by Linnea May
I check the time once we’re done eating our food, and I‘m relieved to see that I still have a few minutes before I have to get on my way to Boston.
Time has flown by while we were sitting here eating together. We have been downstairs for more than an hour, but it didn’t feel like any time had passed at all. Talking to her comes so easily to me, it feels natural, right. I shouldn’t be surprised to learn what I did about her family‘s past. No girl ends up as an escort if she grew up in a healthy family environment. There’s always something wrong with them, and just like in her case, it’s most often the father to blame.
I guess the same could be said about me, but I refrain from blaming my father for anything that I’ve done or who I’ve become. He doesn’t deserve the attention. He hasn’t even earned the right to be blamed for my misdeeds.
I pour us another coffee, not ready to return Ruby to her room upstairs. This will be an exception. I won’t bring her downstairs again because it would be a stupid thing for me to do. But since it’s just this one time, I might as well make the most of it.
She’s holding on to her coffee mug, looking so innocent, almost too prim and proper in the outfit I gave her to wear, and it’s hard to believe she’s a prostitute. She strikes me as too smart and timid for that profession. I wonder what was really behind it.
Maybe she’s in trouble? A good girl who made a bad decision, or somehow got caught up in some kind of shady business and now owes a bunch of money to some bad people, perhaps?
Or maybe she simply enjoys it, though knowing her as I do, I can’t believe that.
I would love to ask her, but that would be such a big breach. We can talk about our families, but not about her real job, and definitely not about the reason why she’s here.
“There’s something else I’m curious about,” she says, casting me a cautious look.
“I’m not surprised to hear that,” I say, leaning back in my chair, as I beckon her to continue speaking. “What is it?”
“Your tattoos,” she says. “They are quite… peculiar.”
I smile to myself. “That’s an interesting word for it.”
“What do they mean?” she adds. “I mean, why did you get those particular ones?”
I hesitate, looking at her as I contemplate my answer. The truth may scare her, and it would tell her a lot more about me, and I’m not sure that I want to share. I’d rather say nothing than to lie to her.
“They remind me of something,” I say, deliberately being vague in my answer. “Or rather of someone.”
“Your father?” she guesses.
I snort.
“Fuck no,” I say. “He doesn’t deserve to be remembered.”
“Well, who then?” Ruby presses, leaning forward with interest.
“Myself,” I tell her. “They remind me of the person I used to be but no longer want to be.”
Her eyes flicker with anxious fascination. “What kind of person?”
“An angry person, very angry,” I reply. “I was an angry child, and I wasn’t very good at handling my emotions. I let it out on other people.”
“So you beat up other kids?”
“Yes, a lot,” I confirm. “I constantly was getting into trouble, and I wasn’t shy about using my fists. I’ve always been tall and strong, and I used it to my advantage. I did some real damage.”
That’s the understatement of the year, but she doesn’t need to hear the entire truth. She doesn’t need to know that I almost killed another boy when I was sixteen. She doesn’t need to know that I robbed him of his ability to walk for the rest of his life, and she doesn’t need to know that I took out an eye from another kid shortly before that. Those two were only the tip of the iceberg, but they were also the last ones.
I will never get those images out of my head, no matter how hard I try. They will haunt me forever. The boy, lying on the floor before me in a puddle of his own blood, motionless, so badly ravaged that I wasn’t the only one who thought he was dead. He survived, his life was changed forever, while I continue to walk the Earth being able to use both of my legs. No amount of money that my family paid out to him will ever make up for the fact that he will never walk again. He can’t forget about that day, and when I - with the help of my grandfather - decided to make a change in my life, I wanted to make sure that I could never forget about it either.
The marks on my skin resemble the scars left on my victims. They aren’t pretty, and they don’t look anything like the kinds of tattoo men usually get, but they serve a purpose. They aren’t designed to be vain decorations, but rather to help me never to forget.
“So you really hurt people?” she asks, her voice tight and concerned.
I nod. “Yes, I really hurt people.”
Ruby’s eyes are locked on me, observing me. I can see her mind working, processing what I just explained. She doesn’t look scared, but only because she’s working so hard at hiding it.
“I don’t anymore,” I tell her. “And I would never hurt you.”
She takes a deep breath, relaxing her shoulders a little.
“I want to believe that,” she says, sounding anything but convinced.
Seeing her like this drives me insane. That real and raw fear pervading her entire being. She’s too good of an actress - or too tricked into thinking that all of this is real. I don’t want her to feel this way, not like this. It fucking bothers me.
“You can trust me on that,” I tell her, reaching for her hand on the table. She doesn’t flinch, but welcomes my touch as a reassurance, intertwining her fingers with mine as she smiles at me.
“I have no choice, do I?” she says.
The smile on her face is lined with sadness. I wish she wouldn’t look at me like that.
“Will you let me clear the table?” she asks, nodding toward the dishes in front of us.
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Why?”
“I would like to,” she says, shrugging. “I haven’t done anything since I… got here. I’d like to be useful.”
“You are useful to me,” I tell her. “Very much so.”
The blush that rises on her cheeks is so much more appealing than her frightened sorrow from before.
“Alright, if it makes you happy, clear the table,” I say.
Ruby smiles as she gets up from her seat, gathering our plates and carrying them over to the kitchen as my eyes follow her. She knows that I’m watching her, and she makes sure to move her hips in a way that emphasizes her round ass in those tight jeans I bought for her. I knew she’d look delicious in them.
She deliberately bends over, taunting me by poking her ass out as she places the dishes on the counter top. The effect it has on me is clearly visible in my crotch. I rub across the hardness between my legs, checking my watch one more time.
“You said you wanted to be useful,” I say, as I get up from my chair to follow her to where she’s standing in the kitchen.
She turns around to face me, a mischievous smirk brightening her pretty face when she sees me unbuckling my belt.
Chapter 35
Liana
He left. This is the first time he’s left the house since I’ve been here, at least as far as I know. He could have left at times when I was taking a nap. I have so little to do, and I am often so exhausted from the things we do together that midday naps have become a habit.
Today is different. I was still stirred up from our shower session when he took me downstairs to have breakfast with him. He may think that I was trying to be a good girl for him, but when he fucked me on the kitchen counter, it really was all about me. I took what I needed from him, savoring it as he rammed his considerable length inside me, climaxing in record time.
He looked confused when I thanked him afterward, but equally pleased. He never mentioned anything about leaving, but now that I see a car driving away, I’m all the more happy about that kitchen quickie. I so desperately needed it, and I hate the longing sadn
ess that overcomes me as I realize I’m alone.
The windows in my room are facing in such a way that it tells me very little about this house and its location. I cannot see the entrance or the driveway from here, but I can guess that it must be to the left, around the corner.
I wonder why he didn’t tell me that he was leaving. Does he not want me to realize that I’m here by myself?
After he fucked me in the kitchen, he urged me to go back to my room immediately, not even letting me finish up clearing the table.
“It will be dealt with,” he said when I asked about it, and I figured that he meant that he would take care of it. But he left just a few moments after locking the door to my room, visibly in a hurry.
I’m standing at the window, looking out across the vast landscape surrounding the mansion. I wonder if he’d tell me where we are if I ask. It’s very unlikely, and I have a feeling that this is just another part of the deal, not knowing where we are. If this is all a paid and planned set-up, I’m pretty sure there’s also a time frame attached to it. A time frame I’m supposed to know about, so I can’t ask him about that either.
A part of me wishes I really was the woman he ordered, or at least that I knew what she knows about this. She probably knows a lot more about him, too. His name, his age, his occupation, mundane stuff like that.
Not knowing bothers me. I may have figured out bits and pieces, but I still have so many questions. And even worse, I feel myself getting attached to this man, and I’m sure that’s definitely not part of the deal.
It’s just a twist of fate that I’m here under his control instead of the woman he originally thought he was getting. Me of all people. In my mind, I’ve been traveling to dark places like what this whole experience has been like, many times before. I’ve touched myself to the fantasies buzzing in my brain of being bound and forced to obey. I’ve begged Luke to spank and choke me when we were together, but he was appalled by me, and he told me I was broken and sick.
I always knew I wasn’t normal, and I knew I wasn’t attracted to normal. I stayed with Luke because I hoped those dark desires would go away. If you act normal long enough, it must become part of the routine, right?
Now since this man took me, it has reversed all my efforts to become normal, peeling away layer after layer to reveal the warped mind underneath. And I’m beginning to love every moment of it. I don’t want to lose it. I want to know how much further we can go together, how deep this can get.
My hand wanders up to my empty throat, tracing along the lines where the collar used to be. He never put it back on after bringing me back upstairs. I wonder if this morning was the beginning of our goodbye? Is he preparing me for my departure?
Just as I want to turn away from the window and retreat to the bed for another nap, something catches my attention. It’s a car arriving at the house. I barely ever see cars on the country road passing by the house, and if I do, they’re usually just driving by.
My first hope is that he’s returning, but I realize it’s not his car. This one is red and doesn’t look nearly as expensive as the one he was driving. And it’s slowing down in front of the house, disappearing from my view.
I hurry over to the door to my room, closing my eyes and pressing my ear against the crack of the doorframe to listen for possible movement downstairs.
My eyes open wide when I actually hear the sound of a heavy door opening and closing. It must be the front door. I hold my breath when I can hear footsteps moving around on the first floor. They sound different than the steps I hear when he’s moving around in the house. These are faster and smaller, and they are loud on the tiled floor in the entrance area. Heels. It must be a woman.
I take a deep breath, focusing on the sound as the steps fade away. I’m not familiar enough with the floor plan of the house to know where the person might be heading, but I can tell that she isn’t coming upstairs.
This could be it. My first chance to speak to another person since arriving here. My chance to get all the answers I’m seeking.
My chance to get away.
And yet, I don’t make a sound. I don’t scream for help. I don’t bang against the door. I just sit there, on my floor, in the room that has become my prison for the past two weeks.
Quietly waiting until I hear the front door open and close again, watching from the window as the red car drives away from the house. Leaving me here alone again.
Chapter 36
Joseph
I should have known that I’m not good at making exceptions. Exceptions tend to become the rule in my case. They don’t call it a slippery slope for nothing.
It’s day thirteen, two days since I removed her training collar and brought her downstairs with me to have breakfast together like a freaking married couple.
And now I’m doing it again. I’m making a fuss about something that is heavy with meaning, as if this was a true relationship, but should be nothing more in our case than a simple transition.
Tonight, she will receive a new collar, a permanent one that she won’t be able to take off. Not until our time together comes to an end. The fact that there is a definite end to our arrangement is the difference. I hate thinking about it.
She earned her collar, unlike many others before her. It’s my way of showing her that she’s truly special to me, even if the gesture goes beyond her understanding.
I know she misses it, she’s been asking about it, mentioning that her neck feels ‘weirdly bare’ now that I took it off. She cast me questioning looks all day yesterday, probably wondering if she gave me any reason to be unsatisfied with her. Taking the collar feels like a punishment to her, which shows that she’s ready for the next step.
But I don’t know if she fully understands the meaning behind a more permanent collar, or if she’ll feel the same way once she realizes she won’t be able to take it off.
She has received clear instructions, and I can rely on her newfound willingness to obey. I told her to put on the slinky red dress and doll herself up a little. This time, she will wear a sexy pair of stockings under her dress, and this time she’ll beg me to fuck her once we’re done with everything else.
She’ll be my queen tonight, until it’s time to treat her otherwise.
While I do cook on a regular basis, in no way am I capable of creating something special enough for the occasion, so I make another exception and ask my personal chef to stop by in the afternoon to prepare a meal for us. Something light yet elaborate, the exact opposite of my style of cooking.
I’m wearing the same suit I wore two days ago, knowing that she’ll appreciate it. The way she looked at me suggested that she liked it a lot, and it was confirmed when she invited me to fuck her for a second time that morning. She’s turning into such a perfect little pet that I’m already dreading the day when I’ll have to let her go.
She’s kneeling in the middle of the room, wearing the red dress that hugs her slim frame so tightly that she’s forced to keep her legs closed in a modest way. Her chin lifts when she hears me approaching, but her eyes don’t open until I kiss her, silently giving her permission to look at me.
“You look beautiful,” I praise her. “Wait here.”
She’s well-behaved enough to not turn her head when I walk over to the connected room to fetch something else from the cabinet that she’ll wear during our dinner.
“Get up,” I order her once I step back inside her room, watching as she gets up on her feet. She’s wearing the heels I took from her on the first day because I knew they would look good with the dress. Her hair is styled in a pinned up-do, another thing I asked her to do.
“You’ve been complaining about your neck being so bare these past two days,” I begin, while I circle around her, taking in her breathtaking view before I come to a halt in front of her.
She’s smiling at me, beaming with joyful anticipation.
“Am I getting it back?” she asks.
I shake my h
ead, not missing the hint of disappointment on her face.
“No,” I tell her. “You’re getting something nicer.”
Her face lights up when I reach inside the pocket of my suit jacket, producing a new collar for her to wear. It’s a black leather collar, just like the one she had before, but this one has a heart-shaped lock at the front instead of a simple d-ring.
“The first one was just a training collar,” I tell her. “This one is different. This says you’re mine. You won’t be able to take it off on your own.”
“I never took off the other one either,” she says, her eyes casting back and forth between me and the collar in my hand.
“Yes, that’s why you deserve this one,” I continue. “You’ve been a very good girl for me. I’m a pleased Master, ready to collar my pet.”
Her breathing changes when I step forward to lock the collar around her neck. She’s panting with excitement, her gray-blue eyes sparkling with anticipation as my hands caress the sensitive skin around her neck.
A sigh escapes her lush lips when the lock clicks shut. I don’t need a key to close it, just to open it, and if everything goes according to plan, I won’t open this lock before another twenty-six days have passed. That’s when the contract ends and I will have to let her go, something I need to keep reminding myself of because it seems too hard to believe.
“Thank you,” she breathes, radiating a happiness that is so raw and honest, that I truly want to believe its sincerity.
“Thank you for being such a good pet,” I tell her. “Earning your submission is a pleasure.”
With her, it really feels like I had to earn it, despite the knowledge that she’s going to be paid handsomely for this. She made me fight for it, she made me do things I’d normally never even consider. She deserves so much more than this.
“We’re having dinner downstairs tonight to mark the special occasion,” I let her know. “But before we go, there’s something else I want you to wear.”
She nods without knowing what I might be referring to, and I’m sure she’s expecting some kind of jewelry.
