Tricked

by Claire Thompson

  The girl stumbled and swayed as she got to her feet, her eyes going unfocused a moment. It occurred to him she hadn’t had anything to eat since dinner the night before. The poor thing was probably faint with hunger.

  Which was a good thing, as a hungry puppy would do anything for her food.

  He allowed her to remain on her feet as he led her down the spiral staircase to the first floor. Then he pointed to the ground. “When I say ‘puppy play,’ you are to drop to your hands and knees and crawl. You may only respond with yips, like a real puppy.”

  She gawked at him, a stupid expression on her face. “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “What?”

  Annoyed, he jerked hard on the leash, yanking her down to her knees. Her hands flew to the tightened collar, her face turning red. Crouching beside her, he slapped her hands away, but let the chain loosen so she could breathe.

  “I said,” he repeated, speaking slowly so the stupid girl could get it, “while you’re my puppy, you will crawl on your hands and knees like a dog. When I ask you a question, you will respond with a yip or a bark to show you understand. Got that?”

  Two spots of red had appeared on her cheeks. He could feel anger radiating off her in waves. Was he going to need to swat her nose? But then her expression changed, her eyes skittering away from his as her face went blank. After a second, she gave a small yipping sound.

  Delighted, Damon laughed and patted her head. “That’s it, little bitch. Good dog.”

  Getting to his feet, he pulled the naked puppy along, generously going slowly enough for her to keep up as she crawled along behind him to the kitchen. Once there, he looped the end of the leash around one of the chair legs at the kitchen table and commanded, “Stay.”

  Her face still blank, the girl sat back on her heels and wrapped her arms across her chest.

  “No,” he directed with a shake of his head. “Dogs don’t cover themselves. When I tell you to stay, you hold your hands like this.” He demonstrated, holding up his hands like a puppy’s paws lifted in the air when they were waiting for a treat.

  She hesitated a fraction of a second, anger again flashing in those big brown eyes.

  Irritated, he raised a hand as if to strike her. That got her attention, causing her to do as he’d said. She released her hold on herself and held up her arms, bent at the elbows, her hands flopping over like little paws.

  Amused, he gave a curt nod. “Stay right there,” he reminded her. “I’ll get your kibble, little bitch.”

  He grabbed a bowl from the cabinet, along with a box of cereal from the pantry and a carton of milk from the fridge. Maybe he’d get some actual dog kibble and make her eat it. But for now, he poured Cheerios into the bowl and added a little milk. Returning to the girl, he set the bowl in front of her.

  “Thank me with a yip,” he commanded. “And then you may eat the cereal, but only with your mouth, like a real dog.”

  Her eyes were now fixed on the bowl. She swallowed hard, drew in a breath as if girding herself, and managed a pathetic little yip. She glanced up at him, her mouth working as if she were about to speak.

  “What? You’re aren’t hungry?” He shrugged and bent down as if he were going to take the bowl away.

  “No,” she blurted. “I am. Please, I—”

  “Bad dog,” he shouted. “Little bitches don’t speak. Didn’t I just say that?” Reaching down, he gave one nipple a savage twist.

  Callie gasped and winced, her hand fluttering up to cover the reddened nipple as tears filled her eyes, one spilling over onto her cheek.

  Poor little puppy. He was being too hard on her. He was probably moving too fast. Clearly, despite her college degree, the girl wasn’t too bright.

  He patted her head. “I forgive you. This time. Now, eat your kibble before I take it away. Remember, no hands.”

  He pulled out a chair from the table and sat down facing her. He watched with amusement as she positioned herself somewhat awkwardly on her hands and knees, her cute little ass upraised. She gave him another beseeching look, to which he responded with a raised eyebrow.

  She refocused on her bowl and lowered her head. As he watched her, he reached into his shorts and stroked his shaft, which, despite his recent ejaculation, had hardened to steel once more.

  Her first efforts weren’t very successful as she tried to stick her whole face into the shallow bowl. She looked pretty funny with milk dripping off her nose and dribbling down her chin, but eventually she got the hang of it. Slurping and sucking, she managed to get at least some of the cereal into her mouth, though she was making quite a mess in the process. By the time she was done, her face and chest were filmed with milk, a droplet suspended from one nipple.

  He shook his head as he regarded her. “What a messy puppy you are. I’ll have to hose you off. But first”—he got to his feet and tugged down his shorts, his cock springing free—“I’m going to give you a creamy dessert.”

  Reaching for the back of her head, he pulled her forward and shoved his shaft into her mouth. Gripping a handful of her hair, he pumped in and out of her throat, not even minding that she was getting milk on his crotch.

  Christ, he was turned on. The power rush of forcing this young woman to act like a dog, the knowledge that she was his toy to play with, use or discard, and no one in the world knew what he’d done, was like nothing he’d ever experienced. She was all his. He could let loose with every dark fantasy, every nasty kink that he wanted, and she didn’t have a damn thing to say about it.

  Her mouth was cold from the milk, and it felt good against his hot, throbbing dick. All too soon, his balls tightened, the tingling sensation moving up and along his shaft as he thrust in and out of her mouth. It felt so fucking good, he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. Sure enough, a moment later, like the cork shooting off a bottle of shaken champagne, he spurted down her throat with a guttural cry.

  He let her go and fell back into his chair. Pleasant exhaustion moved through him, along with a nice endorphin kick. He didn’t even reprimand the little cunt when she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  He glanced out the high window above the sink. It was dark out, and a look at his watch told him it was already after eight. Hauling himself to his feet, he un-looped the leash from the chair leg.

  “Crawl over to the sink. You’re a mess,” he said, tugging her along. He turned on the faucet and reached for the spray nozzle. Turning back to her, he sprayed her face and chest with water, sluicing the milky film and bits of Cheerios from her skin as she spluttered and gasped.

  Satisfied, he replaced the sprayer, turned off the water and reached for a dish towel. He rubbed it over her hair, face and chest and then dropped it on the puddle of milky water pooling on the floor. He’d dress her in a French maid outfit tomorrow and make her clean it up.

  For now, though, he was done with her. What he needed was a nice rare steak and a glass of beer, and then a good night’s rest. Eventually, once she was better trained, he might bring her up into his bed. But for now, he’d chain her to the basement cot.

  He picked up her leash again and led her, still on her hands and knees, to the basement door. “Time for bed. Puppy play is over for now. You can walk down the stairs,” he added magnanimously as he pulled her upright.

  Once in the basement, he unclipped her leash and hung it on a hook on the wall at the bottom of the stairs. He slipped the choke collar over her head and hung it with the leash. “You need to use the bathroom before bed?”

  “Yes, please,” Callie replied, looking around as if a toilet was going to magically appear.

  “You can piss in the sink. If you need to take a dump, you’re shit out of luck,” he added with a grin.

  “In the sink?” she repeated, dismay on her face.

  He shrugged, not even reprimanding her for speaking without permission. “Take it or leave it. You can always piss in the cot again, if that floats your boat.”

  Again those two spots of red appeared high on her
cheeks, which he was coming to understand meant she was furious. But, wisely, the cunt kept her mouth shut. She didn’t move for several seconds, as if weighing her options. Then, with a glance at him, she moved toward the freestanding sink. She hoisted herself awkwardly over it.

  Straddled over the basin, she looked away, her face reddening with embarrassment. After several seconds, a stream of piss tinkled against the porcelain. Then she glanced around, probably looking for toilet paper. Finding none, she turned on the spigot and splashed some water between her legs.

  “Let’s go,” Damon snapped, tired of her dawdling. “Get over here.”

  She climbed off the sink and walked toward him, her arms wrapped around her torso. He pointed to the cot. “Lie down so I can chain you up for the night.”

  She bit her lip and furrowed her brow but, wisely, kept her mouth shut.

  The piss had dried on the cot, though a faint odor lingered in the air. Callie wrinkled her nose as she lay down. Too damn bad.

  He clipped the chains to her wrist cuffs and then reattached the ankle cuffs. “Nighty, night,” he said, leaning down to give her a kiss on the forehead.

  Taking a step back, he admired her lithe, naked body. He couldn’t wait to chain her up to the St. Andrew’s cross for a proper whipping. But first he needed a good meal and a solid eight hours of sleep. Tomorrow, the fun would begin in earnest.

  ~*~

  Callie lay for a long time staring into the dark, tears trickling into her hair and ears.

  How had this happened to her? How could Damon have gotten away with it? Was there a hunt on for her? Did anyone even know she was gone?

  Her parents would get worried when they didn’t hear from her. She texted or talked to them on the phone at least twice a week. But it had only been—what—twenty-four hours or a little longer since he’d kidnapped her? It would be several more days before anyone got seriously concerned. And then what? How would they even know where to begin to look for her?

  She was on her own, the captive of a madman, who knew where. The guy was clearly out of his fucking mind. She was his prisoner, with no way out.

  “No,” she murmured aloud, clutching her hands in fists. She refused to accept that. There had to be a way out. Men had escaped from Alcatraz using a spoon, their wits and determination. This wasn’t a prison—it was just a house. And Damon was just one man. While he’d clearly planned this whole thing out well in advance, that didn’t mean he was perfect.

  Having shucked the suave charm he’d exhibited over dinner, he now struck her as less of a man and more of an overgrown, spoiled adolescent. His extreme good looks and obvious wealth had apparently allowed him to sail through life in a bizarre, entitled bubble. He’d quickly revealed his arrogance and smug, self-congratulatory pride at what he’d done.

  She had the impression he was making things up as he went along. Was this the first time he’d done something like this? Did he have some overarching plan for her? She had to figure out where the weak points were in his plan, and exploit them. She had to get away before things got any worse—and she was pretty darn sure they were going to.

  He couldn’t keep her here indefinitely, could he? But, then what? She refused to consider what he might do if and when he got tired of this sadistic, dangerous game.

  She had to get away. Damn it, she had to! But how?

  Rage rose inside her like a fire, heating her blood. It was easier to stoke that flame than to acknowledge the constant terror and creeping despair that threatened to overwhelm her. She jerked at her restraints, furious at her helplessness. “God fucking damn it,” she whispered furiously. She didn’t dare make too much noise, in case he was nearby, waiting to pounce.

  After a while, exhausted and defeated, she stilled. The canvas beneath her was rough against her skin. Her bottom felt tender and bruised from the spanking and anal rape. She was thirsty and still hungry. She could smell her own sweat, mingling with the odor of stale urine rising from the cot. Her teeth felt furry as she ran her tongue over them, a sour tang at the back of her throat. The few ounces of milk and cereal she’d managed to slurp up were nowhere near enough sustenance. She was bone weary from the ordeal and the constant stress of the situation.

  But she had no intention of giving up. She needed to come up with a plan—a concrete plan. She should try to rest while she could. She needed to gather her strength. She closed her eyes, certain she’d never be able to sleep.

  Callie was being lowered into some kind of pit, her body wrapped in chains. She struggled desperately to get free, aware if she didn’t, the huge pile of dirt waiting nearby would be shoveled over her, burying her alive. As the first shovel-full cascaded over her, terror consumed her, blotting out everything else as she thrashed and howled…

  She came suddenly awake, startled at the rocking beneath her. It took several seconds to understand she’d been dreaming, and jerking at her restraints in the process. She lay still awhile, letting her racing heart slow as she forced the nightmare away.

  As she came more fully awake, she noticed a glimmer of light in her peripheral vision. Twisting her head, she saw a small, high window, the edge of a crescent moon silvering the frame.

  She looked at the cuffs around her wrists and the chains leading down to the legs of the cot. She’d been rocking in her sleep, the cot lifting and slamming down against the concrete. Had Damon heard the ruckus? Would he come thundering down to punish her for disturbing him?

  She listened hard, hearing nothing. As she lay there, an idea came to her. She was only tethered to a cot, not to eyebolts in the wall. What if…?

  Callie began to rock again, this time in a conscious effort to lift one side of the cot. If she could lift the legs long enough to pull the chain from underneath… If she could get one wrist free…

  It took a long time, with lengthy pauses in between as she listened for the slightest hint of sound from above. But finally, winded and sheened with sweat, she did it. She managed to slip the chain free of the cot leg holding her left wrist.

  Her heart smashing in her chest, she brought her free hand over to the other and pulled the Velcro free. With shaking hands, she undid the other cuff and then her ankles.

  She was free!

  Silent as a mouse, she rolled from the cot and got unsteadily to her feet. She waited for the dizziness to pass. She took in her surroundings in the dim light of the moon, including the part of the room she hadn’t been able to see from the vantage point of her cot when the lights had been on. She scanned the space for any evidence of a camera or monitor, but saw none. Relieved, she moved stealthily around the room, looking for something she might use as a weapon.

  But the space was empty, save for the cot and the sink. She did find a bucket and an old mop in a corner, but left it where it was. There was a small storage closet, but it was empty. Then she found it—a door! Did it lead to the outside? Did she dare go out there naked and unarmed? What would she find waiting for her?

  Whatever it was, it was better than being trapped in this lunatic’s house.

  She turned the knob with a trembling hand.

  It was locked.

  Sick with disappointment and too much adrenaline, she looked desperately around the empty space for a key. She spent the next several minutes combing the area for any possible hiding place, but found nothing.

  Refusing to give up, she moved toward the basement stairs. She placed her foot on the lowest wooden step, which creaked beneath her weight. She froze, listening for any sound of movement upstairs. All was silent.

  Slowly, carefully, she mounted the stairs, placing each bare foot carefully down. When she got to the top, she turned the doorknob, terrified that it, too, would be locked.

  But it turned easily. She pushed the door slowly open, her heart beating so loud she was sure he would hear it. She stood still for several seconds, listening with all her might. But all she heard was the gentle chirping of crickets outside the silent house.

  She tiptoed down the hall towa
rd the living room. She felt her way toward the front door, fervently wishing she wasn’t naked. There was a light throw over one of the chairs. It was better than nothing. Grabbing it, she wrapped it around her shoulders. Then she glided to the front door and turned the knob slowly.

  It was locked with a keyed deadbolt. There was no key in the lock.

  “The doors are all locked, as are the windows. I possess the only key.”

  Her heart fell, tears pricking her eyes. It was hopeless. She was locked inside.

  Don’t give up! A voice whispered urgently in her head. Think.

  Perhaps the key was nearby, tucked into a drawer or hanging from a rack. And then there was the gun. He’d said he had a gun! If she could find the weapon, she would hold it to the bastard’s head and make him give her the keys.

  But there was no time for that. What she needed to do was escape, as fast as she could, and pray that she could find help nearby.

  She looked around the living room, trying to think. Her eyes landed on the louvers drawn closed against one wall. She moved quietly toward them. Holding her breath, she cautiously flicked one aside. They covered sliding glass doors that looked out on a large swimming pool. The pool was lit by lights set beneath the water along the perimeter, casting an eerie glow into the darkness.

  Heart hammering, she flipped up the lock, gripped the handle and pulled. To her astonished delight, it slid noiselessly open on a well-oiled track. The moist, warm night air brushed her skin, beckoning like a promise. Barely breathing, she slipped out into the night.

  As she stepped forward, she was suddenly blinded by the flash of blazing floodlights. She froze, rooted by terror to the spot, her makeshift poncho falling to the ground. She heard the whooshing sound of another sliding glass door. Then she felt a heavy hand clamp down on her shoulder, strong fingers digging into her muscles.

  “Going somewhere?”

  Chapter 8

  Callie let out a piercing scream. Damon clapped a firm hand over her mouth and jerked her backward into the bedroom.