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How had she allowed him to turn her into something so ugly? Someone who craved any sensation at all, even if it was pain. A few moments passed, and she let the rhythm of the strikes wash over her. When she’d reached the threshold of complete surrender, the pain morphed into something tolerable and almost . . . pleasant?
Her body betrayed her, taking this new sensation and responding with arousal.
He stopped then, and she had a moment to catch her breath before he returned with a single-tailed whip. She’d thought it was ending, but he’d only been warming her up for more. She’d read enough to know this wouldn’t be pleasant.
The whip cracked a few feet from her, and she jumped, finding her knees no longer wanting to support her weight. He allowed her to lie on her stomach and ran his hand over her back and the roundness of her ass. Then the strip of leather whipped across her skin, leaving a sting so sharp it brought tears to her eyes.
As he whipped her, she cried out but didn’t beg him again. She let it happen, whatever he wanted, as long as he didn’t take her back to the bad cell.
He continued, and she found herself floating while the endorphins flooded her system, and he pushed her higher still. Tears streamed uncontrollably down her face, but it wasn’t the pain that made her cry.
It was release, absolution. The surrender, finally, of everything to him. The acceptance that she was now his creature, not her own, and the inexplicable peace that brought her.
Finally, it stopped and she could feel a warm wetness on her back. He’d made her bleed. She felt his tongue trailing over the opened flesh. He stepped away from her, and she worried he wasn’t finished yet. Maybe he would take her beyond her ability to tolerate the pain to make her prove her new loyalty to him.
When he returned, he had a small basin of water, cloths, bandages, and ointment. He patched up her wounds, then turned her in his arms and kissed her softly on the mouth.
He retrieved the blindfold again and she scooted back.
Her voice cracked, “Are you taking me back to the cell?” If he took her back there and left her to rot after this . . .
He shook his head. She crawled back to him so he could tie the piece of fabric over her eyes . . .
When the blindfold came off,I was in the nice room again.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
I couldn’t stop saying it. It was a mindless litany now. I turned in his arms and my mouth found the hollow of his throat, and I kissed him.
He left me then. When he returned, I was stretched out on the bed, the pillows propped underneath me, watching for the door to open again. He rolled in a cart laden with barbeque chicken, corn on the cob, fresh green beans, cole slaw, rolls, a salad, iced tea.
He sat across from me and fed me. It was the first time in a long time. I let him, leaning into his touch each time he stopped to stroke my breast. I no longer saw this as what I had to give him in order to eat. Now it was reward.
Anything that wasn’t the bad cell was a reward. In less than six weeks he’d turned me into this. I hated the part of me that was so weak I couldn’t hold out longer, that I’d sell my soul for him to touch me and not leave me alone.
Wouldn’t any sane woman be grateful to just be left alone? What was wrong with me that being kept in that cell without his presence was the worst thing he could do to me? Far worse than being his fuck toy.
I’d convinced myself it would have been different if he’d been as ugly on the outside as he was on the inside, but he wasn’t. He was cruel beauty, a sculpture, a god, and I couldn’t tear my eyes from him. I’d seen his expression soften in the dungeon with the whip. I’d do anything to have him look at me like that again, no matter how insane he was.
It didn’t matter anymore because we were both insane. How can the crazy judge the crazy? He was a sadist, and he’d trained me into the perfect masochist. Or maybe it had already been there, waiting for the right circumstances to present themselves.
I’d been thinking more about my first boyfriend and how I’d reacted to being forced to orgasm, how different I was from those around me.
He’d finished feeding me.
“Did you pick me because you knew I would respond this way?”
He just smiled.
“You’ve got money and looks, and you’re obviously smart,” I said. I left off the crazy part because I’d just promised myself I’d do whatever I had to do to stay in the good cell. I wasn’t even sure this wouldn’t buy me more isolated punishment. Still, I pressed on. “You could have anyone you wanted. You could have seduced me, and I would have willingly played your games.”
He arched a brow at me, and immediately I realized how stupid that sounded. Hehadseduced me, after a fashion. He didn’t want the illusion of control; he wantedactualcontrol. That was something very different. No matter how women might fawn over him, what he wanted, what he needed, was something he could only get in this way.
He pushed me down onto my back, and I stayed there. The thin gashes from the whip burned from the pressure, but I didn’t move. He wasn’t finished with me yet; he’d just taken a break to feed me. Now he wanted a fresh and unmarked canvas to play on.
He took the cart out of the room. I knew he was coming back for me, and whatever he was bringing with him, I would submit to it because I couldn’t go back to that hollowed-out cell. I needed to be surrounded by things, distractions, amusements.
I needed to lose myself dancing in the studio, or reading, or taking hot bubble baths. I wanted to soak up every physical sensation I could, in case it was all ripped away. All of it was an extension of him, and therefore all of it was a way in which he touched me.
