“Is your face scarred under it, or something? You have nice eyes, ohhh, croissants!”
She’s easily distracted from her own plight as I reveal her breakfast treat. Laura works as a waitress, bringing people delicious treats. It is a pleasure to bring her something she enjoys and to help her see that she deserves to be treated well.
She starts eating immediately. She’s obviously hungry. I noticed that her apartment didn’t have much in the way of good food. She pecks here and there, gets a meal at the restaurant she works at when she is on shift, but she’s not buying good amounts of groceries.
“This is so delicious,” she says. “Pity most of your face is covered. Maybe you could get an eye mask and then you could eat with me. Did you have some already? Oh, my god, these croissants are amazing!”
One might be forgiven for thinking she doesn’t care that she has been captured. I am sure she does, but now she is trying not to let me know she is scared. It almost works, but for the fact there is a tremor in her fingers though that she can’t quite hide, and the way she downs her juice makes me think her mouth is dry. She’s avoiding eye contact with me too.
“You were attacked last night,” I say. “Someone tried to hurt you. I will never allow that to happen again. That’s why you’re here. So you can be looked after.”
“Is that how you frame kidnapping in a more kindly way?”
There’s that attitude again.
“You’re about to have your ass spanked long and hard,” I growl at her.
Her eyes widen. I’ve only disciplined her once before, but we are getting very close to that again at this point. I knew thefamiliarity of having her in my home would create a little disrespect.
“Why?” she squeaks.
“Because you’re giving me attitude, and I don’t appreciate it.”
“You kidnapped me, and I don’t appreciate that, actually.”
I cock my head to the side. I feel as though I am being baited, almost as if she wants a spanking. I wonder if she does. I’ve seen her family situation. She grew up mothering most of her siblings in a house with no stable male role models. The man who is sometimes around now isn’t anything like a father to her.
She needs a spanking from her daddy, that’s what she needs.
“Finish your breakfast, Laura,” I say. “There’s plenty of time to earn yourself a punishment.”
She stuffs more croissant into her mouth, and then spoons eggs in, almost as if she is in a hurry to get into trouble. I watch her, quite aware that she is very curious as to what I intend to do with her next.
“Breakfast was nice,” she says. “But I can’t be a captive full time. I have things I need to be available for. Like my shifts at the restaurant, and…” She pauses because she doesn’t want to tell me about the existence of her family. Of her mother who burned out years ago, and the rough, humble, but kind man who provides for them materially while Laura remains a pseudo-parent to her siblings. There is nothing about her I do not know, but she likes to imagine they are kept safely private and I intend to let her think that is still the case.
“I have people who need me,” she says. “Friends and things. I don’t have time to be captive. They’ll notice.”
“They can notice all they like,” I say. “You’re mine.”
The expression in her eyes becomes one of true fear. I don’t think it is for herself. I think it is for her responsibilities. It would be good to alleviate her of them, for her to understand that the world doesn’t stop turning in her absence, and that people who have come to unfairly rely on her can stand on their own two feet.
“I really need to be able to go,” she says.
“And you will,” I say. “In time.”
“My shift at the restaurant starts in…”
“You’re not going back to the restaurant,” I tell her. “You were assaulted there last night. It’s a crime scene.”
“If I am missing, they will think I am involved. They might think I shot him.”
“They will not think that,” I laugh. “They might think you were taken, but that is not a fear I need to allay immediately.”
“You’re going to fuck up my life, you asshole,” she curses as she starts to lose her temper.
I sit down on the bed. She is glaring at me with indignant fury. She doesn’t yet understand what she has just earned herself.
“Come here,” I say, crooking a finger at her.
