by Winter Fox
Realization dawned. I knew what he wanted.
“I’m sorry.” I ground the words out through gritted teeth.
I had nothing to be sorry for. What I wanted was to rant, and rage at him. I wanted to lash out, clawing his face until I made him bleed.
But I wanted food, water, and comfort more.
He hesitated for a second, and I held my breath, hoping my apology had sounded sincerer to his ears than it had to mine. Then his mouth twitched fractionally in what I guessed to be a smile of triumph.
Don’t get used to it, asshole.
In the next moment he stood, turned, and left the room. He closed the door behind him.
Terror gripped me.
What did I do wrong? I said I’m sorry. I said it.
“No,” I wailed, as his footsteps receded.
“Please? I said I’m sorry.” My voice grew smaller, and smaller as the last tiny flicker of hope died inside me.
I dropped my forearms onto the floor, and rested my forehead in the dirt between them. I was exhausted. I was broken. I was starving, and thirsty. I was done.
I knelt in the dark, and waited to die.
Minutes later I registered his footsteps coming back along the hall toward the door. I wanted to lift my head, to call out to him. But I had nothing left to give. So, I stayed where I was, kneeling in the dirt, with my head pressed against the ground.
The door clicked open, and light illuminated the room once more. I heard the soft, repetitive thud of him crossing the floor, before his booted feet stopped just within my peripheral vision. With a start, I realized my kneeling position meant that my ass was raised in the air. In my nakedness I was completely exposed to him.
I blushed, and turned my head slightly, so that I could see his boots more clearly. He stood silent, and unmoving. I knew he was appraising my naked body, and I felt sick.
“So submissive, so soon,” he murmured.
His voice was like silk. It sent an involuntary tremor through my body, and I couldn’t decide if I was reacting to the seductive tone of his words, or if I was just elated to feel my loneliness lifting at the sound of another voice.
If it gets me fed, and warm, then I can be submissive.
I stayed completely still, hating myself a little for permitting him to look at my exposed skin. I felt as though I was whoring myself to him.
Finally, he breathed out a long, low breath; before he squatted down to place another silver-colored “dog” bowl in front of me. He stood another bottle of mineral water next to the bowl before standing up again.
I waited for him to leave, not wanting to move until he was gone.
I almost jumped out of my skin when I felt his hand start to gently stroke the dirty tangle of red hair that hung from my head.
He stroked once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then he spoke softly. “Good girl.”
Before I had a chance to retaliate against his patronizing words and gesture; he stopped touching me, crossed the room, and closed the door behind him.
The smell of the food made my stomach hurt. Forgetting about my captor, and concentrating on the little things, I grabbed the bowl and began to demolish the stew.
Using my fingers as a spoon, I ate half the bowl in less than thirty seconds; before forcing myself to put it down on the ground. I needed to give my stomach a chance to recover from the shock of being fed, or I knew I would end up tossing the whole meal onto the floor.
Instead, I fumbled around in the darkness until I found the mineral water. I unscrewed the cap, and permitted myself several small sips of the cool liquid.
After making myself wait for ten, long minutes I went back to the stew, and finished it off completely. I licked every part of the silver bowl clean. I was sure “he” would have been delighted to see me act so pathetically.
I finished the water. Squeezing the bottle to make sure I got every single drop of fluid—not knowing when I would get to drink again.
I felt better than I had in days, although I wished I could get a shower. I was filthy, and I knew I didn’t smell great. Although the room smelled so bad, I wasn’t sure where its aroma ended, and mine started.
I crawled back to my spot at the wall, and savored the full feeling inside my belly. I was drifting in and out of sleep, when the click of the door opening again, made my head snap up. I clenched my fists against the dirt. I was feeling a little better.
I was feeling a little dangerous.
He didn’t step into the room this time; instead he crossed his toned arms, and leaned casually against the door frame. It was as though he had intuited the return of my inner fire.
Reaching out suddenly, he flicked a switch on the wall next to the door, and my room was instantly fully illuminated by the halogen glow of a bulb in the center of the ceiling.
It pissed me off to know that there had been a light in here all along. He’d simply chosen to lock me in the dark.
“Bastard.” I said it so softly, I was sure he wouldn’t hear me.
He flicked his head back a little, almost like a feisty stallion. But otherwise he didn’t move.
Narrowing his eyes, he spoke. “Are you sure you want to go back to the darkness of the last twelve hours, slave?”
No, I fucking-well don’t.
“Wait.” My mind finally registered what he had said.
He waited.
“Twelve hours? Since you left me alone?”
He nodded slowly, once.
I felt as though I was going to lose the food I’d so carefully eaten. It had to have been longer than twelve hours. It felt a lot longer than twelve hours.
“No, it was longer than that. You’re lying.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Why would I lie? You’re mine either way, slave.”
“I’m not a fucking slave,” I hissed.
He sucked air between his teeth. “Temper, temper. Remember who has the control here.”
So many things I wanted to say. But if I did, then he would punish me. I really didn’t want that again. I wasn’t sure I could survive it.
“Was it really only twelve hours?” I asked softly.
He seemed pleased by my decision to be good. He pushed himself off from the door frame, and taking a step into the room he spoke again.
“It was. It felt a lot longer though didn’t it?”
I nodded up at him from my huddle on the floor.
He took another step forward until he was standing in front of me. He looked down at me, before scanning the rest of the room with his cold eyes.
I cringed when his eyes landed on my “toilet.” My face grew hot, and red.
“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” I whispered, tearfully.
He reached out, and began stroking my hair in the same way as before.
“It’s okay, slave. I know,” he soothed.
I looked up at him, wondering if this kindness was real.
His eyes were distant, as though he were remembering something from long ago.
“Time moves much slower when you live in the darkness. You’ve had a hard start to your new life.”
New life?
“I want my old life back.” The words came out before I could stop them.
He snapped out of his reverie then. He snatched his hand off my head, and glared down at me.
“That’s never going to happen, so you better get used to it. Do you want to get cleaned up?”
I bit back my snarky reply. I wanted to get cleaned up more than anything else in the world right now.
I nodded. “Yes.”
His eyes narrowed. “Yes, what?”
God, he was pushy.
“Yes. Please?” I ventured.
He crossed his arms, and tapped a foot impatiently.
What the fuck do you want from me?
I went back over our conversation in my mind. Searching for a clue. Then suddenly I had it, he had called me slave. That meant he wanted me to call him...
He obviously saw the flash of rebellion that crossed my face. Raising one eyebrow, he gestured to the room which had been my prison for what felt like days. His meaning was clear.
Don’t say it, and you’ll stay here.
I swallowed down the misery, sorrow, and the last remaining fragments of my dignity.
“Yes. Master.”
Chapter Three
“Good girl.” His mouth twitched in his triumphant smirk.
He stepped around me, and reached out to grasp the thick circular ring; which I could now see was padlocked to my chain. He reached into the pocket of his jeans, and drew out a small key.
The key opened the padlock, releasing my leash from the wall. It meant that he now had a hold of the other end of the chain, as though I were an animal being led. It infuriated me.
“Why can’t you unlock it here?” I pointed to the collar around my neck as I spoke.
He wrapped the chain around his hand twice over; shortening the distance between us. “Because you cannot be trusted yet, slave. And the next time you speak without permission, you’ll be punished.”
He started for the door, and when the chain became taut as I pulled against him, he yanked hard until I fell forward. He was much stronger than me. I had no choice but to quickly scramble to my feet, and follow him out of my prison.
The hallway outside my dungeon was equally as dingy as the room I’d just vacated. Frowning, I looked at the back of the man who was tugging me along the corridor. He wore dark blue jeans, coupled with a clean white T-shirt, and stone-colored workman style boots which were as immaculate as the rest of his attire. His look didn’t fit with the décor at all.
At the end of the corridor we reached a rustic wooden door, which was completely out of keeping with the dirty hallway, and my prison room. He turned back to face me as he reached the door.
“Turn around,” he commanded.
My eyes flickered to a keypad on the wall next to the door, and I stayed where I was.
He sighed aloud, before yanking the chain hard. It took me by surprise and I stumbled toward him. Finally, ending up pressed against his hard chest. I stared up at him with wide-eyes; terrified of what he was going to do to me.
“You’re going to cause me trouble, aren’t you, slave?” His emotionless eyes pinned me beneath their cold gaze as he spoke.
I shook my head frantically from side to side. “No, I swear I won’t.”
I’d never been one to let people walk all over me. But I was also smart enough to know when someone has the upper hand. Realistically, I still had no idea what this man intended to do with me. I had to try and be the “good girl” he wanted. At least until an opportunity arose.
He narrowed his eyes at me, pulling the chain tighter until I rose on tiptoe, and my nose was almost touching his chin. For the first time I looked past the ice-cold eyes, and I noticed his strong jaw which was covered with a light stubble.
His hair was black, and cut short, but with waves that softly framed his handsome face before tapering off at the nape of his neck. He was stunning. A beautiful monster.
A long beep pulled my attention from his face, and the door behind him swung open. I realized he had purposely distracted me while he reached behind himself to key in the code for the door.
Manipulative bastard.
He started through the doorway, gently tugging against the chain to get me walking again.
“Never think you can outsmart me, slave. Because I promise you now, you can’t.”
I didn’t reply as I stepped through the doorway. Mainly because I was struggling to believe that I was still inside the same building. The door closed on the cold, dirty hallway, and I found myself standing in a beautiful high-ceilinged hallway.
The floor was made of dark slate tiles, which were only partially visible beneath the thick tracks of pale grey carpet which ran through the center of each walkway.
The walls were made of rich, wooden panels—all highly polished until they shone. Each panel had a large light fixture attached to it, set apart at equal distances. The lights were black, wrought metal which had been elaborately woven into beautiful shapes. They mimicked old style sconces, although each had an electric bulb set within its center.
The end wall of the hallway was dominated by a massive lead-lined window. Sumptuous curtains of pale silver silk cascaded down at either side of the glass, until the material fell in pools on the grey stone floor.
“It’s a castle,” I whispered to myself, as I looked around me in awe.
“It’s a house, not a castle. But it is a big house. And very easy to get lost in, slave.” He tugged on my leash again, and I glared at his muscular back. Then I tore my eyes off the stunning décor, so that I could watch my step as I followed after him.
We walked along the hallway. He, the master, leading his slave behind him. The house was spotlessly clean, and I realized with a start that I was still totally naked.
What if we ran into a cleaner? Or a butler?
He seemed to sense my hesitation. He stopped walking, and turned back to face me.
“What is it?” He sounded irritated.
I blushed in shame. “What if someone sees me like this?”
He shook his head, and his lip twitched up in his non-existent smile.
“Oh, slave. You better get used to it. And trust me, it’s nothing the staff haven’t seen before.”
I started to ask him if he often kidnapped women for a living. But he was already continuing down the hallway, and I had no choice but to follow on the end of my chain.
He finally stopped at another rustic looking door. This one didn’t have a keypad lock, I noticed. He opened the door, and stood to one side, gesturing to me to go in.
I walked into the most ornate bathroom I’d ever seen in my life. It was tiled from ceiling to floor in dark slate, which was of a similar style to floor of the hallway outside. There was a treble width shower, which was partitioned off from the rest of the room by a huge glass screen.
By far the most impressive feature was the bath. It was a burnished copper tub, which was at least four times bigger than my own bath at home. It took pride of place in the center of the room, and it was full of steaming, hot water.
“Is it for me?” I didn’t want to sound so desperate to get in the bath. But the longer I spent in these beautiful surroundings, the more acutely aware I became of my aroma.
He softened his grip on the chain a little. I looked into the cold depths of his eyes—but I saw no hint of softening inside them.
“It is for you. But first we need to discuss terms, slave.”
“Terms?”
He nodded. “You don’t believe me yet, but you are a slave now. Eventually you will do anything I command. You will do anything that anyone whom you determine to be master of you commands.”
I emitted a very unladylike snort of laughter. “No, I won’t.”
Things changed very quickly after that.
He dropped the chain, and instead wrapped his hand around my throat. He pushed against me so that I could barely breathe; driving me backward until I slammed against the wood-paneled wall.
His eyes were so cold they shone with an almost supernatural glow, and fury contorted his beautiful face, making him look like the monster he truly must be.
“I know you don’t fucking get this yet, slave. But I own you. We’re only two days in. You still have hope, faith, and a misplaced trust that you will escape from me one day. Don’t you?”
When I didn’t speak, he shook me so hard that my head hit the wall behind me. I managed a terrified nod.
“My job, is to take that hope, and tear it from your body. I will crush your faith with my bare hands, and I will shatter your trust completely. Only when you are thoroughly broken; when you are stripped of who and what you are entirely, will I begin to rebuild you as the slave that I desire you to be.”
If he had said that he was going to kill me, and cut me up
to make pies, I would have been less afraid than I was now.
“Why?” I choked out, on a sob.
He used the hand that wasn’t pinning my throat to gesture at the elegant bathroom.
“So that I have the life to which I am accustomed.”
I wanted to hit him; instead I glared into his cold, empty eyes, and waited for him to carry on speaking.
“I’m not some lone wolf, psychopath who’s stolen you for himself, slave. You were carefully selected to be trained by me. Once you’re ready—and you will be ready—you will go to your new home. You will be a willing, eager little slave. Your only desire will be to please the men at the house you are sent to.”
“I’ll die before that happens,” I whispered.
His mouth twitched. “Don’t underestimate my need to dominate you, slave. You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last. But, remember this, there have been eighty-seven women here before you. Eighty-five became truly submissive after I was done.”
Don’t ask the question, my mind screamed at me.
“What happened to eighty-six, and eighty-seven?”
“They’re dead.” He spoke with no emotion.
“People will look for me.”
His eyes softened the tiniest amount. He lifted his free hand to my cheek, and gently grazed his fingertips across my filthy skin.
“Oh, slave. I’m afraid that they won’t. You see, I work for a very powerful organization. The men who are part of that organization are extremely important, and you are already reported, and registered as dead in the real world. No one will ever come looking for Daisy Harper.”
If he had pushed a knife through my chest, it would have hurt less than hearing that I was never going to escape this place, or this man. He was going to make me a whore, and send me off to a brothel to be used for the rest of my life.
“Are you ready to talk terms, slave?” He let go of my throat as he spoke, and I stared up at him through my tears.
“Yes,” I said, brokenly.
“Good. One day very soon, if I say jump, you won’t ask how high. You will simply jump. But we aren’t there yet. Today, we need to begin getting you used to doing things that you don’t want to do.”