Even now, sitting outside on the patio in the afternoon sun, relaxing until I had to go down into my room, I thought about the last year and half of my life.
Preston didn’t come to me for almost a month after the branding. I wasn’t sure if it was because of Paxton, or if he was just giving me time to heal. Either way, I was grateful. The figging incident had been the most horrific experience of my life, and looking back now, I was pretty sure I would have been happier with using the Trillix again, although, that thing frightened me too.
My punishments, although still harsh, became less frequent as I stopped doubting my ability to count his grid, and started focusing, and paying attention. The lesson learned: When I put my mind to it, I could please my master without ever doing anything sexual.
Paxton as well started giving me daily lessons in the art of slavery. How to walk, talk, dress, and serve a Master. He taught me how to cook, and properly clean, and how to take care of myself in ways that would be the most pleasing.
Some of the items were fun. I loved cooking, and Paxton enjoyed showing me new recipes and always insisted on being the guinea pig with my new creations. He always told me I could be a gourmet chef if I wanted. I laughed it off every time he said it, because we both knew I’d never go to culinary school, let alone become a chef. I had a new job now. I was a slave. I’d come to accept this was my life, and I had better make the most of it.
Some of my training with Paxton, on the other hand, was none too pleasant. I learned what a Brazilian was. A tiny little lady who spoke no English came in one afternoon and told me to remove my clothing. I wasn’t embarrassed, far from it, but I was curious as to what she planned on doing.
As usual, my heart leaped up to my throat, but I called on my calming training, and I waited it out. I guess I had lived in a bubble my entire life because I had never heard of the term “Brazilian” before. I found out soon enough it was waxing, and not just any waxing. Head to toe waxing, and I was scolded thoroughly from Paxton for screaming when she did my armpits and my pussy.
Serving was relatively straightforward. Bring the food out to Master and his guests. Wait for him to taste it, and once the signal was given, kneel on the floor next to him unless otherwise directed. There was never anyone there for me to practice with except for Paxton, so he set up old action figures he claimed had belonged to Paul when they were children. G.I. Joe was a real asshole about the temperature of his soup, though.
Cleaning was a pain, and I’d always hated it, even as a child, but Paxton assured me I would grow to love it. He told me it would keep me occupied in my down time while my Master was out and about and couldn’t take me with him. He was right, of course. After the first few months of being allowed out of the basement, I found myself cleaning anything and everything I could get my hands on. The time to shut off my brain and focus on clearing out the cobwebs figuratively and literally did a world of good for my mental state.
Not only did Paxton teach me things that were valuable to my day to day life as a slave, but he also taught me things that would be beneficial to life, as a whole. They were uncustomary, some would call them uncouth in a lot of ways, but Paxton understood for me, the lesson I learned from it, would help me figure out why I was doing it, and what I would benefit from it.
The first one had completely and mentally rattled me so much it took me a substantial amount of time to really let the lesson sink into my head. It had happened the first week after I had been let out of the basement.
“Wendy Darling. Can you please come into your room? I have a new assignment for you,” Paxton called from the bottom of the basement steps.
I was still nervous about having free range of the house, knowing full well I couldn’t escape, even having the opportunity and open doors, right in front of my face.
Putting down the butter knife I had been using to make both Paxton and I a peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich, I walked over to the basement stairs and looked down. Paxton stood at the bottom, looking up at me, a twinkle in his eye.
“I don’t like that look, Paxton. It doesn’t usually bode well for me,” I smirked, making my way down the stairs.
It was still refreshing for me to see the big metal door open, and not continuously shut. It still stayed closed when I slept for the night, but under normal circumstances, once Preston left for work, the door would open, and Paxton would allow me free range of their home.
When I reached the bottom step, Paxton pulled me into his arms and planted a soft kiss on my lips. We had been sleeping together for over a month, and according to Paxton, Preston was clueless, and it was to remain that way. When I had asked him why me? His response was, “I don’t know Wendy Darling, it just is,” and when I asked him about the camera feed, he told me after day one, Preston never steps foot into the recording room.
At first, I had been ridiculously nervous. What if Preston did find out? What would happen to Paxton? I couldn’t live with myself if something bad happened to Paxton because of me, but after a few weeks of complete unawareness from Preston, I loosened up, and my nerves went away.
“I can smell you Wendy Darling. You smell absolutely delicious,” he purred, licking at my neck.
“I was making us sandwiches. PB&J,” I whispered back, arousal sweeping me up in its grasp.
“I’m not talking about food, girl.”
“What do you mean Paxton,” I mumbled, too caught up in the sensations to really care.
“Here,” he cupped my pussy through my jeans.
I pulled back, panting. This was my first period since I had been abducted, and I had attributed the lack of it to stress. Now that things had calmed slightly, they had come back, and luckily for me, Paxton and Preston had been prepared for it when I saw the tampons under the sink.
I felt my cheeks blush at the hungry way he looked from my eyes, down to my jean clad center. He wasn’t kidding when he said I smelled delicious. His eyes proved it.
“I can’t Paxton. I’m — I’m bleeding,” I said, embarrassed, crossing my arms over my chest.
“I know,” he chuckled before pouncing on me.
He took me to the shower, where I calmed immediately in the presence of water and soap. He proceeded to eat me for lunch instead of the sandwiches. When he was done, and I was a puddle of goo on the shower floor, he got up and left telling me the directions for his assignment were on my nightstand.
Quickly cleaning myself up, I put on some loose clothing and headed out for my assignment. Noticing the door was closed, I frowned, but shrugged it off and grabbed the envelope from the side table.
Girl,
Your assignment is as follows:
Sometimes a master will ask something of you that is so outrageous, and so outlandish you won’t think you have the ability to do it, and sometimes he won’t even provide the tools you need.
On the bed, in the glass room, you will find poster boards. Your job is to write the phrase “I am a slave, and he is my master” 200 times on the posters. You will have 3 hours to complete the task and shower before Preston comes to check your work.
Do not let me down.
—P
Three hours? For only two hundred lines. That would be a cakewalk for me. I’d always been a fan of writing when I was a young child, and I would say I had a decent vocabulary, even though it wasn’t needed for this assignment.
Grabbing the posters, I headed back towards my own corner of peace and set the boards on the bed.
“Ok, now where’s a pen?” I asked aloud.
Walking back to the glass room, I looked around the bed for a writing utensil. There was nothing there. No pens, no pencils, no markers, no crayons.
“Well, shit!”
Maybe I had missed it in the envelope?
For nearly an hour I hunted around my room for any type of writing device I could find, and at one point I even looked into the camera’s and asked Paxton to bring me something.
When the door opened two minutes later and the
n hastily shut again after something was thrown inside, I gratefully hollered ‘Thank you’ at the metal entryway.
Picking it up, I realized, my thanks were useless. In my hand, I held a small paintbrush.
“Thanks for nothing Paxton. I have no paint.”
I sat on the bed for a few minutes, twirling the brush around in my hand and re-reading the note he’d given me.
“Sometimes he wouldn’t give me the tools I would need,” I repeated, over and over.
Simultaneously, a cramp hit my lower back as a light bulb went off in my head.
Jumping up from the bed, and turning sharply to look at the camera I yelled, “You’ve got to be kidding me? Are you serious?”
No response.
With only an hour and a half left to go before Preston showed up, and knowing the penalties for not taking a shower before he arrived, I put my embarrassment in check and walked with my poster boards to the bathroom. Removing my clothes, I carefully hung them up, along with my panties, and made my way into the shower stall.
If I was going to do this, I was going to do it somewhere where it could be cleaned easily.
Reaching down, I pulled on the string hanging out of me and put the tampon on the bench next to my little billboards. Taking the paintbrush in my right hand, I dabbed the bristles of the brush down on the used cotton and collected some of the used blood before drawing it up to the top of the board.
I am a slave, and he is my master.
Taking a step back, I admired my handy work. It was gross, to say the least, but it was efficient and would allow me to finish my assignment.
It didn’t take long though for me to see I would have an issue soon enough. There wasn’t enough ‘paint’ on the tampon.
Sighing heavily, I hoisted my leg up onto the bench and gingerly ran the brush between my folds. The bristles tickled, similar to Paxton’s beard, but now was not the time to get aroused. I had an assignment to finish. Pulling the brush out, I smiled at the amount of material I had to work with.
With forty-five minutes to spare, I finished my work and put the brush down. Not bothering with clothes, I stepped out of the shower and into the main room and deposited the lines on the bed in the glass room before hastily making my way back to the bathroom to clean myself.
The experience had been disgusting, and more than once I had been tempted to gag on the project in front of me, but I pushed through and did so with no complaints. I had learned a good Master always made sure his slave had what she needed to get a job done, even if she had to think out of the box. Never would I be set up to fail if I had a Master who wanted to see me succeed.
The next day Paxton told me there was always a chance I would get a Master who would try and set me up for failure just so he could punish me, and that’s what Preston was teaching me. How to survive it. I still didn’t like the things he had done to me, but begrudgingly, I had learned to accept it.
“Wendy Darling. Where are you?” I heard Paxton yell out from the house.
“Outside on the chaise,” I called back.
Hearing him approach, I sat up in the chair and pulled my legs underneath me. Paxton always had a habit of straddling the chaise to talk to me when I was out here.
“I know you’re using a little of your free time before tonight, but I wanted to talk to you again about what to expect, and what is expected of you.”
Sighing, I rolled my eyes and looked at Paxton. This would be the third talk this week, on top of the five from the week previous and the countless before that.
“Don’t, girl. Just, don’t. You’ve done well over the past year and a half, but you still have a lot to learn. I don’t want to see you get hurt tonight because you think you know what is going to happen. You really have no idea.”
“Ok, Paxton. I’m listening. I promise,” I crossed my fingers over my heart and holding my hand up in Scout’s Honor.
“Wench,” he whispered before taking my chin in his hand and capturing my lips in an all-consuming fiery, passionate kiss.
Our tongues danced, fighting for dominance. He always won, and I always let him. Without breaking our connection, I leaned back in the chair, as Paxton hovered over me, grabbing my wrists and pinning them above my head.
“You are. The most. Beautiful woman. I’ve. Ever. Seen,” he said, as he punctuated each word with a kiss down my neck, across my collarbone, and down my breasts.
Pulling my bikini top to the side with his teeth, I watched in rapture as Paxton took my nipple into his mouth and wrapped his lips around it, shielding my view. Tilting my head back, I arched my hips into his pelvis, begging for more.
“Patience, Wendy Darling. You still need to learn patience.”
Carefully securing both wrists in one of his hands, Paxton ran his fingers down my body until he found the top of my skimpy bottoms.
“Are you wet for me?” He asked into my lips.
“Yes, Paxton, fuck, yes,” I moaned, thrusting up into his traveling hand.
“And tell me what you want,” he whispered, his fingers dipping under the fabric, and lightly grazing my entrance, but not really touching.
“You, I want you,” I deplored him.
Pulling his hand out quickly, he smacked my sex outside of the bikini.
“Tell me what you want!” He growled.
“I want you to fuck me, Paxton. I want your cock inside of me. Please,” I begged him.
“Your wish is my command.”
Releasing my hands, Paxton quickly shimmied down the chaise and swiftly removed the skimpy swimming trunks I was wearing. A shiver raced through my body as the air nipped at my fevered skin. I didn’t know where we were geographically, but I knew during the day the sun was bright, the weather at a tepid seventy degrees, and at night it would get below freezing sometimes.
“Turn over,” Preston growled, chasing away the thoughts of weather from my brain.
Quickly following his orders, I flipped over onto my belly and pulled my knees up to my chest. This was going to be quick for the both of us. Tonight, was either going to make or break me, and Paxton was preparing me in the best way he knew how.
“Reach your hand down here and fuck yourself with your fingers, girl. I want to stroke my cock to that beautiful pussy.”
Turning my head to look at him, my mouth watered. With the button of his jeans undone and his zipper down, Paxton’s massive cock stuck out from the top of his jeans, fisted tightly by his hand. Slowly, I watched as he pumped himself from the base to his tip, his thumb gliding along the top of his head, collecting the precum already escaping.
When my fingers found the apex of my thighs, I closed my eyes at the way my clit came to life in my hands. Flicking the little nub a few times, I allowed my arousal to surround me before I plunged two fingers deep into my wet folds.
“Open your eyes,” Paxton commanded.
When I did, a ravenous hunger greeted me, as Paxton gritted his teeth.
“Keep going, slave.”
“Yes, Master,” I shouted, not caring he wasn’t formally my Master. The urge to call him such was too overwhelming to ignore. Not for the first time, I prayed for a miracle he could be.
“I’m going to take you now, Wendy Darling. I’m going to breathe life into your lungs, and fill you with the confidence of a lion. My cock will be the memory you take with you, and the sound of my voice will be what soothes you to sleep at night. Remember me well, because I shall never forget you.”
With tears in my eyes, I cried out as Paxton entered me so savagely I almost fell off the chaise lounge. This was not like the other times we had fucked in my tiny basement bed, this was feral and excruciating and exactly what I needed to get my head in the game for tonight. As always, Paxton knew what I needed, and what I wanted and he never failed to deliver it.
His balls slapped against my hand as I continued assaulting my own source of stimulation. My head was pulled back viciously as he wrapped his hand around my pale blonde hair and tugged, taking everything
I had to give him. When he leaned over me and brought his other hand around to my neck, I knew he was close; just as close as I was.
The force in which he was choking me, spurred me on faster, as he continued to fuck my pussy with a raw intensity I hadn’t yet endured from him. Every thrust felt like he was calling to me, begging me to understand I couldn’t be his. I did understand.
With his lips at my ear, his words became my undoing.
“Don’t forget me, Wendy Darling. You may be his number twelve, but you’ll always be my number One.”
Explosions.
Tiny balls of light flitted past my pupils as I convulsed and shook around the man who gave me back everything I had ever lost. For sixteen months, one week and six days I was trapped; loveless, homeless, and nameless, but in this blissful moment of serenity, and intense pleasure, I found love in Paxton’s eyes, a home in Paxton’s heart, and a name on Paxton’s lips. I was his One, and that was enough for me. I was no longer trapped. I was free.
Chapter 12
“Stop shaking, girl. We’ve trained you to be the best there is. Test day is like any average day with Preston, you’ll just have a few more people to entertain,” Paxton tried to soothe me.
For the first time since my kidnapping, I looked like a human being. With a little sun on my skin, a few curls in my hair and a heavy-handed makeup application, I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself.
Immediately following our rendezvous outside, Paxton went over the rules again and what I was to expect from tonight’s festivities. Test Day was the day in which all interested parties came to the house and checked out the merchandise. Me. They were allowed to do what they wanted to me, and I was to comply with every command unless Preston deemed it unsafe before purchase.
I was to address every man as “Sir,” every woman as “Ma’am” and Preston as “Master” and at no point could I deviate from those instructions. I was not to speak unless directly asked a question, and the word ‘no’ was not to be in my vocabulary at all. If at any point a request was given I thought I couldn’t handle, I was to look to Preston, and he would nod, or shake his head as he saw fit, but I had to be absolutely sure I couldn’t handle it. If Preston thought I was trying to get out of something easy, the punishment would be tenfold.
Trapped: Her Love Story Page 13