by Sykes, Julia
She was terrified to realize that she was coming to see it as just that: a reward for enduring what he gave her. He wanted her to willingly accept what he did to her, to beg him to use her so she could attain that sweet release.
Even she didn’t understand how she was clinging on to her last vestiges of defiance.
She didn’t know how long she had been trapped in her prison, but she was beginning to fear that no one was coming to her rescue. Her family hadn’t known where she was on the night she was taken; they would have been disgusted if they found out she was exploring the BDSM lifestyle. And her slim hope that one of her friends from the club had witnessed her abduction was waning. She had left the club fairly early, and no one else had been in the parking lot when she walked out to her car. The last thing she remembered was retrieving her keys from her purse before something sharp pierced her neck and the world disappeared.
Even more upsetting was the realization that it would have been her family who reported her missing rather than her friends at the club. No one from her “real life” knew about her forays into the world of BDSM, and it was unlikely anyone would trace her disappearance to the club. Her friends in the lifestyle didn’t even know her last name.
Despite her fear that she wouldn’t escape her hellish new reality, she still resisted her captor. He had mentioned others that he had tortured before her. They had died.
Once, she had tried to die. But he wouldn’t let her.
He allowed her to refuse food and water to the point that she was so weakened she could barely move. Then he took advantage of her weakness, forcing sustenance down her throat. Once he had revived her, he hurt her worse than ever. It was one of the first times he had really damaged her, striking her with a cane until her skin broke and wept blood.
She ate and drank compliantly after that, but she still fought him every time he tried to take her, her battered body doing its best to resist him. If she ever managed to land a blow on him, she would be returned to the cage when he was finished with her. Otherwise, he kept her secure with a manacle around her ankle. It was attached to the wall by a short chain, but it gave her the freedom of movement she needed to reach the toilet and the showerhead. He insisted that she wash herself, and although she wanted to defy him, she hated the feel of grime on her skin.
She had abandoned the notion of privacy in her first few days of incarceration. He had taken her clothes so that she never had the option of hiding her body from him. She had never been shy about being naked; she used to be a bit of an exhibitionist. But the sensation of his eyes studying her flesh made her skin crawl. It was just one more of her pleasures he had corrupted.
He had taken so much from her, but he hadn’t taken her free will, her defiance. Not until the day that he brought in his Mentor.
She heard the dreaded creak of the door opening at the top of the stairs, and she closed her eyes in anticipation of the light that would sear them.
“Keep your eyes closed, whore. If you look at me, I’ll make sure you never see anything again. And if I hear you utter one word without express permission, I’ll cut out your tongue.”
The man’s voice was unfamiliar to her, and although his timbre was warm and rich, his words chilled her to the core.
The insides of her eyelids flared red as the light was flipped on, but she kept them shuttered. She already dreaded seeing the man who had made her life a living hell, so it wasn’t difficult to avoid the sight of him. What was more difficult to resist was the impulse to identify the new man who was entering her prison.
“But Sir. She’s my property. I like how she looks. I don’t want her permanently damaged.” She recognized the voice of her jailor, and she was shocked to realize he sounded almost petulant.
“Do you want a pretty whore or an obedient slave?” The new man asked harshly. “You’ve had her for nearly two months, and she has yet to call you ‘Master.’” He sighed. “I have to admit I’m disappointed in you. I thought I had taught you better than this.”
“The others broke,” her tormentor said defensively.
The man who she would come to think of as “the Mentor” spoke disparagingly. “Yes, but the others didn’t survive, did they? You chose this one because she was special. I would say you’ve chosen well if it weren’t apparent that you have no idea how to truly master a woman. You should have taken great pleasure in breaking this one, but instead you’ve allowed her to frustrate you and defy you at every turn.”
“Yes. I know that.” Her captor struggled to keep his tone deferential, but frustration bled into it. “That’s why I’ve asked for your help.”
The Mentor’s voice was low and soft. “If you don’t remember to speak to me with proper respect, I’ll take her for myself. Then you can find another toy that breaks easily and wastes away in a matter of weeks. If you keep going through them at the rate you have been, people are going to start taking notice. And I won’t save you if they come for you. I’ll put you down before they can even get to you. I will not allow you to take me down with you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry.” His tone was so meek, she barely recognized the speaker as her jailor.
“Don’t make me regret my decision to teach you how to channel your urges. You’ve only survived this long because of what I’ve given you. I’ve never been known for benevolence, and I’ve already afforded you any scraps of it that I might possess.” The Mentor’s voice was flat, devoid of any emotion. It was more chilling than her captor’s cruel bark or enraged shouts.
“And I’m so grateful for that, Sir. I won’t fuck up again. That’s why I need your help. Please.” She was shocked to realize his words were ragged with fear.
Oh, god. If he was frightened of the Mentor, what might the man do to her?
“I have to admit your attempts with the heroin were a good idea. It will prove an effective way to ensure her loyalty. But only once you break her. You’ve demanded she call you ‘Master,’ but you stop giving her pain before she does so. Why would she give in when you can’t follow through on your threats?” The Mentor spoke disparagingly, and he sounded more than a little disappointed.
“String her up,” he ordered his student. “And if you want your eyes to remain in your head, I suggest you keep them closed, whore,” he warned her.
She did as he commanded, keeping her eyes shut tight when her captor grasped her wrists, pulling her up. That didn’t mean she was going without a fight. She jerked against his hold, trying to kick out at him. Her blindness and her terrified trembling rendered her efforts laughably ineffective.
But neither man laughed. She would have preferred that cold, cruel sound to the way they spoke about her as though she wasn’t even there, as though she wasn’t a person.
She was already crying by the time the manacles encircled her wrists and her body was stretched taut so that her toes were barely touching the floor. Her captor usually restrained her with padded cuffs to avoid breaking the skin, but this time cold metal bit into her.
Her eyes flew open when the bullwhip cracked across her back for the first time. She wasn’t sure which man had struck her; they were both standing behind her, out of her line of sight.
But she wasn’t thinking of them in that moment. Her mind was completely overwhelmed by the shocking, searing line of fire that licked across her back. The blow robbed her of her breath, and she wasn’t even able to scream out her pain.
Her screams began soon enough.
Blood streamed down her back and legs in hot rivulets as the men punished her flesh with the whip, cutting at her with impunity. She wanted to beg them to stop, but the agony was so all-encompassing that she was incapable of forming words.
She had thought her entire world had been misery before, but now she truly understood how merciful her captor had been with her. The pain assaulted her relentlessly, until her mind couldn’t recall a time before the pain had become her existence. She was powerless to resist its onslaught, and she was so tired of fi
ghting. She couldn’t remember why she had been fighting. It was such a pointless endeavor.
She surrendered to the agony, accepting that there was nothing else in her world. Her screams ceased, but she wasn’t aware of it; her own voice had long since lost its significance.
Her captor’s voice was at her ear, oozing into her battered mind with insidious intent.
“Do you want your Master to end your pain?”
Yes. Yes, she wanted that more than anything. She hadn’t even thought that possible. A low whine escaped her in an attempt to answer in the affirmative.
“Beg me, slave.”
She swallowed, struggling to remember how to form words.
“Please,” she forced out her final words raggedly. “Please make it stop, Master.”
Cool, heavy metal encircled my neck, and the click of the lock resounded in my ears, a sound of finality. The tears I wept were joyful as the needle pierced my skin, blessing me with sweet oblivion.
Chapter 3
When lucidity returned to me, the horrors of my past were blotted out by fear of my present. The internal fire had been doused, and the prickling of my skin had abated. The persistent pain had been replaced by a pervasive ache that left my muscles feeling weak and watery.
I didn’t have to open my eyes to know he was there. My new Master.
It didn’t seem he would grant me the merciful loneliness afforded to me by my former master. He was always there. He had remained with me to witness the entirety of my torment.
And now that he had allowed the pain to abate, he was sure to want my body.
His thumb brushed against my sore, cracked lips.
“Open up, sweetheart. You need to drink this.”
His words were so tender that I wanted to cry. It was so much easier to accept abuse when orders were delivered as detached commands.
But it didn’t matter that I was upset and frightened.
Don’t think.
I parted my lips obediently, opening my jaw wide to accept his cock. I kept my eyes closed and braced myself for the salty taste of his pre-cum on my tongue.
“Close,” the order was a growl.
There was nothing in my mouth. Was he simply testing my obedience?
Don’t think. Obey.
But that mantra was becoming difficult to follow. My mind was clearer than it had been since the day I had come into existence, and I dreaded that this new acuity would make my reality that much harder to endure.
Now it was fear rather than hope for a reward that prompted my compliance. I pressed my lips together, only to realize that something small and round had been placed between them. My eyes opened of their own accord, my long-forgotten curiosity driving me to discern what was happening to me.
I knew better than to meet his silver eyes, but I perceived that his beautiful features were taut with anger. I had done what he had asked. How had I displeased him?
My eyes began to burn. I hoped he enjoyed the sight of my tears as much as my former master.
He brushed the wetness from my cheeks with a feather-light touch.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart.”
I took a deep breath through my nose, trying my best to push down my emotions.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
I blinked rapidly, clearing my vision until I could see the dark stubble on his strong jaw once again.
He sighed heavily, and the downward twist of his mouth seemed almost sad.
“Look at me.” His voice was cajoling rather than commanding, but the power in his tone communicated that it was an order nonetheless.
My eyes snapped up to meet his. My mind couldn’t comprehend the unfamiliar, soft light in them.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said firmly. “I need you to drink this. It’s just diluted Gatorade. You need the electrolytes.”
I had no idea what that meant, but I realized that the object between my lips was a straw. While his soft expression confused me, it was easy enough to understand his words.
Drink this, or I will hurt you.
Suppressing the urge to tear my gaze from his, I obediently took a pull of whatever liquid it was that he wanted me to drink. It didn’t matter what it was; I was going to drink it. I was too terrified of his capriciousness to do otherwise.
The lushly flavored liquid washed through my parched mouth and down my sore throat like the sweetest elixir. I drew in more and more, suddenly eager to comply with his order. God, it tasted so good. I hadn’t drunk anything but water in longer than I could remember, and that had been hard with minerals. This was sweet and somehow bright. It tasted like joy.
All too soon, he pulled the drink away from me. I could feel that my disappointment was evident in my expression, but I didn’t protest.
“You can have more in a little while, sweetheart,” he told me gently. “I don’t want you to drink so much that it makes you sick.”
He hadn’t given me permission to speak, but I knew I was supposed to thank him. I actually wanted to thank him. I was beginning to have an inkling of what that light in his eyes meant: it was kindness. And I craved more of that even more acutely than I wanted more of the sweet drink.
I was ready to give my body to him, but I was shocked to realize that I was wearing some sort of thin cotton gown. I wasn’t supposed to hide my body from my Master. Grasping at the garment’s hem, I shifted so I could tug it up over my legs and bare myself for him.
The gown only slid a few inches up my thighs before he took my wrists in his hands, halting my progress.
“What are you doing?” His tone was gentle, but his eyes had turned hard. I shrank back from him, but I wasn’t allowed to look away.
“I-” My voice caught in my throat.
Look at him. Don’t cry.
“I’m sorry I covered my body. I want to thank you, Master.”
His brows drew together, but his grip on my wrists didn’t tighten with his anger. When he spoke, his voice wasn’t harsh, but it was deep and imbued with authority.
“Let’s get a few things straight, girl. If you want to thank me, all you have to do is say ‘thank you.’ And you have every right to wear clothes.”
I frowned slightly, confused. I had no concept of having rights.
“Let me be clearer: you don’t have permission to remove your clothes. You are not allowed to do anything for me – or anyone else – that is sexual. I’m not going to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you. Tell me you understand that.”
I didn’t understand. Nothing he was saying made any sense. What did he want me for if he didn’t desire me for sexual pleasure or to take pleasure from hurting me?
But he hadn’t asked me whether or not I understood; he had ordered me to tell him that I did.
“I understand, Master.”
“I’ve told you not to call me that.” Given the harshness of his expression, I expected him to snap at me. But his voice remained cool and controlled. “My name is Smith. Smith James. I’m a Special Agent with the FBI. I found you at the BDSM club Decadence when we went in on a drugs bust. Do you remember that?”
I cast my mind back, shying away from my hazy recollections of my former life to find the disjointed memories of the night I had met my new Master. They were steeped in pain and fear, but I could clearly remember the first time I had seen his remarkable eyes.
“Yes, Ma-” I stopped myself just in time. “Yes. I remember.” He had told me his name, but he hadn’t given me permission to use it.
“You’ve been very sick for a long time, sweetheart,” he informed me gently. “We brought you to St. Paul’s Hope for detox and rehab. You’ve gotten through the withdrawal period, so the hardest part is over. I need you to understand that the pain of the withdrawals wasn’t a punishment.”
Detox? Withdrawals?
The significance of his words began to coalesce in my mind: I wasn’t going to get my reward again. I wasn’t sure if the emotion that flooded me was relief at the fact that denial could no longer be
wielded against me as a punishment, or grief that I would never again be granted that release from reality. My chest heaved as my confusion overwhelmed me.
Look at him. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry…
But I couldn’t follow both orders. If I couldn’t break from his gaze, then I couldn’t blink back the tears. I shuddered in dread as they spilled down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I gasped out.
His hand cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing at the wetness there. “It’s okay. I’m going to help you get through this,” he said softly. “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”
“I can’t help it,” I choked back a sob as I stared into his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
He cursed under his breath. I braced myself for the blow that I knew was coming, but – to my utter shock – he wrapped his arms around me instead.
“You can cry as much as you want, girl. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
He held me against him, his hand cupping the nape of my neck so my face was pressed against his chest. With his permission, I let myself go. I cried and cried until his white collared shirt was thoroughly soaked with my tears, and he held me until my wracking sobs finally quieted.
The comfort I found in his embrace was jarring. I didn’t understand my new Master at all, but I was eager to do whatever he asked of me if it meant he would give me more of this.
Master only pulled away from me when someone cleared his throat loudly. He lowered me back down onto the hospital bed, but he kept one of my hands held firmly in his.
The stranger’s imposing form filled the doorway. He wasn’t quite as broad as Master, but he was a few inches taller. Although he held no appeal for me, he was undeniably handsome, with carefully-styled dark blond hair and striking blue eyes. They flashed as he frowned at Master censoriously, and I could sense the same forbidding power that emanated from Master pulsing around him.
I shivered and gripped Master’s hand tightly, instinctively seeking his protection. The stranger didn’t miss my small show of fear, and his eyes softened as they focused on me. I dropped my gaze, hoping he wouldn’t be angry with me for openly studying him. My renewed interest in my surroundings that had returned with my mental clarity might get me into trouble.
