I’d gotten one. I didn’t need him out of control and angry.
My desperation had made me stupid. Minutes ticked by like months, and then finally the door clicked open again. He brought in the things for me to bathe, and clothing. When he left it was the first time in longer than I could remember that I was relieved he hadn’t touched me.
I bathed quickly and put on the clothes. As I picked up the shirt, a book fell out. I backed away from it like it was poison. Was it a trick? I knew I didn’t get nice things in the cell. Or was it like the bandages? I didn’t know which was the correct thing to do, ignore the book or read it.
I slipped the sweatpants on and buttoned up the white top while staring at the new variable. The fabric felt weird against my skin after walking around so many days without clothing. Clothes made me feel like a person, and as a person I couldn’t deal with what I’d become. If I remained a naked animal, it was better, easier. But he was finished making my life easy.
After circling the book a few more times, I picked it up and moved back to my corner. The corner was the only spot that held comfort because I knew if I was there, there was a chance he’d open the door and come for me.
I blushed, recognizing the book’s title as something I’d read once in a much different time and place. I cracked the spine and started reading, knowing the contents would arouse me despite everything, but also knowing that if I didn’t read, I might never achieve absolution from my captor.
It didn’t take many pages before I noticed the first place a highlighter had been used over the text. The word master glared back at me in bright sunshine yellow. At the next instance of the word, it was highlighted again. I flipped through the book to see hundreds of bright yellow rectangles. He’d probably stayed up an entire night doing it. Or spent days on the project, hacking away at it chunks at a time.
It was a book I’d once read and gotten off on, and I still got off on it, only now, it was true. A true story about me. Reading it made me ache to touch myself again, but I didn’t. I knew he must be watching, and I didn’t want to be caught again. I’d been in the bad cell for two weeks. Much longer and I wasn’t going to be able to hold onto any of my sanity.
The book was a slim volume, something that could be read in a few hours if you didn’t dog-ear the pages and stop to masturbate. Within minutes of finishing it, I heard the key code being depressed on the other side and the door opening. He hadn’t come with food, though I was hungry, and for a minute my pulse pounded at the idea that he might be there to take me back to the other room.
He approached me and stopped a few steps away from where I stood waiting in my corner. I moved my hands up to the buttons of the white artist’s smock. He shook his head at me, and I let my hands fall to my sides.
He started to leave. What the hell did he want?
“Please . . . don’t leave me here.”
Normally he turned at least to look at me, but this time he didn’t acknowledge my voice. Instead, he punched the numbers into the keypad. I wasn’t ever getting out of there.
Then I knew what he wanted from me. It would be obvious to any thinking person.
There was a time when it would have been difficult, if not impossible for me to say the words, but I was desperate and I hadn’t lied when I’d said I would be anything he wanted me to be.
“Master, please.”
He’d gotten as far as opening the door, and he stopped, letting it fall back and latch shut. Then he turned toward me, a slow smile spreading over his face. Yes. That was what he wanted. I was getting out.
Adrenaline hummed through my veins. Whatever it took, I was getting out.
He crossed the floor slowly, and then he was unbuttoning my shirt.
. . . She leaned into him as he removed her top and cupped her breasts, pinching her nipples painfully. In the time before, she would have cried out
My desperation had made me stupid. Minutes ticked by like months, and then finally the door clicked open again. He brought in the things for me to bathe, and clothing. When he left it was the first time in longer than I could remember that I was relieved he hadn’t touched me.
I bathed quickly and put on the clothes. As I picked up the shirt, a book fell out. I backed away from it like it was poison. Was it a trick? I knew I didn’t get nice things in the cell. Or was it like the bandages? I didn’t know which was the correct thing to do, ignore the book or read it.
I slipped the sweatpants on and buttoned up the white top while staring at the new variable. The fabric felt weird against my skin after walking around so many days without clothing. Clothes made me feel like a person, and as a person I couldn’t deal with what I’d become. If I remained a naked animal, it was better, easier. But he was finished making my life easy.
After circling the book a few more times, I picked it up and moved back to my corner. The corner was the only spot that held comfort because I knew if I was there, there was a chance he’d open the door and come for me.
I blushed, recognizing the book’s title as something I’d read once in a much different time and place. I cracked the spine and started reading, knowing the contents would arouse me despite everything, but also knowing that if I didn’t read, I might never achieve absolution from my captor.
It didn’t take many pages before I noticed the first place a highlighter had been used over the text. The word master glared back at me in bright sunshine yellow. At the next instance of the word, it was highlighted again. I flipped through the book to see hundreds of bright yellow rectangles. He’d probably stayed up an entire night doing it. Or spent days on the project, hacking away at it chunks at a time.
It was a book I’d once read and gotten off on, and I still got off on it, only now, it was true. A true story about me. Reading it made me ache to touch myself again, but I didn’t. I knew he must be watching, and I didn’t want to be caught again. I’d been in the bad cell for two weeks. Much longer and I wasn’t going to be able to hold onto any of my sanity.
The book was a slim volume, something that could be read in a few hours if you didn’t dog-ear the pages and stop to masturbate. Within minutes of finishing it, I heard the key code being depressed on the other side and the door opening. He hadn’t come with food, though I was hungry, and for a minute my pulse pounded at the idea that he might be there to take me back to the other room.
He approached me and stopped a few steps away from where I stood waiting in my corner. I moved my hands up to the buttons of the white artist’s smock. He shook his head at me, and I let my hands fall to my sides.
He started to leave. What the hell did he want?
“Please . . . don’t leave me here.”
Normally he turned at least to look at me, but this time he didn’t acknowledge my voice. Instead, he punched the numbers into the keypad. I wasn’t ever getting out of there.
Then I knew what he wanted from me. It would be obvious to any thinking person.
There was a time when it would have been difficult, if not impossible for me to say the words, but I was desperate and I hadn’t lied when I’d said I would be anything he wanted me to be.
“Master, please.”
He’d gotten as far as opening the door, and he stopped, letting it fall back and latch shut. Then he turned toward me, a slow smile spreading over his face. Yes. That was what he wanted. I was getting out.
Adrenaline hummed through my veins. Whatever it took, I was getting out.
He crossed the floor slowly, and then he was unbuttoning my shirt.
. . . She leaned into him as he removed her top and cupped her breasts, pinching her nipples painfully. In the time before, she would have cried out
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