by Zoe Blake
It all swirled around my head like a fast spinning carousel filled with noise and flashes of color.
It’s not real.
This is not real.
It’s not real.
This is not real.
“Sure, I like Lizzie. Who wouldn’t? She’s hot and also great, but I can’t compete with billions of pounds, can I?” snarked Mike.
The corners of Richard’s mouth lifted. No one would call it a smile. “No, you can’t. Then there’s that nasty little business from that trip you took last year to Thailand.”
Mike paled. All bravado left him. “How could you possibly know about that?”
“As you said, it’s hard to compete with billions of dollars. Money buys a man a lot of things but one of the most important is information. Leverage over those around him. The power to do whatever the fuck he pleases,” responded Richard coolly.
Mike slumped back into his chair. “Fine. You’ve made your point, Richard.”
“I haven’t but this will.”
I was barely following their conversation. Nothing made sense to me right now. I rubbed my temple. I could feel the hysteria building. I longed for the blessedly quiet fog to return. Things were so much more peaceful inside my head when I focused on what Richard wanted and not on trying to decipher the meaning behind my strange dreams and seeming memories.
I needed his guiding hand. I needed his instruction on how to stop these spinning thoughts.
“Elizabeth, please come here.”
Grateful for his command, I left my seat where I was perched a little away and to the side of them and approached him, stopping when I was standing directly in front of his seated form.
“Get on your knees.”
I didn’t stop to even think about the request. Lifting my skirts, I immediately fell to my knees, arranging my skirts about me.
Yes. This was what I needed, to follow his command. I didn’t need to think, only obey.
I watched as Richard freed his cock from his trousers. Focusing on the rhythmic pump of his hand as he fisted the shaft and began to move it up and down, up and down, cooled my hysteria and shifted my thoughts to between my legs.
“Open your mouth.”
Mike stood. “Fuck you, Richard.” He started to storm out of the parlor.
“I didn’t give you permission to leave,” barked Richard. “Sit down.”
I knew better than to turn my head to see if he obeyed but I assumed he did. Everyone obeyed Richard’s commands.
Richard placed his hand on the back of my head.
I knew what was coming. Keeping my mouth open as wide as I could, I braced for the assault. He pulled my head violently forward, forcing me to take all nine inches till my nose touched his stomach. His cock hit the back of my throat then continued to press till it plunged deep. I choked and gagged but he kept the pressure on.
“Eyes on me,” he commanded.
I raised my tear-filled eyes. My jaw ached and I felt like I was going to retch. Finally, I felt the pressure on my head ease and I surged backwards, gasping for air. There was only a moment’s reprieve before he once more grabbed my head and pushed it onto his cock. Richard didn’t like the tease of a blowjob. There were no coquettish licks of the head, or tickle of the balls. There was no running my tongue over the sensitive ridge or up the underside of his shaft.
There was only dominance. Him fucking my face as if it were my cunt. This was how I showed I had learned my lesson and was trying to be a good girl. By opening my throat and allowing him to thrust in deep over and over again. By proving to him that I no longer needed the gag to keep my mouth open. I was particularly proud of that part.
It had taken several instructions in the siege d’amour chair with me secured upside down with my head dangling between the stirrups and him plunging his cock into my mouth while he kept his fingers pressed into my cheeks to make sure I didn’t bite down. If I did, he forced me to keep his cock in my mouth while he whipped me between the legs with the leather belt.
Once, I bit down from the pain while he was whipping me. I don’t like to think about what happened afterwards. It was days before I could leave my bed.
I continued to allow him to use my mouth. Several times I reached between my legs to ease the tension but the full silk skirts and petticoats prevented me from feeling much. It was okay; Richard never failed to make sure I also achieved release, even if he tortured me by making me wait for it.
I gloried in the deep guttural sounds he made each time his cock bottomed out down my throat. I even liked how the hairs on his abdomen tickled my nose whenever I was able to take it all the way down. As I desperately tried to get the slightest bit of air through my nose, I would also inhale his sandalwood cologne mixed with the musk of his arousal.
This was all pleasurable to me because, as a lady, I was doing my duty, There should be no greater fulfillment in life than knowing you have done your duty, according to the books Richard had been giving me to read.
The scrape of a chair leg on the polished wood reminded me that Lord Radfoot was still in the room. I felt this sick feeling twist in my stomach. It shouldn’t bother me that he was watching because it wasn’t my place to have an opinion. It was what Richard requested. Yet, there was this small niggling feeling that it did bother me. That it should bother me.
It was like there was a small bird trapped in my chest. It was furiously flapping its wings against my heart and lungs trying to get my attention. Trying to get me to remember, to react, to something… but what? It was there. Just past the fog in my mind.
“Fuck, Richard! She can’t breathe!” exclaimed Lord Radfoot… had I called him Mike earlier? I think I had.
Richard ignored him and only pressed my head down on his cock harder.
I could feel it begin to swell. His balls cinched up to brush against my chin. This was my favorite part. Not only because the torment was over but because it was obvious how much I had pleased Richard.
“Fuck, Lizzie! Yes!” he growled. Thick salty streams of cum coated my tongue and face as he marked me. That was what he liked to call it, marking me as his.
In that moment, I felt as though I had been doused in freezing cold water.
My mind shattered. All thoughts crystalized with more clarity than I had felt in weeks.
Lizzie.
Richard had called me Lizzie.
Chapter 22
Lizzie
“I was very proud of you tonight.”
“Thank you,” I answered stiffly. With my mind racing, I was desperately trying to keep my rapid thoughts from shining through my eyes.
I know, you bastard!
I know!
The moment he called me Lizzie my mind snapped awake. I can’t account for why, other than he always insisted on calling me Elizabeth. There was something about hearing Lizzie.
Lizzie. Me. My name. My old name. My real name. My identity. My forgotten identity. It was all there in just that single utterance of the name, Lizzie, coming from his lips.
Now I just needed time. Time away from him to think. To clear my head further and figure out how my life had become so incredibly messed up. I knew enough about Richard’s moods and predilections to instinctively know he couldn’t know I was on to him, yet. I needed to buy myself time to figure out what to do next. Otherwise, I may find myself back at the asylum being subjected to the same tortures that fractured my mind to begin with.
I was an actress. I could do this. I just needed to get through the next several minutes playing the vapid innocent.
Richard was in my room, strapping me into my restraints for the night. As the evenings had grown cooler, he had begun to allow me to wear a nightgown, although on more than one occasion it had been torn off me by morning.
It was the same routine as usual. First he strapped in my ankles. Then my wrists.
“This leather is becoming too soft and malleable, I believe. I will have to look into getting it replaced with something firmer,” observed
Richard, as he was buckling the restraints.
“Do we still need the restraints? I’ve been very good and done everything you asked for weeks now.”
Richard stroked my cheek. “We’ve talked about this. The restraints are not because you have behaved badly, they are for your own protection. They are to keep you safe from your own night terrors and flights of fantasy. We cannot have you waking in the middle of the night with one of your silly dreams about having a different kind of life, can we?”
“I haven’t had any of those dreams since you started my… my daily instructions,” I said, trying to keep my newfound shame from my voice. I thought I was going to be sick.
“We will talk about it again sometime soon, I promise.”
With that discussion closed, I decided to venture to ask, “Tonight a different woman showed up to help me undress. Is Parker ill?”
“Parker has left my employ,” he answered smoothly.
My mind screamed.
I cleared my throat. I needed to be careful in how I proceeded. Calling up some fresh tears, I allowed my lower lip to protrude slightly as I softened my face. A hard expression was a sign of intelligence and alertness. He mustn’t suspect. Giving my voice a slight, plaintive whine, I said, “According to the books, a lady’s maid is almost like a companion to her mistress and that it is appropriate for that bond to be deeper than the standard servant but still with a respect for their social status.”
Richard smiled and brushed a curl back from my cheek. “Very good, my love. I am pleased you are taking your reading so seriously.”
“Why would Parker leave without showing me the respect of a goodbye?”
“You were doing your duty as the lady of the house greeting our guests and she would never want to get in the way of that. I believe she had an emergency back in her home village and it was already going to take at least three days’ carriage ride to reach it. She had to be swift in her departure.”
Bullshit.
I didn’t know how far his obsession stretched and if Parker was alive or dead but I did know that after her outburst to me earlier there was no way she left willingly. Perhaps I could use this to my advantage. I needed to get to Jane. She would be able to tell me more about what the hell was going on.
“The parlor maid, Rose, seemed like she would be a good replacement for Parker,” I offered, keeping my eyes lowered so he couldn’t read my intent.
Richard paused. I could feel his eyes studying me.
“My love, you do not think I would allow your beloved Parker to travel the countryside without the benefit and added protection of a companion. I gave my permission for Rose to attend her as long as needed.”
Bullshit!
“You really do think of everything, Richard,” I said through a clenched jaw as I gave him a waning smile.
He gave me a chaste kiss on the forehead and left.
How did this happen?
How did I let this happen?
I didn’t sleep a wink that night, just laid there in bed, staring into the darkness. Nothing to distract me from my own damning thoughts. I just kept turning over in my head the events of the last several weeks. Over and over, I kept asking myself the same question.
How did I let this happen?
The worst part was I couldn’t pinpoint a particular moment when my mind fogged over and I began to accept Richard’s word as law. There wasn’t a particular afternoon or word said. It just happened gradually.
Day by day.
Piece by piece.
Kiss by kiss.
Punishment by punishment.
He had taken away Lizzie Larkin and replaced her with Lady Elizabeth, ward to the Duke of Winterbourne.
I had seen a documentary once on Patty Hearst and Stockholm syndrome. They said it was the mind’s way of coping with an ongoing traumatic experience. Having your mind escape into a place of acceptance was actually a survival mechanism. Without it, your mind was in danger of just snapping from the relentless stress and pressure.
Was that what happened to me?
I kept turning over in my mind the constant cycle of punishment and pleasure that I had been subjected to these past few weeks. Being strapped into that chair each morning. Having him whip my breasts with that leather belt till I begged for him to just fuck me instead. The taste of his cock. The feel of his tongue on my cunt. The hedonistic fucked-up nature of what we were doing. And the entire time, while he was driving his cock into my body, he was driving the idea into my mind that my real life was just a dream, the hysterical illusion of a fractured mind.
I guess these things never happened quickly. It took a special kind of finesse and patience to slowly strip a person of their entire identity. One day it was the kiss of his leather belt that took away a piece. Another day it was his cock pounding in my ass while I was bent over a pile of cushions in the conservatory. Still another it was a stroke of his hand down my cheek. Or the quiet evenings before the fire with him reading and me drawing dress designs. It was in the extravagant dinners. The beautiful gowns and jewelry. The afternoons spent learning how to waltz with just him and me in that large ballroom.
This was dangerous. I should be focusing on the numerous instructions I received at his hands. The humiliations and degradations. Not the times it felt like was living inside an Edith Wharton novel. Sure, it was still the best sex of my life. Sure, it was weird to know I had a kinky side that apparently relished pain with my pleasure but that wasn’t the point!
He used me.
Tricked me.
He actually made me love him!
If I were honest with myself, I mean really truly brutally honest… I think that pissed me off more than this whole fucked-up scheme of his.
Saying it was Stockholm syndrome was just a cop-out. I had to face the truth. I had let this happen. I never would have believed the lie if deep down I didn’t want it to be true. If it weren’t for the kidnapping, drugs, and rough sex, it would also be the perfect fairytale.
Rich, powerful lord sweeps a woman off her feet and spirits her away to a fantasy world where his only focus was her. Each day she is lavished with gifts of silks and jewels. She is no longer expected to work but idle her days away dreaming and drawing. All of her wants and needs are taken care of, from delicious meals to a household of servants to do her bidding.
The only catch was she has to be okay with being face fucked at his pleasure and taking it up the ass occasionally.
Okay, so it was an extremely dark and twisted, fucked-up fairytale but there was something fascinating in a horribly messed-up way about a man so obsessed with you that he would go to these great lengths to have you. Not to mention the undeniable turn-on of a man just taking what he wants. A girl just doesn’t get pushed up against a wall and just plain fucked anymore in the modern era.
Wait.
In that twisted, rambling, rage vent in my head, did I actually say I loved the bastard?
No.
I didn’t.
Absolutely not.
He was a fucking psychopath! Domineering. Arrogant. Obsessive to say the least. What kind of life could I possibly have with a man like that?
This one… my traitorous heart whispered.
My inner mind recoiled from the idea. Perhaps I shouldn’t dismiss Stockholm syndrome too quickly. Obviously, this whole thing had screwed with my head and made me believe I loved a man who kidnapped me for his own sexual pleasure.
And what about all the servants? They were all people I know from the theater… people I thought were my friends. Even Jane, my own best friend and flat mate, was in on the scheme.
At least, I’m assuming they were all in on it.
What could they possibly have thought otherwise?
That I actually wanted to be here?
Again, my stupid heart whispered, that’s what it looked like to an outsider during all those romantic dinners and ballroom lessons.
Fuck me. Literally.
Well, one thing was certain. I wa
s no longer going to be the mouse in this twisted game of cat and mouse we were playing.
It was time I grew claws.
Chapter 23
Lizzie
I kept my silence during that morning’s daily instruction. As a reward for being so good last night, Richard allowed me to be unrestrained in the siege d’amour chair. Once I was lying naked, he held a small velvet bag over my stomach.
“Today we are going to play a fun little game,” he said with a seductive smile.
My stomach flipped. As I stared back into his dark eyes, I once more wondered. Was this love? Infatuation? Obsession? Stockholm syndrome? It was impossible to tell. My feelings were too complicated, too wrapped up both in the emotional and physical to be deciphered. I both loved and hated the man. Craved and reviled his touch. Needed and despised his approval. My mind hated his arrogant dominance over me, while my body yearned for his firm hand and his painful, all-consuming way of fucking.
I wouldn’t call it making love.
I may or may not be in love with this monster of man but what we did to each other’s bodies was not love. That much was clear. It was obsession. Possession. Torture. But it wasn’t lovemaking.
Richard upended the contents of the velvet bag onto my stomach. I watched as a sparkling rainbow of emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and diamonds cascaded onto my skin.
My mouth opened in wonder at the beautiful sight.
Richard then walked to the place between the stirrups where my legs were spread open.
“Now, the game is you have to keep very still while I taste this beautiful cunt of yours. You will only be allowed to keep the jewels that remain on your stomach. If you move and one drops, I take it back.”
Gasping, I once more felt a surge of conflicted feelings for this complicated man.
The rest of the morning was spent with Richard coaxing wave after intoxicating wave of releases from my body. My bones felt like liquid by the time he allowed me to climb off the chair.
I didn’t earn any of the jewels this time but didn’t care.