by Liz Crowe
Kirk handed me a small paper cup full of water, and I took a few sips, hoping it didn’t set off the same reaction again.
After a few moments—as long as I dared to take, I climbed to my feet and Kirk gestured for me to get in the shower.
I stepped over the tub wall into the hot water that beat down on my head and chest. I closed my eyes, emerging myself in the cleansing stream. Kirk handed in a wash cloth and a white bar of soap, so I scrubbed everywhere, concentrating on every inch of flesh the men had touched.
“What am I supposed to call you?” I finally got up the nerve to ask over the sound of the falling water.
“Master,” he answered without a hint of emotion. “Everyone else calls me Kirk—that bit of information might be useful if you don’t want everyone thinking you’re a total idiot.”
I peeked around the edge of the curtain to see him emptying the contents of the black bag and setting them out on the counter. Two butt plugs, lube, what appeared to be two wrist cuffs and a collar, and a few items I didn’t recognize.
Ducking my face under the stream to hide the tears I feared would finally break, I wished the water was hotter. That it might sear away everything or at least distract my mind from the train wreck happening in my neurons.
After I washed out my hair, and rinsed all of the soap from my body, Kirk reached in and turned off the shower, handing me a towel.
“Get dried off then lean against the counter.”
Oh god, what now? I rubbed the towel against my skin, weighing my fear of having him snap at me against my fear of whatever he had in mind next.
He stood, arms crossed, leaning against the counter. For someone who wanted me as a sex slave, he didn’t actually seem the least bit interested in me standing naked in front of him.
I tried to convince myself that was a good thing. If he had no interest in me, then…. Then, it was more likely he’d pass me off to someone else. Why couldn’t one thing lead to a positive scenario?
I dropped the towel and moved slowly toward the counter.
“Lean forward, rest your forearms on the counter,” he said, pressing his hand against my back between my shoulder blades. I stiffened, trying to stay straight, but he slammed me forward, and pinned my legs with his knee.
With his hands on me, it all sank in. Sex slave. My insides coiled and then stretched out again. The heat of embarrassment twisted in my stomach and burned my face. Kirk pressed my butt cheeks apart and I dropped my forehead to the counter to absorb its coolness, as I watched him pick up a bottle of lube.
“You’re staying here while I take care of a few things before dinner. Don’t cause trouble unless you want me to recruit a babysitter for you.” As he spoke, he casually slipped a lubed finger inside of me and I shoved my head into my hands. He was gentle, and the fact that it didn’t hurt made it all the more humiliating.
“Understand?” he asked while pushing his finger as deep as it would go.
I heard his words, and understood the question clearly, but my mind was elsewhere. Flashes of the people I’d never see again—if I survived this and made it out, I wondered if I’d ever want to see them again. How long could I stay here and still face reality?
“Answer,” Kirk growled, pulling my wet hair down my back until my back arched and I had to face him in the mirror.
“I understand.”
His finger slipped out of my ass and was replaced with something cold, smooth, and much larger. He pressed and the deeper it went, the larger it became, stretching me until my body rebelled. I jerked—as if there was anywhere I could retreat. My scalp ached as he pulled my hair keeping me in place, and my ass burned, stretched, and throbbed, refusing to yield.
I knew he was going to have his way, but my body had yet to get the memo.
“Relax,” he instructed as if the tip would help.
Oh, yeah, sure. Inside my head, the snarky reactions wouldn’t stop, but I attempted to catch them before they slipped out of my mouth and doomed me to another burst of Kirk’s temper.
Master’s temper. I tried the title out in my head and it sounded just as ridiculous as when he’d said it.
He released my hair, and I slumped forward until my forehead touched the marble counter top. One breath… two… I kept counting, concentrating on numbers and breaths, trying to push the pain and tension to another place.
He pressed the plug deeper again, until I involuntarily tightened. My hands fisted, digging my nails into my palms. My hips dug against the edge of the counter and I barely managed to keep myself from squeaking in pain. I wished he would just get it over with, but he waited again.
Five breaths before he moved again.
He pulled the plug out then, pressed a bit more and the stretching was replaced with more pain. The newest jolt stayed with me, even after he drew back the plug. Throbbing, aching, I wished the counter top was soft so I could dig my fingers into it.
Kirk’s other hand slipped between my legs and my knees buckled against the cabinet as he found my clit. I gasped, pressing my forehead harder into the counter.
I needed some kind of escape—an impossible escape. Anywhere to hide.
One, two, I started counting again. I had no idea where my last count had left off. I had to get away, to find somewhere safe where my body wasn’t being used and I wasn’t being humiliated.
The pressure in my ass grew then suddenly eased, and my eyes popped open.
I could still feel it, the uncomfortable pressure. The sensation wreaked havoc on my nervous system. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t entirely painful anymore either.
“Stand up,” he said, washing his hands from touching me.
I watched him in the mirror, not daring to look at him directly, but he barely looked at me. I felt like nothing to him—a dirty toy that he didn’t really want but felt obliged to care for anyway.
He picked up the silver set of cuffs that he’d laid out on the counter, each wrapped in bands of gold like elegant bracelets. He secured one around each of my wrists with a silver lock. Next, he secured the matching collar around my neck. They were cold and unforgiving, but loose and skinny enough to be tolerable.
“There’s a tracker inside each one. So even if you managed to get past everyone in the building, an alarm would sound as soon as you hit the perimeter, and the guards would track you down before you made it much farther than that.”
I stared down at the silver shackles. Slowly, my hope was fading.
“Come on,” he said, pulling me along and slipping his index finger into a hook on the collar as he grabbed the black bag.
He led me out of the bathroom and through the next door into his bedroom. A large oak bed frame—at least a king size bed, possibly larger—dominated the room. He dropped the bag on the foot of the bed and pulled out a long length of chain.
My stomach twisted, and I went weak, slamming into his chest as I fell.
Kirk laid me on the bed and rolled a blanket up to raise my feet. I was moderately aware as events passed, but it seemed more like a waking dream where only bits of reality filtered in around the foggy and warped edges. The effects weren’t as extreme as what I had experienced in the infirmary, but I still felt lightheaded and disconnected.
“You get these spells often?”
I shook my head.
“How do you feel now?”
“What do you care?” I scoffed, rubbing my hands over my face.
Kirk picked up my wrist and felt for my pulse. “I can’t have any fun with you fainting all the time.”
Well, then, I thought, maybe I should have said that it happens all the time. But even if he didn’t want an unconscious woman, something told me the others would have no qualms with taking advantage.
Kirk took a deep breath. Although he was acting concerned, his lips sat firm in that straight line they’d been in all along. He knelt next to the bed, then rose and attached the end of the chain to my wrist.
“Was lunch yesterday the last time you remember e
ating?”
I almost smarted off again—that’s what I said earlier. At least I was fairly positive that we’d already had a conversation about what I remembered. “Aside from what you’ve fed me, yes, that’s all I remember.”
“Are you allergic to anything other than latex?”
“Rabbits and ragweed.”
He pressed his lips together, obviously not impressed with answers that meant nothing in his world. Without another word, he disappeared through the door.
“What if I have to use the bathroom?”
“Hold it until I get back,” he yelled back.
I tried to sit up to take a small drink, but the butt plug shifted with every small motion, filling me with sensations that balanced on the border between pain and pleasure.
Kirk stopped at the doorway and looked back, “Don’t even consider taking out the plug, or the next one will be much bigger, and I’ll make sure you can’t move at all.”
I nodded, but Kirk remained in the doorway like a statue while I pulled the blanket around myself, and laid out the food beside me. Then, he closed his eyes, exhaled, and pushed away from the doorway, approaching the bed again. I stiffened, pressing my head into the headboard.
Kirk touched my skin, directing my gaze to meet his. “Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”
“Yes, Master.” I had to swallow my pride to force it out, reminding myself he’d saved me from a worse fate. “Thank you, Master.”
*****
After he left, I had nothing better to do than stare at the ceiling. My joints were swollen from the abuse. My ribs and stomach ached, and every time I moved to relieve them, the plug shifted and pressed against a new set of nerves.
It gave me a firsthand understanding of why uptight, condescending people were described as having sticks up their asses—it was fucking miserable and they needed someone to take it out on.
I rubbed my hands over my face. Even after the shower, I felt dirty and violated. If I could have scrubbed off my first layer of skin, I would have, and the plug only served as a constant reminder of how far a person could fall in a single day.
“I’m never apologizing to her. It’s not my fault she can’t keep her damn pants on.” The last words I had uttered to my mother two weeks earlier ran through my head.
“Do you two even remember why you’re fighting?” she’d replied.
I did. Even eight months after she packed up and moved out, I remembered exactly why we were fighting—because after she squandered half of her rent money to go out and get drunk with her ex, I told her to grow up and stop acting like an idiot teenager or move out.
I needed to find something to keep my mind occupied. To keep myself from ripping my hair out at the thought of never going home to them.
I rolled to my side, trying desperately to find a way to relieve some of the pressure, but every movement excited nerves that I had never felt before.
I wondered if I could take it out, and replace it before Kirk came home, just to get some momentary relief. But there were two major problems. The first was that it took him a good deal of work to get it in and I didn’t think I was capable of repeating it on myself. And the second was that he could walk back in the door at any minute.
Or he could be gone for hours, but I doubted that, since it was already half past seven and we’d have to go to dinner sometime.
Find a way out, I reminded myself. I needed something besides the pressure in my ass to worry about. I pulled at both cuffs, attempting to slide my hand out, but they were too small to slide past the base of my thumb. I yanked at them, then the chain, looking for some kind of weakness. Even if I couldn’t exploit it now and get out of the room, I thought I could find something that might be of use later, but everything was solid. The cuffs although small, were strong, which left the lock, and I had the lock-picking skills of a tortoise.
I flopped onto my back and looked around the bare room. One vague picture hung on the wall, more like something that would be found in a hotel room rather than a man’s bedroom. The table nearest me held a lamp and alarm clock, the most interesting features to the room.
I slid the drawer open and found a stash of condoms. I rolled my eyes, given what I’d already seen, it wasn’t very surprising. Below the condoms was some kind of notebook, black with a plain cover. As tempting as it was, he probably had the condoms laid on top so he’d know if anyone was nosing around.
Sneaky bastards are like that, I thought.
Every way I rolled was just as uncomfortable as the last, so I rolled off the bed to my feet. The plug pressed uncomfortably in me and my stomach clenched. Ignoring the discomfort, I dragged my chain over the nightstand to look out the window.
Trees and grass. When I looked straight down, the height made me dizzy for a moment. I hated tall buildings. When I was on the ground, they always felt like they were crouching over me, trying to crush me with their massive presence. Being inside the large building wasn’t much different.
I concentrated on the rest of the view, but there wasn’t a single identifying characteristic I could find to narrow down my location. I rested my face against the warm glass. The sun was just beginning to set, and I could see the purple prequel to twilight creeping over the horizon. Kirk’s bedroom seemed to face Northeast, I knew that much, but it wasn’t enough to be helpful.
I stumbled back to the bed grateful that no one was around to see my bow-legged struggle. Lying down on my stomach, I hoped to alleviate the sensations. I let my arm hang off of the bed, following the chain down to where it connected—not with the bed—with a large hook fastened to the wall. I pulled and twisted at the hook, but couldn’t budge it barehanded.
It was becoming more and more apparent that every struggle and half-formulated plan was a waste of time and energy.
Chapter Four
Exposed
The bedroom door slowly opened and I peeked over the blanket. I simultaneously wanted to lurch across the room to punch him in the face and hide under the bed.
“Want me to remove the plug now or after dinner,” he asked.
I stared back wondering what the hell I was supposed to say. Please, Master, I love it so much, let me keep it? I couldn’t believe people got off on this shit, although the ones who did were probably in very different situations.
Instead of being smart about the situation, my brain hopped to the crudest thing that popped up first. “I have to piss.”
Kirk rubbed a hand over his short hair. Then, he lowered his eyes to me in a dead stare. “Try again.”
My mouth refused to open. It was stupid and childish to push him, but I was too frustrated to be compliant.
“Fine,” he turned away, “I’m going to have my shower. If you piss my bed, I’ll take payment out of your ass when I get back.”
“Please,” I called after him. Thanks to detoxing from whatever Gabe and his gang had slipped me, I’d had so much water I couldn’t possibly hold it. Especially if he was on the other side of the wall with the shower running. My voice wavered. “Please, let me go to the bathroom.”
I hoped that would be enough, but he leaned against the door frame and waited.
So, I closed my eyes and added in a whisper, “Master.” As simple as the concession seemed, I felt something inside me whither a bit more.
He nodded and came back to me, “I guess that’ll do for now.” Pulling a key from his pocket, he freed my wrist. Then he helped me up and released my arm. I took a step, knowing it had to be too good to be true that he was letting me walk through the apartment on my own.
“Crawl,” he instructed.
I swallowed and turned back. His face was still stoic, eyebrows raised and daring me to argue. I was still seething from forcing the word “Master” out of my mouth just to be able to use the bathroom, but that was in no way going to be the end of the downgrading humiliation. “Is this how you get your jollies?”
“You’re going to become very familiar with how I get my jollies.” He stepped towar
d me and I dropped my gaze to the burgundy carpet—as if it could offer a solution.
It didn’t and neither did my screaming brain, so I dropped to my knees. I closed my eyes and put my hands on the floor, then crawled all the way to the toilet and stared it down. The last time I’d been eye-level with one, I’d caught swine flu from a coworker. And much like then, all I wanted to do was curl up next to it and rock myself into a peaceful oblivion.
When I reached the living room again, I felt the emotion surge up from my gut. Frozen in the middle of the living room floor, the anger and uncertainty choked me. I managed to keep quiet, hoping I was quiet enough that Kirk didn’t notice anything. After a few long shaky breaths, I calmed myself enough to sit back and rub away the tears. I blinked up at the light a few times, forcing back the remaining tears until I was composed enough to face my captor again. When I crawled back into the bedroom, Kirk was laying on the bed, his ankles crossed as he toyed with the chain.
All of the things he could do with that chain flashed through my mind—beating me with it stood out the most. I knew Gabe wouldn’t hesitate, but I still wasn’t sure about Kirk.
I hesitated near his feet and he dropped the chain. “Come up here.”
The only way to get onto the bed was over him, unless I took the small path of empty mattress below his feet, but that would have left me vulnerable to getting kicked, if he wasn’t particularly amused with my attempt to avoid him. So I moved closer, to where he patted the bed.
I stood, and he caught my leg as I lifted it onto the bed, positioning me so that I straddled his lap, my bare pussy against his jeans. The position pushed the butt plug up at a new angle and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from making a noise.
He put one hand on each of my thighs as he looked me over. “They did a number on you this morning,” he said with a sigh. My tired muscles absorbed the heat from his soft touches as he examined each injury, but when he reached for my face, I jerked back.