by Stasia Black
I stay in bed until I hear the boom of the front door closing that signals he’s left for the day. Then I throw off the covers and run to the window just to make sure. And yep, just as I thought, he’s headed out, a wide brimmed hat on his head and tight-fitting Levi’s hugging one truly fine ass—
I jerk my eyes away from my captor’s backside and go back to bed.
Time to remind myself that no man has control over me or my body. I’ve never been a super sexual person—or at least, before now, I’ve never allowed sex to consume so much of my thoughts. And I’ve certainly never let it influence my actions.
I just need to regain perspective and take back my power. Remind myself there’s nothing Xavier has to give me that I can’t take care of all on my own.
I dip my hand underneath the covers. I touch myself and try to let my mind wander. Okay, time to pull out all my best fantasizing material.
Except all the fantasies I used to use to get myself off seem pale and vapid compared to what real sex is actually like.
And my only experience with the real thing is with Xavier.
Who is the last person on earth I want to be thinking about right now.
But when I close my eyes, it’s his firm fingers I imagine roaming up my thigh and teasing my pussy lips. When I slide my own fingers inside myself, I can’t help imagining they’re his. With my other hand, I pluck at my nipples the same way he did.
I arch and cry out under my ministrations.
I think of the way his eyes glitter with dark lust and how it felt when he shoved that huge cock so deep inside me, again and again and again—
I come with a piercing cry, my whole body spasming with pleasure.
The orgasm is quick and sharp, and all too soon over.
It was okay, but nothing like the full body fire that erupts when he touches me. When his cock penetrates me.
I shudder even thinking the phrases and I start touching myself all over again.
And then again.
And again
It’s one day-long masturbation session.
I masturbate in the shower. And afterward when I’m drying off, laying on my bed. I masturbate while I’m trying again with the bobby pins at the kitchen lock, pausing to drop to the floor and shove my fingers roughly in and out of myself while I rub my raw clit hard and deep until I scrape yet another orgasm from my exhausted body.
It’s barely pleasurable anymore, but if this is what it takes to break free from Xavier’s strange hold over my body, I’ll do it every day while he’s out.
Still, I’m done for now. I’m so tired. Something they don’t warn you about when you try fasting—it’s so tiring.
It makes sense if you think about it. Without any calories going in, you’ve got nothing but your own stores of fat to burn for energy. I’m no dainty little flower—there’s plenty of extra to burn, but I’m still plenty tired just drinking only water for two days straight.
I drag my worn-out ass back up the stairs for a long afternoon nap after the orgasm-a-thon. I only wake up when my door bangs open.
I blink sleepy eyes, confused when I notice dim light shining through my windows. Is it already evening?
But I jolt upright when I see the tall, hulking silhouette standing in my doorway.
“I hope you enjoyed yourself this afternoon.” Xavier does not sound happy. In fact, he sounds pissed the hell off.
I scramble back on my bed when he stalks toward me, his boots thundering against the wooden floor with each step.
How did he even know? Deny, deny, deny.
“Xavier, I don’t know what—”
“It’s Master to you,” he bites out. “I tried to do this the nice way. To let you freely roam the house. But I should know that to break a mare, you can never give them any head.”
Like he has before, he picks me up and swings me over his shoulder. He’s just come in from outside and his intoxicating scent is stronger than ever.
Damn him. I smack against his muscled back as he heads for the stairs. “Let me down! You fucking bastard, put me down this second!”
“Language.” He gives my ass a sharp smack.
I make an outraged noise and kick out. He wraps one of his huge arms like a band across my thighs, holding me in place.
“Let me down!” I scream again.
Down the stairs we go and damn him, it’s so scary I have to grab hold of his hips. Once we get to the bottom floor, though, I go back to smacking at him. “Let me go!”
When we go through the kitchen and he kicks open the back door, my breath catches—it’s the first time I’ve been outside since I got here. But then I go back to hitting and kicking out considering what limited space I have with him holding my legs down. “Let me go, you crazy bastard! Put me down!”
He ignores it all and keeps going forward.
“You want down? Fine.” The next second, I’m flying through the air and landing with an oof on a bale of hay. I roll sideways and topple to the ground, then scramble to my knees and finally to my feet, looking around to get my bearings.
I’m in a 10x10 fenced in area—no, not just a fence—the chain-link goes over the top as well.
It’s a giant cage.
With a doghouse in the corner.
My mouth drops open. Xavier is standing at the door. He’s smiling.
Son of a mother-fucking— If he thinks for one second that he’s going to—
I rush toward him but he slips out the swinging door and shuts it in my face. Then he clicks a heavy-duty padlock in place.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I scream at him. I clutch the chain-link of the door and shake it furiously. “Let me out of here!”
He glares at me. “Language.”
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!” I shout at the top of my lungs, wrenching the chain-link back and forth so hard it cuts into my fingers. I kick at it and then spin on my heel, unable to even look at him for another second. I clutch my head in my hands. He’s just locked me in what’s essentially a dog kennel.
In a fucking cage.
I’ve been living in some sort of fantasyland the past few days. This is what this was all really leading to. A dude who locks women in cages like animals.
“No more lies,” he says, sounding firm but calm from behind me. “No more hiding.”
I squeeze my eyes shut against the low rasp of his voice.
“Order and discipline are all I ask.”
I’m determined not to give him the satisfaction of looking his way. That is, until I hear his footsteps walking away.
“Wait, you can’t just leave me like this!” I turn and call after him. I’m wearing just a light summer dress. Night is coming. Is he really just going to—?
All I see is his back as he turns the corner of the house.
“Son of a bitch!” I yell after him.
No reaction.
And then he’s gone.
I scream another long stream of expletives. Nothing but the noises of the wilderness answer back.
Chapter 9
I’ve explored every inch of the small enclosure by the time night falls.
There are two bales of hay and more is scattered all over the ground and inside the doghouse. The doghouse is a sturdy, homemade structure and is large as far as doghouses go, I imagine.
We never had any pets growing up in the city. All I know is that the little house-shaped structure is just barely big enough for me to fit inside. I don’t actually go all the way in, I just peek my head and upper torso inside—enough to tell that, yep, a dog has actually lived in there because it stinks. I immediately yank my head back out again and pace around the rest of the tiny space.
How long does the insane bastard intend to keep me caged up in here? If he thinks I’m going to stand for this, he— he—
What, Mel? You’ll yell at him some more?
Yeah, that’ll show him.
I wrap my arms around myself as I look through the chain-link.
As the
sunlight drops behind the mountains, it’s impossible not to feel my spirits sink with it. At least it’s not very cold since it’s May. But the mosquitos come out in droves at twilight and I spend an hour swatting the little bloodsuckers until it’s finally full dark. There’s little moonlight and I stand in the corner of the cage, looking up at the lights of the house.
Is he really going to leave me here overnight?
A howl breaks the quiet.
I shriek and jump backward from the fencing.
A second howl joins the first.
Holy shit—are those wolves? Like, legit wolves wolves?
I keep backing away until I’m in the center of the cage. What the hell? How the hell could Xavier do this? Leave me out here in the middle of the night with freaking wolves? I look up at the chain-link overhead. I thought it was to keep things in, but holy shit, maybe it was to keep other things out?
“How are you doing, Pet?”
I shriek again at Xavier’s voice, so close he sounds like he’s right at my back. I swing around and he suddenly appears, switching on a flashlight that’s also a stand-up lamp.
He’s holding blankets and a basket. As if he does mean for me to spend the night out here.
He approached in the dark and waited to turn on his lamp until he got here, too—like he wanted to watch me without me noticing him. What the hell? Creepy stalker much?
Right, Mel. Because that’s the creepiest thing about this whole situation.
“Did you fantasize about me when you were being so disobedient and fucking yourself all day long?” His voice is sharp as a whip.
My mouth drops open and I step back as he deftly rolls the combo on the padlock and opens the door, just wide enough for himself to slip inside. Maybe I should have tried to run at him and get through the door—but really, it’d be like running at a brick wall. I imagine myself bouncing right off him like in some cartoon—either that or sustaining a concussion. Not to mention that no matter how truly screwed sideways this is all getting, he’s still got my dad’s life to hold over me.
And there’s what he just said. I’ve had the past few hours to think about how he knew what I was up to all day. The only thing I can think of is that he had cameras set up in the house. Watching me.
Like he can hear my thoughts, his next words echo and confirm them, “Watching your hands all over my cunt, taking what’s only mine to give.” He sets down the blankets and basket, advancing toward me.
“Maybe she’ll come to her senses, I thought. Realize just how much what she’s doing will displease her master. But then I realized—” One of his hands grips the short hair at the back of my skull. He yanks my head backward, baring my throat and forcing me to look him in the eyes, “—she doesn’t acknowledge me as Master yet. Which means she and possibly my baby inside her are not safe.”
His jaw tenses and his dark eyes burn with that dangerous glint he sometimes gets. “Do you know how it makes me feel when things I own aren’t safe?”
I swallow hard and his gaze focuses on my throat.
“It doesn’t make me happy, Pet. I need to keep my things safe and to do that, I need order. Discipline. A horse that’s not broken is a danger to itself and everyone around it.”
Every word coming out of his mouth is terrifying. He’s talking about me like I’m a possession. An animal he owns.
I want to lash out at him. Scream obscenities I know will infuriate him.
Another part of me is far too terrified by everything that’s happened over the past few days. Being dragged out here in the middle of nowhere to a place where I don’t know any of the rules. Then there’s the sex. Now being locked in a cage. Not to mention everything else about the confusing man holding me in such a vulnerable position.
With his hand still gripping my short hair, his head drops and then he’s kissing and biting his way up my exposed throat. I gasp at the sensation because I’m infuriated that he would dare take such liberties after locking me up like a dog.
And because for one exhilarated and confused second, I think he’s going to continue up my neck and finally kiss me on the mouth.
Instead he sucks long and hard on my throat right above my collarbone, sure to mark me in the place most visible no matter what I wear.
His lips finally let go with a loud pop.
He moves his mouth to my ear. “Submit,” he growls low. “Accept your place on your knees at my feet.”
My whole body goes tense at his words and I jerk back, my gaze shooting to his. In the lamplight, his eyes flash a brilliant blue-green.
He seems momentarily startled by the eye-contact. Or by the probably mutinous look on my features. And then his face lights up and I see the second of his rare grins.
“I knew I chose right with you. The finest mares have fire. They don’t break easy.” He pulls me to him so that my entire body is flush against his. I can clearly feel how hard he is. “But, honey,” he whispers, again right in my ear, “they always break for me.”
And then he lets me go.
“Blankets. Sunscreen for tomorrow. A gallon of water. I also brought you a little something extra to help you through.”
I can only stand there, a little stunned as he walks over to the basket. He pulls out a bottle of something. And what looks like a dog bowl.
A goddamned dog bowl.
Which he then proceeds to pour some kind of thick light-colored liquid into. It’s steaming. And it smells good even from several feet away. Like soup. Maybe broth?
But served in a fucking dog bowl?
He doesn’t bother looking back at me to see the outrage on my face.
He just exits the pen and locks it behind him, taking the lamp with him.
“Ugh!” I growl and run after him, slamming my hand against the chain-link. I don’t bother with the expletives this time.
I wait until he’s gone to go explore the hot liquid he left behind. It smells heavenly. I dip a finger in and lick it. Yep. It’s a thick, hearty broth. There’s nothing else that I can see—no noodles or chicken. But it’s something and my stomach cramps at the smell of it.
Goddamn him!
I squeeze my eyes shut. And then I lift the dog bowl to my mouth and drink down the broth until it’s gone.
I fling the bowl away as soon as the last drop is finished, sag against the fence, and fight back tears as the long night stretches out in front of me.
Chapter 10
I last two days being caged outside.
It’s the late afternoon rainstorm that does me in. It starts raining so hard that I have to climb inside the cramped dog house that stinks of wet dog, pee, and oh yeah, can’t forget the dog shit.
And why does he even have a dog kennel? I haven’t seen any dogs around, so what the hell?
I myself am fairly ripe by this point, too. I’ve continued drinking whatever ‘treat’ Xavier gives me in the dog bowl—sometimes fruit juice, sometimes broth, but nothing ever very substantive. I’m getting weaker and weaker without any real food.
After the rainstorm passes, I crawl out of the doghouse. The sprinkling of hay all over the ground of the enclosure is all sloppy with dark brown mud.
And I have to pee. As I squat, yet again, behind the dog house to relieve myself, I look around, then down at myself.
What was it that I was so hot and bothered about that led to all this?
I think I was worried about losing my dignity if I let Xavier feed me by hand?
I look down at the dark smears of questionable origin that are all over my once sky-blue dress after climbing out of the dog house.
Oh yeah, I’m doing awesome in the dignity department at the moment.
Not to mention, God, I thought the hours passed slowly when I could wander the house and read book after book?
Ha.
Hahahahahaha.
Try sitting in a 10x10 square cage for forty-eight hours straight.
There’s nothing to do but strain to listen for any little sound.
&nbs
p; I heard horses, I think? That makes sense since Xavier keeps using horse metaphors. Maybe he trains them? Or boards them?
Mainly there’s just the unending drone of crickets that kept me awake all night last night. During the day, there’s nothing to look at but the back of the lodge and the same stupid-ass landscape. Then there’s the bug and mosquito swatting to look forward to when the sun goes down.
Have I mentioned how much I hate nature?
There are only so many times you can think out elaborate revenge murder fantasies in exquisite detail before even they start to lose their luster.
Thankfully, the lack of food makes me sleepy so I nap a lot.
Which worked well enough when the sun was out, but now that I’m soaked through and stinking so much I can barely stand to be in my own presence? Yeah, not so much.
Staring out at the rain-drenched landscape, it hits me what an absolute fucking idiot I’ve been. It’s Hostage Basics 101.
I just have to pretend to go along with what the lunatic wants. I only need to make it look like I’m submitting. He doesn’t have to know that in my head I’m secretly whispering fuck you fuck you fuck you every time I eat the food he’s hand-feeding me.
Then bam, I can be comfortable while I get through this whole thing. Get pregnant. Pop out a kid. Get back to my old life.
Maybe that sounds harsh. But you have to understand, I’m not the maternal type. I never was. Blame it on my mom who always referred to me as her 18-year shackle. She couldn’t tell the story enough times about what a difficult baby I was and how by the time I was two months old, she’d already made the appointment to get her tubes tied.
She realized what a mistake she made, she’d say, but by that point it was too late to give me back! She said it laughingly to friends like it was all a huge joke. My existence, the great bumble of her life.
But that was fine. I had Dad and we were as close as two peas in a pod. He said Mom just wasn’t ready for kids. She had a hard life growing up in Mexico taking care of her seven brothers and sisters. She hated anything that reminded her of that. Aka any sort of responsibility whatsoever. Aka, me.