo
urs, humiliated and furious.
He heads for the other door, unlocking it and kicking it open. He continues dragging me behind him as he walks through into another room. The interior of this room couldn’t be more different than the bedroom we were in before. The floor I’m crawling on is wooden and creaks, similar to the floor in the attic, but it’s a darker color. It’s painted in black, and the four walls surrounding us are painted in a deep red.
I freeze when I see a giant X-shaped piece of equipment nailed to the wall opposite the windows. I know it’s meant for tying people up, submitting them to the mercy of another. The X is not the only thing that catches my attention. The entire room is filled with furniture and objects that aren’t typically part of a welcoming living room, but instead belong in a torture chamber. There’s a bench in the middle of the room. It looks a bit like one of those sawhorses found in the school gym, except for its black color and the shackles attached to it.
A glass cabinet at the other end of the room displays all kinds of toys and utensils, whips, cuffs, floggers, canes, and other things that I cannot identify.
He watches me as I take in the room and its trappings, an expression somewhere between horror and fascination evident on my face.
“You asked me what I’m going to do to you,” he says. “This may give you an idea.”
I take in the volume of toys and utensils on display in the room. I feel a small sense of relief when I don’t see any knives or similar tools that might be used to kill or maim me.
“You’re a sadist,” I say, looking up at him with frightened eyes. “Are you going to kill me?”
He furrows his eyebrows. “Let’s not go overboard.”
Another yank at the leash forces me to follow him the length of the room until we reach the cross.
“Stand up,” he commands.
I swallow hard, unsure whether to happy to be back on my feet, or worried about what he might do next.
Chapter 19
Joseph
