Falling For The Villain

by Robinson, M.

  Safe and sound.

  Happy.

  Loved.

  At first, I thought I was dreaming. My head felt heavy, and my body even heavier; the room felt like it was spinning. I was lightheaded, and even though I had just woken up from fainting, I was tired, exhausted even. I slowly moved my head side-to-side, trying to wake up. Only then did I realize there was something on my eyes, keeping me from being able to see or open them.

  I should’ve felt fear, but I was drained of any emotion. I allowed it to take over and passed out again. The next time I woke up, I was less hazed, recognizing instantly that my displacement had not changed. I was in the exact same position I was in before.

  Except this time, there was what felt like a rope tied around my wrists and ankles, binding my arms to the headboard, and my legs were spread apart, knotted by rope to the bedposts. I couldn’t close them. I wanted to yell, but it came out as a muffled shriek. Nobody was going to rescue me but me, and I couldn’t even get out of the damn ropes or stay awake long enough to scream. Not that it mattered.

  I remembered a psych class, where the professor did an entire lecture on fear and how it motivated people, how it was one of the only things that could create a perfect world, and I remembered hating that it made sense, that it sounded right. Not everything was fueled by adrenaline, fed by fear, and there was nothing I could do about the way I responded, even when I told myself to calm down, to think, to negotiate. I felt myself constantly defaulting , protecting myself.

  I tried to move until my skin felt raw, fighting until my body couldn’t move anymore, and I was sweating profusely. I should have been crying, and I couldn’t tell if I was in shock because I didn’t feel anything.

  I was numb.

  It was only then that I felt the back of a hand touch the side of my face, and I froze, not moving one muscle. My mind went into overload…

  “Is it you?” I asked, my voice trembling. Thinking it could be someone else—I was unsure of which would be better or worse. Him or someone new…

  As if reading my mind, he countered, “Do you want it to be?”

  I breathed out a sigh of relief. His hand was still on the side of my face and hadn’t moved. It was comforting and creepy all at the same time. My breathing was labored, and my heart was racing. More questions started to arise in my mind.

  Before I could continue with my mindless thoughts, he asked, “Are you done with your temper tantrum?”

  I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “Good girl.”

  Rat bastard and his demeaning praise.

  “Can you please take the blindfold off?” I tried again, voice easy, all traces of the tremble gone.

  “Seeing as you wouldn’t look me in the eyes before, I assumed you wanted to stay in your self-preservation of darkness.”

  “I don’t want to anymore.”

  “How convenient,” he snapped.

  “Please. I won’t fight you again.”

  “You’re tied to your bed, pet. You can’t do much of anything right now.”

  I whimpered, wanting to see.

  “You really do have a pretty pussy, Juliet,” he laughed at me, stripping away the last bit of my dignity. “It’s just the right shade of pink.”

  I sucked in air from the fresh tears coming out of my eyes. I’d never in my life felt lower, more demeaned, embarrassed, afraid, and yet I responded; I physically responded like someone sick in the head.

  “Pet … when someone pays you a compliment, you should say thank you. Where the fuck are your manners? I bathe you, I give you water, food, shelter, and now, I tell you that your cunt is pretty, and what do you say?” he taunted, hitting something hard against the soles of my feet.

  I whimpered again.

  Was that a cane?

  He did it a couple more times.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I shouted, appeasing him while still trying to keep my fight on the inside. I had to escape, and if that meant I thanked him for his insanity, then so be it.

  “Much better. We’re going to have to work on those manners and respect, pet. I won’t have you disrespecting me.”

  “What are you going to do to me?” I questioned again. How many times would we have this conversation? And how many times would I be punished for the truth?

  “Whatever the fuck I want.”

  “Can you tell me your name?”

  “You earn the right to know my name, Juliet. And we both know how much of a bad girl you’ve been. You disappoint me.”

  “I’m sorry,” was the only thing I could reply that would simply appease him.

  “Look what my punishment has done for your manners; this is the politest you’ve been since you arrived.”

  “Can you please just tell me your name?”

  “Don’t be so needy, pet. I don’t like it.”

  I sniffled, just wanting something for myself. Anything. At this point, I’d probably beg on my hands and knees just to know his initials.

  “Why do you think you deserve to know my name? Do you think you’re going to refer to me by it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m done answering your questions.”

  “You haven’t answered a single one.”

  “You will refer to me as Master. There. Now you know my name.”

  What. The. Fuck.

  “Am I being trafficked? Is that what this is about? Are you training me to sell me?”

  “No. I’m breaking you for me.”

  His answer made my heart slow down.

  “Is that what you want? To break me?”

  I would never forget the next thing that flew out of his mouth.

  “You’ll soon find out.”

  In the following weeks, I learned a lot about myself.

  Especially how right he was.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Juliet

  Three Days Later

  Whatever I thought was a breakthrough with me thanking my captor turned into my worst nightmare. He untied me and left me alone. Naked. For two whole days, I didn’t see him, feel him, hear him. Nothing. It was like he disappeared, leaving me only with my questions and fear. I was starving, living off of water I drank from the faucet in the bathroom. I refused to give him the satisfaction he craved. Until I couldn’t take it anymore. The lack of food and being locked in this room was making me feel as if I was going insane.

  I snapped, needing him like he said I would.

  Looking straight into the camera in the corner of my room, I yelled, “Please, Master. I’m hungry!”

  I hated that I sounded so weak when I wanted to feel strong. I hated that I gave him what he sought; calling this bastard Master was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. Minutes later, the door opened with a tray that looked like it had bread and soup on it. I swear I almost dropped to my knees to thank him.

  He grinned. “Was that so hard, pet?”

  I resisted the urge to tell him it was. Instead, I shook my head.

  “Your food is earned when you have manners.” He walked toward me and sat in the chair beside my bed. Nodding to the floor, he demanded, “Crawl to me.”

  I stumbled back from the impact of his order.

  “Once you crawl to me, you’ll sit on the floor beside my feet with your hands behind your back, bowing your head in submission. You’ll wait until I feed you from my hand. Understood?”

  My stomach grumbled.

  “Understood, pet? Or would you like to continue to starve?”

  Slowly, I dropped to my knees.

  “Good girl.”

  Little by little, I crawled my way toward him while tears fell out of my eyes. I did what he wanted, feeling like nothing but a fucking dog, not a dog, a pet.

  His pet.

  I waited.

  His thumb lifted my chin to look into his seedy stare. “So pretty for a pet, now what do you say when I give you a compliment, and I’m going to feed you, Juliet?”

  My entire body shook as I whisp
ered, “T-thank you.”

  “Good, girl. Very good girl.”

  The second I felt his fingers in my mouth, I swallowed the bread without taking a bite first. It hurt all the way down my throat and chest, but at least…

  I was fed.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Juliet

  One Week Later

  “Wake up!” Master yelled, jolting me out of a restless sleep.

  I was still naked, angry, and tired. It must have been the middle of the night. He was shirtless, his golden skin exposed for me to bask in. Gorgeous muscles framed his shoulders; his abs were a thing of beauty. However, the vision of him had me realizing that not all pretty things were meant to be touched, to be admired. Maybe some of the prettiest of all should come with warning signs.

  “Yes, Master,” I mumbled.

  “On your knees.”

  Cautiously, I moved from the bed to my knees and waited. He pressed his hand against my back and shoved me closer to the floor until my legs hurt until my face was pressed sideways against the floor.

  “Let’s try this again.”

  I couldn’t speak. My jaw hurt as I waited for the pain to end. For the nightmare to be over.

  For my bedroom.

  My family.

  My friends.

  My safety.

  No matter how attractive he was—he would always be the monster.

  He jerked his hand away, and I heard him shuffling around.

  “Lift your head.”

  Slowly, I did.

  “Now, crawl to me and come lay next to me.”

  “Lay next to you?”

  “Did I ask for questions, pet?”

  I wanted to scream but screaming meant I’d be punished, and I was just too fucking exhausted. Over the last week, he only came into my room to feed me from his hand. Three times a day, making me look forward to his company and the comfort of the food he always brought with him. Each time, we played this same game.

  Master.

  Pet.

  He talked about random things, praising and complimenting me on my manners. Telling me how much of a good girl I was for him. It was sick and fucking demented; he made me need him. To think about only him. When he would be back, when he would be with me again, when he would feed me, touch me, tell me how beautiful I was.

  Surrendering.

  Complacent.

  Broken.

  “I’m sorry, Master.”

  “Good girl.”

  Those two words, those two fucking words, I looked forward to them too. Getting on my hands and knees, I did as I was told. The instant I sat beside him, he didn’t hesitate in the least. Laying my head on his chest. I think I froze for a few seconds.

  “Relax, pet, and go back to sleep.”

  There was something about the way those words just effortlessly flowed from his mouth that was calming, peaceful, so I shut my eyes. When I woke up later, I was alone. He was gone, and I instantly missed his warmth against my skin, his heartbeat against my ear, his body against mine.

  Further reminding me, I truly was his.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Juliet

  Two Weeks Later

  I was used to it now. The loneliness, the way it wrapped itself around me like the blanket that was on my bed. I was used to him now, the smug wicked looks from my master. The way he stared at my body like he wanted to eat me alive, only to kill me later. He was the only human contact I had, the only voice I heard, the only…

  The only…

  The only…

  The list was endless, and I felt so weak, needing him, depending on him, missing him as if he were my lover and not my villain in this reality of what my life had become. I craved every last single thing about him—from his company, to his hands, to his body, to his masculine scent and his words. There wasn’t a part of me that didn’t yearn for him. I knew it was sick; it was the only way I could survive this imprisonment. In this golden cage, he captured me in. It was all part of his sinister plan, succeeding in what he threatened, what he promised, what he knew would happen in the end.

  I was ashamed, humiliated, broken.

  And yet, I still longed for him in ways I never thought possible. Wiping the tears away from my cheeks, I waited for the inevitable. He walked in.

  Two steps.

  Four.

  Ten.

  He was sitting on the chair by my bed, and like a perfect pet, I crawled to him. Except this time, I laid my head on his lap, wanting something more. He didn’t punish me for not submitting; understanding my silent plea, he rubbed my head so gently.

  For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I smiled. Seeking refuge in his storm.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Juliet

  Two Weeks Later

  The door opened.

  His smile returned, but this time it looked almost hopeful as he took five steps into the room, shut the door, and made his way over to the bed I was laying in. It was late; I was starting to fall asleep. I wasn’t a good girl the day before, and all day today, I was tied to the bed, spread-eagle again. My punishment for throwing a temper tantrum was that he wouldn’t allow me to wear any clothes, and I was over being naked.

  He turned a full-on smile against me like a weapon.

  “I’m going to touch you now.”

  My head hung to the side. I didn’t have the strength or ability to hold it up any longer as I laid there, waiting for the worst. I shuddered when I felt his hand caress the top of my mound. He was gentle and tender, smoothly running his fingers up and down. My breathing elevated, and I couldn’t control the tears, the confusion that was pouring out of my shaken body.

  It was when I started to cry.

  Break down.

  Fall apart.

  “Shhh…” he whispered.

  At first, I thought I imagined it, but then I heard it again. “Shhh…”

  It was low and vibrant.

  “Shhh…”

  That sound would forever be embedded in my mind. I didn’t dare say another word. The simple yet powerful sound of what he was implying burrowed deep among my bones and made itself a home. His hand continued to caress me in a back and forth motion. I wanted to defy or say something, but I wasn’t ready for the repercussions.

  Within moments, I felt him start rubbing cream on the wounds of my wrists and ankles from being tied up all day. I hissed at the cool feeling against my open flesh.

  “It’s cold cream. It will help you heal faster.”

  More tears fell from my eyes. I couldn’t keep up with all the emotions coursing through me.

  I hated him, though, I wanted his comfort, and I appreciated his kindness in this moment. He was the one who inflicted the pain on me in the first place, but it was because I was defiant and asked for clothing when he wanted me naked.

  I made him hurt me, right?

  Once he was done, he ran a cold compress against my face and then my whole body. It was refreshing, comforting, soothing, and I didn’t want it to end. It provided this false sense of reassurance, even if it was only for a few minutes. I let myself think that everything was going to be okay. He left the washcloth on my stomach, and water began to drip to my lips.

  “It’s just water. You’re dehydrated.”

  It dripped onto my lips, and I took as much of it into my mouth as possible. I was starving for it, and at that point, I realized that I had no say in what would happen, and I needed to follow instructions. The dehydration was apparent; he was right about that. I didn’t care that it was getting all over my upper body and the mattress behind me. I took in every ounce of what he was giving, completely greedy for it. When the water stopped, I closed my mouth to enjoy the moisture that replaced the dryness. I waited for his next word, his next move. My heart raced, and hysteria threatened to resurface while he simply brushed my wet hair away from my face.

  I was covered in sweat, and the heat coursing its way through my body made it apparent how badly I wanted him to touch me. I could feel my
nipples harden and my skin tingle as he stared at me, and he knew what I felt and what he was doing to me. I didn’t want any part of it, but my body’s reaction to his touch proved that he always had power over me. Now more than ever before.

  I would never get over this, I would never be normal again, and I would never trust my instincts again after the way I was feeling from one simple drop of water, to one slow caress across my face. I craved any sort of human connection—no, I craved humanity amidst his depravity.

  His grip tightened around my wrist, massaging it, trying to relieve my discomfort. I turned my head to the side, away from him. Not wanting him to see the effect he had over me.

  “You can’t hide from me, pet.”

  His forefinger and thumb rubbed at the most sensitive part of where the bindings were cutting, and I moaned. Even though I couldn’t see his face, I knew he was smiling. He was enjoying what he was doing to me, and I hated him for it.

  “Thank you,” I said without him demanding it.

  I knew he was fighting some internal battle with himself, his demons, and I was suddenly one of them. He repeated the same process on my other wrist and ankles before he fed me warm oatmeal. Once I was done eating, there was an eeriness in the room. It was thick and heavy.

  I smiled, despite myself.

  However, it was quickly replaced when he spewed, “I’ll untie you after I make sure you’re still a virgin.”

  I stopped smiling, and before I could make a peep, his fingers started rubbing my clit with precise determination.

  I sucked in a breath. This was the first time he was touching me like this since the first day I’d arrived. Faster and faster, his skilled fingers had my body shaking.

  “Ahhh…” I panted, feeling the ecstasy he was delivering.

  His other hand found the inside of my mouth, pushing his fingers as far as they would go down my throat, causing me to gag at the intrusion. He did it a few times, and each time the gagging became louder and heavier. He pushed them in one last time and pulled them out with a trail of my spit following behind, placing it all over my pussy.