Trapped: Her Love Story

by Shannon Youngblood

  “Why do you call me Wendy Darling?” I asked.

  With a little chuckle, he found my eyes in the mirror. “Your nightgown.”

  “My nightgown?”

  “Yes, Wendy Darling. Your nightgown. When I found you, in that crumbling box, soaked to the bone, your pale blue nightgown reminded me of Wendy from Peter Pan, and since I didn’t know your name, and I like to name all of my girls, I knew that would be your new name. You’re my Wendy Darling.”

  “You know, I have a name?”

  Shaking his head, his grip tightened slightly in my hair, and his tone took on a harsher decibel. “Not anymore. You’ve already been told this. You no longer have a name, and you should forget your old one. It’s useless to you now, and you’ll never hear it again.”

  Just as suddenly as it had come on, the coarseness of his demeanor shifted back, and he continued with his gentle ministrations of working the brush through my hair. I watched in fascination as he deftly parted my hair into three sections and French braided it from my crown down to my nape, before fastening it off.

  “Stay here,” he bent down to place a kiss on top of my head before disappearing into the walk-in closet.

  Taking a moment for myself, I looked into the mirror in front of me. In just over two weeks, I had definitely changed in distinct ways. My eyes were harsher, and dull, no longer holding onto any resemblance of innocence, and the dark black and purple bags around them showed off my lack of proper sleep.

  My hair no longer kept the shine it had as a kid. The same exuberance people had complimented on a daily basis before my mother died. The same brilliance my mom’s had sported. Even in the braid, it felt lifeless and lackluster.

  My skin was pale and pulled taut over my bones, and it was evident I had lost weight. My cheekbones were more defined, and the little bit of baby weight I had still been carrying around was officially gone. I looked grown. I looked like a woman, and in some ways, I felt like one too, but inside, I still felt like a child. A helpless, insecure child who wanted nothing more than her mother to rock her to sleep and read her a bedtime story.

  I watched in awe, as one tear slipped from my eye in remembrance for a lady who would never be memorialized in anyone’s memories after I was gone. If she could see me now.

  “This is going to look beautiful on you, Wendy Darling,” came Paxton’s voice from my right, as he held up a red silk scrap of skimpy material. When he caught the look on my tear-stained face, he dropped the material to his side and came rushing over. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

  “It’s nothing Paxton. I’m ok,” I wiped at the stray tear running down my cheek.

  “It’s not nothing. You wouldn’t cry for nothing, now tell me what’s wrong?” He wasn’t demanding, but genuinely curious.

  “I was just thinking about my mom.”

  “Your mom?” He asked confused. “You have a mom?”

  “Of course, I have a mom,” I snapped back, my irritation getting the better of me again.

  “No, of course, you do. What I meant was, I thought you were orphaned?” He asked, kneeling back down in front of me, gathering the silky material from the floor and guiding it down over my body.

  The material was soothing, and it didn’t stick to my back. It was heavenly.

  “I was an orphan yes, but not until I was eleven.”

  He was silent, only responding with a nod of his head before standing in front of me and holding out his hand for me to take. With no hesitation, I placed my small palm in his as he helped me to stand before walking out of the bathroom and heading over to my bed in the corner. I expected him to tuck me in and leave me for the night, so I was pleasantly surprised when he climbed into my bed first, leaning up against the headboard, and motioned for me to join him.

  We stayed like that for a while, my back lightly pressed up against his chest, as he ran his fingers down my cheek and neck and back up again. He soothed me into a catatonic state of peacefulness. I wasn’t asleep, merely relaxed, and blank in my thoughts. It was the first time since my abduction, my mind had been shut off.

  “Tell me about your mom,” Paxton’s voice rang out amongst the silence.

  “She was beautiful,” I sighed, as Paxton removed his well-made braid, and ran his fingers through my hair and over my scalp. “She used to sing to me every night, the same song.”

  “What song,” he asked.

  I didn’t know what came over me, or the sudden need to sing, but I did. Singing had always been a sort of release for me through the years, and the overwhelming urge hit me square in the chest.

  I whisper to your heart,

  Your smile whispers to the air.

  You trapped my love,

  As the light sang through your hair.

  The circling wind and the circling sun

  We are together, and together we're one.

  I hold you in the sun

  Your smile promises me the moon

  You trapped my love

  It all ends for us too soon.

  The circling wind and the circling sun

  We are together, and together we're one.

  I kiss your face so dear

  Your smile worships my stars

  You trapped my love

  Please don't run away too far.

  The circling wind and the circling sun

  We are together, and together we're one.

  I close your hand in mine

  Your smile sets us both so free

  You trapped my love

  And now forever you'll be with me.

  After the last note had left my lips, a silence fell over us. His hands had stopped moving through my hair, and his breathing had grown more ragged after each verse, but I couldn’t stop singing. With every lyric, a piece of my soul was gluing itself back together bit by bit. I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t think I could stop.

  Without warning, Paxton flipped me around as if I were a rag doll, making sure not to touch my back. When I was settled, I found my legs straddling Paxton’s face. I didn’t know how we had gone from spooning, to him lying flat, with me on top of him, but I couldn’t think about that now. I had no panties on, and it was easy for Paxton to find his goal. With deft fingers, he parted my lips and licked me from the bottom of my slit to the top of my clit.

  I shuddered with the ecstasy that galloped through me. My body came alive again, inflamed by his touch, and ruled by his tongue. He wasn’t gentle as his hands found unmarked territory on my ass and gripped me, pulling me closer to his hungry mouth. I grabbed the headboard in front of me to keep my balance, and I rode his face, relishing in the feel of his strong mouth bringing me exquisite pleasure with each swipe.

  I looked down. I wanted to watch, to see him licking me, eating me, but the nightgown covered his face, obstructing my view. Instead, I used my imagination. In my head, I watched as his beard glistened with spilled cum while his tongue darted out spearing me through the center. I watched as his teeth thrashed against my sensitive bundle of nerves. My imagination turned into real life as one of his arms snaked under my leg, and his fingers dove into my soaked pussy to find my g-spot.

  “Shit, Paxton. I’m going to cum.”

  “Yes, Wendy Darling, give me that sweet fucking cream, baby.”

  He latched onto my clit with his teeth as my climax slashed through me, ripping me apart by the seams. I was breathless and my body, lifeless, but he continued assaulting me. He was trying to coax number two from my spent body, and when he did, I screamed out in absolute bliss as I fell forward, unable to hold myself up any longer.

  Once again, I wasn’t sure how he did it, but with an ease, I had come to expect from him, Paxton had me cradled against his body, spooning on the bed. The way he manipulated my body was mind blowing, and raw.

  “Your voice is astounding,” he whispered, pulling the hair away from my ear and kissing my neck.

  “Thank you,” I blushed. “You should have heard my mom’s.”

  “Tell me
more,” he implored.

  “Well, we looked a lot alike. Even as a child, I knew when I grew up I would be the spitting image of her. She was kind, good natured, and she always smiled. Never once did I hear her say a bad thing about anybody. She was the greatest person I ever knew.”

  I had cried so many tears for my mom when I was younger, but the pain in my heart was just as real today as it had been all of those years ago.

  “What happened to her?”

  “We used to volunteer at a soup kitchen every Sunday. It wasn’t in a good area of town, but mom always told me karma was a powerful thing, and what I did for others would come back to me, tenfold. One Sunday, I just didn’t want to go, and—” I stopped, the lump in my throat growing bigger with each confession.

  Because of me, my mom was dead. Because I had lied, the woman that had birthed me had been killed.

  “It’s ok, Wendy Darling. Keep going. I’m right here,” he said soothingly, as he patted my hair.

  “I didn’t want to go, so I lied. I told her I didn’t feel good. In reality, though, I wanted to stay home and play some dumb video game, so I told her I would be all right by myself. When she left, she — she — oh God, a homeless man, a man we had fed for months. A man who my mom had always given extra money to — he, hit her over the head with a tire iron and then stole her car. The staff found her a few hours later, but she was already gone.”

  Holding me tightly, Paxton wrapped his arms around me, and let me cry out for the loss of my mother and the loss of my childhood. His chest pressed into the wounds on my back, making me cry harder, but it was just another punishment for being such a worthless child. I deserved it.

  When the police had come to find me, I had thought it was some sort of joke. Mom had caught me lying, and this was her weird way of teaching me a lesson. I’d even gone so far as to laugh at the cops, but they hadn’t been lying.

  “It’s my fault,” I howled. “If I had gone with Mom, I could have warned her. If I hadn’t lied, she’d be alive and well. It’s my fault!”

  “No. You can’t blame yourself. If you’d have gone with your mom, you could have been hurt too. You could have died right along with her,” Paxton tried reasoning with me.

  “I wish I had,” I whispered, not for the first time wishing it had been me instead of her.

  “Well, I don’t,” he snarled.

  Flipping in his arms, I looked up into his eyes. “You don’t?”

  “Of course, not. You’re my Wendy Darling,” he tried to come off nonchalant, but the emotion was there in his tone, and in his eyes.

  Carefully, he untangled our limbs and stood from the bed. I watched as he made his way to the door, and I knew he had felt it too. He couldn’t hide from his emotions, so instead, he was running from them. From me.

  “Wait!” I cried out, my heart trying to grasp onto him, but he didn’t turn around.

  I wasn’t quite sure what I was hoping for, hearing the affection evident in his voice. This wouldn’t end well for me, and I had to accept that. It didn’t matter what I wanted in my future. That was already decided the day Paxton took me off the streets. But right now, I wanted Paxton, and he wanted me, but how far would he go?

  It wasn’t as if Paxton would break me out of here right under his brother's nose where he could live happily ever after with the orphaned, homeless, slut. Would he?

  Chapter 7

  I hadn’t seen Paxton since the fourth day, and I was bordering on three weeks with no Preston. I missed Paxton, and if the nightmares hadn’t been persistent, reminding me of the cruelty I would face at Preston’s hand, I would actually miss him as well. In truth, I missed human interaction. Seventeen days with only yourself and your thoughts was lonely, and I was starting to freak out.

  When I woke on the twenty-first day, my wish came true, and my heart sank at the same time. Sitting on my nightstand was a blank sealed envelope, waiting to be opened and this time, I didn’t hesitate. It was like ripping off a band-aid.

  Sitting up in my bed, my full range of motion back with no residual pain, I slashed into the envelope and pulled out my instructions for the day.

  Girl,

  Your assignment is as follows:

  1. Count the number of Blue squares.

  2. Dress in the blue bikini top and matching blue thong while you count.

  3. Leave your hair down.

  Do not let me down.

  —P

  It was as if he had copied and pasted the same letter, only changing the color of the squares and the outfit. I sighed internally and put the letter down. I looked up just as the grid blinked on and just as before, a non discernable pattern appeared before my eyes. Today there seemed to be fewer colors, which meant there were more blocks to count, and more blocks to count meant more room for error.

  Before I could let the negative engulf me, potentially dragging me down into a mood, I wasn’t prepared to go to this morning, I hopped out of bed and headed for the shower. At least if I had a hot shower under my belt, then maybe I could focus on the task at hand, instead of the punishment if I got it wrong. I wasn’t going to get it wrong, and I would tell myself that until Preston showed up.

  As always, the twelve shower heads pummeled my body, relaxing me with heat and soothing vibrations. I could spend hours under the jet spray, letting the hot water lull me into a false sense of security, but today was not the day for that. Today I would be counting blue squares until my eyes crossed, and when they did cross, I’d close them for ten minutes and then start again. The punishment was not an option.

  I stepped out of the shower, letting my damp hair fall around my shoulders, the familiar brand of cucumber creating an aromatic forcefield around my body, protecting me from everything bad. I felt rejuvenated and healthy, almost undefeatable.

  My chosen outfit was skimpy, but in truth, it made no difference since most of the time I spent in this room, I was naked. I knew the brothers were watching, and they had both seen me without a stitch on, why should I bother hiding it? But Preston’s rules were very clear; blue bikini, blue thong, hair down, and I wasn’t going to deter from it. The fewer infractions, the fewer punishments. Basic math.

  I dried off and hung up my towel on the rack before putting on my outfit. Walking out into the main room, I saw my breakfast on the tray in its normal spot by the door. Today I would be dining on a bagel with cream cheese, fresh strawberries, and orange juice. I knew Paxton had delivered it. Normally there were blueberries with my strawberries, but not today. Not on the day I had to count blue squares. He may have been avoiding me, but he was still looking out for me. An act as simple as this was not made by a man who didn’t give a shit. I smiled as I picked up a strawberry and brought the juicy fruit to my lips.

  With a renewed sense of determination, I polished off the last of my bagel and started in the corner near my bed. I didn’t know why I started there, but it seemed as good a place as any.

  “One, Two, Three, Four,” I counted out loud, just for some noise.

  Damn, what I wouldn’t kill for a radio.

  By my lunch break, I had counted the grid three times and had come up with three different numbers. They were close together, but not the same. My plan was to eat my lunch, take a thirty-minute nap and try again. I would count up until the light turned red if I had to, but I was not going to go through another punishment today. I wasn’t ready. I’d never be ready for another of Preston's punishments.

  The tomato soup was hot, and perfect, and made me pine for my mom. It also made me miss Paxton. Another meal served with no blue in sight, and I had to thank him, yet again. After my lunch had been finished, I laid down on the bed, shutting my eyes from the assorted color above me. I couldn’t fall asleep completely since I had no alarm to wake me back up, but I needed to close my eyes for just a few moments and give them a much-needed break. It would be essential if I wanted to count another round or two.

  Once I felt more refreshed, I resumed my place in the corner of the room and
started my counting once again.

  “One, Two, Three, Four.”

  Click. Click. Click. Click

  Green Light.

  After another two rounds of counting and more bouts of crossed eyes than I had ever had in my life, I was frustrated beyond belief and ready to rip out my hair in giant chunks. My second set of counts had resulted in two more different sets of numbers. Although all five counts had been within ten digits of each other, I was not prepared for even one more lash of the bullwhip. My wounds, although healed, we’re still raw, my back still a shade of pink where my skin had ripped open and the blood had coagulated outside of my body.

  I had to make a decision. There was no time to count again, and even if there were, I would be too rushed and too unfocused. With the green lights still on, I removed my clothes, took the fastest shower on record, and headed into the glass room to await Preston’s arrival.

  Lying on the bed, I called upon my math skills to average my five different sets of numbers. “Two hundred, Fifty-Seven Thousand, Five Hundred and Thirteen,” I figured aloud to myself. It was the number I had to go with and pray I was right. I had to be right.

  Click, Click, Click, Click.

  Red Light.

  In five minutes, I would find out for sure. Taking a deep breath, I calmed myself. I could get through this. I would get through this.

  One, Two, Three, Four, Five.

  I chuckled as I found myself counting the clicking of the second hand on the clock and willing my heart to find a steady tempo, aligning with it. When Preston came in, I would be perfect and give him no reasons to punish me unnecessarily. I could be the perfect slave. No. I would be the perfect slave. I had to be. The faster I was, the faster I’d never have to see him again.

  I heard the door, but I didn’t move. I brought up an image of Paxton into my head, and I centered on it, letting it wash over me in invisible waves. His image would keep me safe and keep me sane.