Moonlight Mist: A Limited Edition Collection of Fantasy & Paranormal)

by Nicole Morgan

  Being punished scares me. I don't know what his punishments involve. It could be a beating and I can’t take that right now. He is the only thing between me and a tragic fate. I am trapped in this room. I am his fucking captive. The last thing I want is a beating or whatever this unknown punishment is. Plus, fuck it. I am stuck here for now; I may as well get an orgasm before I die trying to escape. Again, the choice seems easy. So I beg Master to give me his cock. I tell him I want it. I’m not lying this time, not even to myself. Truth is, I want anything inside my throbbing pussy, something to help relieve the heat and tension rising in my ass and belly.

  I moan for Master to fuck me, to give me his cock, to fill me up and slam into me. I don’t even get the next plea out before he rams his cock into me from behind. I slide further into the mattress from the force. He is bigger than what I am used to and it feels fucking fantastic. Secretly, I am thrilled by how quickly he gave in to my pleas. It’s a simple, but massive victory. He must’ve been a little more eager than I thought. Fuck you, Master. You want me too.

  He grabs my waist with his left hand to give him a better hold and rams into me all while working my ass. I feel his fingers even more now with his cock deep in my pussy. Heat floods my whole body. My pussy starts to tingle as everything builds to the final release. My ass tightens, my belly tenses. I tell him I am about to cum. Before I get the last word out, my orgasm hits me like a wall of pleasure so intense I’ve fucking landed in utopia. My ass clenches around his fingers so hard I think I may have broken them. I don’t care. Not now. Not anymore. My pussy gushes with warm liquid while throbbing faster and harder than my heart. I scream into the pillow. He doesn’t stop me. Instead, he pushes himself deeper into me – his fingers rubbing at my pussy through the wall inside that separates my holes.

  I try to pull away as my orgasm reaches its peak. Finally, and with a swift pull, he removes his fingers from my ass and grabs the other side of my hip to keep me from squirming away from him. He rams into me like a Goddamn jack hammer and I am moaning like a fucking whore still on a high from my orgasm. It’s nothing like anything I have ever experienced before. Master’s breathing is erratic. I am pretty sure he is going to cum soon. I don’t even know if I want him to. Right now, I’m more worried about me. I think I may cum again too. I didn't even think that was really possible.

  I feel his dick swell inside of me. Mid thrust, he pulls it out and rams it into my ass. I scream. It burns. I try to fight—this time unable to stop myself—but he holds me in place and pumps into me harder than even before. The burning begins to subside. It’s then that I feel warm hot liquid shooting in my ass and my pussy starts to throb as I think of giving him the ultimate pleasure. Tears I can’t decipher stream down my face. Master pulls out and kisses me on the back of my head. Then, he slaps my ass and walks out. I lay there spent, hot, mortified, confused, angry, and worst of all, wanting more. He didn’t even let me know this time when he would be back. Now, the tears come harder than ever before.

  I can’t move. My legs are jello. I’m lost. Entirely unsure of where I am – of what is in his fantasy and what is the truth. Crying harder than I ever have before, I let it all out. The anger, the shame, the self-loathing, the crippling fear I have had building in me since I woke up in this stupid fucking room. Come on Ester, get your shit together, stand the fuck up, wipe those tears. He’s probably watching. Don’t let him have your tears. He has already taken your freedom. He stole your last shred of dignity. Don’t give him anything else. He’s a fucking monster Ester. Don’t be fooled. This is his fantasy, not yours. Don’t get sucked in. You met him at work, not a stupid Gentlemen’s Club he’d be too OCD to ever run.

  Standing on wobbly legs, I finally make my way to the bathroom. The heavy chain on my ankle, which has to be thirty feet long and is entirely ridiculous given the locks on the door and escape-proof windows, drags on the carpet behind me. Together, we make the hopeless crawl to the sink to clean up.

  Opening the bathroom door, I can’t help but notice the beauty of the simple washroom as usual. A few months ago, I would have given anything to have a bathroom like this. But now, it’s a sign of my imprisonment. I start shaking at that thought. Snap out of it Ester, come on. You can do this. You just have to bide your time, make a plan and pick your moment. If you have learned anything from your time with Greg, it was to wait and pick your moment. That fucker never saw it coming. Ahhh, the thought of Greg and his final hours brings a smile to my face and a rush of heat to my stomach. STOP thinking about that, focus on cleaning yourself up and getting some sleep. I fill the enormous tub almost all the way to top, adding a generous squirt of some very expensive shower gel that I have never heard of OR could ever afford on my own. It smells heavenly as I submerge myself in the almost boiling water, turning my white skin bright pink.

  Water spills over the side of the tub. I laugh – out loud. One benefit to being confined in this way is that I do still have little ways of rebelling that, technically, he can’t call me out on. It’s not my fault I only have the towels and cleaning supplies I’ve been left with. He certainly can’t get angry that I’m a little clumsy with the stupid chain. Intentionally, but careful to make it look like an accident, I splash more water out. Oops, what a shame. Oh well, it will dry eventually. …Don’t laugh. He’ll see it and know what you’re up to. Master is probably having a fucking heart attack seeing me get water all over his floor. I know, if I’m not careful to make it look like an accident, I will get in trouble for this. But right now, I don’t think I care that much. Fuck Master. Fuck his floor. Fuck this room. The more I think about it, fuck this! I splash more water on his majesty's floor hoping, now, that he is watching. You go Ester, show him who is boss. I laugh at that. My little rebellion. Hell, it’s all I have. There’s a tiny piece of me I don’t want to think much about that hopes maybe he’ll come back…

  I lay in that tub thinking about what transpired tonight, about how much my body responded to Master. Of where I am. And better? How. No Ester. It doesn’t matter. He wants you. He does. He’s let you in. You are what he hopes you to become. That’s all that matters. Play his game. I fixate on how much I’ve longed for his attention and touch. I have always been a needy person, needing human contact, craving acceptance. Typically, I’ve used sex as a way to feel wanted. I know that is part of the reason I gave in so easily tonight. I’ve had hardly any human contact since I got here. I wish I knew how long it has been. I try not to be too hard on myself. I mean, I’m only human. I was desperate for some kind of contact. That much, I understand. The part I don’t get—the part I don't want to look too closely at right now—is how much I enjoyed it, how I wanted more. Fuck, I still want more. I want him to come back to FUCK me, PUNISH me, make me scream. FUCK ESTER, YOU ARE A MESS. Think of a way to escape you idiot, come up with some ideas. You deserve a life too. STOP thinking of his dick sliding in and out of your… STOP Ester. I shake my head. I need serious help. I need to kill Master and get out of here. He is blind. He will never see me the way I want him too. He will eat me whole. Hell, he already has.

  The chain around my ankle clanks on the side of the tub as I move for the soap. I scrub myself as I think of wrapping the chain around Master’s neck. I imagine choking him into submission. I have thought of this many times. Choking him out and chaining him to the bed, turning things entirely around. How fun it would be to make him my captive. Only I’d be meaner. Except I wouldn’t bring him the five-star meals like serves me three times a day. Thinking about the food makes my tummy rumble even though I only ate a few hours ago. The meals are heavenly, like nothing I have ever tasted before, probably because I could never afford the ingredients let alone know how to cook it.

  The meals are the only highlights of my days. Yet, they confuse me. What’s with these fancy meals? Who cooks them? His wife? That means she’s okay with this? None of it makes sense. I mean, I am locked in this room; he could feed me two pieces of bread and there is nothing I could do about it. Why th
e fancy meals? What’s his motive? Maybe he likes chubby women. No that's not it. I know there has to be a reason, a meaning, a hidden message to all this, but what is it? It can’t be as simple as give poor Ester a pretty room, feed her fancy meals and she will jump on your dick any time you want. Well, isn’t that what you just did Ester? Fuck. You know you did and you know you liked it. I hear Greg’s voice in my head taunting me.

  “Shut the fuck up,” I yell! My hands balled into fists, I tell myself to calm down.

  Don't lose it now Ester, come on, focus. Think: Where was I? I was thinking of my revenge, my escape. I was dreaming of starving Master. Not Greg. Master. Yes, that’s right, starve him until he is weak. Too weak to fight. I can do this. I know I can. Find a way to turn things around. Then I will fuck and torture him until he begs for death. The whole thing is entirely ridiculous, but so is this realm. I have no idea how I’ll do it. But I’m sure about something. One thing I know is when I get the chance, I will make his death slow. I will make him beg for death like he made me beg for his dick. I shiver. The water has grown cold. I have let time get away from me. My little ‘kill Master’ fantasy went on longer than I should have allowed. But it’s not like I have anything else to do. Days and nights here run into the same swirling circles. Food. Bathing. Sleep. Him. Repeat. It’s no different tonight, in spite of him ruining me. Impossibly, I almost miss the outside and my autonomy. …Time to get out and dry off.

  I don’t bother putting on a nightgown. There is no point in modesty. Master has seen me in all my glory: Ironically, a fact I HATE. I am extremely conscious of all the lumps and curves that is my body. I’m nothing like the girls at his fucked up fantasy club – all much younger with tighter skin and thin legs that go on for miles. But there is not much I can do about it now. The clothes or scraps of nightgowns he has left me to wear don’t cover shit and right now I refuse to wear anything that he has picked anyway. At least, naked, I’m here how I came. I wonder what he’s done with my clothes. I haven’t seen any of them—my favorite pink sweater or black boots—since I woke up in this lavish cell of a room. I imagine them at the bottom of a river. Or, better, in the ground like Greg. I tell myself not to think about it. It won’t do any good now. For now, focusing on the moment and considering everything in this room has been picked by Master, my nudity is all I have. That and my thoughts.

  From now on, I will be walking around naked until I decide otherwise. This I can have control over. For now, anyway. Determined not to allow him to steal any more from me tonight, I wander around the room looking at all the books he’s brought me. He’s given me that at least, and they are my escape to another world. I run my hand along the big white oak dresser that holds the nightgowns I have been given to wear. The drawers don’t come out all the way; they are locked in somehow. Master obviously made sure they couldn’t be pulled out and turned into a weapon. He is organized. I will give him that. The trouble is it was all so unnecessary. Truthfully, he is the kind of man I wouldn’t have thought twice about jumping into bed with. Hell, I probably would have become his sub if we were dating. Instead, somehow I became his unwilling captive trapped in this Goddamn five-star room. Bored with the reading selection, I reconsider: Walking around this room isn’t going to get you anywhere, Ester. Go to bed!

  I lay in my California king, plush bed. The 2000 thread count Egyptian sheets feel like silk on my bare skin. More luxuries I could never afford myself, but could get used to in different circumstances. The smell of his cologne is stuck to my pillowcase and my mind travels back to Master and the sex. I try to stick with the facts: It was good. I enjoyed it way too much. But then, I think Master did too. He came pretty quick and seemed quite eager to get in my pussy. Why though? He could have any one of the younger, prettier girls at the club. …Is he some kind of crazy nymphomaniac? Is he just one of those guys that can’t last long? Or did he actually like me, did he like my generous curves and ample bosom? Did he like the feel of my pussy wrapped around his dick? God, Ester, you’re not some sexy seductress. You aren’t from the erotica either. And who says bosom when it’s just tits. Stop fooling yourself. You are not here because somehow he is in love with you and wants to make you his wife. He fucking kidnapped you! Forced you to have sex with him. Kinda. SNAP OUTTA OF IT, stop thinking about the sex! “Fuck,” I say out loud. I might be the nymphomaniac.

  I need to be level-headed and have a solid plan to get out of here before I end up in the dungeon. While I’m not sure I believe one exists, Master has referred to it on a few occasions. I don’t know whether to believe him when he tells me has girls down there too. I mean how could he? How could he get away with this sort of thing? Especially if he is doing this as much as he has hinted at. It sounds too far-fetched. But then again, I’m here in this gilded prison. That seems pretty out there, but here I am. So anything is possible. That’s what I can do. I can change my way of thinking. I can lie to myself and tell myself I’m here willingly and like one of the girls in the books I love to read. I can choose to look at this—my CAPTIVITY—as voluntary, like I am staying at a luxurious training school for WILLING subs wanting to learn how to be the best slave ever. I have to look at Master as my teacher, a teacher I want to impress. It could work. I’d be less miserable… Ester. Stop lying to yourself. You did volunteer. You took the journey in. No, I tell myself, needing to believe him and the fantasy he now has me wrapped up in.

  Yes Ester, pretend that is what’s happening while you bide your time plotting. Perfect, Ester. Believe that lie and you can escape. It’s not hard. All you have to do is win Master over, get him to drop his guard and then you can strike. I have always been able to use my imagination to help me adapt: To turn myself off and go into a fantasy world. I used to do it with Greg all the time, so I could be as wet and as pliable as possible. It was what helped me survive when he was on one of his particularly sadistic ‘fuck Ester’ missions. The worlds and scenarios I dreamed up back then got me through it. They helped me make it and could help me again with Master. That’s what I’ll do, I decide, drifting off satisfied in more ways than I care to admit.

  Arrghh.

  I open my eyes and I am hit with sunlight. Where the hell am I? Is the window open? I must've dozed off while thinking up my game plan. I have the beginnings of plan: First, convince Master I am a good little slut. I cringe. I really have to get used to that word. I have to embrace it. Not associate it with that piece of shit that is, or was, Greg. I can do this, I know I can.

  I jump at the sound of the two knocks that means my breakfast has arrived. There is a slot in the door that my tray is passed through. I run to the door and knock back once to signal I am ready to receive my tray. The first day here, I tried to speak to the person on the other side of the door. I begged for help, begged them to let me out and yelled for them to save me. I told them I was a prisoner and to set me free. Silly mistake that turned out to be. I got no answer. All I got was a letter explaining the meal rules if I hoped for feedings to continue.

  Meal rules:

  No speaking.

  Knock once when I was standing on the other side of the door ready to receive the tray.

  Speaking means no food for three days.

  (I went three days without food that first week. Every time I got two knocks, I begged to be set free. By the time dinner arrived on day three, I was starving so I knocked once and took my tray. I decided then that I needed to eat to escape and whoever was bringing me my meals couldn’t or wouldn’t help me. It had to be a woman. I never hear her coming and I have seen a flash of a slender feminine figure. She is probably a prisoner here too. Or, the one, who on the Earthly realm, he calls his wife.)

  Everything on the tray has to be eaten and the plastic fork and/or spoon I got has to be returned with the plastic plate, bowl, and tray when I hear the two knocks indicating my meal time is up.

  I receive my tray; it smells divine. Crepes with maple syrup, fresh cream, sliced strawberries, dragon fruit, cherries, blueberries, and a coffee
that surpasses any coffee I have ever had before. Its smooth, rich, velvety taste and texture is orgasmic. Master informed me on one of his rare visits that it is Kopi Luwak, an extremely expensive coffee. I have heard of it on some foodie show. I know it comes from Asia.

  I devour my breakfast and sip my coffee, contemplating what today will bring. Master didn’t say when he would be back. And last night, I remind myself, I decided to pretend I wanted to be here and convince Master he could trust me. At the two knocks, I slip my tray through the slot and go and brush my teeth with my finger. I smile, checking to see if they are clean. Well, as clean as they are going to get without a toothbrush. I wash my face and decide to read. I pick a horror novel—IT—by Stephen King. I watched the movie but never read the book. I lose myself in the town of Derry, as I pass away hours lying on the chaise reading.

  Knock, Knock.

  I am startled when lunch arrives, but once I hand my empty lunch tray back, I go straight back to reading.

  Knock, knock.

  I jump again when dinner arrives. I spent the whole day in Derry fighting an evil clown. I knock back hard on the door, letting mystery bitch know I am ready to take my dinner. It’s some pasta I can’t pronounce. It’s so good, I am swallowing it without even chewing.

  Slow down, Ester. The last thing you need is to die choking on expensive pasta. The red wine paired with my pasta is sweet and tart and I drink it way too quickly. I wonder while I eat when Master will grace me with his presence. I am lonely and find myself longing for another visit from him - just a conversation. More rules even. I need to have a conversation - one outside my head. I finish up my meal and hand it back when the knock comes. Tears prick my eyes and start rolling down my cheeks. Why the fuck am I crying? Because Master didn’t visit. No. Because I am lonely, that’s why. I climb into bed and sleep. I go on two more days this way. Eating, reading, sleeping, waiting, but for what?