AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I looked up again to see if now that his secret was out, he felt anything at all. All I could see was the coldness and the new restlessness that came with today. The day he was releasing me. I knew he wouldn’t allow me to stay because he’d let me too far into his world now.
I still didn’t know why he was doing it, but if he was letting me see the man behind the curtain, it was because he was finished with me for good.
May 3rd:
It’s onlya couple of weeks til she’ll be in Atlanta again. I can’t believe I’m really going to do this. For a few months I think I believed I wasn’t going to. It was just a fantasy, like the others. I was just making it more real.
But I’ve spent an outrageous sum on her; by God I’m taking her. I know there is extreme hubris in taking her in her hometown, but it’s the most logical for me because it’s the closest to where we’re going. The shorter the distance I have to transport her, the better.
I’ve been researching various drugs and have found one that will keep her out about four hours. The drive home, barring any problems, is only two. With my luck I’ll hit traffic, though. I don’t want her to wake tied up in the car. It completely ruins the effect and gives her at least a small chance of escape.
I want her to know from the beginning there is no chance of escape. Although once I move her to the luxury suite, I fully expect her to lash out somehow. It’ll be best, I think, to get the rebellion out of the way early and let her see the pointlessness of her actions.
I haven’t seen her since March. Instead, I’ve been looking into her background, learning what I can. I want her suite to have everything she likes.
On the one hand, I want to break her so completely she’ll do anything I want without question. But on the other, I want her to choose me. I want her grateful and willing. I want control, but I don’t want her screaming when I fuck her.
I know the world would class me a monster, but control is what turns me on, not a woman screaming or begging me not to rape them. I don’t mind a little fear, I just want her to choose. If she doesn’t choose me, I’ll just leave her in the cell until she changes her mind. I’ve waited a long goddamned time for this. If she thinks she can outlast my patience, she’s insane.
May 15th:
It couldn’t have gone more perfectly.When she started to feel unsteady, I helped her outside. I don’t think she even saw me. Then she collapsed in my arms. I had her in the car before anyone noticed she’d left. I didn’t stop to secure her for a good ten minutes until I’d gotten off the main drag.
Then I pulled off on a deserted exit. I tied her hands and feet, blindfolded her, then laid her in the backseat and covered her with a blanket. I knew it was safer to put her in the trunk, but dying of carbon monoxide poisoning was a possibility, especially with drugs already running through her veins.
I had her in the cell before she woke and decided not to be in the room with her to start with, but to just watch her on the monitor. I was a bit concerned when she didn’t wake exactly when she was supposed to. It took me awhile to realize she was awake. She just wasn’t screaming or struggling.
She was smart, saving her energy, waiting for her one moment of escape, possibly retracing her steps and trying to remember what had brought her to me. I hadn’t planned to touch her the first day, and I know I’ll have to be more disciplined or else I’m going to end up having to hurt her.
If I don’t want to hurt her, I have to do better. I have to make myself do better. But I can’t completely regret it. I sat on the ground beside her, and I reached out and stroked the smoothness of her cheek. I’ve never felt skin so soft.
I know she was terrified. She probably thought I’d hurt her, and suddenly that bit of caring came through because it was an actual person. I’d thought of her for months as a piece of property I was acquiring, but I couldn’t deny the warmth of her ragged breath, or the softness of her cheek, or the way she was already leaning into me, even if she didn’t realize it.
I managed finally to pull my hand away and fed her a bite of the soup. I was surprised she hadn’t started reacting yet. I found my hand reaching out to cup her breast, and she jerked away. It made me angry. Not so much that she pulled away but that I’d expected anything else. I started to leave, and her voice stopped me. Soft, desperate begging that made my pants tighten.
I returned and decided I would test her to see how far she could be pushed to eat. I knew she was still a little drugged, hungry, tired, scared. I could test her now and then wait a week like I’d planned.
By the end of the bowl of soup she was arching into my hand, letting out soft little moans that I’m pretty sure she didn’t know she was making. I had the idea I could have her right then. Fuck the plan, just move her to the luxury suite, shower her with everything. But it wasn’t what I wanted now.
Having her so afraid, so willing to please me if I’d feed her . . . I can’t deny the effect it had on me. It’s going to be a difficult seven days. I’m willing to admit what I want. I don’t just want her. I don’t even just want her not to pity me. I want her fear, desperation, complete and total obedience. And I am willing to wait for it.
She asked me why I was doing this to her, and for once I was glad I couldn’t speak. My silence will help mold her, my hands will become my voice, and eventually she won’t know the difference and won’t care. Breaking her will be the best thing I’ve ever done.
May 18th:
She actedout much like I expected, throwing her soup like a child. I believe she still thought I was planning to kill her and wanted me to lose control and do it quickly. It’s the only explanation I can think of for the behavior.
I’ve scoured every behavioral psych book I could get my hands on for months. Although I’m quite sure the authors didn’t intend for it to be used this way.
At first I studied it to try to understand her better, since she’d gotten her degree in psychology. Then I decided to use it to condition her because there’s nothing quite so insidious as torturing someone in a way so they know exactly what you’re doing but know they can’t escape it.
No, I’m not really physically violent, but I guess I am sadistic. I cleaned up the mess she made and then left her. She ruined her food; she isn’t getting more. Once she learns the tantrums are useless and don’t affect me, she’ll stop doing it.
It was strange and unsettling,seeing these events through his eyes. It was even weirder to see a confirmation that we’d understood one another from the beginning. I hadn’t suspected he was mute, of course. I should have, probably, but he was so calculating with everything else he did, why would I assume a handicap of some sort? Especially one so rare?
Muteness often comes with deafness, as with my sister. And he clearly wasn’t deaf. He’d turned at the sound of my voice many times. He hadn’t just been reading my lips.
Aside from that, I’d been right about everything, and he’d been right about me. Communicating without words had taken us both to a place where we had to just instinctively get each other. I swiped at another tear as it trailed down my cheek and looked up at him.
