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When I wake up after a startlingly good night’s sleep, I’m alone. I can’t decide how I feel about that. My old master never left me alone like this. I was always in a cage or chained to something or too injured to move even if I tried. Now, I’m feeling plenty good enough to walk around and I’m in Master’s bedroom where I could do… anything.
It must be a test, right?
I eye the corners of the room, checking for cameras. Master seems smart. He would probably hide them well. I should play it safe and just kneel. But the chance to look around, to find a weapon, is too good to pass up. I quickly get out of bed, not bothering to make it after. I might be dead in a few minutes anyway.
The thought isn’t as comforting as it was a few days ago. I try not to dwell on that. It’s probably just nerves, right? People probably get cold feet all the time before doing something so extreme. Something so permanent.
I check the bedside table first, stopping short when I see there’s a note on it. It’s folded up beside a bottle of water, a protein bar, and two white pills. I take the paper with trembling hands, careful not to rip it.
Good morning,
I’m very busy today so I can’t stay in the room.
The water and bar are yours.
Eat slowly so you don’t hurt your stomach.
There are pain meds if you need them.
Make yourself comfortable.
I’ll bring you more to eat when I can.
I study the words, nibbling on my bottom lip as I analyze the meaning of each one. It’s all a trick, surely. I know he was kind to me last night - more than kind, he was fucking amazing - but that could be part of his mind games.
The water and bar being mine is confusing - slaves don’t own things. I should eat slowly. Does that mean he actually wants me to eat? I won’t take the pain meds - I don’t get to decide what I need. And a slave should only be comfortable on its knees.
My eyes drift toward the bathroom. There’s probably something in there sharp enough to use against myself. At the very least, I could shatter the glass of the mirror and use a shard of it. But something about this new man is making me second guess things. What if the note isn’t a trick? What if he really wants me to be cared for? To be truly comfortable?
What if he keeps giving me nice baths and massages and cuddles?
What if being owned by him turns out to be… okay?
What if I give up only for my dad to finally find me? He’d be devastated if he knew I killed myself. I can’t do that to him. Not if this new master might be bearable. It was different when I was being tortured, but now…
I'll have to show him I can be good though. That I'm worthy of him being kind. That I'm worthy of him using me. That I'm worth keeping. I can't fuck this up like I did with DuGray.
My mind is working overtime as I replace the note, make the bed, and fluff the pillows. Then I lower myself to the floor, ignoring the ache in my knees.
I'm going to be so good for him.
I just have to wait.
And wait.
And wait.
It’s not long before the well-rested feeling is replaced with pain and exhaustion. This is probably the longest I’ve ever had to hold a position on my own. Usually, I’d be restrained or stuffed in a cage or moved or fucked or hit by now. Without anything helping me stay where I belong, my muscles are starting to protest. It only gets worse when my full bladder begins to cramp and spasm. I have to fight the urge to press my hand against it. The note didn't say anything about using the bathroom, and there could still be cameras in here.
My body breaks out in a cold sweat, my muscles quaking. Shivers run through me.
Is this a punishment for something? Am I being punished? Tested?
Or am I punishing myself for no reason?
Panic churns in my stomach as I try to figure out what I’m supposed to be doing.
Calm the fuck down, Casey.
