I cried out and he clenched his eyes shut. He squeezed a little harder and I couldn’t help it. I keened in pain. To my dismay I saw him grow hard in his pants as I cried.
We are both sick, but you are really twisted.
He jerked on my arm hard enough that my shoulder popped, dragging me to the kitchen.
“Sit.” He didn’t wait for me to comply but yanked out a chair and shoved me on to it. Again the table was set with a gorgeous breakfast. Croissants, scones and cream, sausage, eggs, juice. I had long since been ignoring the pains in my stomach but as the smell hit me my hunger became excruciating.
“Help yourself.”
“After you, Master.” The words came out dry, my mouth like cotton from dehydration.
His eyebrow raised a little and something flashed on his face. I hoped I hadn’t exposed my plan too soon.
“Serve me.”
I did, although at a turtle’s pace because I simply had no more energy. When his plate was filled I even got up and got the coffee pot from one of the maids.
“Careful, miss, its hot.” Georgette told me.
As I brought it over to the table a vision of dumping the scalding coffee on his head danced in my mind. Instead I poured it into his coffee cup, and some into mine, only sloshing a little. As soon as I had put the coffee back I used my napkin to clean the splash and as I sat I felt a little pride in having controlled myself so well.
“Yourself, now.” There was amusement in his voice. That soft Southern lilt came through a little more. I was incredulous that even after all he had done to me, the accent was a bit of a turn on.
My plan was made more necessary by it. Obviously I could not be trusted.
Still, I fixed my plate and waited.
Grif picked up his fork and began to eat.
This was where the challenge began. I had moved past basic hunger. There was a raw quality to my starvation now that made me feel a bit rabid. If I had been this hungry alone, then I would probably be shoving the food into my mouth at record speed, stopping only to gulp juice and coffee.
But I had a plan and I needed to stick to it. For him to know how I felt. For me to maintain the littlest bit of dignity I had.
My hands went into my lap. My eyes felt huge in their sockets and I did allow myself one deep inhale. The aromas filled me, my mouth trying to salivate but being unable to at this point.
My stomach managed a loud gurgle, reverberating through the room.
“You may eat.” Grif gestured with his fork. Any amusement I had brought him with my complacency was fast being erased by my current behavior.
“Thank you, Master.”
But I didn’t move. I watched him.
He managed to always look so spectacular. This morning the sun was filtering through the bay window and it hit his hair, illuminating his features. It made his eyes bright and mesmerizing, emeralds set into rugged features.
He was a dream. He was a nightmare.
I stayed still. My whole body was screaming for me to lunge into my food.
I didn’t move.
Grif’s fork clanged as he set it down abruptly.
“Renee. Eat.”
I met his gorgeous green eyes and I shook my head.
“No.”
It wasn’t food, but the look of disbelief on his face was fulfilling. His hands were gripping the edge of the table so hard the knuckles were white.
“You will eat.”
“No.”
His anger seized him at an alarming rate. Grif pushed on the table so hard it was shoved a few feet, slamming into the wall. Coffee and juice splashed over all of the plates and silverware clattered to the floor.
“You don’t get to say no in this, Renee.”
I just shook my head. “I’m not hungry.”
Grif stormed over, shoulders heaving. “You are and we both know it. Eat now, and your punishment won’t be severe. If you continue to disobey, though… I promise that I will make you regret it.”
I chose regret. I chose the worser of the punishments. I chose to die with dignity, because I wasn’t eating anything he provided.
“Why do you fight this?” His voice got softer on this last word.
“Because you will never bring me pleasure and I refuse to be your slave.” It felt good to say the words, but fear made my throat tight. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep a brave face.
“I should whip you for this. You don’t want to be my slave? I don’t give a shit. Have you ever been caned? I am a master at it. I can raise welts over every inch of your skin without breaking it. I can make you hurt so deeply your bones weep.”
“Then… then do it. I’m not eating.”
Grif grabbed me and half carried, half shoved me back to my room. He was rough; I would have bruises from his hands and fingers, from where I stumbled and fell a few times on the way. But he was unsettled and that sustained me.
I knew I had made the right decision when the door slammed behind me after he pushed me into my room.
I lay down because it was too much effort now to stand, but I fell asleep smiling.
Chapter Ten
When I woke he was standing next to the bed. I could feel is anger, a blankets squeezed tight around me.
“Grif?”
“You say you don’t want to break, but you’re broken.”
His words stung. It didn’t feel true when I had been standing up to him. Was choosing death actually giving up?
What came next, though, drove through me like a lance. “I thought you would be different. I thought you’d last at least a month. You had seemed so strong.”
“Seemed so strong?” I was dying here, my body desperate for nourishment and beginning to shut down. How could he say that?
“Why are you here, Grif?”
“Because it is my fucking house and you are my slave.”
He stared at me until my skin began to crawl as if it could feel him touching me. It wanted him to, goosebumps rising despite every mental protest I could muster.
“You’re coming with me.”
I couldn’t move, though. My arms and legs were like jelly, the muscles too weak to carry me.
Grif growled and lunged at me. I let him. His arms scooped me up and my head flopped on his chest. He smelled so damned good. If my mouth could have watered, it would have. I inhaled and burrowed into his chest.
He moaned.
“You’re going to eat, Renee.”
He carried me out of the room. I assumed we’d head to the kitchen but as he made his way down the stairs he began to head to another part of the house. An area I’d never seen.
We entered a room.
It took my breath away and replaced it with fear. And desire.
He hadn’t been joking when he said he could hurt me. Manacles hung from the wall. There were whips, floggers, bamboo canes on shelves. The room was built for pain and for sex, because I saw a variety of toys that would make the most adventurous woman blush. Before I had asked Matt for some rough play in the bedroom, I had done a little research on the internet. Looking around the room shocked me. I thought I had been informed. I didn’t know what more than half of it was even for.
He dumped me on the floor without ceremony. He stalked to a drawer and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
Grif pulled my arms behind my back, his touch rough. Slapping the cold metal on my wrists, he clicked them down hard. They were tight enough to make me wince.
I pulled a little at them. They were the real thing. Metal, not plastic. The lock wasn’t a trick-trigger that could release me.
“See this?”
I looked. He held a key in his hand. It flashed, tiny and silver.
“You may have it. In the morning. For now, sleep here and consider this stupid, stubborn crusade of yours. And how it will fail. For you will feel pleasure. You’ll feel pain. And you will beg for me before tomorrow is over.”
Grif grabbed a shackle off of the floor and attached it to my ankle. I w
ouldn’t be able to move more than five feet. He left me then. It was cold and I tucked into myself, shivering. Unfortunately, most of my weight had shed off and my own body betrayed me, unable to make itself warm.
* * * *
When I woke up I was still handcuffed and chained to the floor. There was soft light and as my eyes became less groggy I saw that candles were lit.
Grif was sitting cross-legged in a chair, his hands steepled under his chin. In the candlelight he had become a god, the angles of his face perfection. His shirt was unbuttoned, leaving his chest bare. He was muscular and indescribably delicious looking.
Except for his eyes. They were dark in the low light, and menacing. They were trained on me…
They frightened me.
“I need to use the bathroom.”
“You’ll need to eat, first.”
That was when I noticed the food. Next to me, on the floor, were plates of food. Each steaming hot. Each more decadent than the last. There were cakes, too. Heaps of pasta drenched in sauce. Bowls of hot soup in beautiful tureens.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not going to eat.”
“You will.”
“I’m comfortable here.” That was a lie and we both knew it. The floor was cold and hard. He wasn’t going to get the satisfaction of me begging, though.
“You are going to want out of those cuffs. The key is in one of the dishes in front of you. You’ll need to eat to find it.”
I didn’t move, my face frozen in disbelief. Still, it wasn’t enough to make me eat.
He knew.
“Let’s increase the stakes then, shall we?” He rose from his chair, deadly and graceful. He went to his wall of toys and picked out two. He stalked toward me.
“You said I’ll never give you pleasure.”
He knelt between my legs. I was too weak to keep them closed. He showed me a large phallic toy with a curved addition. In his other hand he held a small plug.
With ease, Grif put them on the floor and began to massage my hips. I moaned in frustration, unable to wriggle away. Half of me, to my despair, didn’t want to.
His fingers kneaded my hips, thumbs circling in toward my belly.
A hand dipped between my legs and stroked me. I felt myself become wet despite myself.
“Grif… please.”
I don’t know what please I wanted more at that moment. All I knew was that his fingers were coaxing life back into me, a yearning that was bone-deep.
His thumb brushed over my clit and I cried out. As my hips bucked, he slid the dildo into me, filling me in one thrust. The extension rested on my clit. Groaning, I shifted, feeling it move inside of me.
He wasn’t done. The plug pushed against my tiny pucker until it slid in. Suddenly I felt very full. I could feel the two toys rubbing together through the thin membrane of skin inside of me.
Every time I squirmed they moved in me, a sweet torture. Still, I fought it. I tried to think of home. Of my parents. Of Matt leaving me. Happy things. Sad things. Anything but the toys inside of me, of the sexy and horrible monster watching me, of the food and the freedom nestled in it so close by.
“Eat.”
“No,” I whispered.
Then the vibrating started. It was intense, the controls set to maximum. Immediately I bucked, thrashing on the floor, trying to escape the pressure on my clit, inside of me. I only succeeded in nudging the toys, creating a deeper sensation.
I cried out, my skin feeling tight as the electric currents of pleasure rippled through me.
“This is the control to turn them off.” Grif spoke. I could barely pay attention as my first orgasm shuddered through me. He set it on the floor… just out of reach.
“If you want it to stop, you’ll need to eat. Find the key, free yourself, turn it off.”
He walked away, leaving my heaving and shaking body alone.
My eyes rolled as another orgasm ripped through me. This one felt harder, more intense, my pussy flooding. I needed a break. I needed to collapse. But the vibrators continued their assault.
It took every last bit of strength I had to worm over to the food. Tears began to fall. I didn’t know I had any tears left. Here they were, though, salting the pasta I buried my face in.
I had hoped to just move around until I found the key. The moment the buttery sauce hit my face, my tongue, it was all over. My body would twitch and torque, a ripple of pleasure razoring through me, and then I would chew and swallow the decadent, hot food. My face and mouth were soon coated in pasta, in cake.
My stomach rumbled painfully. It was getting harder to focus. I still didn’t have the key.
On the fourth orgasm I knew I was finished. It wasn’t pleasant anymore. It commanded me, wrenching through me.
At the same time my stomach rebelled against the rich food and I had to work hard to try to keep it down.
As the onslaught continued I began to scream. I screamed until my throat cracked, breaking mid-scream in pain, my vocal chords shredded.
I writhed and writhed, my mind beginning to shatter.
Chapter Eleven
I smelled the broth and felt the steam of it on my lips.
“Sip.”
I did. It scalded my mouth in the best way. Salty, meaty broth. I swallowed, enjoying the sear as it made its way into my belly.
My eyes fluttered open. My head was cradled in Grif’s lap. One hand was supporting me, tipping my head up. The other held a bowl to my mouth.
He was feeding me.
“No,” I tried to say, but my throat stung in agony and more broth had spilled into my open mouth, anyway. I swallowed.
We stayed that way until the broth was gone. My stomach felt stretched. It was satisfying. My eyes shut again, not understanding what was happening.
I slept.
* * * *
My wrists ached. I was able to look at them--no longer handcuffed. They were raw from where I had pulled and tugged at them. My body gave an involuntary shudder as I remembered what had happen. My clit immediately ached, feeling used and yet yearning for more. Like muscle memory, my body remembered the onslaught of pleasure that had bordered on pain in its intensity.
Matt had never made me come as hard as I had since being abducted. That thought played on a loop in my head. Since being bought by Grif, my body had turned into dynamite with a short fuse he was able to light again and again.
“You’re awake.”
My eyes sought him, ignoring everything else. He had this heavy, gravitational pull on me. Wherever he was, I focused. Currently he was sitting in a chair. Grif was slumped, looking exhausted. Had he stayed up to watch me sleep?
Yes.” I absentmindedly rubbed my chest. It was twisting in an uncomfortable way. Looking at him, I felt comfortable. Almost safe. And that was wrong, so wrong.
“How are you feeling?”
I thought about it. Sore. Sated. Languid. Things I shouldn’t be feeling.
“Thirsty.”
Grif stood and went into the bathroom. That was when I realized that we weren’t in my room. The bed I was on was comfortable, to start. Large. The sheets wrapped around me were so soft, so luxurious I knew they were expensive.
I was on a large four-poster bed. As Grif came back, he came from a bathroom that gleamed crisp and white through the doorway.
“Here,” he said as he handed me a glass of water. I drank, taking in the dark brown walls, the white and cream linens. It was a bachelor’s room, but it was sensual and rich.
“Why am I in your room?”
He looked out the window, refusing to meet my eyes. “I was worried about you.” He sounded strained as he said it. I wasn’t sure if he meant it, or if he was just trying to trick me. It pissed me off.
“Worried your property was damaged?” The venom in my voice surprised me. But he was being so kind to me that it would have been easy to forget the situation. My body was already betraying me for him; I couldn’t let m
y mind follow.
He looked at me sharply, a frown on his face. “You are… stubborn. I was wrong. You aren’t broken.”
“Thanks.”
“It shouldn’t be a compliment. Things shouldn’t be this hard.”
My eyes rolled. “Sorry to inconvenience you.”
“I’m not the one being inconvenienced, Renee.”
He rolled his sleeves back, revealing strong, ropey forearms.
“What do you mean?”
“If you would just obey… I have food for you. Comfortable accommodations when you’re ready for them. I would dress you in nice clothing, treat you kindly. I could bring you pleasure. All I’m asking for is obedience, and I would give you everything.”
“Except freedom.”
“Yes, except for that.”
“Then I don’t want it.” As I said it, though, my stomach clenched and I realized with horror that some part of me did want it. But not at his price.
“Why?” He seemed genuinely curious.
“Why do you want a pet human?”
The frown returned. Darker. His face became cloudy. “Not a pet. You would be cherished. They all are.”
“Who are ‘they’?”
“The women I’ve trained.”
“How many?”
“I don’t remember anymore. Enough.”
“You’ve bought and sold women, Grif. Its despicable.”
“You know nothing of what I’ve done.”
“I know what you’ve done to me.”
We stared at each other. Our words were barbed. We had injured and hooked each other. Incredulous, I realized he truly didn’t think he had done anything wrong. That it was okay, that it was normal to take women and turn them into mindless sex slaves.
“Do you want a bath?”
I did. With dismay I looked at the pillow I had been lying on. All of the food I had eaten to try and find the key was there, smeared on the expensive case. My face, I realized, was still covered. The back of my hand rubbed across my mouth and came back covered in oil and food.
I nodded, my cheeks burning.
He went back into the bathroom and I heard the water running.
“Go ahead.”
Struck Down Page 5