Trapped: Her Love Story

by Shannon Youngblood

  But the chance to talk to someone about what had happened to me wasn’t something I could pass up. I’d never uttered a single word to anyone about the abuse I had faced at the hands of my foster father. Getting the opportunity was a blessing a curse. A blessing to have it off my chest, but a curse having to share my horrors.

  “Open up to me. I won’t tell anyone,” he cooed, petting my hair, and soothing me with his touch and his words.

  “Ok. Paxton. I’ll tell you. After my mom died, I went into the foster system. I was bumped around from home to home for about six months, and during that time I didn’t talk to anyone, and I refused to play video games. They were the reason my mom was dead, and I didn’t deserve them.

  After about six months, I got placed in a more permanent house with a beautiful couple and their two daughters. The mom had always wanted three girls, but she had complications after her second child and was forced to stop having any more. They decided to adopt another girl around the other daughter’s ages, and so I found myself given the opportunity to join the family.”

  Taking a deep breath, I looked at Paxton, and he nodded at me, coaxing me to continue.

  “It was incredible at first. I still hadn’t talked at all, but my foster mom, Shelly, was great about letting me come out of my shell when I wanted to. My foster dad, Bill, was fantastic and treated me like one of his own. My two sisters, Kate and Nicole, took a little while to warm up to me, but eventually, they did. After two months, I remembered waking in the middle of the night with a nightmare. Shelly came running in, and I asked for a drink of water. It was the first time I had spoken in eight months.

  “The next day, I umm,” I trailed off, realizing this part of the story, although crucial, was also embarrassing.

  “It’s ok, Wendy Darling. Go ahead. I’m not here to judge.”

  “The next day, I started my period,” I told him, my cheeks turning an intense shade of pink. “Shelly didn’t have any pads for me, so she offered to go to the store. She was hit by a driver and killed on impact.”

  “Oh, Wendy Darling.”

  “No, don’t comfort me, please. I — I had killed another mom,” I sobbed, burying my chest into his sweatshirt.

  After a few minutes, I composed myself enough to finish telling him my story. I had already started, I just needed to finish it, and get it off my chest.

  “Kate and Nicole were sent to their aunt’s house, Shelly’s sister, but I couldn’t go, because their aunt hadn’t really met me, so Bill offered to keep me, and at first, I was thrilled. I would be the only child for now, and although we were both grieving, maybe I could help him through it, and be there for him like he had been there for me.

  But, Bill had other plans and other ways of coping. He started drinking. It was minor at first. I didn’t even notice it. I was still only eleven, so my thoughts and views on alcohol were relatively innocent. He then stopped going to work, and spent his days at home with me and his bottle of booze.”

  The first time he hit me, it was because I only put two ice cubes in his scotch glass and not three, and immediately after, he picked me up off the ground and apologized, telling me over and over again how sorry he was. I believed him. He didn’t mean it. Until the next night when I filled his cup over his two-finger rule. This time when he hit me, he didn’t apologize. Instead, he got up and walked out the front door, and was gone until early the next morning.

  I heard him come in, and like the naive idiot I was, I assumed, since it was my twelfth birthday, he would forgive me for messing up his drink and would take me somewhere special, like we had with Kate a few months’ prior on her birthday.”

  When he came into my room, I knew something wasn’t quite right. His clothes were the same from the previous evening, his hair was ragged, and he reeked.

  ‘Is the birthday girl awake?’ He asked me. I opened my eyes and smiled at him. He crawled into bed with me, and he — he kissed me. Even at twelve, I knew it wasn’t a fatherly type of kiss, but I kissed him back because I didn’t want him to send me away.”

  Taking a moment to compose myself, I waited to continue my admissions to Paxton. This was harder than I thought it would be. What was Paxton going to think of a full-grown man kissing a twelve-year-old girl? And even worse, what would he think of her kissing him back?

  “What happened next?” He asked, curiosity lacing his features.

  “Nothing. He left my room and went to his own room and locked himself in. I didn’t see him for days. Eventually, he came out, clean shaven, and in his regular attire. He looked like the Bill I had grown to admire when Shelly was still alive. He told me he was sorry he had missed my birthday, and we were going to pick up Kate and Nicole to do something special. For almost a year, everything was as it should have been. I forgot about the kiss and him hitting me, and just enjoyed having a family again.”

  “A year? What happened after a year?” Paxton asked.

  Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I took a calming breath and continued, “On the one year anniversary of Shelly’s death, Bill dropped the girls off at their aunt’s and came back to the house with a bottle of expensive scotch. I hadn’t seen him drink anything since the night he last hit me, and it worried me, but I shook it off because everything had been so good. We watched a movie together, ate popcorn and talked about what I wanted to do for my thirteenth birthday. I fell asleep on the couch, happy and content.”

  “When I woke up, I was in my bed and didn’t remember how I had gotten there. I sat up and saw Bill in the corner of my room with a glass in his hand full of the strong-smelling amber liquid. He put down the glass and came over to my bed, and sat down on the edge. I asked him if he was ok, but he just smiled at me and told me how pretty I was.

  But then he just — he just.”

  I couldn’t finish. How did I tell this man in front of me, something I’ll never be able to forget, and something I’ll be ashamed of until the day I die?

  “It’s alright, Wendy Darling. Take your time. Let it all out.”

  “He just snapped! His hands came up, so fast and grabbed my hair, and before I knew it, he was kissing me again, but it wasn’t the gentle way he had done it a year ago. It was really mean, and angry. I tried to get him to let me go, but he was too strong. My lips were bruised, and they hurt so bad, and then he bit my lip and shoved his tongue in my mouth.”

  “Breathe, girl, breathe,” Paxton chanted, rubbing my back, forcing me to slow down and calm myself.

  The sudden attack on my senses from the memory gave me a headache so intrusive, I thought I would faint. My entire body was on edge from Preston’s previous punishments, and from reciting the tales of my childhood and I felt as if I had been awake for two years without a wink of sleep.

  I could feel my eyes closing again in utter exhaustion. My body and my mind ached with the need to be free from the torment of the last few weeks. All I wanted was some peace so I could find the strength to go on.

  “Wendy Darling. You haven’t finished your story,” Paxton cooed, tapping me on the nose.

  “I don’t think I can stay awake much longer, Paxton, but I’ll try,” I told Paxton through a yawn. “Over the next six years, it got progressively worse. He made me act as if nothing was wrong when the girls were home during the week, and while they were there, everything was pretty standard, but as soon as they left for their aunts on the weekends, his entire demeanor shifted one hundred and eighty degrees. He became another person altogether.”

  “It started out with just the kissing, and he’d make me touch him over his clothes, but as the years progressed, he began petting me back. On my sixteenth birthday, he told me he had a surprise for me. He — He. I can’t say it, Paxton. Don’t make me say it,” I wailed.

  “Shh, shh. I know. You don’t have to say it. He made you have sex with him, didn’t he?”

  “It was awful. He smelled, and it hurt so badly, and he forced me to do it over and over again all night.” I sobbed out into his chest.

>   “I decided the next day, when I turned eighteen, I would move out. He would no longer be getting money from the state for having me, and I would be an adult. Which meant I didn’t have to stay and let him use my body anymore. I saved every penny I found, but it didn’t stop me from being homeless when I finally ran away.”

  “And then I saved you,” Paxton said, a small smile on his face.

  “You did. You saved me,” I smiled back.

  “Why don’t you close your eyes now. I’ll stay until you’re asleep.”

  “I’d like that,” I murmured, my eyes already closed, and my mind already drifting towards dreamland.

  I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming or if I had actually heard him, but could have sworn as Paxton scrambled off the bed, I heard seven beautiful words.

  “If only I could save you now.”

  Chapter 9

  Standing under the hot spray, I couldn’t believe I had been here close to three months. After my revelations to Paxton nearly two months ago, my nightmares of Bill had ceased and had been replaced with dreams of Paxton’s face. Sometimes, it was just his face, and sometimes it was the two of us. But normally, my dreams consisted of the pair of us, in a beautiful house in the suburbs with two cute kids and a dog.

  Every time I dreamt of it, the vision was identical.

  I walk into the house to see Paxton cooking something. His beard is cut back a little, and his smile is genuine and glowing. He’s wearing a bright pink cooking apron that says ‘If momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.’ He kisses me on the cheek and tells me supper will be ready in ten minutes. The kids come running down the stairs, and I kiss them both. Our little boy looks like his daddy with the same piercing blue eyes, and the little girl looks like my mom.

  Something pops off the stove and flies to the ceiling, and when I look up, a familiar grid lights up with thousands of tiny square lights. Everything around me vanishes, including Paxton, and I start counting, but the colors start changing, and I can’t keep up.

  Even though the water was hot, a shiver snaked through me. By that point in the dream I’d usually woken up, but on the off-chance I didn’t, I just kept counting. Over and over again. The counting had merged into my waking hours. I found myself counting things, even when the grid was dark. At first, it scared the shit out of me, but now I chalked it up to my training. There was a lesson there somewhere, I just needed to learn what it was.

  Although I didn’t want to think about it, I let the mind drift over the assignments and punishments I’d completed since Preston burned me with the glass dildo. Each punishment had been just as severe and just as cruel, testing my limits and pushing me past them. I had yet to get a counting right, but almost every assignment, I had been off by only one or two.

  After I had sufficiently healed from the burning, my next assignment had shown up, and I had been two number shy. Preston had put a ball gag in my mouth, which wasn’t quite as bad as the mouth stretcher from before. He inserted the biggest butt plug into me, I had ever seen. At its biggest, the width was probably closer to, if not larger than a football. With no warning, he shoved it in and made me lie on it for two hours. At the same time, he double-fisted my pussy, tearing me, almost literally in two. Paxton had to apply stitches, and I was out of commission for a few weeks after that.

  The stitches dissolved and I returned to normal, and like clockwork, the next envelope showed up. This time I was only off by one number. I thought for sure that my punishment severity would be less because of how close I was, but I was dead wrong. Preston decided by being one off, I was being lazy, and in reality, I may as well have been ten off. Securing me tightly with yards upon yards of rope, Preston strapped my feet into an odd device and flipped me upside down, hitting me with a bamboo rod. With each strike of the bamboo, I remembered thinking I would have rather had the bullwhip. To make matters worse, after the first hit, he lowered the mechanism down and dunked my head entirely underwater, before caning me again.

  Anyone who has ever said drowning is the way they want to die has never actually experienced drowning. My lungs burned, needing oxygen desperately. My vision clouded and darkened, and seconds before I felt the life slip out of me, he raised me up and swatted me at the same time. I choked out water for a solid minute, while he continued hitting me. The water underneath me turned red with the blood dripping from my back, but I didn’t care. As long as he didn’t put me back under the water again. As per my norm, though, luck has been never on my side. Four more times he dropped me below the surface, and four more times, my miserable life flashed before my eyes. He hit me five times underwater, and five times above, for a total of fifty-one strikes, including the first.

  The healing time for that punishment was much shorter than the others because most of the caning only resulted in large welts that were gone within a few days, although some of them did bleed. More often than not, though, my punishments were starting to become more focused on training me to be a good slave, and not so much hurting me, or so it seemed. Everything he did was still painful, including putting thousands of thumbtacks on the ground and making me kneel on them for three hours, but they were also built with a lesson in tolerance. Anything he did, could be done by my Master, and I needed to be ready.

  All of this was told to me, not by Preston, of course, but by Paxton. As always, after each punishment, Paxton came in to clean up the mess, and to clean me up as well. With gentle hands and an endearing heart, he took care of me from the start of my physical and mental healing to the very end, before he let me back out to face my next challenge. He cared about me, of that I was certain. Unfortunately, I had fallen for him. I almost looked forward to my punishments so I could see him again. That thought scared me to death. How much sanity had I lost in this place that I could look forward to the worst in Preston just to satisfy my need for his brother?

  The conversations between Paxton and I continued on, and he learned everything he could about me and my childhood. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Nothing was left out. I still knew nothing about him, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. Every question I asked him was redirected back at me. At first, it irritated me. Why wouldn’t he tell me about himself? Was it so terrible? But I learned to live with it. There was no sense in getting worked up.

  Maybe he wasn’t telling me because he knew my feelings for him ran deep. He knew he couldn’t keep me, so the less I knew about him, the less it would hurt when I left. The same wouldn’t hold true for me. It didn’t matter how little I knew about him. All I could see when I looked at Paxton was a white picket fence and two and a half kids. I didn’t see the fucked-up reality around us. There were no punishments or counting grids or rules. Just one man and one woman, who loved each other fiercely, and who protected each other and their offspring with everything they had.

  When I was sold, and when I left, I would leave my heart with him. There was no doubt in my mind at this point that I would be a fantastic slave. I still had quite a bit of learning to do, and I needed to be taught some of the more simplistic aspects of being a 24/7 slave, but for the most part, I felt like I could handle almost anything thrown at me. The only thing I could attribute that too was because Paxton was at my side once it was over. When I was sold, and when I left, I would leave my heart with him, so I would never truly be alone.

  Today, when I woke, and saw the envelope on the bedside table, a renewed sense of hope filled me. As usual with my assignments, I put on my game face and was bound and determined to get it right, and this time was no different, only this time, I knew I could do it. One count. That was all I would do. One count of whatever colored square I was given. That would be the number I presented to Preston this evening, and that would be the number that would get me out of my first ever punishment; if Preston kept his word.

  Taking a little longer in the shower, I let myself soak in the extra fortitude.

  Chin up, girl. You got this.

  Today’s outfit was a red chain with red boy shorts. I knew Paxton
had picked it. He didn’t tell me much of anything about himself, but he did say his favorite color once. He slipped up, and it fell from his mouth like smooth butter. The memory made me laugh.

  “Let’s play twenty questions, Paxton.”

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “You ask me a question, and I answer with no explanation, and then I ask you a question.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Please?”

  “Wendy Darling. What’s your favorite food?”

  “Peaches.”

  “What’s your favorite sport to watch?”

  “Hockey.”

  “What’s your favorite movie?”

  “Alice in Wonderland.”

  “What’s your favorite body part?”

  “Your beard?”

  “Really? He asked, stunned.

  “Yeah, it tickles.”

  “Oh, you like tickles, do you?”

  Jumping on top of me, he used one hand to grip both of my wrists, before hiking up my shirt and tickling my sides. For minutes on end, he tickled me, and I laughed and tried to buck him off. He laughed along with me, and it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

  “Wait — Wait! Ha, ha, Paxton! Wait. What’s… Paxton, stop… ha, ha, ha! What’s your favorite color?”

  “Red, why?”

  I stopped moving and looked at him before I busted up laughing again.

  “Hey! You tricked me, Wendy Darling,” he said, diving back into my sides for more tickle torture.

  We ended that night with heated kisses and a shared orgasm between us, me on top of him licking him, sucking him, taking his dick into my throat, and him feasting on my wet pussy. It was one of the best orgasms of my life. Right before I’d fallen asleep, I asked him to strip down and sleep with me. I asked him every night, and without fail, his answer was always the same.