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“Please don’t make me go,” I said. I’d just put the journal down so I could sign as I spoke.
His eyes widened. He genuinely hadn’t known I could sign. What are the odds right? Life is strange, but there it is. I should have guessed the mute thing at least considering my family history.
Why hadn’t that been one of my questions on the few days I’d been brave enough to ask them? In hindsight, it was probably best I didn’t think of it.
We’d both existed in a world where people spoke with their hands, and yet neither of us had suspected the other.
I’d come to see him as omnipotent and all-knowing. In my mind he knew every detail of my life, but he wouldn’t be able to get every detail practically. I realized most of them he’d probably gotten from going to my seminars. I talked a lot about my personal life at the conferences. Probably more than I should have. But I’d never talked about my sister.
He stared at me for a long while before he finally signed back.
Read.
I skipped to the next dog-eared section. I thought if I did what he said without fighting him, maybe he’d realize I was worth keeping.
That thought unhinged me. The only thing keeping me from having a complete meltdown was the idea that he was letting me go because he was trying to do the right thing. So I kept reading.
June 16th:
As thrillingas it was to see her submit, to give me her body like a wrapped-up present, I knew it wasn’t real. Not yet. She still wanted out. Once she saw the rooms I’d given her, she knew what she was.
When you give someone your body in exchange for anything, you’re a whore, and nothing drives that home like ridiculous levels of luxury. As I watched her on the monitor last night I could see the wheels in her head turning as she planned to attack me, the way she studied objects in her rooms that she’d never looked at so closely before.
The attempt was weak. It’s not that she didn’t try, she just never had a chance since I could see her waiting by the door with her weapons before I came into the room. The moment it all backfired, she was once again the scared little rabbit I’d first taken, cowering away from me.
I’m not sure I was able to keep off my face how much it affected me now to see her like that. I love the submission, but the fear drives me as well. I stretched my hand toward her and was surprised by how fast she took it. The resignation and acceptance in her eyes. And I knew I’d only have to put her back in the cell once more, and after that she’d be mine forever.
I took her outside and showed her around the grounds, then figured I’d let her try to run. I’m sure if I were an average, merely frustrated man, that by this point her tears would affect me in a way besides making me hard. The helpless obedience would turn my stomach or make me feel the twinges of guilt, and yet it doesn’t. Whatever little feeling from before must have been leftover from what I’d always been taught was right and wrong.
I’m sure if I had a voice, I would still have done it. I didn’t realize that until I saw her walking away from me, knowing she couldn’t get far. She was prey, and it brought out a predatory instinct I’d suppressed for far too long.
When she’d gotten far enough away, I got up and began to chase her. It was as if an invisible thread tied us together because I think she sensed me behind her long before she could have heard me running. She started to run, and it felt like a game to me. To her it was survival and escape, but to me it was just fun.
Then when I knew she could hear me, she tensed, and only moments before I could have reached her and tackled her to the ground, she stopped and turned to me, her hands held out in surrender. If I have this dark need to have complete power over her, she has an equal almost pathological need to give it to me.
I would never have expected her to react like that. Fear of pain drives her in such an extreme way that she won’t fight. In some ways her fear of pain seems greater than her fear of anything else, even death. Because I hadn’t hurt her yet, she already trusted that if she obeys me, I won’t start. I’m not about to disabuse her of that notion.
I’ve been working to communicate it from the beginning. She’s safe if she obeys me. I just didn’t expect such dramatic obedience in a moment when freedom at least felt real and possible, if for no other reason than she was outside the house in the open air.
I wanted to throw her down and fuck her right there in the grass, but I’ve been training her to see fucking as a reward, and so to do that would erase everything I’ve done so far. I gritted my teeth and turned to lead her back to the house. I’ve already decided it will be two weeks this time, and I’m not sure how I’m going to manage to abstain from touching her.
June 30th:
I considered makingher wait until July 4th to get back to the nice rooms. I was tempted. I’m probably a bit too amused with irony. Move her back there on the day of independence. I’m sure she equates that room with freedom at this point.
While she was locked up this last time, I realized I do want to hurt her. I just don’t want to hurt her out of anger. And I want her to want me to hurt her. I had a lot of time to think about all this while I was waiting. I ended up getting another room outfitted as a dungeon.
I hadn’t thought I would go this route, but the more I fantasize about her, the more I see myself whipping her. And really, what else was I going to do for the two weeks of torturous waiting? A project was what I needed.
I guess it started out wanting to punish her. I wouldn’t give her tampons or pads, so she ended up going about the cell naked, and who could blame her? I suppose bleeding on herself naked was better if I wasn’t going to give her anything to stop her from making a mess. But I kept seeing her body on the screen, and I wanted to punish her because I had to wait. I couldn’t take her without fucking up all my progress.
One day she talked to me. She got pretty panicked over the idea that she might get pregnant and I’d kill her. I have no idea why she’d think that, but she’s a smart girl and figured out just by my facial expressions that I can’t have kids. Just never wanted them, and the vasectomy made the problem go away. All she knows, of course, is that I’m sterile, and she doesn’t have to fear that.
She asked me to talk to her again, said she’d do anything I wanted if I would. It pissed me off. I believed she would have. But I need her to submit knowing I might never speak to her. Because I can’t. I’m not here to please her; she’s here to please me. Even if I could speak, I don’t think I would. There are no compromises here.
She will obey or she will be punished. If I’m extreme enough in the beginning with the deprivation, her fear will drive her to please me, and I won’t have to worry about correcting bad behavior later or traumatizing her worse than is absolutely necessary.
As I started to leave that day, she begged me to take her out of there and not leave her alone. I jerked off for the next week to the memory of the desperation in her voice and the way her lip quivered when she spoke to me.
