Master Over You

by Cerys du Lys

  She's really fucking beautiful and it makes me feel bad. That's the stupidest shit I've ever told myself, but there it is. I want to fucking stare at her, but I don't know why. Do you know how many woman I've fucked? A shit ton. A whole fucking lot. I've trained at least one woman a month for years now. I don't know how many that is, or exactly how long I've done it, but if I had to guess, I'd say I've dealt with over a hundred.

  I've fucked them all. They didn't always like it. I don't think any of them did at first. After awhile, they warmed to it. I'm an attractive guy, and I know what the fuck I'm doing with my body and my cock, but it doesn't change the fact that I kidnapped them with the intent to sell them later. Technically they were already sold, but let's not split hairs.

  Anyways, I've fucked a lot of woman, and many of them were attractive. Angeline's not that, she's something else. I don't want to say she's "different" because that sounds like some bullshit destiny starcrossed fucking thing. She's different, but she's not special. She's just different.

  "Noah," she says.

  "What's up, love?" I say.

  "I am cold."

  "Put your clothes back on?"

  "No."

  "What the fuck?"

  "Noah," she says. "I have knowledge of every pressure point on the human body and I know of over thirty-seven ways to kill someone with my bare hands."

  "Yeah?" I don't know where she's going with this.

  "I am cold. Let me under your blankets."

  "What the fuck are you—?"

  Before I finish that sentence, she's fucking doing it. She's already in the damn bed with me. What the fuck. She crawls over my lap and lays on the bed and throws my fucking blanket over her. I'm fucking chained here, but I can reach over and choke her if I want. I did that before, though. A fat lot of good it did me. Also, she just fucking told me she knows thirty-seven ways to kill me with her bare hands. You don't want to fuck with someone like that.

  I'm watching the fucking movie. Angeline can do whatever the hell she wants.

  "Noah?" she says.

  I don't say anything this time. I look over and fucking stare at her and this is a big mistake. Her eyes are anything but empty. They are full. I don't know what the fuck they're full of. It's bad. I don't want to see this shit. I can't handle this. I'm going to fucking die.

  "Do you want to get under the blankets with me?" she asks. "Are you cold?"

  "Ange," I say. I'm going to be the reasonable one here. I don't know what the fuck's gotten into her. I'm not bleeding, but she looks like she wants to lick me anyways. I can't handle this. I can't do this shit.

  "Yes?"

  "I'm in my clothes, love. I'm not cold."

  I don't know who the fuck I am anymore.

  "Oh," she says.

  I don't know who the fuck she is, either.

  "Do you really want me under the covers?" I ask. I sound like I'm whining about it.

  "Yes," she says. And then she fucking blows my mind. "If you promise not to leave the bed, I will remove your shackles and you may take off your clothes and come under the blankets with me, Noah."

  "If I don't leave the bed?" I ask.

  "If you leave the bed, I will kill you."

  "What the fuck, you're going to kill me if I get out of bed?"

  "Yes."

  "What if I have to take a piss?" I ask.

  "I will supervise you while you use the chamber pot."

  Yeah, that's a real fucking nice addition, isn't it? It's better than nothing and someone comes to take it away and clean it whenever I use it, but having to use some pot to shit or piss in is not my idea of a good time. It's really fucking difficult to do when I'm chained to the bed, too. I don't have a lot of reach here.

  I don't want to have Angeline watch me take a piss, but I wouldn't mind being unshackled from the bed. Yeah, I still can't leave the bed, but it's a start.

  "Fine," I say. "Let's do this."

  I don't know what the fuck we're doing, except I'm going to be unshackled and then I'm apparently getting under some covers.

  Angeline crawls over me again, taking the blankets with her. She steps lightly to the floor and reaches into her pants for a key. A moment later, I'm fucking free. This is the first time in days I haven't been completely chained up or strapped into something.

  I've got to stay in the fucking bed or she's going to use one of thirty-seven ways to kill me, but who the fuck cares about that? The movie's still on. I have a badass superhero to watch. I'm fucking busy here.

  *** Angeline

  I look over at Noah. He is watching the movie. We are laying in the bed with our bowl of caramel popcorn between us and we are watching a movie together. That is what I am supposed to be doing, but I keep looking at Noah. I do not know why. I cannot stop myself. My chest hurts. I need medicine. I do not have the opportunity to retrieve it at the moment, though. I have unchained Noah and we are laying together in the bed.

  He could kill me. He can. I know this. I could kill him, too. I know that it is a possibility. I understand how to do it. I look at him again.

  There is a point right there on his temple and if I hit it hard enough I will cause irreparable damage. He is close to me, but we are not touching. My eyes move to his throat. I am fast. I can crush his windpipe in a matter of seconds before he realizes it. I can snap his neck with one swift jerk. I can bite into his carotid artery and he will bleed to death. I can...

  I do not think I want to kill Noah, but a part of me does. A part of me yearns for it, and I do not know why. It hurts. It hurts more than my chest hurts right now. No, I cannot do that. I know how, though. I stare at my sweet and handsome and beautiful Noah. I smile and imagine all of the ways I could kill him.

  He turns to look at me and I look away. I return to watching the movie. I do not think he has seen me watching him. Good.

  Yes. I have tricked Noah. He is still wearing his clothing, though. That frustrates me. I do not want him in clothes. I have tricked him and convinced him to go under the blankets with me. He does not suspect a thing. I am very sneaky. I think that perhaps he is more trusting of me now. Do you trust me, my sweet Noah? Do you love me now? I wish you did. I wish you would do it soon.

  I do not know why he should love me, but I am in his bed. He has let me. I do not have many clothes on. This would make me feel uncomfortable usually, but I do not feel uncomfortable with Noah. I do not want him to have clothes on, though. Is he uncomfortable with me? Is that why?

  The movie ends. This is bad. Without a movie, I will need to leave. What reason do I have for staying?

  I should not have come in the first place. I know this, and yet I came anyway. Why? I am doing something wrong. This is wrong. I should not. I have done it already, though. I should leave. I do not want to. I...

  "What a great fucking movie," Noah says.

  I do not tell him that I missed half of the movie because I was watching him. I do not know if the movie was great. I do not know what a great movie looks like.

  "What'd you think, love?" he asks.

  Before I can say anything, he takes a piece of popcorn and brings it to my lips. I... I look... I look at his hand and the popcorn. His hand is so beautiful to me. I am sad. I almost cry. He has no fingernails on that hand. It is so special and reminds me of everything.

  I do not cry. I cannot cry. I open my mouth and Noah feeds me.

  "I want to feed you, too," I say. I take a few pieces of popcorn from the bowl.

  He looks at me with a strange look. I do not know what he is thinking. Is that a bad look? Does he hate me? I do not want Noah to hate me.

  I smile and I want to be happy but it is hard. Does he know? Can he see that I am not happy? I am, though. I am a little bit. I was for a moment. I hope he saw it.

  I hold out a piece of popcorn for him. He still gives me that strange look, but he opens his mouth and I smile and soar and my happiness is real for three entire seconds. One of those seconds I spend placing the popcorn in his mouth. Another
second I spend watching him close his mouth and begin to chew. The final second is a fleeting remembrance of the previous two.

  That is all. Only three seconds. They were glorious.

  "We can talk," I say. "If you like, we can talk, Noah."

  "About the movie?" he asks. He has finished his popcorn and looks satisfied. I want to give him another piece, but I am scared I will do something bad.

  "About anything," I say. "I know you like movies. You have a large television."

  "Yeah," he says. "I bought that with some of the money I got for Chastity. Fuck, that guy's going to be pissed."

  "Do you still wish to give her to him?" I ask.

  He gives me a different look, as if the thought never occurred to him. He looks away from me for a second. The credits of the movie are rolling down the screen and music is playing.

  "It won't fucking work now," he says. "I went through a lot of trouble to pick her out. I probably shouldn't have. It was a bullshit job to begin with. I thought I could do something useful with it."

  I know. I know what he intended, but I do not think it is wise for me to tell him that. Noah does not know that I know. I do not know what he would think of it. I do not know what I can tell him. I do not know if I can trust him. I do not know if I will kill him. I simply do not know.

  "What do you like to do for fun?" I ask. I have decided to change the topic. I hope my transition is smooth and unnoticeable.

  Noah laughs. It sounds so beautiful and free.

  "How the fuck do I even begin to answer that, love?" he asks.

  "What do you mean?" I ask.

  "It's not like there's a whole lot of options for people like us," he says.

  "Oh."

  "I watch movies," he says. "Shows. I don't watch the news. That shit's fucking depressing. Too many bad things happen. Who the fuck wants to hear about murder every day?"

  "You kidnap people and sell them to other people," I remind him.

  "Fuck off," he says.

  I taste the words on my lips and think about saying them as easily as he does. Fuck off. I cannot do that. I do not know how.

  "I read and I listen to music," I say. "I like to read books, but I have a room just for music. I do not like to read the newspaper, either."

  I do not know why I am telling him this. I do not read because I enjoy it. It does not make me happy. I read because I find it fascinating how easily other people find happiness. In many books, at the end they are almost always happy. Even in the middle of the book they are happy sometimes. It is not only one person, either. Many of them have smiles and they seem pleasant. It is so strange to me, but it is how I know to smile when something is supposed to be happy.

  Music is different. Music makes me feel, but I do not know how to explain it. I want to show Noah. I want him to feel it, too.

  "Do you have a library?" he asks. "I've got this huge fucking room with theatre seats and a huge TV and something like a million movies. I could sit in there all day and just watch the fuck out of a ton of movies."

  "I know," I said. "I saw it. I do have a library. I do not have a million books, though. I have four-thousand-five-hundred-and-fifty-five. I shall be acquiring more soon."

  He laughs at me. I do not know why he is laughing.

  "I don't have a million movies, love. It's an expression. Huh... I don't know how many I've got. A couple hundred, for sure."

  "You should create a database with a listing of all your movies," I say. "Then you will know."

  "Nah. Fuck that. Where's the fun? I'd rather browse through what I've got and pick whatever looks good. I don't need to know exactly how many I have. It wouldn't hurt, but that's not my thing."

  "Oh," I say. "Do you watch movies with a girlfriend? You have two theatre chairs."

  He stares at me and I do not know if I like it or not. It is a strange, peculiar stare.

  "Ange, where the fuck would I get a girlfriend? How the fuck would that work?" He pretends to speak to his imaginary girlfriend, "Yeah, love, don't mind the screams. I've got some bitch locked in my basement. It's part of my job. I kidnap woman, train them, and break their willpower, then sell them to immoral shitheads with way too much fucking money on their hands."

  He says this, and I think he is wary and circumspect over something he has said. I know what it is. It is the same for me, but in a different way.

  "You do not have a girlfriend, then?" I ask. "I do not have a boyfriend, either."

  "Yeah, I just fucking told you that, love," he says. "No offense, but I never thought you'd have a boyfriend, either."

  I have trapped him and tricked him. I am sneaky. This is how I managed to get into bed with him, too.

  "Noah, you are still wearing clothes."

  "I'm fucking cold," he says.

  He is not. I know this. It is not cold in here. I told him I was cold and needed to get under the blankets with him to keep warm, but I lied. I did not mean to lie. I am sorry, Noah. Please, please, please forgive me?

  I know he cannot be cold, though. It is warm and comfortable beneath the blankets.

  "Take off your shirt," I say.

  "Listen, Ange, I really don't want to. I've got this thing. Some condition or whatever the fuck you want to call it. I get cold when I don't have a shirt on."

  I do not believe him. There is no condition like that. I know Noah's entire medical history and I do not recall seeing a condition like that presented on it.

  "Noah," I say. I smile because I am trying to be friendly and nice. "Please take off your shirt and your pants immediately or I will kill you." That is a nice thing to say, correct? I said please. I was polite.

  "The fuck?" he says. "You're really threatening to kill me for that? Are you fucking serious?"

  "I shall give you a few seconds to consider it," I say. I do not wish to be unreasonable.

  "Fucking..." He is considering it.

  "Three," I say.

  "You're seriously fucking insane, Ange," he says.

  "Two."

  "You're a crazy, psychotic bitch."

  "One..." I stretch out the word. I will give him another second after this. I will say "zero" next.

  I do not have to, though. Noah is scrambling under the blankets to remove his shirt and pants. He does. He is fast. I watch him while he undresses in front of me, then he tosses his clothes to the floor.

  "Are you fucking happy now?" he asks. "Fucking rip out my nails then make me get undressed. I'm going to die of the common fucking cold, Angeline. What the fuck?"

  "Noah, I will keep you warm," I say.

  The popcorn bowl is between us, but I throw it to the floor. I have tricked Noah. I am good at this. He does not suspect a thing. He is laying on his back and I crawl on top of him. My body is pressed to his.

  "Love," he says. "Uh..."

  "We are in our underwear," I say. "It is fine. I do not want you to catch a cold and die, Noah."

  "Yeah," he says. "About that."

  "Did you lie to me, Noah?" I ask. I give him a look. I think it is scary.

  "Let's not do anything drastic, love."

  "You said you do not have a girlfriend, but you are a good kisser, Noah," I say.

  "Yeah," he says. "About that, too."

  He does not say more. I do not, either. We are kissing.

  My body is pressed against his and he is warm. The blankets cover us, hiding us from view. My mouth is against his, our lips basking in the revelation of each other's joyous company. I nip lightly at his lower lip and he tenses. I want to bite him and taste his blood, but I do not do that. I want to kiss him more than anything. I do not want him to stop kissing me.

  I nuzzle my cheek against his and press my lips against his throat, kissing him there. Whispering, I say, "I will not hurt you, Noah. Please trust me."

  "Ange," he says. His voice is ragged and choked. "Fuck."

  I kiss up his neck to his jaw, then his ear. I press my teeth against his earlobe, tasting his flesh. That tastes good, too. He is salty a
nd sweet. His blood contains a pleasant metallic tang, but I like the taste of his skin, too. I swirl my tongue behind his ear, then twist it upwards and around, teasing the tip lightly on the inside. Noah shudders beneath me and his lips open with a soft moan. I trace a trail with my tongue back down to his earlobe. I lick the faint stubble on his cheeks, feeling the roughness prick against my tongue.

  I kiss him again. He kisses me.

  Our bodies grind together. His hands reach behind me and unsnap the clasp of my bra. It comes loose and I help him as he slides it down my arms. My breasts are touching his chest directly now. I think I am happy. Is this also a form of happiness? Excitement? Arousal? It is different, though. I like it. I do not know how many seconds have passed. Too many and not enough.

  My nipples harden and I move against Noah's chest. It feels good. I can feel him breathing beneath me as our bodies touch in an intimate embrace. Noah's hands reach for my ass and he grabs it tight. I gasp. Yes! I need this. I need it so much. Hold me, Noah.

  Noah squeezes and gropes my ass with his hands, treating me roughly. His fingers dip and dig beneath my panties. One of his hands finds my sex and, to use Noah's own terminology, I am so fucking aroused. His fingers easily slip across my glistening folds. I think it surprises him. I have waited for you, Noah. I am waiting. He pulls me, trying to grab more of me, and I let him. I cannot kiss him now. He is greedy and grabbing me. My body slides upwards as my lips leave his and he palms my ass in one hand while teasing my core with his other.

  I close my eyes and open my mouth, lost in bliss and sensation. My breasts press against Noah's face and I feel his stubble tickling my nipple.

  He bites me. His mouth latches onto one of my nipples and he sucks hard and bites me. It hurts. I want to bleed for him. I want him to taste me like I have tasted him.

  "Harder," I say. I breathe out the word.

  His fingers dig into my ass as if he wants to rip me apart. He forgoes basic exploration of my body, favoring a more sturdy approach. Noah pulls my panties aside and slams two fingers deep into my wet slit. I clench against him in surprise. More. I need more.