AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Things get busy after Maison and I fuck for the first time. Carter is struggling mentally, coming back to the safe house for help, which sends Maison into his usual Carter-tailspin. Then there’s the little boy, Elliot, whose rescue gets complicated and messy. They have to hand the rescue over to real authorities instead of a ghost team like Maison wanted. It doesn’t matter in the end, since he still winds up safe and back with his mom.
We all celebrate, me making a ridiculous amount of food because I’m an anxious mess that’s starting to second guess myself on if I should really try asking Maison for everything I want. I might bring some tequila into the mix, too. Or a lot of tequila. Enough tequila to have Maison carrying me to bed, only chuckling when I ask him if he wants to fill me up again. I’m too drunk and exhausted to even pout about it, barely having time to pee before I’m passing out in his arms.
The next day, Maison informs me that the next mission for the group of them is to go after the man who owned Casey before Jake and Travis saved him. I can’t help but agree that it’s a great idea. The little bit that Casey has opened up about the man makes it clear he deserves a slow, agonizing death. The only problem is that this mission requires planning and coordinating and Maison making all sorts of phone calls and plans. I also know he’s up to something else on the side, always quickly closing tabs whenever I come to visit him in his office or catch him on his phone. One time I think I saw a picture of a house. I know I should ask, but I’m a hot fucking mess and I’m not sure I could handle anything else anxiety-inducing right now.
I spend most of my time with Matt or Bryce instead, sometimes Casey joining us if he’s not busy with Jake. I know I should let things calm down before approaching Maison with what I want, anyway. It’s going to be a big ask. Probably a shocking one, too. I know he was willing to praise me and fill me with his fingers, but that’s a world away from what I truly want to ask of him. The last thing I want is to pull that trigger when his mind is on other things. It can wait. We haven’t even had sex since that first time, with him working crazy hours, so it can definitely wait.
And if those nightmares come back—the ones of Maison dragging me to a faraway place to be my master, taking the weight of the world off my shoulders—if those nightmares come back, and instead of waking up horny or already soaked in my own cum, I wake up with a sob lodged in my throat and a panic brewing in my chest? Well, that’s what therapists are for, right?
“I’m having these… nightmares,” I begin.
Dr. Singh nods thoughtfully. “The ones about Travis dying?”
“No. Those stopped.” God, I had forgotten about those. What I wouldn’t give to have those ones back. “Actually, I haven’t had one of those since you helped me realize what they were really about.”
“That’s very good. I’m glad.” He picks up his pen, hovering the tip over his journal. “What happens in this nightmare?”
“Well, that’s the thing. It’s—it’s not exactly a nightmare. It should be, but it’s not. I should hate them, but I…” I trail off, shaking my head in disgust. I’m fucked up.
His lips twitch toward a frown. “Alright, so let’s avoid labels. Avoid emotions. Just tell me facts. What happens?”
“It always starts the same. I’m outside of the safe house, down by the river, and it used to be that one of the nameless guards would come up behind me. He puts a hand over my mouth so I can’t scream for help and tells me he’s been watching me. That he knows…” I pause, my face going hot. I tug at my sweater sleeves. “He knows what I want. What I need. That he’s going to help me.”
“Okay. You said it used to be. What does that mean? Is it not a nameless guard anymore?”
It feels like he already knows, but I tell him anyway. “It’s been Maison. For a while now, it’s always been Maison.”
He writes something, not taking his eyes off me. At least he doesn’t look disgusted. “What do you do when he takes you and tells you he’s going to help you?”
“I fight him, scream into his hand, but then we’re in a cabin and I’m tied to the bed and naked, and he tells me I can scream now if I want. I can fight and cry and beg if it makes me feel better about—about… wanting it.” I look down at my lap, curling my hands into fists to hide how hard they’re shaking. “He says he doesn’t mind. That his job is to take care of me. That if it’ll make me feel better, I can—can pretend.”
“Pretend you don’t want it,” he says quietly.
I can’t fucking look at him. “Yes.”
There’s an agonizing pause before I hear him move. I peek at him through my lashes, finding that he’s put his pen down and has sat back in his chair. He catches me looking and gives me a soft smile. I can’t help but think it looks a little sad. “And then what?”
Well, at least I haven’t scared him off with my fucked-up-ness.
“It depends on the night. Sometimes that’s it. Sometimes he… uses me. Or hurts me. Sometimes he just puts me on the floor and hand-feeds me. Sometimes I…” I stop, unable to say warm his cock. It feels so dirty. So horrifically fucked up. I don’t dare mention that sometimes he shares me with his friends because he wants to show off how perfect his slave is, all of them praising me as they use me, Maison standing back to watch with satisfaction and love. I definitely don’t mention how happy that always makes me. How proud I am to be so very good for all of them.
He waits a minute, probably in case I want to continue. I don’t.
“You can’t control what you dream of,” he begins, steepling his hands on the desk in front of him. “It’s your mind trying to process what you’ve been through. It may also be trying to work through a dormant fear about this being temporary. You may feel safe here on the surface, but a part of you may still struggle to trust everyone here.”
“I’m not afraid,” I whisper. “In the dream, I mean. I’m ashamed sometimes, but I’m never afraid. I’m… relieved when he takes me. And when I wake up, I always feel…”
“Disappointed?” he asks cautiously, his eyebrows knitted together.
“A little. Yeah.” I tug at my sleeve. A thread is starting to unravel at the edge. “I come sometimes. In my sleep, I mean. Or I wake up so desperate it barely takes a minute to finish.”
He nods slowly. I can practically hear him thinking. “I’m going to ask you something and I want you to not get offended.”
I laugh dryly. “Okay.”
“Are there certain aspects of your time as a slave that you miss? I know you were confused at first because of what you thought you felt for Travis, but with that all put aside, looking back on your experience, are there things you miss?”
My throat threatens to close. An ache begins to form right behind my eyes. “I… don’t know.”
