AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Claire stared at the whip on the ground in front of her. What the hell was she going to do? She wondered if the option to whip him was a trap that would only make him hurt her more. It had to be. But it didn't matter because she absolutely could never hit him again. The very thought of it made her feel sick.
She glanced furtively around the room. She couldn't outrun him. And where would she go? She spied a small connected room. It looked like a bathroom. She could just make out a mirror and sink from her vantage point. She wanted to run and lock herself in that room, but she was sure he could easily break down the door, and then everything would be worse.
She tried to block out the memory of whipping him in that cell, making him bleed, watching as he bit back the screams. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of his screams—as if any of it had given her satisfaction.
She couldn't whip Ari even as she knew his kindness must be a lie. The lack of violence was ending now. But she couldn't hurt him again. She couldn't do it.
And she couldn'tcrawlto him and give him the whip to beat her. The reason she couldn't do that was far more shameful than any reason a normal person would assume. She wassupposedto not want to do it because nobody wants to be hurt. And he was going to hurt her.
Claire was definitely afraid of that, but the more pressing concern was the growing wetness between her legs. He was going to see it. He would know. He'd know what a sick fucking freak she was. It wasn't kink that she thought was sick. She'd never been ashamed of her fantasies before the basement.
But after...? She'd just expected her mind and body to change. She'd expected to become someone different who didn't crave or fantasize about the same things because the reality of captivity is obviously not the same as the kinky fantasy. She'd always known they were different, and it had never bothered her before because fantasies were fantasies and fantasies were okay. Every daytime talk show confirmed this fact.
She wasn't hurting anyone with the thoughts she masturbated to.
But now? Wasn't she hurting herself? After what happened in the basement... she couldn't. And this wasn't even a kinky fantasy. Ari wasn't playing a game with her. He was holding her prisoner forever. And that was if she was lucky. If she was unlucky, he'd get bored and kill her.
They both knew he couldn't let her go. For the same reasons she couldn't let him go. Once you crossed that line you couldn't uncross it because prison was the only outcome if you did. He wouldn't go to prison for her any more than she would have gone for him. So it was down to keep or kill? She'd chosen the latter for him. Which would he choose for her?
She couldn't have even played asafekinky sex game with someone after the basement. And nothing about this situation was safe.
And yet, every time the word Master fell from her lips she felt this stupid insane sort of peace fall over her. As if the word itself were a drug to soothe her frazzled mind. Every time she called him that, it made that feeling between her legs grow more intense. This conflict between fear and need was more than she could take right now.
All of this was so unfair. The two of them obviously had needs that matched. If neither of them had been imprisoned, this would be the fairy tale. But that wasn't their story. He wanted to really punish her for a crime that deserved punishment. And she was too broken to ever be put back together.
She pushed away the thoughts she'd touched herself to the day before that man had taken her and locked her in his basement. Her last orgasm. She'd been so grateful that her body hadn't responded to him or his friends during her captivity. She'd been so relieved her body hadn't turned against her because she could convince herself that her fantasies were different and they were still okay even if she couldn't go there again.
But now? It was all unraveling now. She chanced a glance up at the man now demanding she call him Master. He sat calmly, patiently, as if he had the rest of time itself to wait on her to make this decision. He wore only a pair of jeans, his legs spread wide, taking up so much space... taking up the entire room somehow. He was so fucking beautiful. Why did he have to look so good?
She remembered watching him on the monitor as he'd bathed, becoming aroused by the very sight of him, and the shame of it because of who she'd thought he was. He wasn't that guy, so was she allowed to find him attractive now? She shouldn't. It still felt so wrong.
Part of her believed she deserved this. It was karma. He had no idea what he was doing... what he would become if he did this to her. He'd become the monster she'd become. You just couldn't do these sorts of things to people and come out unscathed.
And that scar. How could Ari have the same scar? And the same build? And the same hair? Did he have the same eyes? She didn't know. She couldn't remember. Shouldn't she be able to remember eyes like Ari's?
But he wasn't the same. This guy had money.
Another realization came then, landing like a stone in the empty pit of her stomach. What if hewasthe same guy? He could have come into money. Maybe a rich uncle died. Maybe he'd won the lottery. Anything could have happened in three years. Wealth wasn't some fixed and unmovable thing. People lost money, and they gained money. Things happened.
“Claire...” he said, finally, interrupting her thoughts. He couldn't have interrupted thembeforeshe'd realized he could still be the guy? No. She was being crazy. He didn't treat her at all the same way. His voice and tone were different. She may have forgotten a lot of details, but she'd never forget that. That guy hadn't been smart enough to maintain a ruse this long. Had he?
Even if she'd convinced herself he'd spoken and acted differently in the cell to appease her because she had the power, he had it now. He didn't have to restrain himself. He didn't have to pretend.
“W-why do you have that scar?” She had to know even as she wished she could stuff those words back into her mouth and never let them escape.
Ari sighed. There was a long pause, during which she was sure he wouldn't answer her. But finally he spoke. “I was in a kink club playing with this girl...” He paused again as if he wasn't sure how much he should say. “We were doing something called edge play. Do you know what that is?”
She nodded. He raised a brow, surprised by that.
“A knife was involved,” he continued.
Claire's breath stopped. The panic began to rise up, pushing away the arousal she'd fought with herself over only moments before.
“Claire. Breathe.” It was a command. “I would never do that to you. It was a game both of us wanted to play at the time. But it was too much for her. She got scared and used her safeword. I was caught up in the moment and didn't stop immediately. She freaked out. When I let her go, she grabbed the knife and gave me this souvenir.” He gestured to the scar.
“But I don't get a safeword,” Claire said.
“We're not playing a game. You're mine. You know why we're here.”
