Just as quickly as Paxton disappeared, he reappeared. A small contraption with a number pad and a button was in his hand. I froze in place, my eyes glued to his palms. I couldn’t deny my curiosity.
“This is a counting grid,” he pushed the button on the device.
Above me, the ceiling morphed into tiny squares, lit up with every color imaginable. From where I sat on the bed, the squares expanded across the entire room, giving me the feeling of being in a nightclub. With each quadratic light only being about an inch, I guessed there had to be over a million lights encompassing the room. It was beautiful and mesmerizing.
“There are twelve different colors on this grid and one million, four hundred and twenty-three thousand, eight hundred and seventy-two squares. Each day you will be given a color and must count the number of squares of the specific color. If you’re correct at the end of the day, you shall be rewarded. If not, Preston will be forced to punish you.”
“Punish?” I squeaked out, reverting back to one-word answers. What sort of punishment? I was too scared to ask what kind would be delivered.
“Yes, Wendy Darling. Punishment.”
Pushing the button again, the lights went out, as I lost all the energy in my body. Slumping against the headboard, my hands fell to my sides as an endless stream of tears cascaded down my face. I no longer cared about my nudity. The word punishment circled my brain. Images of children being bent over their father’s knee assaulted me, school teachers with rulers, and moms with wooden spoons. Somehow, in the back of my mind, I knew those were not the punishments Paxton was referring to.
“Why are you crying?” Paxton sat next to me, wiping away my tears. His genuine concern confused me, as well as his ability to speak of punishments in one breath, and the reason for my tears in the next without a shred of awkwardness leaking over.
“Why me?” I avoided his question by asking my own. I needed to know what the endgame was. Why was I here? Why was I chosen? What about me screamed ‘punishments’ and ‘training’?
“Because you’re perfect,” he whispered, leaning in, so his lips were at my ear, his breath fanning my face.
I wanted to push him away until his teeth captured my earlobe, the jolt I felt had me leaning into him, my body reacting of its own accord. His mouth traveled from my ear down the side of my neck, placing feather-light kisses on my exposed skin. His calloused hand found its way to the outside of my breast, and his thumb grazed over my sensitive nipple.
My head screamed, push him away, but the sensations were just too intense to ignore. I shut down my brain and closed my eyes as his mouth traveled down my collarbone, as his teeth latched onto my other nipple, tugging gently, sending pleasure to the center of my being. I felt my breath quicken, my heart rate spike, as he assaulted my nubs with his mouth, his teeth, his fingers. In all my eighteen years, I’d never felt sensations like the ones coursing through my body, and my experience was vast.
“I like your birthmark,” he ran a finger across the heart shaped mole above my left breast.
“Mmmmm,” was my reply since I had effectively shut off my brain for a few mind-numbing moments.
“Are you calmer now, Wendy Darling? May we proceed with the rules?”
“Yes, Paxton,” my mouth moved involuntarily, though the words didn’t register in my brain.
He pulled away, and I felt the loss of heat immediately, as a shiver racked through my body. As if on cue, Paxton bent over and picked up the discarded sheet, carefully covering me, and tucking it around my shivering form.
As if our little interlude had never happened, Paxton picked back up where he left off. “Preston is a stickler for good hygiene. There is a bathroom in that room,” he pointed to the bricked off space in front of me. “Every necessity you could need is in there; shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and lotion. There’s also a full wardrobe. Each day when you receive your assignment, there will also be specific instructions. Make sure to follow them to the letter. Do you understand?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. My skin burned from Paxton’s kisses, and my body ached for a release it hadn’t had in months. His smell wrapped around me like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s night, drawing up images of the two seconds of heat he provided me.
“You must verbally answer, Wendy Darling. I need to know you’re grasping this.”
“Yes, Paxton. I understand,” I managed to spit out, the buzz around my being starting to clear.
“Good. Now, this will serve as your only warning. Preston is harsh in his teachings. If you follow his directive, you will not be permanently harmed. Do I make myself clear?”
Permanently harmed? What did he even mean? The buzz was gone. I was hurled back into reality, memories of kisses far away. Once again, the change of pace left my head spinning, and made my headache intensify.
“I don’t understand,” I retorted, frustrated. “What am I training to be?”
“You haven’t guessed yet? I thought you were smarter than this,” he replied, walking back over to the black curtain, and yanking it down. “You’re training to be the perfect slave.”
Chapter 2
The incessant buzzing wouldn’t stop, forcing me to come out of the dreamland I had found myself in. My body raged at me as soon as I sat up, forcing me to lie back down. I was sore. Every part of me screamed in pain. Every hole bruised, every ounce of my spirit crushed like a fly on a wall.
“Good Morning, Wendy Darling,” a now familiar voice chimed through the PA system. “Your assignment is on the table.”
I didn’t want to look at the table, but I did. The nightstand next to my bed held a sealed envelope, no markings. I wouldn’t be able to open it until my brain could process the last twenty-four hours of my life, and the hell I had woken up in. If I could have avoided opening it at all, I would have. After last night, I knew, without a doubt, that would never be an option.
When Paxton had ripped away the black curtain, my mouth dropped to the floor. A glass structure stood there, a mirror image of my current surroundings. Inside, sat a duplicate bed with a matching nightstand. The difference between the two rooms? The items scattered along the walls and around the bed.
Most of the things I saw were something out of a torture chamber. Metal shackles were chained to various spots along the outer brick wall. Next to them was an assortment of whips and floggers. At eighteen, I probably shouldn’t have known what the items were, but my unusual upbringing had forced me to grow up sooner than I should have; gaining in-depth knowledge of the adult world at an early age.
My eyes couldn’t take in everything in front of me fast enough. A large wooden cross, as well as other smaller wooden structures, adorned the opposite wall, and if I wasn’t mistaken, there was a set of stocks you would find in depicted medieval movies. Every inch of available space had something attached. As much as I honestly didn’t want to know, I found myself curious about the contents of the various dressers and armoires.
The full unveiling was terrifying, and before I could process anymore, my brain shut down, my head collapsing back onto the pillow, my eyes fading to black.
My reprieve was short lived. I woke several moments later to Paxton sitting beside me brushing the hair away from my face, humming softly to himself. He didn’t seem surprised at my sudden faint, in fact, it was almost as if he expected it.
“I know this is hard, but you’re a healthy girl. You can do this.” His words, meant to soothe, only confused me more.
“I don’t understand. Why me?” I whispered, vertigo still in full effect.
“I already told you, Wendy Darling. You’re perfect. You’ll make the perfect slave. This is what you were born to do.”
Without any warning, Paxton leaned down, grabbed my chin and pulled me in for a searing kiss that made my toes involuntarily curl. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want him, but my body reacted without my approval. Reaching out, I clawed at his hoodie, wanting to push him away, but my body won the war, and instead, I fou
nd my fingers clutching the material so I could drag him in closer. I told myself I was doing this to ground myself over the shock of the past half hour in his presence, but I knew better.
My foster father had turned me into a slut, and that’s what I would always be. Sex was my way of escaping the depressing hole the world kept shoving me into. It didn’t matter who the other person was, as long as they could make me forget for a brief moment. The pain always came back with a vengeance, but a few minutes of peace and bliss were enough to get me through years of heartache.
Wrapping his hands around my wrist, Paxton unfurled my fingers and let my hand drop, my pride cracking in two as our lips disengaged.
“Go clean up, Wendy Darling. Preston will join you soon to begin your training. The green light above the door,” he pointed out its location, “will signal a thirty-minute warning. And when it turns red, you have five minutes. Make sure you’re on the bed, with nothing on, and please be good.”
With a final kiss to my forehead, Paxton turned away from me and exited my proverbially literal cell. The clink of the lock reverberated around the room, sending me into an emotional tailspin. There was something damaged in my brain. One second I was being told I was kidnapped to be a sex slave, and the next I was letting a man I didn’t know tongue fuck my tonsils! To top it all off, I enjoyed it. I fucking loved the three seconds of attention Paxton rained down on my body. I couldn’t get enough, and the thought frightened me. Where was this insanity coming from? I could only hope it was all a dream.
Without a stitch of clothes, I jumped from the bed and ran to the exit. I reached for a handle that wasn’t there, and my brain worked overtime trying to figure out how Paxton had gotten out of the room. I felt around for a button or a handle, but came up short. There was nothing visible on the wall or the door. No secret contraptions, or books to pull, only flat bricked off space. Getting out of here was looking even more impossible as the seconds ticked on.
At this point, I reached full panic, and slammed my hands against the door repeatedly, hoping someone other than the brothers could hear me and get me out of this hell. I didn’t know how long I pounded on the door, but eventually, my knees gave out as I slumped against the cool metal, wrapping my arms around my knees and crying into the crook of my elbow. I was mentally, and physically exhausted.
After several long and tiring minutes, when my tears had dried, and the shaking that had taken over my body settled, I stood on wobbly legs and debated my next move. Looking ahead, I walked over to the glass enclosure of doom. I wasn’t brave enough to go inside. I knew I would have to eventually if I were to follow Paxton’s orders. For now, though, I was content hanging outside the entrance.
Being this close to it didn’t help my anxiety as I saw more shackles chained to the floor and other odd cuffs, chains and striking implements I hadn’t seen from my place on the bed. When the room in front of me began to blur from the tears clouding my vision, the items turning more grotesque as I stared, I shook my head and turned on my heel, heading for the shower.
For a few lingering seconds the beauty of the bathroom made me forget my circumstances. As promised, everything I could have ever wanted — or any girl for that matter — was found in the spacious bathroom and walk-in closet. I briefly scrutinized the clothes, but when I found nothing but revealing lingerie, instead of T-shirts and sweatpants, I exited the wardrobe and walked into the adjoining bathroom. Twelve different shampoos greeted me, along with matching conditioners and various scents of body wash. Sensing a pattern, I counted all the items in the bathroom.
There was a dozen of everything. Loofahs, lotions, body scrubs, moisturizers and even make-up met me in the same repetitive number. I didn’t need to count the towels or toothbrushes to know they would be the same.
The shower was massive, it could probably easily fit at least five grown men with room to spare, and as I counted the number of shower heads, I knew without a doubt how many there would be. Outside the shower stall was a touch screen where I could control the entire shower stall, and set each head to my preferences. If I weren’t here under the current happenstance, I might have even been able to appreciate the luxury that had been afforded me with this bathroom. Regardless of the obsessive need one of the two had with numbers and shower equipment.
A clicking sound filled the room, pulling me from my dark and almost humorous thoughts about the brothers’ OCD, and I stomped to the entrance of the bathroom to investigate. Above the entrance, just as I had been warned, a green light shone down on me, causing me tremble all over again, the severity of what could happen in thirty minutes smacked me in the face.
Remembering there was little time left until I met the man behind the gruff voice, I raced back to the shower and turned on all of the jets. Stepping in, I let the hot water cascade down my body, pummeling my muscles, relaxing me. I didn’t know how things were going to go, or what would be included in the training Paxton referred to, but I did pick up on the seriousness of his words; the fact I needed to do my best. They were training me to be a slave. Slave. What kind of slave? With the glass enclosure, it was evident the kind of slave they were training me to be.
I was meant to be a sex slave.
It didn’t matter how hot the water was, my bones chilled instantly when the realization actually dawned on me, and I let myself come to terms with my predicament. Preston would be training me as a sex slave. The knowledge I had pulled myself from one sexually abusive hell, only to find myself thrust into another was enough to make me claw my eyes out. This time, though, it wasn’t between one aggressive man and one unwilling woman. Sex slavery was a whole new can of worms, and I was the bait Preston would dangle on his perfectly manicured hook.
I recalled how much the media had talked about the increase in sex trafficking, and even though I was homeless, I never anticipated it would be my future. Who would want a little homeless, orphan girl? Sure, no one would miss me, or even realize I was missing, but neither man had any idea if this was something I could do. Maybe they didn’t need to know. Maybe they just needed a body. I guess I would get my answer.
Stepping out from under the hot water, I anticipated I didn’t have much time left before facing my fate. I wrapped a towel around me and walked to the vanity. Selecting the cucumber melon scent from the row of lotions, I slathered some on and inhaled the refreshing aroma. I vowed then and there, whenever things got rough, and I had a feeling they would, I would hold onto this scent and the memories it carried with it. Memories of being pushed on a swing by my biological mother, of her reading me bedtime stories, and baking cookies on the only Christmas Eve I could remember with her. Those memories would keep me sane and whole.
A, now familiar, clicking sound rang out, and my head snapped up, my eyes seeking out the light over the door.
Red.
I had five minutes to finish drying off and force myself into the glass room. Could I do it? Could I willingly walk into a space full of terrifying weapons of torture, completely naked? I didn’t have a choice. I could put up a fight, but if Preston was anything like Paxton, physically, I was screwed. My best option for tonight was to see what happened and then decide on my next course of action. If only I had a weapon, something I could use to defend myself.
Staring at the small plastic bottle of lotion in my hand, I drew my arm back and threw it at the mirror on the vanity. I may be weak, but even I knew an object hitting a mirror that hard should have at least cracked it, not bounce off and land at my feet. Of course, the glass wouldn’t break. I was an idiot. A set-up like the one I was in had no pitfalls, no mistakes. This was a fortress, and I was the long-haired princess trapped in the highest tower.
Accepting defeat, I dropped the towel on the ground and made my way out to the main room, my head down. Within my thirty minutes, the room seemed to have grown colder, and I felt goosebumps rise on my arms, the heat from the shower gone, the relaxing effect stripped away by the knowledge or lack thereof, of what was to come. Either that or my
nerves were kicking in again.
Taking a deep breath, I crossed over the threshold between my basement hell and my slave training hell to wait on Preston and his teachings. I hoped he’d go easy on me, prayed this would all be some sort of practical joke, or that Preston was like his brother, and this would be full of passionate lovemaking, with a little kink thrown in for good measure. I prayed it would be the case, but like everything else in my life, my prayers were left unanswered.
Doing as Paxton commanded, I did my best to ignore my surroundings and head for the bed. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be sitting, kneeling, or lying down, so I opted to perch on my back. My stomach rolled, growling, as I tried to remember my last full meal. The morning before I was taken, I had found a half-eaten breakfast sandwich in the trash, and the night before, the stale crust from a thrown-out pizza.
The last full meal I could recall was the night before I had run away. The last day I would be seventeen, and a ward of the state. My foster father hadn’t even remembered my birthday, or possibly just didn’t care. Using the change, I had found over the past year — loose coins I had stashed in an old sock — I went to Taco Bell and bought three tacos and a bean burrito. It was one of the best meals I’d eaten since my foster mother had died.
With every passing minute, my nerves ramped higher, my stomach clenched and my vision blurred, the bed vibrating as my body trembled. Five minutes had long since come and gone, and there was no Preston in sight, the red light still on and taunting.
Just when I reached the edge of insanity, my mind unable to take the deafening silence, the clicking started again, and when I looked up, the red light went out. I felt myself calm instantly, hoping maybe Preston wasn’t coming in tonight. Maybe this was all part of my training. I’d never been good with patience as it was. Just wishful thinking on my part. No sooner had the thought crossed my mind, then the lights in the room dimmed, and I watched as the door slid open, revealing a dark silhouette in the entryway.
Trapped: Her Love Story Page 2