had no reason to be afraid. Except that I was, and I couldn't explain why. I felt like an icy hand was holding me back from the package, preventing me from satiating my curiosity.
Finally, in a rush of courage, I untied the string.
It was a neatly folded pile of fabric. Clothes. Of course.
Where had he gotten me clothes ?
Did I want to know?
I picked up the first in the pile, and let it unfold in my hands. A simple black dress, about knee-length, sleeveless and cut low in the neckline. It was the sort of thing my mother would have worn to a party with friends, back when I was hardly tall enough to tug on the hem of it.
Under it was something in burgundy, similar, but different, with subtle black polka dots and a bodice that reminded me of something Grace Kelly might wear. There were others in the pile, some longer and more elegant, but none of them seemed appropriate to wear to breakfast.
My stomach felt like a clenched fist. I would do anything to change out of the shapeless sheet I still wore, but the idea of wearing something he'd picked out for me? Creepy. Unnerving. A defiance of everything I'd accomplished so far, on my own.
There were two ways to look at this. Either it was a kindness, or it was another way to control me. To dominate. Knowing what little I knew of Tate, I guessed it was some twisted mixture of both.
But I had no choice, if I wanted to wear something other than this horrid sheet. I picked the burgundy dress and put it on, quickly, trying not to think about whether he'd touched it. But the fabric slid against my skin, and it was impossible not to feel like he was caressing me all over.
A thought occurred to me, and I checked the parcel again, this time carefully going through each item and shaking them out to full length.
No underwear.
By now I was accustomed to going without, but it still made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My breasts were tightly nestled in the bodice, but was I really meant to go around the house without panties?
So he can use you whenever he wants.
I forced myself to take a deep breath, to banish the dark thoughts that terrified me almost as much as they turned me on. I couldn't think like that. Being his sex toy was not a condition of my asylum here. I wouldn't allow it.
Like you have a choice. Your body already belongs to him, you just haven't accepted it yet.
Ignoring the mocking voice in the back of my head, the one that hated me for giving in to my lust, for not kicking him in the balls and running away when he ordered me to strip, I went to the mirror.
It was small, but it was enough to see. I looked ghastly. Malnourished, unkempt, playing dress-up in my elegant grandmother's clothes. My brown hair was sticking up in all directions, tangled and disheveled from my restless sleep.
I finger-combed the knots out as best I could, considering my next move.
Walking to the door, I listened for signs of Tate's whereabouts. Judging by the sound of it, he was still in the kitchen. I might as well meet him for breakfast. Show him that I wasn't unnerved by his little gesture, and maybe even eat something. I still wasn't hungry, but I was acutely aware that I had to keep my strength up.
The journey downstairs felt endless. I hesitated in the hallway outside the kitchen, gazing in at him. He was dressed more or less the same way as last night, but with his sleeves rolled up to the elbow and his arms dusted with flour. Something was in the oven, and it smelled delicious.
Hi honey, I'm home.
I had to stifle a hysterical giggle with my hand. He turned around, quickly, a knife glinting in his hand.
"Sorry," I said. "I didn't...I wasn't sure what to do."
"Sit," he said, gesturing with the blade. His eyes lingered on me for a moment, traveling up and down the length of the dress. "Do you need anything else to wear?"
I swallowed. "No thank you," I said, carefully. "These will do just fine."
The idea of being any further indebted to him was too much to
Finally, in a rush of courage, I untied the string.
It was a neatly folded pile of fabric. Clothes. Of course.
Where had he gotten me clothes ?
Did I want to know?
I picked up the first in the pile, and let it unfold in my hands. A simple black dress, about knee-length, sleeveless and cut low in the neckline. It was the sort of thing my mother would have worn to a party with friends, back when I was hardly tall enough to tug on the hem of it.
Under it was something in burgundy, similar, but different, with subtle black polka dots and a bodice that reminded me of something Grace Kelly might wear. There were others in the pile, some longer and more elegant, but none of them seemed appropriate to wear to breakfast.
My stomach felt like a clenched fist. I would do anything to change out of the shapeless sheet I still wore, but the idea of wearing something he'd picked out for me? Creepy. Unnerving. A defiance of everything I'd accomplished so far, on my own.
There were two ways to look at this. Either it was a kindness, or it was another way to control me. To dominate. Knowing what little I knew of Tate, I guessed it was some twisted mixture of both.
But I had no choice, if I wanted to wear something other than this horrid sheet. I picked the burgundy dress and put it on, quickly, trying not to think about whether he'd touched it. But the fabric slid against my skin, and it was impossible not to feel like he was caressing me all over.
A thought occurred to me, and I checked the parcel again, this time carefully going through each item and shaking them out to full length.
No underwear.
By now I was accustomed to going without, but it still made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My breasts were tightly nestled in the bodice, but was I really meant to go around the house without panties?
So he can use you whenever he wants.
I forced myself to take a deep breath, to banish the dark thoughts that terrified me almost as much as they turned me on. I couldn't think like that. Being his sex toy was not a condition of my asylum here. I wouldn't allow it.
Like you have a choice. Your body already belongs to him, you just haven't accepted it yet.
Ignoring the mocking voice in the back of my head, the one that hated me for giving in to my lust, for not kicking him in the balls and running away when he ordered me to strip, I went to the mirror.
It was small, but it was enough to see. I looked ghastly. Malnourished, unkempt, playing dress-up in my elegant grandmother's clothes. My brown hair was sticking up in all directions, tangled and disheveled from my restless sleep.
I finger-combed the knots out as best I could, considering my next move.
Walking to the door, I listened for signs of Tate's whereabouts. Judging by the sound of it, he was still in the kitchen. I might as well meet him for breakfast. Show him that I wasn't unnerved by his little gesture, and maybe even eat something. I still wasn't hungry, but I was acutely aware that I had to keep my strength up.
The journey downstairs felt endless. I hesitated in the hallway outside the kitchen, gazing in at him. He was dressed more or less the same way as last night, but with his sleeves rolled up to the elbow and his arms dusted with flour. Something was in the oven, and it smelled delicious.
Hi honey, I'm home.
I had to stifle a hysterical giggle with my hand. He turned around, quickly, a knife glinting in his hand.
"Sorry," I said. "I didn't...I wasn't sure what to do."
"Sit," he said, gesturing with the blade. His eyes lingered on me for a moment, traveling up and down the length of the dress. "Do you need anything else to wear?"
I swallowed. "No thank you," I said, carefully. "These will do just fine."
The idea of being any further indebted to him was too much to
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