The VIOLENT Series: The Complete Boxed Set

by Linnea May

  “Shave yourself,” I command her, after she’s already spent a significant amount of time under the hot water.

  She casts me an indignant look, and I can see the spark of revolt blossoming in her face, before she bites her lower lip and reaches for the razor.

  “Take your time,” I soothe her. “Do it thoroughly.”

  She mumbles something back at me, but her words are low enough to be drowned out by the running water.

  “I want you smooth,” I add to my order. “Every part of you. Every single day. Do you understand?”

  I raise my voice, so she can hear me. She does hear me, but instead of giving the reply she’s supposed to give, she just sneers at me for a brief moment.

  Bad girl.

  She follows the order precisely, moving very slowly and with caution. I can tell that she’s trying to prolong her time under the shower, because there she feels safe from me. But she can’t stay in there forever.

  “I think you’re done,” I say, after so much time has passed that the entire bathroom has turned into a steam bath. “Turn off the water and get out.”

  She hesitates for a moment, standing with her back to me while basking in the last drops of the beloved shower. She can have this every day if she behaves. If she behaves.

  I get up from my seat and fetch one of the big plush towels for her, while she finally turns off the water as I instructed. She doesn’t open the glass door of the shower, but waits for me to do it.

  “Please,” she breathes when I approach her. “Please don’t hurt me, Master.”

  Her voice is so weak, so frightened, suppressing another round of tears. It feels as if she truly fears me.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” I promise. “I’m just going to dry you off. Turn around.”

  She sighs, her breath trembling the same as her voice and body. The makeup she wore must not have been waterproof, as most of it has disappeared, leaving only a small hint of black smudge around her blue eyes. Just like everything else, her eye color is not an ordinary blue, but underlined with hints of gray. This is the first time that I notice, now that she’s standing in bright light and it’s hitting her from a different angle than before.

  “I’m not going to touch you,” I tell her. “Just stay still.”

  She nods. I want to believe that her shivering is not only because of her fear for me, but because she’s getting cold now that the shower is turned off.

  I go down on my knees before her, something that she won’t see often. It’s a gesture that serves a purpose. I don’t know if she’s just an incredibly good actress, or if she’s actually afraid of me, but in any case, I need to gain her trust. She needs to know that I stay true to my words, the good and the bad.

  I told her that I wouldn’t touch her, and I won’t. When I begin to dab the water off her body, I make sure that there’s no direct skin to skin contact. The towel is always between us, never exposing her to my touch, no matter if I travel along her ankles, her slim legs, her soft thighs, her alluring core, or the curves of her perfect breasts.

  I can sense her relaxing more and more with every inch. Her growing trust is palpable.

  “Lift your arms,” I tell her, and she obeys immediately.

  I finish drying her off, gently lowering her arms when I wrap the giant towel around her shoulders.

  “You may wrap this around you, if you feel more comfortable,” I whisper in her ear. “But you’re not putting on any clothes just yet.”

  She doesn’t give me a reply, but wraps the towel around herself, hiding her beautiful body from my hungry eyes.

  “Did you enjoy that shower?” I want to know.

  She nods. “Yes.”

  “What do good girls say?”

  A frown fleets across her face. “Yes, Master.”

  I lift an eyebrow at her. “Almost. I just gave you a treat. Don’t you think you should thank me?”

  Her eyes flicker with hatred. She’s brilliant. The agency really did an excellent job this time.

  “Thank you, Master,” she hisses. And even though her words aren’t heartfelt, I let her go for now.

  “You’re welcome, Pet,” I say. “Come with me.”

  I lead her by hooking my finger in the ring on her collar, wishing I had taken the leash with me so I could do this properly.

  Later.

  She holds on tightly to the towel wrapped around her body, her face apathetic and hard to read, as she follows me into the next room.

  Chapter 15

  Liana

  I know very little about what a person is to do in a situation like this, and I curse myself for it. There are so many warnings out there, so many self-defense classes for women, so many “how-to” videos that could have taught me some valuable tips. Tips to escape, tips to stay strong and sane, tips to outwit him so that I can create a chance to escape.

  But I know nothing. I am helpless and completely at his mercy. It would be easy to escape his grip as he leads me by pulling at the collar, but where would it get me? If I started running, he would catch me within seconds. He is a strong and fit man, as far as I can tell. Fitter than me, that’s for sure.

  Besides, where would I even run? From what little I saw through the windows as he dragged me through the hallway, it appears that we are out in the middle of nowhere. I saw nothing but a vast and empty landscape, no other houses, no people, no cars. I have no idea how long I was passed out, but it must have been long enough for him to get me out of the city, even beyond its suburbs. I don’t even know if we’re still in Massachusetts, or if he took me over the border to another state.

  I hold on to the towel, leaving all of my clothes behind in the bathroom, as he leads me out through a door other than the one we came through earlier. It doesn’t open up to another hallway, but to a room.

  A room unlike any I have ever seen before. It’s a gigantic bedroom, with a massive canopy bed to my right. The bed frame is made of black steel with an elegant design and light curtains that are draped to the sides. I cannot help but notice the shackles that are attached to each of the four bed posts. This bed is designed for tying someone down.

  The light gray carpet feels soft and warm beneath my naked feet, and if it wasn’t for the circumstances under which I am being led in here, I could actually appreciate this beautiful room, with its high ceilings, the stucco elements gracing the white walls, and the pearl white vanity desk placed opposite the bed. There’s a big mirror on top of the desk, surrounded by a row of small lights, and carved details on the frame, as well as on the desk itself. Other than those two items, there’s only a dresser, featuring the same design as the vanity with a pearl white finish and marble top. There’s a door right next to the vanity, but it’s closed - and most likely locked.

  The dark steel of the bed stands in stark contrast to the rest of the room, just as my leathery collar.

  He comes to a halt and lets go of me, giving me a few seconds to take in the room. There are two big windows right in front of us, and even from afar I can tell that they are double-glassed and locked. The view is both beautiful and discouraging at the same time. The same green landscape I saw before, gorgeous but deserted.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” he tells me. “No one will hear you, and no one will see you.”

  “I think I got that part,” I snap at him, and as soon as I do, his hand is back on me, grabbing my upper arm and squeezing it so hard that I groan in pain.

  “Don’t get smart with me,” he hisses. “You don’t want to test me any further.”

  Test him? Is that what he thinks I’m doing?

  We exchange a quick and angry stare before he drags me over to the bed. Panic arises in my chest as he moves me closer to the steel frame with its daunting shackles.

  “You’ve been giving me a hard time,” he says, turning me around to him and with my back to the bed. He pushes me backward, until the back of my knees meets the edge of the bed, and I involuntarily sink down to sit on it, directed by his hands on
my naked shoulders.

  I shut my legs, pressing my knees together firmly, but he forces one of his legs between them, nudging me to move them apart. Even with the towel still covering the most intimate part of my body, I feel utterly exposed in front of him, especially when he’s not satisfied and pushes my legs even further apart.

  “Look at me,” he says.

  I follow his order, and as I slowly raise my gaze up to him, I notice the thick bulge between his legs. He’s hard, very hard from what I can tell. His suit pants stretch tightly over his erection, leaving little to the imagination.

  I blush at the sight of it, hit by surprise as I realize my own arousal.

  How can I possibly like this? How can my body betray me like this, when my mind is trying nothing but to find a way out of this horrible predicament?

  Of course, he noticed my short hesitation at the sight of his hardness. I’m met with a cocky smile when our eyes meet.

  “You can play with it when I allow it,” he says, as if it would be the most natural thing for me to beg for his cock after what he did to me. “For now, all you have to do is listen to me, obey, just follow along, and I promise you, you won’t regret it.”

  As if I had a choice. This is nothing but cruelty, but he speaks of it as if he’s being generous with me.

  I flinch when he touches my face, caressing along my left cheek before he takes my chin between his thumb and his index finger, holding me in place as I try to evade his touch.

  His hands are warm and surprisingly soft. I could enjoy his touch, if I was receiving it voluntarily, but like this? I refuse to enjoy this, despite my body’s insane reaction to him.

  “Don’t fight it,” he whispers, as if he can hear my thoughts. “It’ll be so much better if you don’t fight it.”

  I want to tell him to shut up and leave me alone, but I’m too afraid. I’m too afraid of everything, of him, of myself, of that horrible attic he just freed me from. It’s a perversion that I’m actually grateful. I’m grateful that he took me out of there, even though he was also the one who locked me up in there in the first place.

  Stockholm Syndrome. Even I have heard about it. Is this how it starts? Am I already falling for his tricks?

  He goes down on his knees, placing himself between my legs, and I’m awfully aware of my nakedness below the towel, my naked core only inches away from his face now.

  He looks up at me, still holding my face by the chin, as if to make sure that I don’t break eye contact.

  “I’m going to make you come now,” he announces, as if it was the most normal thing to say. “Drop the towel.”

  Chapter 16

  Liana

  His hands are resting on my naked thighs, patiently waiting as he fixates his unyielding gaze on me. Instinct tells me to protest his command and not expose my body to him like he asked, but I’m afraid of the consequences if I don’t.

  “Drop the towel, Pet,” he repeats. “You have to trust me.”

  Trust him? He is about to rape me, and he tells me to trust him? What the hell is going on inside his head? Are there two wires touching that shouldn’t be?

  “How can I trust you after what you have done to me?” I ask him.

  He chuckles.

  “Done to you?” he asks. “I just let you take a very long, hot shower. You’re not very grateful.”

  I frown at him. It’s like speaking to a wall.

  “You kidnapped me,” I remind him.

  An angry flicker darts through his eyes, and his lips move as if he wants to say something. But he stops himself and inhales a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second before he continues speaking.

  “Okay, if this is how you want to do it,” he says in a low voice. “Let me phrase it this way. You either drop this towel now and let me enjoy your beautiful body, or I will lock you up in that attic again, naked.”

  His words feel like a dagger stabbing my heart.

  “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. Bu
t 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.