My breathing comes in thin, serrated gasps, as if something vital has been cut loose inside me. I force my mind inwards to try to orient myself, but my thoughts are a cyclone, whirling with shame, confusion, and the stubborn ghost of pleasure. A muscle in my thigh spasms, then another in my shoulder, as if my entire nervous system is in revolt.
Sweat chills on my chest above the low-cut uniform and on my bare arms; the air in the room feels thick and predatory, clinging to all of me. I can still taste the metallic tang of him, with his relentless mouth and unflinching eyes on my lips, my tongue, even in the hollows of my teeth. I don’t even know hisname, which I suspect is deliberate, and somehow that makes it so much worse.
"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!"
Every instinct tells me to bolt upright, to get off this slab of cold, dark wood, and run. Instead, I’m paralyzed, pinned by the weight of my own defeat. The indignity burns inside my soul and between my legs, a sweet sickness I can't expel. The darkness behind my eyelid’s fractures into shards, replaying every second of the encounter. The sting of leather on my butt cheeks. His hands digging into my thighs as his cock filled me. The pressure of his fingers in my forbidden hole. And the fact that my humiliating surrender came so much sooner than I ever thought possible, when I was so determined not to give in to the pleasure which felt so shameful.
In every scenario I imagined for my time here, I never, ever expected to enjoy myself, and now my mind is in revolt. Because instead of hating it, instead of surrendering in silence - or as much silence as I could muster - I only want more.
My legs dangle uselessly off the edge of the table, as if they might drop me straight into the pit this man has dug. Something like laughter stirs inside me, but it curdles before it becomes sound.
A door closes somewhere behind me, and I realize he's left the room. The silence is immense.
I try to recall his words. I think I was supposed to follow, but I just can’t move right now.
"Fuck!"
Eventually, I push myself up, every muscle protesting, and stare at the wall in front of me until the tremors stop.
I force myself to stand on shaky legs, clutching the edge of the table for support. My knees threaten to buckle, but I grit my teeth and push through the weakness. I need to find somewhere quiet where I can process what just happened.
I catch my reflection in a mirror on the wall. My face is flushed, hair wild, lips swollen. I hardly recognize the woman staring back at me. She looks... satisfied. Hungry, even.
"No! That wasn’t part of the deal."
I tear my eyes away, unable to bear the evidence of my own betrayal.
As I stumble down the hallway, it numbly occurs to me I have no idea where I'm supposed to be, but it doesn’t matter because I don’t think I can stay here. Not now.
You have to, a little voice whispers the reminder. The consequences of not staying are far worse than this little bit of disorientation I’m feeling just because suddenly nothing is as I expected it to be.
My feet carry me forward of their own accord, each step sending little shockwaves of sensation through my body. I'm hyper-aware of every brush of fabric against my skin, every lingering ache.
I find myself in a small powder room and lock the door behind me. Leaning against the cool tile wall, I try to steady my breathing. What's wrong with me? How could I have enjoyed that? I meant to endure, to suffer nobly.
It’s messing with my head.
Pull yourself together and stop playing the martyr!
Damn, that voice in my head needs to take a hike. I can’t deal with my conscience or whatever the heck it is, disagreeing with the logic I’d instilled in my mind before I got here.
“Juno!”
Juno? Who the hell is Juno?
Oh yeah, it’s me. I’m not Linnea Reed right now. For the next three weeks - if I make it that long - I’m just Juno.
Kinky sex slave to a rich man with no name.
“Where the hell are you?”
He sounds irritated and impatient. I know I missed some directive, and the bratty voice inside my head is telling me my butt, or some other part of my anatomy, is going to suffer.
I suck in a shaky breath, trying to calm my racing heart. "Coming!" I call out, wincing at how unsteady my voice sounds.
Quickly, I pee, then splash some cold water on my face and attempt to smooth down my disheveled hair. The girl in the mirror still looks thoroughly debauched, but it'll have to do. I don’t dare keep him waiting any longer.
On wobbly legs, I make my way out of the powder room and down the hall. I pause at the bedroom door, hearing movement inside, then, bracing myself, I knock softly. "Sir?" I venture, hating how meek I sound. "I'm here."
