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Chapter 7
Jodie
He’d taken off the gag and told me to drink and say whatever I wanted to say to the camera. Though tempted to yell and kick his shins, I’d not done so. My lips and jaw ached and even stung in parts, and for some reason the longer I couldn’t speak, the more the center of my chest had ached too.
Being cautious, I’d asked him what I was allowed to say. The man had a hard hand and, though I might overstep the rules he’d made up, I wanted to know when I was doing it.
Anything, he’d said. Well, shit. I had so much waiting to pour out I was lost when he locked the door. The camera blinked at me while I went and got water. My stomach growled. Right then, I’d have eaten his cardboard steak or even cornflakes with wasabi, but he’d taken the plate away.
Weird. For a second I hid my face in my hands, trying to sort out my thoughts, feelings. I was angry, but part of that was because, at times, I’d been aroused. It seemed so wrong. I had asked for this. But it still seemed wrong coming from Klaus. My arguments went round and round and round. I wasn’t being logical, was I? The anger was burning me up inside and just would not go away.
Logic could go take a hike.
After stalking up and down and in circles for four or five minutes, I sat gingerly on the floor. My ass still hurt. “Anything”, coming up.
Though I’d liked some of what he’d done, my need to show I was no pushover reared its head. Perverse maybe, but I was angry and there were things I needed to set straight.
“This capture fantasy is skating on thin ice right now. You’re a turd. You went too far, Klaus. I know I set this up and sort of gave you free rein but that didn’t mean I wanted you to make me do your frigging housework, and…and hitting me that hard? I may have fantasized about spanking but I have never said I wanted to be hit like that, like someone driving in nails. Or gagged. Tone it down. I need realism. But that much realism will…”
I stopped. Did I want to threaten him with a law suit? No. It was dumb. Leave it be. State your facts and things will level out. Klaus had always been a sensible man.
“Okay. Day two. This has been, I must admit, an eye-opening day for me in some ways. Changing the rules was a smart idea. Keeps me wondering what you’re up to. And I did find being man-handled arousing, which ties in with the normal fantasies of women with respect to these stories. If the spanking had been less forceful I might have enjoyed that too. Odd but true. Perhaps I’m a masochist after all. But I’m not a servant. No more dishes. Oh, and please ensure the camera covers any future activities we engage in. I’ll edit for effect later of course.”
I went on for a few minutes more before stopping. When I heard the distant crackle of the tires across the driveway, it was strange how apprehensive I felt. I found myself tensing and listening as Klaus climbed the stairs. What was he up to? Takeaway would be nice. Sushi would hit the spot. I ran my hand through my hair and wondered if I should ask him to do my laundry. I had enough changes of underwear and clothes for a week but hadn’t thought to discuss laundry with him. If I had to take bets, I’d bet that he’d make me do it. Stuff him. No way.
So how was I going to counter his judo moves if he still tried them after me saying don’t? Law suit after all? I wanted to make this documentary but could I stand the possibility of my ass being this sore for the next four weeks?
And that time switcheroo he’d tried on me, implying this might last longer than we’d agreed to – not working. Laughable.
I waited some more. Lunch, my stomach complained, need lunch. I lifted my T-shirt and flattened my hand where the cramp was the worst. Breakfast was long ago. Lunchtime was too.
The door opened. Klaus’s expression was neutral, except for the steadfast glitter in his eyes. Damn, when paired with the green bamboo cane and the spider gag in his hand, that look said scary with a big S. The shopping bag with the pretty blue seahorse on it, not so much.
“Lunch?” I asked hopefully. “Lobster would be nice.”
“All out of lobster. First, I need your clothes. Underwear too. Put on this and hand out what you have on.”
Uh. Curious. I stared. “You’re doing my laundry?” He didn’t answer. But no underwear? Or did he have replacement underwear? Interesting, but he wasn’t watching me dress. Still mild-mannered Klaus pretending to be Von Schnitzel from some B-grade Nazi movie.
“No more talking.”
I eyed the cane warily. “Been doing some gardening?”
He smiled wryly then grated out, “Go change. That’s four by the way. Four words you weren’t supposed to say.”
Four words? What did that mean? I sucked on my cheek. Should I do this? Mysteries made me nervous.
When I headed for the bathroom, he went to my bag, carried it to the door and put it outside. That wasn’t just clothes. I’d have to rescue my toothbrush and other things.
I shut the bathroom door. What was in his bag anyway? I pulled out the white piece of clothing. A thin white lycra catsuit, with the sleeves newly cut off and the legs too. Kinky? Perhaps. It would show all my curves without the underwear. But after one afternoon of wear he’d have to launder it. Denim shorts lasted for days with care. His problem, though.
The cut-off shorts part ended at the curve of my butt. My still red and throbbing butt. Ouch. I shrugged. He’d seen me naked once upon a time. But after five seconds with it on, I felt the crotch seam working its way upward into my frickin vagina. Like I needed a lycra inner lining. I wriggled and plucked it out. Panties, really need panties with this.
I emerged from the bathroom, trying not to walk like a duck about to lay an egg, and handed over my clothes. “No sexy lingerie?”
“Turn.” The gag was ready in his hand. “That’s seven.”
“Seven?” Why was he counting? I scrambled in my memory. Did he not want me to talk? But I had things he had to know. Fuck. Had he heard what I’d said to the camera? “No gag. Didn’t you listen to what I said on that, earlier.” I jabbed toward the blinking light.
