He cums, and my entire body convulses with him. Relief swallows me whole. I let it all out. Each breath dissolves into a shudder.
He pulls out of me, then slams the cage closed. The lock echoes through the room.
He’s leaving already?
Fuck!
“Please,” I sob. “Don’t leave. Please?—”
He winks. “No matter how hard you beg, you’ll have to wait until I’m ready to use you again.”
As he exits the room, semen dribbles out of my asshole. I try to comfort myself, and I end up repeating the same lines over and over again to myself.
I made him cum.
I made him cum.
I made him cum.
I did well.
Chapter 23
Violet
In the beginning, my training period is like that first day on repeat: shake, shits, then fucking.
When Dr. Ambrose isn’t occupied with other patients, he visits my cage to force painful orgasms out of me. Sometimes, he’ll cum inside of me, letting his semen drip out of me and onto the floor where it mixes with my piss and shit.
He calls it intellectual training; I call it getting to know my father.
The overhead lights tell me when another day has passed; they go on and off at regular intervals. It’s hard to see out the window from my position in the cage. Sometimes though, if I angle myself just right, I can use the view outside to tell the time too. A cloudy sky. A starless night.
Every day, I’m locked in restraints for twenty-three hours.
“It’s because he cares about me,” I mumble to myself. “It’s for my own good. He knows what’s best for me.”
The lie helps me get through the day.
Each afternoon, I’m given the opportunity to shower. It’s like a punishment: a silent nurse uses a pressure washer to scrub me until my skin is raw. The only nice thing about it is someone cleans the floor of my room while I’m being washed.
No one speaks to me anymore. Not even the assistant. The only person who talks to me is Dr. Ambrose.
Time continues like this, until one day, the rhythmic clack of his boots on the tile signals his arrival, and instantly, shivers rake across my spine.
Am I looking forward to seeing him?
I am.
I angle my neck, desperate to see him, and I keep my head lower than the bars. I knocked my forehead into the cage so many times during the first few weeks that for a while, I had a bruise that refused to heal.
Now, I know better.
“My sweetest one,” he says with a wide smile. “You’ve been so patient while you wait for me.”
With those words, I know I’ll feel his body soon. His warmth. His embrace.
The weeks stretch on like that. A month. Then another. Sometimes, during those hours when I’m alone, I repeat my name over and over again, reminding myself even if I can’t avenge my mother right now, even if I haven’t done anything to hurt Dr. Ambrose, even if I can’t control what happens to my body anymore, I still have me.
