“This is Georgette and Michelle. They have been my employees for a long time. They know who you are, and more importantly, they know what you are. My slave. You are not to speak to them, or you will be punished.”
My heart, which had so rapidly inflated with hope, now burst.
There was a table set next to a bay window. It was elegant, with tea cups and fine china laid out for breakfast. Between the two settings were plates of pancakes, sausage, eggs, a pitcher of orange juice, and a maple syrup container. It was a feast and as I inhaled my hunger came back with a vengeance.
“Please, sit.”
I did. His hand lingered on my shoulder for a moment. As if we were lovers eating together. As if this was a normal day. As if I wasn’t naked. As if I wasn’t his captive.
“Help yourself.”
I did. I heaped food onto my plate and drowned my pancakes in syrup. One of the maids, Georgette, came over and poured hot coffee into my cup. The steam swirled up and god, for a moment I was in heaven.
I began to shove a forkful of eggs into my mouth when I noticed Griff. He did not look pleased. I wasn’t sure what I had done wrong. He had invited me to help myself, right?
Still, my forkful hovered in the air, not quite in my gaping mouth. I waited, looking at him, hoping for a sign.
“It is customary to wait for your master to begin eating first, Renee.”
Customary? Because I have so much experience in Masters, asshole.
Hungry me was turning into bitchy me and I was worried that I would slip up. Say or do something to make him mad and he’d take the food away.
“I’m sorry, Master.” I said it, but I didn’t put my fork down, either. It was too hard to not rebel. Every part of me thought this situation was too fucked up, too ludicrous to fully comprehend.
He slowly helped himself. He had half the food on his plate as I had on mine. For a moment I felt guilty for over indulging.
Overindulging? You haven’t eaten in days.
The fork was starting to tremble. I refused to back down, but I couldn’t commit to pissing him off, either.
Finally, oh god finally, he took a bite. I stuffed the eggs into my mouth. They were scrambled, buttery and fluffy, and I was ecstatic.
As I ate, Griff sipped his coffee and watched. I knew I looked awful, scarfing food like there was no tomorrow. But the truth was, with Griff, I didn’t know if there was a tomorrow.
“Let’s talk about your training.”
My eating slowed.
“Your training begins now. Slave training is hard. It will hurt. You will hate me for a while.”
Try forever, asshole.
“In a slave I expect a lot, though it can be summed up in only two words: total obedience. You will do as I say, when I say it.”
I stopped eating, ignoring the protests of my body. What was he talking about?
“Why are you doing this?” My voice quivered. I couldn’t help myself.
His hand slammed on the table, making all of the china clatter and shake. I jumped in my seat and felt the blood rush from my face.
“Do you need another punishment already?”
I shook my head.
Griff’s shoulders dropped a little and he relaxed back in his chair. Except, when I looked closely at him, I saw he wasn’t relaxed at all. Wound tight, ready to spring at my next disobedience. It terrified me, the way he could switch back and forth, Jekyll and Hyde.
“I’m was a slave trainer, Renee. Very wealthy men and women paid me exorbitant prices for human slaves. This house, my servants, everything I have came from hard work. Dirty work. Work that requires an expertise not many have.”
“I can break a girl, Renee. I can make pain her pleasure. I can make her the most humble servant, the most pliable goddess in the bedroom, the perfect companion. I was very, very good at this. I was able to retire when I was thirty, which was not too long ago.”
I played with my fork, bewildered by what he was telling me.
“You may ask a question.”
I chewed my lip, absorbing what he had said. Broke women? Trained them? And who were these wealthy patrons who bought them? If his house was evident of the price and his skill…
I shook a little, realizing how good he must be. How many women he must have trained.
“You said you were a slave trainer. That you retired. So… so why am I here?”
Griff steepled his hands in front of him. “You are here for me.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I want a slave of my own.”
My hand shook as it set down my fork. My eyes searched his face, desperate to find some evidence he was joking. That this was a lark.
Those green eyes were still. Calm. Deadly serious.
I gripped the table. Panic rose from deep in my gut. Horror wrapped filthy hands through my nerves as his words replayed in my head. Slave. Training. Pain. Pleasure.
It was the “pleasure” that made my stomach roil the most. He’s going to rape me. He’s going to force himself into me and tell himself I love it.
The terror I was feeling rose and rose in my gorge until I scrambled from my chair. Griff lunged, trying to grab me, but I twisted and fell to my knees, my hastily eaten breakfast churning up and on to the floor. My body shuddered as I vomited, my hair sticking to my sweat-soaked face.
“You’re disgusting.” His words sliced through me. I was disgusting? I didn’t traffic people!
“Clean it up.”
One of the maids brought me a rag and slowly I tried to mop up the previous contents of my stomach. My mind was chaotic though, fighting his words, fighting this situation.
In the south, you see dead possums on the road all of the time. Possums have this awful self-defense mechanism of playing dead when they’re afraid. Not great if a car is coming at you. I had seen them drop and I didn’t think it was pretend; I thought that they genuinely became so scared that fear overrode fight or flight and they simply lost consciousness.
I understood that a little, now. Griff was a truck, heading toward me full speed. He wouldn’t swerve. He intended to smear me on the pavement.
Like the possum, I couldn’t even think about fighting. I couldn’t contemplate running. I could only choke on my fear, my head aching, the vision of my hands mopping up chunks of pancakes blurring…
I passed out.
Chapter Eight
Bitter coldness jarred me back to consciousness. I began flailing.
Grif loomed over me. He had thrown me into a freezing bath.
“Clean yourself.”
I gasped for breath, scrambling to find purchase on the smooth sides of the deep porcelain tub.
I finally settled, my knees drawn tight to my chest, my arms wrapped around them for warmth.
“Here.” He thrust a bottle of shampoo at me. I glanced at the label; it was expensive. French.
My hands were shaking violently from the cold, but I managed to squeeze some out. The rich smell of jasmine filled the room. The juxtaposition of the luxury product with the ice-cold bath brought me to my senses.
I sudsed my hair, aware of Grif glowering above me.
“You will stop throwing up. It is revolting and unseemly.”
I had to bite my tongue. The impulse to remind him that I wasn’t vomiting out of spite, but because he was a horrible person, was tempting.
“Rinse and get out.”
As I rose from the tub, he wrapped me in a large, fluffy cotton towel. It warmed my skin after the bath. My nipples had tightened into painful nubs when the air hit my skin. The towel was large and covered my nakedness.
Hands gentle on my shoulders, Grif helped me out of the tub. My knees were weak. The food that was supposed to sustain me had ended up on his kitchen floor. His hands gripped me tighter when I started to slip, pulling me close to him.
I could smell a hint of cologne. It was subtle, a musk and leather scent that made me feel heady. I remembered how he had touched me in the car. How he had forced hi
s fingers into me. Well, my body’s betrayal had made it easy. His touch had been rough, but it had also electrified me.
My head turned in and I nuzzled his collarbone. I couldn’t help it. Without something to eat, I was feeling delirious. The moment was just right, with his strong hand supporting me, his scent surrounding me…
“What are you doing, Renee?” His breath was in my hair, his voice a low growl.
I realized what I was doing and my horror shook me to my bones. Jerking back, I pulled the towel tight around me.
“Don’t cover yourself.”
“Why?”
He didn’t move to punish me.
“I like looking at you.” The way he said it, though… it sounded more predator. I was the prey. I had a feeling I knew what that meant and I hated that my body began to heat at the prospect.
“Renee. Remove the towel, now.”
I let it drop, pooling at my feet.
“Pick it up. If you leave wet things on the floor they’ll mildew. We wouldn’t want that.”
There’s a lot of things I don’t want, Grif. I don’t want to be your slave. I don’t want this.
Still, I knelt to pick it up. His eyes were glued to me for every movement. The green danced with dark delight.
Because I was so weak, my knees hit the floor for a moment. It hurt and I choked back a cry. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him step closer. When I raised my eyes, my face was level with his crotch.
His pants were tight, his erection clearly defined.
“I want you to suck me, Renee.”
It was a good thing I had already thrown up, because the idea made me sick. Repulsed. He was my captor. I hadn’t even performed oral on Matt. It went on the list of things good girls didn’t do.
When I faltered, not moving to perform, Grif grabbed my hair. He coiled it around his fist, tightly controlling me at the nape of my neck.
“Obey me, Renee.”
I couldn’t, though. My eyes just stared at the zipper. My mind raced, imagining what it would be like to unzip his pants, to take his cock out…
Rage boiled in me. At myself. What was wrong with me? My defiance was coming from the surprise of the situation. Coming from the hate my brain felt for him.
My body, though…
Nipples that had been tight with cold now puckered in pleasure. I could feel the arousal pooling in my pussy and I burned with guilt and shame.
Holding my head still, Grif slapped me, hard, with his other hand. His grip kept me from collapsing.
“This is your last chance, Renee. Take my cock out and suck it, or you will be punished.”
The painful twist of the roots of my hair made my eyes sting and water. As I unzipped him, a tear fell down my cheek. I fantasized briefly about biting him, but the fear of how badly he would hurt me kept teeth at bay.
Instead, I pulled his thick cock out. It was large and heavy in my hands and so stiff it pointed to his belly.
Wrapping my hand around the base, I began to lick the velvet skin.
“No, slave. I said suck me.”
With that he thrust forward, forcing himself into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat, rough. I gagged, sputtering for breath as he pulled out, only to ram back in.
As he thrust into my mouth I struggled for breath, struggled to keep my balance, to keep my lips over my teeth.
And then he moaned…
It tore through me, that moan. It was deep and raw and there was a desire, a dark power in knowing I was what caused that sound. Before I could stop it, I groaned on his cock, my own sound of pleasure rumbling through his erection.
“Oh fuck,” he sighed.
My clit grew swollen and I realized in a haze that I was more aching, more turned on than I had ever been with Matt. This was something I had fantasized about doing for so long.
I truly was fucked up. This man was evil. He wanted to break me. He had told me so.
I wasn’t even giving him a challenge.
What was wrong with me?
Grif’s cock twitched and before I was prepared he came, his semen hitting the back of my throat, coating my tongue. The bitter, salty taste of it startled me and I spit as he withdrew. It spewed from my mouth and dripped down my chin, onto the floor.
“Lick it up.”
When I looked at Grif, his eyes glittering, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow, I knew that this was my future. This was what happened to bad girls who wanted naughty things.
Horrible things happened to them. My body, stung tight with desire, said otherwise.
Grif released my hair. The sides of my mouth were raw from stretching around the hard thrusting of his cock. I felt a small trickle coming from my nose. A bright crimson drop fell on his semen and I realized my nose was bleeding.
Watching the red mix with the filmy white cum, my mind built a wall. Every memory, the trunk, him cutting my clothes, the spanking--how he made my body react-- became a brick in the wall.
Blanked out, I bent toward the floor and began to lick, aware of his presence over me.
I licked it all and remembered nothing.
* * * *
Before he locked me in my room, Grif stopped me. His broad body stepped so close to mine I couldn’t help but back into the door frame, pinned.
His hand reached up and cupped my cheek. My nose was still bleeding. His thumb wiped a smear of the blood away. He pulled it away from my face, staring at the red coating, before he stuck his thumb in his mouth and sucked.
His eyes closed as he tasted my blood.
I didn’t allow myself to feel anything.
“I can smell you, you know,” he whispered as his thumb popped back out. “You reek of arousal. You were made for this. It won’t even be fun, breaking you.”
Breaking me? I’m already broken.
I didn’t let him know that, though. My eyes stared at his, but I saw nothing.
He looked at me. I saw his eyebrows pull together. His cocky sneer slowly faded, replaced by a grimace. However I looked, it didn’t please him.
“Renee--” He started and then paused, searching. “One day you’ll like this. Your body already does. We know from the car I can bring you as much pleasure as I bring you pain.”
A hand found its way to my hip, his thumb rubbing sensual circles. I couldn’t react anymore. My mind was too tired. The bitterness I felt toward myself, the hate I felt for my body was so consuming it had worn me out. I felt like a shell.
“Just… just remember that. That one day you’ll thank me.”
My heart ached and I resisted the urge to rub it. It ached because somewhere in it, it recognized that he might be right. The way he turned me on, stoked the flames, made me forget where I was for a moment. It made me forget what he was. A monster. His demands called to a deep part of me. Deeper, darker than anything I had ever admitted to Matt. Some part of me luxuriated in his demands and brutality.
He led me to the bed then. Before he left, he looked at me one more time. I lay on my side and tucked my knees into my chest, a child’s pose.
He left me, the lock clicking softly behind him.
Chapter Nine
I don’t know when exactly I decided it was better to die, but the decision was made.
After Grif had left me on my bed, I had reached a hand between my legs. Rubbing myself furiously, it was the quickest and biggest orgasm of my life, leaving me weak and damp with sweat as I came down.
And horrified. Don’t forget horrified.
Grif was this force of nature. My thoughts were drawn to him, my body yearned for him, and all the while my mind reminded me of every reason why I was so fucked up because of it. He had unearthed something in me. Something black. Something primal. I had thought I’d be satisfied with handcuffs, maybe giggling with a blindfold on. Now I knew the depths it would take to satisfy me.
It horrified me. I wanted to bury that part of me again.
Matt had been right to leave me. I knew that now. He must have seen the oil stain on
my heart. The one that combusted with just a word from Grif.
I also knew that if I stayed with Grif, I would become his slave. The shame of that, of knowing he was right, I would probably even find enjoyment in it…
So I decided to die rather than be a slave. Rather than be broken by this man who had broken so many others before me.
He came for me for breakfast. When he opened the door, I felt my heart leap at the sight of him. It only reinforced my decision.
He had something in his hand.
“Come here, Renee, I have a gift for you.”
Slowly I made my way off the bed. Days without food had taken their toll. I could feel my skin tight across quickly deteriorating muscles. When I passed the mirror I saw my ribcage starting to jut out.
Grif followed my eyes and realized I was taking in my diminishing physique.
“Let me give this to you and we’ll get you food. No more throwing up.”
I went to him.
He held out his hand. There was a red velvet ribbon in it. It was an inch wide and gorgeous, obviously a high quality ribbon.
“Touch it.”
My fingers slid lightly across the smooth, soft surface, the feel of the velvet exquisite.
“Lift your hair.”
I did and his arms reached through to loop and tie the ribbon around my neck.
“You haven’t earned clothing and you most certainly haven’t earned a collar yet, but I thought you deserved something.” He tied the ribbon closed with a bow. I could feel the ends resting lightly on my now prominent collar bones.
“Go on and look.”
I did.
The effect was startling. My body, now pallid and gaunt, still managed to become softer, more feminine with the color and the bow. It both claimed me and adorned me.
“You are not to take it off.”
There was a possessive edge to his voice that surprised me. I stared at him, startled.
Something flashed across his face. It went from gentle to harsh, all angular lines and clenched jaw. “Let’s go,” he mumbled. When I was too slow to the door, he grabbed my wrist tight enough I could feel the tiny bones rubbing painfully together.
Struck Down Page 4