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My heart races as I wait, unsure of what is going to happen, unsure of whether or not I can trust him to keep me alive. The air in the room is thick with tension, the only sound the faint ticking of a clock on the wall. I try to steady my nerves.
But as the minutes tick by, doubt creeps in. What if he’s decided otherwise? That he wants to not only punish me, but get rid of me as well?
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts.
I have no choice but to trust what he said about not hurting me the way I thought he would—that I will walk out of here alive. There’s nothing for me to do other than to wait and see what he has planned for me.
Finally, after what feels like hours, I hear footsteps approaching. I open my eyes to see him standing in front of me, a steely look on his face.
"Come with me," he says, extending his hand to help me up. I take it hesitantly, still unsure of his intentions. “Let me show you where we punish naughty wee girls such as yourself.”
He grabs my hand. I hate myself for enjoying the momentary comfort I get from my ice-cold trembling hand being held in his big, warm, strong one. How can a hand that feels so protective also be the hand of a man who could take my life?
Should I try to break away and run? His broad shoulders practically fill the small room. There’s no point trying to escape. He’d quickly overtake me. And most likely make my punishment worse.
Wherever he's taking me, whatever he’s going to do to me, I have absolutely no control or power to stop him.
I walk beside him, our steps making the wood floors creak beneath our feet as we make our way down the hall of the small house. At the end of the hall is a closed door of dark wood, a crystal doorknob. The feeling in my gut tells me my fate waits for me behind that door.
I have no idea what lies ahead, but I know that I have to be strong and make it through.
He opens the door, flipping on a dim light to reveal an empty room. The worn wood floors are the same as the ones that run through the rest of the house, but here there's a red-and-blue patterned rug in the center of the room, the only item in here. There are two windows on a separate wall, heavy, floor-length curtains drawn over both.
He draws me in, leaving me standing in the center of the carpet. He lets go of my hand, returning to the door. I watch in horror as he slips a brass skeleton key from his jeans, locking the door from within. The key returns to his pocket.
Logically I know I couldn’t have run, would never have made it out the cottage door and into the night. Where would I have gone anyway, lost among the green hills? Still, logic doesn’t hold seeing him lock that door.
It’s too final. I should have run.
He turns to me, that slow, half-cocked grin forming on his dangerous face. His gaze travels upward, hovering above my head. I follow his line of sight, only now noticing the long loop of black leather that hangs from the ceiling overhead.
My heart pounds in my chest as I take in the cuffs hanging from the end of the leather. Is he really going to restrain me? My thoughts flash back to the conversation we had earlier about my punishment and his dominant tendencies, and my body tenses up with nervous anticipation.
He walks toward me, his eyes never leaving mine as he approaches. He stands so close that I can feel his warm breath on my skin. His voice is low, commanding as he rumbles, "Now you will learn your lesson.”
No words come, and I couldn’t speak if I had any. I’m too overwhelmed. I just stand there, trembling, staring into his piercing gaze. Pure satisfaction stares back at me. He not only loves the control he has over me?—
He relishes my fear.
I stand on the center of the carpet, feeling awkward and terrified. He stares at me, as if expecting something from me. What is he waiting for?
The heat from his gaze is too much. I lower mine to the floor, admiring the intricate pattern of the reds and blues in the thick wool rug. Refusing to speak first, I shove my hands in the pockets of my coat.
His deep rumbling voice finally pierces the tension. “Take your boots off.”
I look up at him.
He’s standing there, staring, waiting, assuming I’ll obey.
Finally growing a spine, I at least fight back with a question. Boots could be useful for kicking. I’d rather not remove them.
“Why?” I ask. “Don’t want to dirty your carpet? I can see you take great pride in the place, seeing how you’ve not bothered to furnish it.”
It’s a little easier to breathe now, having taken back some of my power. My minute victory is quickly overpowered by his next statement.
“Take your boots off, because otherwise you won’t be able to get those leggings off.”
“W—what?” Punishment could mean anything. I’ve not had much time to give it thought—what exactly he is going to do to me, but I think I assumed he would lock me in a basement for a few days, something like that. He said he’d hurt me, but not the way I was thinking—which was death.
