by Kitty Thomas
A long slow breath pushes its way out of me as my hysteria calms the tiniest fraction. I know he could be lying. I know he's evil. I know he's going to kill us when he's finished with his game, but I hold out hope that Seven really did take a harder punishment to give me a lighter one.
“Go lie down on the bed. On your stomach, arms and legs spread out like an X.”
I can't do this. My body refuses to move to obey his command. There isn't enough air in this room. I can't. I know I have no choices here. He could get tired of me and kill me. The more easily I do whatever he wants the longer I'm sure I'll live, but I can't.
My body refuses to hold me up, and suddenly I'm on the ground, kneeling in front of him.
“Master please... please, I'm sorry I disobeyed. Please... don't hurt me. I promise I'll never do it again,” I whimper. I am so pathetic right now. And a part of me knows this will only excite him, only drive him on, but I can't stop myself from begging and hoping for mercy he obviously doesn't possess.
He's cold and empty and completely unreachable, which only makes me feel more helpless. It makes me sick to think of Seven being beaten down here, knowing I would be next and that he can't truly protect me. No one can protect me.
“Kate,” he says quietly. “I will only tell you once more. Get up and do what I said. Otherwise, I won't go easier on you, and Seven's suffering will have been for nothing. Is that what you want?”
“No, Master.”
“Then obey me.”
There’s suddenly a hand next to my face, offering to help me stand. I take his hand and struggle to my feet. Then, having no other options, I go to the bed and lie down spread-eagled like he demanded.
I continue to cry hopelessly as he binds me to the bed with the attached restraints. They aren't for show or light play. A grown man couldn't get out of them on his own. I wonder if Seven was in this same spot only a little while ago or if our captor tied him to something else, maybe the giant X-shaped contraption leaning against one of the exposed brick walls.
I watch as he goes to the wall where the whipping implements hang, deciding what to use on me. He returns with a flogger. It's not the worst thing he could have picked, but he could still make it unbearable.
He sits on the bed beside me, and I flinch as he strokes my hair and then my back.
“Shhh, Pretty Toy.”
He continues this soothing behavior until my body has no choice but to relax and calm under his touch. Something inside me gives up the fight to tense in his hands.
“That's a good girl,” he soothes. His gaze holds mine as he says this.
His eyes really are beautiful. But they are so cold it's hard to look into them. They are gray like a storm. It's as though they were formed from pieces of ice. I'm certain there’s nothing that could melt his gaze.
“As long as you're a good girl for me, I won't get a new toy to replace you.”
He doesn't spell it out, but we both know what replacing me means. It doesn't mean he'll let me go.
I wish he wasn't so attractive. There’s a twisted sick part of me that has a hard time completely understanding the danger he represents. This part of my mind can only process his beauty, and the way he's touching me isn't helping. These soothing gentle caresses are confusing.
My body arches into his touch as his hand strokes farther downward, until he's rubbing my ass. I should pull away even though there’s nowhere for me to go. I want to pull away. I'm so scared right now, but I know he will do whatever he wants with me, and all my brain can process is that I’ll be safe as long as I’m a good girl.
This thought repeats over and over in my mind like a mantra.
I don't really know this is true, but I cling to it anyway.
I'm caught off guard by the hard smack on my ass. It's followed by several more sharp blows in quick succession. I cry out, part from pain, part from shock at the sudden shift. But before I can tense up again, he's back to the soothing stroking.
Heat rises into my face as I realize my body has decided this is sexually exciting. Wetness floods between my legs. It's such a betrayal, this thing my body is doing to me. It was different with Seven. It's okay with Seven.
But this nameless man who took me off the street and locked me in a cell... I can't feel this when he touches me. I can't allow it. But my body doesn't care. My body equally craves the touch of both men. There is no either/or, it is only both/and. My eyes have greedily drunk both men's beauty and found them equally satisfying.
He spanks me again, this time the other cheek, and before he even gets to the gentle caress, even in the midst of the pain as I cry out, a deep throbbing ache begins between my legs. He rubs the sting out where he spanked me.
“Are you wet for me?” he asks.
I don't bother to lie because as bad as it is for me, I know the truth will please him. And that may be good for me.
“Yes, Master.”
His hand moves between my legs, stroking my wet folds. I try not to grind against his hand. I try to just lie there, but when he presses a finger inside me, I begin to move against him. My body wants to fuck.
He chuckles. “Such a greedy toy. I like you.”
I feel a perverse relief at this statement. If he were ugly, it would be easy to resist. My body would agree with my mind. If he were seriously hurting me, it would also be easy. But the pain he gives me is erotic, and his restraint only makes me want more.
There’s something very wrong with me. I try to reason with myself that he didn't feed us for three days. I have so much adrenaline coursing through my body. I've been put in this completely helpless position, and instead of doing whatever grisly things psychos are supposed to do, he's giving me pleasure. It's incredibly hard to fight that, to be good.
Anyway, my definition of good and his definition are completely opposite. And the only definition that matters for my survival is his.
“Such a good girl. You are so responsive,” he says as he continues to pet me between my legs.
I whimper, but otherwise, I can say nothing. I can do nothing but grind helplessly against his hand as he keeps my gaze trapped in his.
“Because you are such a good girl, I'm going to give you a choice. I can punish you with the flogger, or I can let you come. Tell me which do you want? Would you rather be whipped or come on my fingers?”
I squeeze my eyes shut even as I continue to move with his fingers. He pulls his hand away, and it takes everything inside me not to beg for more. Seven will touch me. I can get this from Seven. I won't have to feel like something is completely broken inside me because he’s a good man. But I cannot give myself to this man except for survival. Not for pleasure. Not for sheer wanton desire. If there’s a choice, I have to make the choice that won't make me feel so good.
“Open your eyes and look at me,” he demands.
I open my eyes.
“Good. Now, choose, Kate. Pain or pleasure.”
But I can't choose. It's demented to ask for pain, and even more wrong to ask for pleasure from this man. Or is it the opposite?
“Master, please... I can't.”
“It's a hard choice, I get it,” he says. He stands next to the bed, and a moment later, the flogger falls so hard against my back I lose my breath.
“That's pain,” he says, as if this were a confusing sensation I wouldn't figure out on my own.
He climbs back onto the bed, straddling me, trailing kisses down my back, running his tongue over the welts his hand left only minutes ago. Then his fingers are inside me again, rubbing in the most intensely pleasurable way.
“This is pleasure,” he says. “Do you want the demonstration again, or can you choose now?”
I know which he wants me to choose. If I deny him this and choose pain, he will make me regret it. Maybe he won't draw blood with the flogger, but it will hurt. What he just gave me was only a taste.
And so I fall. I submit. I give him what will please him even as it will break away a piece of my soul.
&nb
sp; “Pleasure, Master.”
“You're such a sweet whore,” he says. His fingers fuck me harder as I buck shamelessly against his hand. It feels good, but I know I can't really come this way. I've never had that kind of orgasm—the one that comes from the inside. Part of me thinks they are a myth. Even so, I'm determined to fake it if necessary to please this dangerous man and save myself whatever pain I can.
But I don't have to. His other hand slips underneath me and rubs my clit. He drives me harder and harder, my body growing wetter and more aroused with each pleasurable sensation he offers me.
“Come, Kate,” he demands.
I wish he would call me Pretty Toy or even sweet whore. Not Kate. I can't stand to hear my name on his lips as I come apart in his hands.
The pleasure shatters me, and he is pleased.
“Good girl.”
I shut my eyes as the shame crawls over me. I didn't just let this monster touch me, I wanted him to. My body craved him. If he had wanted to fuck me, I would have spread my legs wider and thrust my hips up at him in obedient invitation. I wouldn't have screamed or cried or begged him to stop.
This can't be me. This can't be who I am.
I think he'll untie me now and take me back to the cell, but he doesn't. Instead he goes to the box in the corner and comes back with a blindfold. I let him tie the dark cloth around my eyes without complaint because there’s relief here. I don't have to look at him or be ensnared by that cold gray gaze. I can hide here.
“I'm not quite done with you. I want to test something.”
He releases me from my bonds, then urges me onto my back and restrains me again, spread-eagled. I'm even more grateful for the blindfold now. This is too exposed. I want to beg him, but I'm not sure what I would be begging for. So I remain quiet and hide in this darkness he's offered me.
I hear his footsteps retreat. I hear things being moved around in that box he got the blindfold out of. Then he returns to me and sits beside me on the bed.
“I'm going to ask you some questions, Pretty Toy. And it's very important for your own safety that you tell me the truth. I'm good at spotting liars. You do not want to test me. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes, Master.”
“Good. Do you masturbate?”
“Yes, Master,” I whisper.
He releases one of my hands. “Show me how you do it.”
“Please...” Even after all he's seen... even after how he's touched me and watched me come, I can't touch myself while he watches. I just... can't.
“I can still punish you,” he says.
I don't want him to punish me. I'm too afraid after what I saw of Seven's back that if he gets started, if he gets too much of a taste for hurting me, he won't stop, and I won't survive it. Or if I do, I'll wish I hadn't.
My hand drifts down between my legs, and I begin to stroke my clit. I can feel his intense gaze on me. I feel like he's studying me, evaluating me—as though I'm getting some sort of performance review.
“Stop,” he says.
My hand stills over my pussy.
“Do you not go inside?”
I shake my head.
“Why not?”
I've never had a discussion with anyone about this before. It's far too private, and I don't want this to be the person I tell this to. I know there’s no right or wrong way to touch myself, but he makes me feel like there is, as though there’s something childish in my technique.
“I only have an orgasm from the outside, so I don't see the point...”
He laughs out loud at this, and heat rises into my cheeks.
“What about vibrators? Do you use vibrators?” he asks.
“S-sometimes.”
“On the inside or outside?”
“Outside.”
“Hmmmm,” he says. “I don't like that. We're changing that right now. I'm going to train you to come with penetration.”
“And if I can't?” I ask, the fear threading my voice, making it come out small and quiet. Will he get a new toy, one he doesn't deem defective?
“You will. You've just never been taught properly.”
If I weren't so afraid, I would be offended that this stranger thinks he understands my body and what it is and isn't capable of better than I do. I've tried masturbating that way before. It doesn't work. It makes me feel foolish as though I'm seeking an impossible thing that everybody else is faking, and I'm just too dumb to know it's all an act.
I jump when his hand encircles my wrist. He pulls my arm back over my head and secures me the way he had me.
“What if I can't?” I ask again. I know I shouldn't keep pushing this button, but I have to know. “A-are you going to kill me?”
Amusement laces his voice. “No, Kate, I'm not going to kill you. Killing is so unimaginative. I can't understand the soulless being who can't think of more interesting things to do than take life. I have far better things to do with you than kill you.”
“Until you get tired of me,” I say, wishing I could just shut up. I actually flinch when I say this because I'm afraid I'm pushing too far. I brace myself for the punishment I worry might still be coming.
But he just strokes my inner thigh. “Do you think I'm stupid, Pretty Toy?”
“N-no, Master.”
“Only the stupid get bored. I’ll never run out of ways to twist you to my will.”
Somehow this possibility is more terrifying to me than death. Death promises an end. But my captor is offering the possibility that there will never be an end. And now I'm afraid there won't be. I was so busy worrying about him killing me that I didn't bother to worry about what would happen if he didn't.
He strokes my hair. “No more questions. Just feel. I'm going to teach your cunt how to obey me now.”
I hear a buzzing, and I know he's turned the vibrator up to the highest setting. I want to tell him it will be too intense. I want him to start at the low setting, which I can handle.
As though he can read my mind, he leans in close to my ear and whispers, “I like sluts who can take intense hard vibrations. You will take it, and you will open your legs wider to take more. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
Tears begin to slip out from beneath the fabric. Every time he speaks to me like this, my body wants him more. I can't cope with how he so easily turns me into his pliant plaything. I thought I would fight more.
I wanted to be someone who would fight. But I can't fight this man. Some part of me knows it's because of the days of head games I've already experienced. The very real threat of starvation I experienced in the cell. I don't want that to happen ever again. And I don't want him to do to me what he did to Seven.
Is it so wrong that I want pleasure over pain even if it comes from a monster?
He spreads me open and presses the toy directly against my clit. I jerk away at the intensity, but he holds it there. I take slow, measured breaths.
He starts to move it up and down over my clit, and then he's dragging the pulsating tip down to my opening, then slowly back up again. He moves the toy over my entire pussy, from my most sensitive flesh, to my least sensitive. When I'm close to coming, he moves away from my clit and focuses on another area with far fewer nerve endings.
This torment goes on forever, and after a while, I'm arching and grinding, moving with the toy. He slips it briefly inside me, then out again. Then he's teasing me everywhere but my clit. He's gotten me so close to the edge, but he refuses to give me sensation where I need it to get off.
“Beg me to come,” he says.
I don't bother to fight. There’s no point. We both know I want this, but I thought he was going to fuck me with it.
“Please, Master, let me come.” It's the second time I've said these words today, and to two different men. It makes me feel like such a whore.
He begins to work the vibrator inside me, even as I desperately want it on my clit. I'm so wet and throbbing and needy right now. I've never been this aroused before. I've never be
en tormented this long and kept on the edge of pleasure like this.
He fucks me with it, dragging it in and out so slowly I want to scream: I can't come this way! Then he's on the outside again, teasing my opening, running the toy over my labia, barely grazing my clit.
I'm crying now. “Please...”
“The only way you're coming is if the vibrator is inside you. I don't care if it takes hours to get there. You will get there. It's the only way it's happening, so your body better figure it out.”
It's moving inside me again, slow, then fast, then slow again. This tease goes on forever. I'm trembling with my need. I want to beg him please please just touch my clit. Please I'll do anything. But I can't say those shameful words.
I wonder how long he'll do this before he gives up and punishes me for not being able to do what he wants me to do.
But then suddenly with no warning, I arch off the bed, my body bucking wildly against the vibrator as he fucks me harder with it. The pleasure builds from somewhere deep inside me and explodes in the most shattering orgasm I've ever had.
He turns the toy off. I lie there for a moment, shaking, unable to believe what just happened, unable to comprehend that the one thing I've wanted so desperately to experience I only somehow managed in captivity.
A moment later the tip presses at my lips.
“Clean it,” he orders.
My tongue darts out and licks my own juices off the toy.
“Good girl. I told you, you just needed to be taught how to come that way. You just needed patience. It will get easier each time. And then it will be my cock taking you there.”
He lies down next to me and strokes my face and the side of my neck for what feels like forever, and I hate myself just a little bit for wanting him to never stop.
Chapter Five
When I’m returned to the cell, it's silent. No music. Seven is still unconscious. I was gone probably less than an hour, but I'm still worried because he hasn't woken yet. The cell door opens again, and I flinch, but our captor only leaves clean clothes for Seven. None for me, of course. I'm never getting clothes again, and he made it very clear to me before bringing me back that he doesn't want to see the towel on me anymore.