by Julia Sykes
The boy from the library. The beautiful boy I had covertly watched from beneath my lashes as I studied. My commitment to excellence wasn’t the only reason I had practically lived in that place for the last four years.
His cheekbones were high and sharply defined, the lines of his face angular and definitively masculine, despite his youthfully smooth cheeks. He couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. Far too young to kidnap and terrorize a woman.
His spun-gold hair was simply but carefully styled, as always. His golden eyes would have matched it perfectly, were it not for the streaks of reddish-brown that shot through his irises. I had never noticed that before; I had never been close enough. The red might have turned them an alluring amber, but instead they called to mind something evil.
A perversely pleased demon stared down at me, his full lips twisted in what might be considered a smile.
No demon should be so beautiful. Perhaps he was a fallen angel, one of Lucifer’s followers condemned to suffer in Hell for all eternity. Only, the creature above me didn’t seem to be suffering. He reveled in his condemnation.
“Who are you?” My words were barely audible.
His smile widened to a grin that was almost dazzling in its perfection.
Definitely a fallen angel.
I realized my folly a moment too late. I had asked a question.
“I am your Master.”
My stomach roiled. “No.” The sickened protest was automatic, an involuntary denial. How could the boy I had secretly coveted be the man who was torturing me so mercilessly? Surely he was too young and innocent to be capable of such evil.
He grasped my jaw, stopping the shaking of my head.
“Yes,” he told me firmly. “And you will address me properly when I allow you to speak.”
“No.” My voice wavered with my disbelief and mounting horror. “Oh, god. No.”
This was the price for my question. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t. I had already given up so much, had already paid so dearly for my mistakes. Surely he had taken enough of my dignity.
The gleam in his eye let me know that he wasn’t satisfied with my dignity; he wanted my humanity. “Pet” wasn’t an endearment. He intended to break me and make me his creature.
“I gave you an order, pet. And you will obey me.”
His fingers closed around my nipples, twisting hard. I found my tears again.
I writhed, yanking against my restraints in a useless attempt to escape the pain.
“I won’t!” I scraped together what was left of my defiance. “Let me go, you sick fuck!”
His fingers tightened, and I screamed.
“You will,” he informed me calmly. “And what did I tell you about foul language?”
He clucked his tongue at me and shifted his weight. He gripped my thighs, forcing them apart before straddling my knees, pinning me in position. I was spread for him, completely open. No one had ever looked at this secret part of my body, not even me.
His hand came down on my inner thigh. The sharp smack resounded through the small room just before the pain hit. I gasped at the intensity of it, the shock robbing me of the breath I needed to cry out.
My screams started soon enough.
It only took three blows for me to begin begging for him to stop.
“I’ll stop when you accept your place. Good behavior is rewarded. Disobedience will result in punishment.” Another agonizing blow. “Address me properly, and I’ll stop.”
“Master!” I shouted quickly, unable to fight the pain any longer. There would be time to hate myself later. All I could think about was making it stop.
The slap of his hand on my abused flesh cracked through the room again.
“Yes? Did you have something you wanted to say to me, pet?”
“Stop. Ma-Master.” I stumbled over the word.
His fingers dug into my bruised skin.
“Try again,” he reprimanded.
“Please, Master. Please stop.”
He tenderly stroked my enflamed thighs in reward. “Good girl.”
I turned my face into the crook of my shoulder, hiding my eyes in shame. He continued to pet me as I cried and shook.
I hated the soothing sensation even as I reveled in the fact that it had replaced the pain, putting an end to my agony.
His Journal
April 22, 1978
The sound of “Master” on her lips is even sweeter than her screams. And the feel of her mouth around my fingers, of her writhing beneath my cock, is helping me to understand the meaning of the word “erotic.”
Her intelligence only further stokes my interest. Even when her eyes were hidden by the blindfold, I could see her mind working in the furrow in her brow and the lines around her mouth. She still thinks she can beat me somehow. Only minutes after she called me Master, the renewed tautness in her muscles let me know that she was coming back to herself. She was definitely plotting something.
But I’ve been plotting, too, for far longer than she has. I’ve planned this for weeks, and she has no idea what’s in store for her.
Toying with her elicits a pleasure I’ve never known, and her moments of defeat are pure rapture. I can hardly wait for her next question.
Chapter 3
Kathleen
Why are you doing this?
I cringed at my shameful memories. My soul felt rawer than my torn skin where the rope had burned into me. The chafing on my wrists stung every time I shifted my arms, a constant reminder of my restraints.
My tormentor had replaced the blindfold, but before he left I had a few minutes to study my surroundings for weak points, assessing escape routes.
He had laid me out on a bed, where he had bound me with leather cuffs that were locked around my wrists and attached to the headboard by short chains. The cuffs were softer than the rope, but the tight bondage caused just as much despair.
The room in which I was being held appropriately resembled a dank dungeon, although my mind recognized it as a basement. It was dimly lit by one spare bulb above the bed. The walls were concrete block, their dull grey matching the concrete floor. Stairs to the left of the bed led up to a door, the only visible exit from the basement. Another door stood open, revealing the bathroom where I had been humiliated.
I almost welcomed the darkness of the blindfold. It shut out the terrifying world in which I was trapped.
Once my vision was black once again, the monster had even tenderly covered my body with a blanket to ward of the chill.
His sweet actions contrasted cruelly with his torturous ones. He pushed me to a point of weakness, then offered me comfort. While my mind was shattered from pain and fear, I couldn’t help but react to that comfort. That disgusted me almost as much as my failure to resist calling him Master.
It had been years since I had sobbed against someone like that. The last time had been when I was twelve, crying into my mother’s shoulder. I stopped doing that when I realized how weak she was. How could I find strength in the arms of someone who couldn’t – who wouldn’t – protect me?
I hadn’t allowed Charlie to hold me like that, either. I also hadn’t allowed him to gaze upon my naked body, to touch my most secret places. Even though he had told me he wanted to marry me, I hadn’t allowed it.
Before my abduction, it had only been two weeks since he had asked me the question I had feared. In my darkness, it was all too easy to fall into the vivid memory.
“Will you marry me, Kathleen?”
Charlie stared up at me from where he rested on one knee, his deep blue eyes soft and earnest. His intentions were pure, but the question sent fear and a hint of revulsion coursing through me. The rush of joy most women felt in such a moment was absent in me.
“Charlie,” I began hesitantly. “We’ve talked about this…”
His hands closed around mine, a tender, almost beseeching gesture.
“I love you, Kathleen. And I think you love me, too, if you’ll just admit it to yourself.”
“I… I do care about you, Charlie. But-”
“Then marry me,” he cut across me almost desperately, refusing to let me turn him down.
I shook my head. “You don’t want me, Charlie. Not really. You want a wife and kids and a white picket fence. I want a career. I’m sorry I’ve held on to you for so long…”
I swallowed hard at the sight of his shining blue eyes. They contrasted beautifully with his dark hair. He was too good-looking for me. He was too good for me in so many ways.
“I’m not right for you,” I insisted. I was remotely surprised to hear the words come out in a ragged whisper. Regret and longing rose up in me.
Do I love him?
No. I couldn’t. Even if I did love Charlie, I didn’t love him enough to give up the life I wanted for myself.
“You don’t mean that, Kathleen. I know you’re scared because of what happened with your parents, but it won’t be like that between us. I promise.” He stood and cupped my cheek in his hand. I leaned into his touch without a thought. “I would never hurt you. I’ll take care of you.”
That last part got my hackles up. I didn’t want to be taken care of. I could take care of myself.
He leaned in to kiss me, but I pulled away. I was afraid of his kiss, afraid of the rush of heat it would elicit from deep in my belly.
That was how men controlled women. Lust could make us surrender ourselves, and I wasn’t going to let desire rule my life.
I turned my tear-streaked face away from him.
“I’m sorry, Charlie. I can’t.”
I almost regretted rejecting him. If I had accepted his proposal, would I have been alone, vulnerable to capture, on the night I was taken?
I bit my lip, wrestling with my thoughts.
Would I trade this hellish imprisonment for a different form of captivity? I had loathed the idea of being in a man’s thrall. I had too much I wanted to do with my life; I didn’t want the duties of a wife and mother. I had seen how coupling with a man could cost a woman her freedom, and I wanted no part of it.
The memory that thought elicited wasn’t as fresh as Charlie’s failed proposal, but it was no less sharp. Those few horrific minutes were burned into my brain.
My mother was crying again, her sobs punctuated by the sound of my father’s hand punishing her. I could hear his enraged shouts clearly through the cracked door to their bedroom.
“God damn it, Rachel!”
“I’m sorry, Roger. I’m so sorry.”
But I knew that my mother had done nothing wrong. She never did, but he hit her anyway. She took the hits for Bea and me, too, when she could. It was my turn to protect her this time. I was thirteen, old enough to stand up to my father.
Still, I hesitated, fear dampening my bravado. I pressed my eye to the crack in the door.
Daddy shoved Mommy up against the wall with his usual violence. He buried his hand in her hair, wrenching her head back as he trapped her in place with his large body.
“Why do you make me do this, angel? You know how much I love you.” His voice was low and roughened by something deeper than anger.
He crushed his lips down on hers, and Mommy moaned. For a second, I thought she was protesting, but then her hands closed around his shoulders, pulling him closer.
I watched, transfixed in my perplexity. When Daddy finally pulled away from her lips, her words shocked me to my core.
“I love you too, Roger. I’m sorry.”
His hand snaked under her skirt, touching her in a forbidden place. Mommy gasped in obvious delight, her head dropping back. She kissed Daddy again.
I ran to the bathroom and vomited.
Even though nearly ten years had passed, I still shuddered at the memory. Lust made women weak, stupid. My mother had accepted my father’s abuse in exchange for the flashes of pleasure he gave her. She hadn’t run from his cruelty. Worst of all, she had stayed and allowed him to hurt Bea and me.
I threw myself into my studies after that, forgoing social events and rejecting boys’ advances. I had one goal: to be independent. I wanted an education and a career, and I never wanted to have to depend on a man for anything. Not for money, not for emotional support, and certainly not for physical pleasure.
I told myself that I had dodged a bullet in resisting Charlie’s proposal. Even though I did care for him deeply, I couldn’t let go of my dream of independence.
But now that I lacked even the most basic freedoms, that sort of independence seemed laughably unattainable. I had to escape before my captor broke me completely. There had to be a way out.
I was effectively restrained, and I knew that I wasn’t strong enough to fight him off if he did release me. That left one avenue for freedom: outwitting him. He had proven his intelligence, but maybe I could appeal to his human side.
If he has a shred of humanity lurking behind those evil red eyes.
I shook off the despairing thought. A defeatist attitude would all but seal my fate. I may have suffered terrible things in my lifetime, but it hadn’t quashed my optimism. I had to believe that I could create a good life for myself. Otherwise, I would have withered into a pointless, empty existence long ago.
I needed a plan. Plans always made me feel better. If I had a set course of action to better my situation, then I couldn’t be sucked down by hopelessness.
And my next course of action would be to discern the monster’s motives for keeping me. If I knew that, then I could begin to talk him around, to make him see that he didn’t really want to do this to me. I would even resort to asking a question if I had to.
Once again, I assured myself that freedom was more important than pride.
The creak of the door opening grated across my mind, shredding through my thoughts.
“Hello again, pet.” The long silence of my solitude had sharpened my hearing, and his soft drawl seemed to boom around me. The shock of it made me tug against my restraints in an effort of cover my ears. His chuckle mingled with the clanking of my chains, and I cringed into the mattress.
“Are you hungry?”
His footsteps crashed down the wooden stairs, his words growing louder with his approach. It was all I could do to keep from whimpering at the assault on my eardrums.
Be polite. Be good.
If I acted compliant, maybe he would reveal his reasons for abducting me without me having to ask a question. I thought of all he had taken from me. I wasn’t sure if I could bear the cost of another query.
“Yes. Master.” I added the title in as meek a tone as I could manage.
I had expected his pleasure at my obedience, but instead I could practically feel his frown through the thick silence that fell over me.
“Did I… I’m sorry if I did something wrong.” The tremor in my voice grated on my pride.
I’m just pretending. I’m not really worried that I upset him. A part of me acknowledged that the last part was a lie. My thighs still throbbed from his punishment, and I feared further abuse.
I pressed my legs together, an automatic attempt to protect myself. The flare of pain from the pressure on my bruises made me wince.
His fingertips trailed down my thighs in that same soothing rhythm that tormented my mind so cruelly.
“No, pet. You didn’t do anything wrong. That was very good.” Despite his words of approval, his tone held a thread of regret.
What did he want from me? He had demanded obedience. Was his true desire my pain, my anguish?
No. I couldn’t think like that. I had to press on with my plan. With great effort, I forced the tension from my muscles, adopting a compliant façade.
My cuffs tugged at my arms as he released the tiny padlocks that secured them to my wrists. Once I was free, his arm snaked around my upper back, propping me up so that I was cradled against his chest.
“Open your mouth.”
I only hesitated for a heartbeat before obeying.
Be good. I might have been freed from my restraints, but I didn’t have a
hope of escaping his firm hold. His hard chest and corded arms reminded me of his strength all too clearly. If I fought, he would hurt me again. That might please him, but it wouldn’t help me manipulate him into releasing me.
Just as it had the first time, water dripped from his cupped hand as he brought it to my lips. It seemed the only way I would find sustenance while in captivity would be to accept it from his hands. He fed me meat this time. I accepted small chunks of it from between his fingers. It was warm and rich on my tongue, and more flavorful than anything I could recall.
When he deemed that I had eaten enough, he gave me more water. He pressed his fingers into my mouth again, forcing me to suckle him to get what I needed.
I tamped down my fury and revulsion, resolutely remaining supple in his hold.
Don’t fight. Don’t bite him.
“Thank you, Master.” Even though the water had wet my mouth, the words spread dry ashes on my tongue.
I need him to trust me. I need him to talk to me.
His only response was a surprised grunt.
What was I doing wrong? Fearful desperation obliterated any plans for careful patience.
“Why are you doing this?”
I snapped my mouth closed so firmly that my teeth caught my cheek. Salty blood touched my tongue.
“I’m sorry,” I gasped. “Please. Don’t answer. Don’t-”
My words were cut off by a surprised squeal when his free arm hooked beneath my knees, lifting me up. The sensation of being carried was disorienting. It momentarily robbed me of the ability to think in the wake of primal panic at the fear of falling. Instinctively, I clutched at him, my fists balling in the front of his shirt as I sought something solid to steady myself.
He didn’t release his hold on my waist when he eased my legs down. My feet touched the floor. It was cold and smooth, more familiar beneath my soles than I would have expected of the rough concrete.
A shocked shout burst from me when the freezing water hit my back. I tried to run, to escape from the frigid cascade that made my skin pebble and my nerve endings scream.