Master Over You

by Cerys du Lys

  "I thought you said you were going to feed me," I say. "What the fuck was that about?"

  "Noah, you are incorrigible and rude."

  "You fucking kidnapped me. You bit me. You slammed my head against a fucking wall. What the fuck do you want from me, love?"

  "Open," she orders me, "your mouth."

  Fuck her. Fuck her and her fucking soup and this whole fucking thing. She can go to fucking hell.

  Except I'm hungry, so I open my mouth, but seriously, fuck her.

  She guides a spoonful of soup past my lips, and tips it into my mouth. I chew on the soft noodles and chicken, then swallow. She feeds me like that a few times, over and over again. She looks pleased as fuck with herself right now, but it's just in her lips. Her fucking eyes, they look so out of place, like she's blind. She's not, though, she just doesn't seem to look at anything, doesn't seem to see it.

  Maybe I can reason with her. Maybe I can try something different. She's a female, so I think it'll work.

  "Look, Ange," I say, and she tenses up, but still continues to feed me. "We both know you don't want to do this. Yeah, you got me, alright? You came to my home, love, and you took me, and then you chained me to a wall. We both know that if I wasn't chained to the wall, I'd be much stronger than you. You can't keep this up forever. So why not tell me what you want out of this, and we can strike a deal. Your heart isn't in it. I can tell. Yeah, you did a number on me before, but you're sitting here spoon feeding me soup. Maybe that works for your usual guys, but we both know I'm not that. What do you say, love? Let's talk and figure this out."

  "You are quite tired, Noah," she says. "I think you should go back to sleep."

  She gets up and puts the tray and the bowl of soup back on the bedside table.

  "You're just proving my point, love. We both know you can't do this. If you stop now, it'll be no hard feelings, alright? We could work together sometime. How about that? I'll let you think about it, too. You can head on out of here and calm down, then come back when you're thinking straight. No big deal, love. Is it your time of the month? Cramps or something? PMS? I get it. I'll buy you some fucking chocolate, Ange."

  She ignores me and repeats herself from before. "You are quite tired, Noah, and I believe you should go back to sleep."

  Fuck her. Fuck everything. I tried to be nice. I wanted to be understanding. PMS or some shit? What the fuck am I supposed to do about that? I can't control her damn cycle. It's not my fault if she's pissed off because of hormones or something. Go fuck off, Angeline.

  I think that's it. She's going to leave me, obviously. Good. I can't wait until she leaves. Maybe I can check out these chains and see if there's a way for me to get out.

  She doesn't leave, though. She doesn't fucking leave. Swift, like that fucking banshee shit from before, she grabs the pillow out from beneath my head.

  Oh, boo hoo! Fuck you. She's going to take my pillow? And what, let me sleep so I wake up with a pain in my neck? I want to laugh. I start to, but then I stop because of bad memories.

  It doesn't matter, because I didn't actually have a chance to laugh. She slams the pillow onto my face. Her hands squeeze into the fluffy cotton fabric shit, pressing and wrapping around my cheeks. I can't see a thing because everything is black from my eyes being covered by the pillow. It feels like I'm being strangled by a cloud.

  Angeline is a monster and she's killing me.

  I struggle, trying to breathe through the pillow, but of course that's never going to work. I try to hit her and push her away, but I'm chained to the bed. I have one hand, one free hand. I swing it at her, but she catches it, then she slams it to the bed and presses her knee against my wrist. The cast around my arm cracks and breaks, slivers digging into my skin. My finger is broken because Angeline fucking broke it, and now that the cast isn't keeping it locked in place, every little movement sends a flare of pain through my arm.

  I'm losing consciousness fast. I can't breathe. I'm going to die. Good fucking riddance. I don't want to die because I have shit to do, but this bitch is putting a serious crimp in my plans, and nothing is worth it anymore. Everything hurts. I can't breathe. Panic and fear clash in my mind with the dominant fucking asshole I know I really am. I haven't ever been nice, because I can't afford to be nice, and I don't want to start being nice now.

  My vision starts to fade as I lapse into nothingness. I can still hear that stupid fucking rain machine, though. It's relaxing now, too. Angeline might have been right.

  I feel her pull the pillow away from my head, but I'm on the verge of passing out and no amount of anything can stop me now. In the furthest reaches of my mind, I vaguely realize that I'm not going to die, though. I'm not sure if that's good or bad.

  She presses her lips to mine, kissing me good night. "Sweet Noah," she says. "Sleep well."

  I want to say something, but I can't. I think it instead. Fuck you, love, you crazy psychotic bitch. Go to hell, Ange.

  I pass out.

  (Day Seven)

  *** Chastity

  I didn't know what happened to Noah. I hadn't seen him in days now, and that woman kept me locked up in a room somewhere. After she hurt him, when she left to find someone to help him, another man came for me.

  He said nothing. He used a key to unlock my shackles. I cried and screamed and I tried to get to Noah, to help him myself, to do anything, to get away from here, but the man wouldn't let me. He grabbed my wrists and dragged me out of the room, even when I tried to stop. I planted my feet hard into the ground, but it didn't matter to him.

  He was too strong. A lot stronger than I was. He kept pulling while I tried to stay still, and the only thing that happened was I ended up falling over while he continued dragging me along, my legs sliding across the carpet. I had rug burns by the time we made it out of the room and my legs hurt. I didn't want to, but I decided to try and walk the rest of the way.

  It didn't seem to make a difference to my new captor. He pulled me along, whether I walked or not. I tried to speak to him, but he ignored me. I screamed at him, but he ignored me. He guided me through a large house, up a flight of stairs to the second floor, and to a room.

  I thought I might be able to escape when he opened the door, but even just one of his hands was strong enough to keep me there. He opened the door, then nodded, gesturing for me to go in.

  I didn't. I didn't want to, at least. I tried not to.

  He threw me in anyways. Grabbing me around the hips, he lifted me off the ground like I was a ragdoll, then tossed me onto a bed. I tried to fight back and to run out but he closed the door behind me, then locked it.

  I was in a room with no windows. A book shelf sat at the edge of the room, filled with books, and there was an old TV with a cable box on a stand opposite the bed, but that was it. Oh, and the camera.

  Some surveillance camera locked behind a metal cage stared down at me constantly. A red light on top of it stayed on, forever. I flicked the light switch off in an attempt at escaping my fate of being constantly viewed, but the red light stayed on. I didn't know if it could see me in the dark or not.

  That was my life for a few days. I wouldn't have known how much time went by, except sometimes I turned on the TV and checked what time it was on the only news channel I found.

  I felt so lost and confused, because I didn't know what was going on. I thought I knew everything before, but then Noah danced with me and he took me to his home. Then I thought I knew something I'd never known before, except that woman took him like he'd taken me. Was that it, though?

  No, it wasn't. Noah said he wouldn't hurt me if I did what he said, and he didn't. This woman hurt him, though. Noah, he... he needed... he needed me. That was it. I was positive of it. I didn't know why, but I knew he must love me. The woman who hurt him didn't love anyone. I didn't know anything about the other man, either.

  I waited and slept and mourned and cried and slept some more. My days existed of sleeping, opening my eyes to check the time on the TV. Occasionally I found
food by the door, but I didn't want to eat it. More than occasionally, I gave in and devoured everything. I couldn't stop myself. I hoped beyond hope it was poisoned, because I couldn't stand this. Waiting was agony, and I needed to know what had happened to Noah. We'd only been together for a short amount of time, but I felt like we had a strong and real connection, and...

  Someone knocked at my door.

  "Go away," I said.

  A key in the lock clicked, then she opened the door. Standing there, surveying the room with passing interest, Angeline entered.

  "I hate you," I told her.

  She gave me a quizzical look. "You are confusing," she said.

  "Why did you hurt him like that?" I asked. Why did she hurt Noah? How could anyone do something like that?

  "You still do not understand," she said. "He is not a nice person. He was going to hurt you. I heard him say as much to you before I intervened."

  "Are you saying you rescued me?" I asked.

  "No," she said simply. "You were an unfortunate byproduct of a task I needed to complete. I do not want you here."

  "Why are you keeping me locked in this room then?" I rolled my eyes at her, because she made no sense. I was confusing? No! She was. She was more than confusing. She was so confusing she was... something. I didn't even know. She was stupid, that's what.

  "I did not want you to disrupt Noah's healing period," she said. "Now you are free to wander as you wish, though."

  What did that mean? "Is he better?" I asked.

  "He will be." She didn't elaborate.

  "So... I can just leave, then? I can go outside?"

  "No," she said. "You are allowed to leave this room, but you are not allowed to leave the premises. I apologize. You need to stay here forever."

  She was... what was she doing? "Just like that?" I asked. "You're kidnapping me and holding me hostage?"

  "He kidnapped you," she said. "He is the reason you are being held hostage. Do you have difficulties learning new information? I have stated everything clearly and you still do not understand."

  No. That wasn't it. She didn't understand. How could she? She wasn't a nice person. She'd never understand how I felt about Noah. She'd never get it.

  "As I said, you are free to wander the premises," she said, ignoring my presence in the room even though I was the only one here with her. "Do as you wish. You shall see servants in the halls. If you should desire it, you may dally with them. They have been trained for endurance and pleasure. You can find protection if you want, but they do not spill their seed unless I specifically order them to do so."

  I didn't even know what she meant by that. Dally or seed or what? She said I could do as I wished, though, so I told her what I wanted to do.

  "I want to see Noah," I said.

  "No," she said. "You are not allowed to see him unless I invite you."

  "Who do you think you are?" I said, nearly screaming at her. "You don't own him, you know? He's his own person."

  She stared at me, eyes dead of emotion, shaking her head lightly side to side. "I believe you are the most maladroit individual I have ever met."

  Yeah, well, I didn't even know what that meant, but I doubted she did, either. She was trying to sound formal and stern and use big words to confuse me into thinking she was important or intelligent, but it wouldn't work. I already knew she was an idiot.

  "I'm going for a walk," I said. "I don't want to talk to you anymore."

  "Go ahead," she said, moving aside so I could leave. "I have granted you permission."

  I didn't need her permission for anything. Nothing. I was my own person, just like Noah was his own person, and I'd show her exactly what that meant.

  (Day Eight)

  *** Noah

  I wake up with a stiff neck and I'm sitting in a chair. I don't know how I got here, or how the hell I fell asleep in a chair. My mouth is dry. Half asleep, I try to stand up to go get a drink, but something stops me. It's not just one thing but everything.

  My head is strapped to the seatback with some sort of belt. There's a table over the arms of the chair, too, and it's covering my lap. My wrists lay on the tabletop, also strapped down. I can flex my muscles and try to move, but I'm going nowhere fast.

  Suddenly, I remember what happened right before I went to sleep. I didn't even go to fucking sleep, I passed out. Angeline shoved a pillow over my face and suffocated me until I lost consciousness. What a fucking bitch.

  Now she's staring at me from the opposite side of the table. It's a small square table and we're close. She smiles sweetly at me, staring into my eyes with the emotionless void of hell and nothingness that is her gaze.

  "Hello, Noah," she says.

  "Fuck off, Ange," I say.

  "I told you, Noah. I told you."

  What the fuck is she going on about? I don't know. I just woke up. Can't a guy get a break here or what?

  "Calm down, love," I say. "I'm not all here right now. I'm—"

  Fucking hell. No, that was not the right thing to say. Angeline is pissed at me. She's lost the smile. It's all emotionless rage now. She's staring at me like I killed her favorite puppy, bought her a new one, then killed that one, too. Not that I'd ever do that. I like dogs. I'd buy her a puppy if she wanted. I'd buy her five million fucking puppies if she just stops staring at me like that.

  "Do you remember what I told you, Noah?" she asks, her voice deceptively quiet.

  That's how women are. It's like a calm before the storm, where they look at you with that look, then they seethe with pent up rage before they explode and scream. I don't put up with that shit. I fuck it out of them. I slap them across the face until tears well up in their eyes and then I grab their cheeks and stare at them head on until they're too scared to yell.

  I can't do that now, because Angeline's got me strapped into a chair. She's going to yell at me like I'm the one who did something wrong. Yeah, fuck you, bitch. She is literally trying to kill me. I've done a lot of bad shit in my life, but currently I'm doing nothing. I've done nothing to piss her off, but she's still pissed. Fuck.

  "You will call me Mistress Angeline, Noah," she says. "If I am in a good mood, you may call me Angeline instead. Mistress Angeline is safer."

  She, I think to myself, can go fuck herself with a razor blade covered dildo. I don't say this, because I don't see the point, because I can't do anything right now. Or can I? No, there's something I can do.

  While she stares at me after telling me about her bullshit rules again, I gather my saliva. My mouth is dry, so it takes awhile. When I think I have enough, I let loose. I spit at her. She's only a few feet away. It doesn't do much, but I managed to do it. My spit lands on her chest, and she's wearing some wide cut v-neck blouse, so it lands right on the revealed skin of one of her breasts.

  She looks at me, blinks, and looks down. She blinks again, then looks back at me.

  "I wanted to postpone this," she says. "I thought we could talk first. I wanted to feed you and give you something to drink. I will, Noah. I promise. That will need to wait, though."

  "I don't have a clue what you're talking about, love," I say.

  She stands up from her chair and I see the rest of her now. She's not wearing pants today. She's walking around in plain black panties and a light purple blouse. No shoes, either. Looks real fucking comfortable. What the fuck kind of operation does she run here?

  Angeline leaves the table and goes over to a trunk near the wall. I follow her with my eyes, and then it hits me. We're not in her white room today. I don't know what that means. This room has tiled floors, and the walls are painted pink. Maybe it's some fancy as fuck color like salmon instead. I don't know. All I know is it isn't white and I have a vague idea that's not a good thing.

  I don't know why. Don't ask me. Angeline's a psychotic bitch. It probably makes sense in her head. Not that that's worth much.

  She searches through the trunk and finds something that looks like an old-school office hole punch from a medieval castle. It's m
ade of wood and metal, with a small strap on one end, and a lever on the other. She walks back to the table, carrying it with her.

  Don't ask why I notice this, because it's the stupidest fucking thing to notice, but, barefoot, Angeline walks on the balls of her feet. It's almost nymphish and cute. I'd probably find it attractive if she didn't have me strapped to a chair after previously almost suffocating me. And biting me before that, slamming my head against a wall, knocking the air out of my lungs...

  I don't think Angeline and I are going to get along, and how cute she looks when walking on the balls of her feet isn't going to change that, is basically what I'm saying here.

  She places the fucked up hole puncher on the table near my hand. There's some screws around the edges, and some holes in the table, so she screws it in to keep it in place. My hand lays on the table in front of it. This looks like it was done purposefully, but for the life of me I can't figure out why. Is she going to punch a hole through my finger? That doesn't make any sense.

  The end of the hole punch thing slides to the left and right. Angeline slides it and lines it up with my smallest finger. I watch her doing it. She uses the belt on the machine to strap my finger in place tight, keeping it from moving. Just that one finger, though. I can wiggle the rest, for all the good it does.

  "I have no idea what the fuck you're doing, love," I say.

  She breathes in deeply, then smiles at me sweetly. "I wish you were more cooperative, Noah."

  "You fucking snatched me out of my house, Ange."

  "I wish you would stop cursing."

  "Fuck off, love. Who the fuck do you think you are?"

  "I have asked you to call me Mistress Angeline."

  "Why should I?" I ask.

  She stands there, smiling. She almost looks sweet and innocent. Almost.

  "This is your punishment," she says.

  She starts to fuss with the machine, moving pieces around. There's a metal crescent-shaped wedge near my strapped-in finger. She slides it out, measuring something, then fits it between the top of my fingertip and my fingernail. Near the lever on the back of the machine is a screw bolt, which she starts to turn. The wedge under my finger presses closer between my fingertip and fingernail until it's tight in there.