by Linnea May
“For… when?” I ask him, unsure what to make of this. “And… where?”
“For whenever I allow you to wear it, or tell you to,” he says.
I wrinkle my eyebrows. Why can he never give me a precise answer to my questions? He must know this is all so confusing to me.
Unless this is part of that deal I should know about. The deal he made with the real Ruby Red. Is this another one of those times when he expects me to just understand because it was in the contract I supposedly signed?
“Thank you,” I say, knowing that it’s expected of me.
“I want you to wear something for me right now,” he says, gesturing toward the clothes in my lap. “The casual outfit. I want to see what your ass looks like in those tight jeans.”
I nod and get up to get dressed. It’s weird how quickly one can get accustomed to not wearing clothes. The upscale fabric of the shirt feels weird against my skin when I slip it on, so strange and unfamiliar. The strange sensation is even stronger with the jeans.
I’m surprised to find that everything fits perfectly. Then again, he has studied my body enough over the past few days to get a good idea of what size I might be.
He looks pleased when I present myself to him, the first time I’ve been fully dressed since he took me.
“Very good,” he comments. “Just one thing, though.”
He steps closer and his hands reach up to my throat, unfastening the collar that has been around my neck constantly for the past eleven days. I’m dumbfounded by his action, and equally surprised to find myself somewhat disappointed. It almost makes me feel... naked.
“Are you letting me go?” I ask, my heart heavy with fear. Now that I’m confronted with this possibility, I cannot bear the thought of leaving this house. Of leaving him. How am I supposed to just go back to my old life after all of this? How am I supposed to go on with a life that now seems to have so little to offer?
My thoughts scare me, but I cannot help it. I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here, with him, following our twisted routine. This is my new constant. I don’t know how to go on without him, out there, by myself.
But he’s shaking his head. I’m almost relieved.
“Of course not,” he says, as if it should be obvious to me. “It’s time for a change.”
I don’t know what he’s implying with that comment, but he doesn’t give me time to ask.
“For now, I want you to come with me,” he says. “And have breakfast with me.”
He takes my hand, not leading me by the collar for the first time. We approach the door of my room, the door that leads to the corridor.
“Breakfast?” I ask, bewildered. “You mean… downstairs?”
He lets out a little chuckle as he turns around to face me.
“Yes, downstairs,” he answers, and then he opens the door for me.
Chapter 32
Joseph
She shouldn’t be here. Every part of me knows that she shouldn’t be here. I’m breaking the rules in a way that’s ten times worse than anything she has ever done.
But I cannot help myself.
With these girls, I’ve always done whatever came to me. I’ve always followed whatever intrinsic wish I felt like, not holding myself to any rules, only them. The rules exist because I know what I want and what I don’t want at any given time.
So, in a way, I’m still following that rule. I’m doing something I want to do, something that feels right to do with her. As Ruby walks quietly next to me, so pretty, I’m surprised to find myself wanting exactly this. I want to see her in casual clothes, and I want to do casual, everyday things with her.
It’s nothing to be afraid of. In a way, it can be expected after all this time. I’ve never done this, I’ve never had the girlfriend experience. It’s new to me, exotic almost. Trying out new things has always filled me with the thrill I need, the thrill I need to maintain balance.
So what if my newest adventure is being normal, normal like an ordinary person?
She’s tense as she walks next to me, her eyes wandering at everything around her as we make our way down the stairs. It’s hard to tell whether she’s just looking around out of curiousity, or if she’s looking for ways to get away. She knows she shouldn’t even try anything of that sort because it would make our contract null and void. Everything she has done so far would be mean nothing, she wouldn’t receive her compensation, and she wouldn’t get far legally either, if that was her aim.
But she’s still playing her part to perfection. As real as her terror was in the beginning, I can’t risk that she may be thinking about trying to escape.
When we reach the first floor and I lead her to the kitchen and dining area, her gaze turns to plain amazement as she takes in the high-ceilinged room. Bright sunlight is shafting through the wide french doors and floor-length windows, bathing the area in its warm light, while the frost-covered grass outside is a clear indication of the crisp temperatures. The amount of light filtering through the windows coats the entire kitchen in an ethereal glow.
“Wow,” she breathes. “This is beautiful!”
She’s right. This room has always been my grandmother’s favorite place, and I can see why. The French-style kitchen is decorated in mostly ivory colors, with only the counter tops making a stark contrast with their dark gray granite finish.
I cannot remember the last time I had someone else down here. I don’t entertain in this house, unless it’s for a business meeting, and those are usually held in the reception hall. The only other person who’s down here on a regular basis is my main maid Marjory. But she has only been here once since I took Ruby in, and that was just to quickly clean the lower floors, something she hurried to do while I paced up and down the halls, nervous about having one of my staff here while I have a slave upstairs. Marjory knows about the situation, at least partially, and she’s only allowed entry to the house because I can count on her discretion.
It still makes me nervous to know that she’s coming by today while I’m out of the house. It’s simply a matter of bad timing because I promised her that she could have a week off after this so she can go see her newest grandson, and at that point, I didn’t know I would have this meeting in town today, of all days.
It’ll be okay. Why wouldn‘t it be? Even if Ruby notices someone else is in the house, why would she cause any trouble? I convince myself that it will all be okay and that she won‘t scream like hell if she thinks the maid will help her escape.
“Sit,” I tell her, pointing toward the dining table that’s already laid out for us. “And stay seated.”
She casts me a cautious look before she obliges and sits in one of the chairs.
“Can I help you somehow?” she asks when she sees me rummaging through the kitchen, but I tell her no.
“You just sit, and I’ll be there in a minute.”
I prepare the same food she’s been eating for breakfast since she arrived. Incidentally, it’s my favorite breakfast, a very rich and hearty meal, perfect for after an exhausting workout. I usually get my workout out of the way in the morning and hardly ever miss a day. I need it to stay fit, and installing a home gym was one of the first things I did when I moved in here.
I place the usual portion of bacon, eggs, toast, and avocado in front of her, as well as a carafe of steaming coffee.
She’s visibly confused by this and looks at me as if I have lost my mind. Maybe I have.
“Let me at least pour the coffee,” she says, just as I’m about to reach for the carafe.
I have to laugh at her eagerness to serve me. I may be able to train her more thoroughly than I originally thought.
“Go ahead,” I tell her, beckoning for her to pour our coffees.
She casts me a grateful smile, and I watch as she serves the savory brew.
“So is that your new thing now?” she asks, changing to a sassy tone I haven’t heard from her before. “Are we pretending to be a cou
ple now?”
Her question angers and amuses me at the same time. It shouldn’t surprise me that this puzzles her, but I don’t like her making fun of me.
“Don’t get cocky with me,” I say, casting her a warning look. “I told you, good girls get a treat.”
“And have I been a good girl?” she asks, before taking a bite of her toast.
“Very much so,” I reply without looking at her. She doesn’t need to know every detail about what’s going on inside my head. Hell, I don’t even understand it myself. When I came into her room this morning, I had no intention of following her into the shower. I had no intention of making her mine like this, by fucking her bare against the wet tiles, being consumed by the most amazing orgasm I’ve had in a while, maybe ever.
Just thinking about it brings my cock back to life. I’m getting hard just looking at her, even now. I just emptied my balls inside her, but I don’t think I can leave the house without fucking her again.
“Do good girls also get to ask questions?” she wants to know.
“That depends,” I say. “What kind of questions?”
She shrugs.
“Just random things,” she says. “Like we’re having a conversation.”
“Alright,” I say, sensing danger. “But I can’t promise answers.”
She smiles at me, and I hate the effect it has on me.
“What’s your name?” she wants to know. “That one should be easy to answer.”
I furrow my eyebrows at her. Telling her my name would be another breach of our contract. She knows that I chose to remain anonymous and that there’s no reason for us to exchange names. She’s to call me Master and I will call her Pet. We don’t need any names besides those.
It’s bad enough that I called her by her agency name a few days ago. It was a dumb slip-up, a mistake made in the heat of the moment. But I’m in my right mind now, calm and collected, and not in the mood to add further confusion to the situation.
“You know I can’t tell you that,” I tell her. “And I won’t.”
Chapter 33
Liana
So, he can’t tell me his name?
You know that.
Again, he’s implying that I know something that I actually don’t. It’s satisfying to realize that I must be right about my assumption, but it also scares me.
I scare myself. I’m not using this information like a sane person should, but instead I’ve started to dig a hole for myself. Isn’t there a chance that he will find out about his mistake? And what about the other woman? What about the real Ruby Red? If she still expecting to be ‘kidnapped’ by him? And at what point, when it doesn‘t happen, will she contact him? Shouldn’t there be a woman out there who’s just as confused as I am? As confused as I am about being here, this other woman must be just as confused about not being here.
“I know you can’t tell me,” I lie to him. “But I thought we could make an exception.”
He shakes his head, his facial expression hardening. “We can’t.”
“You’re stubborn,” I tell him, watching him with intent to make sure I’m not going too far.
“No,” he objects, averting my eyes and focusing on the food in front of him. “I’m not stubborn, just strict. Flexibility is not really my thing when it comes to rules. Another thing you should know.”
“You made an exception with this,” I say, gesturing toward the food. “And with giving me clothes. Didn’t you say those things weren’t part of the game either?”
“Game?” he asks, sneering at me. “Stop calling it that.”
I bite my lower lip. Okay, that one went too far. I have to be more careful, if I don’t want him to cut the conversation short again.
“So, um, are you living here by yourself?” I ask, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, which only makes my question sound even more stupid.
He furrows his eyebrows at me again.
“Well, not at the moment,” he says. “You’re here, too.”
I roll my eyes at him, something that would usually make him furious, but this time it causes him to laugh. This must be the first time I’ve ever seen him laugh out loud like this. There’s never been more than a quick chuckle or a smirk before.
I smile at him, which causes his face to harden.
“So, it’s just you otherwise?” I press, unwilling to let go of my line of questioning.
He nods. “Yes, it’s just me.”
“Isn’t it weird to live in such a big house all by yourself?” I ask. “Doesn’t it get lonely?”
“A lot of people live by themselves,” he says. “That doesn’t mean they are lonely.”
I nod. “Yes, sure, but-”
“Do you live by yourself?” he interrupts me.
I bring the coffee mug up to my face, taking a big sip, as if I was trying to hide behind it. My first instinct is to deny it and tell him that I’m living with my boyfriend. It’s not even because I want to lie to him, but because that’s what still pops into my head when I’m asked about my living situation. Luke and I haven’t been living together for that long, but it felt so natural to me that I still can’t believe it’s over.
“Yes, I do,” I say. “As of late.”
“And are you lonely?” he wants to know.
I pause, placing the mug back on the table, absentmindedly turning it on the small bottom plate. The sun rays are playing on the cutlery, randomly blinding me with sharp flashes of light as he moves his fork and knife before me.
“Yes,” I whisper solemnly without looking at him. “Yes, I am lonely.”
I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t reciprocate the gaze. I don’t even know why I’m telling him this. He doesn’t want to hear my little sob story. He just wants to have fun with his little sex slave and not be burdened with her emotional luggage.
He doesn’t say a word, but reaches for his own coffee mug, taking his sweet time sipping from it. This is awkward for him, and he doesn’t know how to react.
“This was my grandparents’ house,” he says after a few more moments of uncomfortable silence have passed between us. “I used to live here with them, partly grew up here. It feels more like home to me than any other place.”
He pauses, waiting for me to lift my chin to look at him. Our eyes meet across the table, our gazes speaking silently to one another. His face speaks of concern and empathy. Even if he’s only faking it to make me feel better, he’s doing a really good job at it.
“Maybe that’s why I don’t feel lonely,” he adds, his words heavy with meaning. “Despite the vast and empty halls. Every room echoes voices from the past. It’s hard to feel alone among them.”
I’m struck by how beautiful his words are, just like the man who spoke them. It’s hard to imagine that this is the same man who enslaved me, the same man who locked me up, who whips and spanks me, and who fucks me like a savage.
“Your grandparents?” I ask. “You lived here with your grandparents?”
He nods. “Yes, they moved to Florida and gave this house to me.”
“What about your parents?” I want to know.
His face changes, and now he’s the one who’s avoiding my eyes.
“They’re gone,” he says. “Not much to say about them.”
“I’m sorry, I-”
“Don’t worry, it happened a long time ago. I was still a kid,” he says. “It doesn’t bother me.”
He takes a big bite of his toast and looks at me squarely, burying any hint of sadness that might have been there a second before.
“What about your parents?” he asks.
I’m confused at his question. He has never asked me anything personal, and I didn’t expect him to, especially after I found out that he thinks I’m just a whore he bought for his pleasure.
“They‘re alive,” I reply. “I think.”
He chuckles. “You think?”
“Well, the sperm donor who’s supposed t
o be my father did nothing but drink and hit me and my mother until she finally had the guts to kick him out when I was nine,” I tell him. “And my mother married another asshole shortly after that and had another kid with him. He’s not as bad as my father used to be, but he hates me and I hate him. They are still up in Maine, we barely talk.”
“So you’re not from here?”
I shake my head. “No, I moved here for a job.”
He turns to me, drawing in his eyebrows as his casts me a skeptical look.
Damn, that was stupid. Who would move to a different state just to become a whore?
“Er, not this job,” I correct myself. “I mean, it-”
“I don’t need to know,” he interrupts me. “But I’m sorry to hear about your family.”
Now he’s the one trying to console me just like I did for him before.
We continue to eat in silence for a few moments. There’s so much more I want to know about him. There was such a deep sadness behind his words when he talked about this house and how its halls are filled with voices from the past. I wonder if those voices also echo fights and yelling, as they would in my family’s home.
“How did your parents die?” I dare to ask, certain that he will deny me a response.
“Car accident,” he says. “My father was wasted and drove their car into a ravine. Killed them both, but luckily no one else was hurt. I was with my grandparents at the time.”
“Fuck,” I gasp, unable to come up with a better remark.
“Amen to that,” he says. “Guess we both have that in common, fucked-up fathers.”
He casts me a weird look, questioning, searching, as if he was trying to find something else hidden behind my exterior.
“I guess so,” I say, raising my coffee mug to him in a toast.
Chapter 34
Joseph
