“That’s it. Fuck yourself because Reik isn’t going to do it right. But I will.”
“Yesssss…” I hiss out the word, sliding two fingers deep inside of me and pressing my thumb to my clit. I can’t stop the gasp from leaving my lips, the push of my hips into my hand as I seek more. “I need you here.”
“Hold on, slut. You can’t have everything.”
But I can. I know I can. And BandAid42 is the one who’s opened those doors for me, the one who’s taught me that I can want and I can need, and I can get those wants and needs met. I pump my fingers faster, rocking my hips into my hand. My head spins from the pleasure, unable to keep myself stable as I nearly fall to the floor.
“Are you on the verge yet?” The croon is softer than before, less mechanical. If I use my imagination, I’m sure I can find a way to hear the real voice under the technology, to hear what BandAid42 really sounds like. “Are you ready to cum for me, slut?”
“Yes,” I say, answering quickly. Because my orgasm is already building to the point where I won’t be able to turn back. I scrunch my nose up as I hold it off, as I wait until I get the okay from BandAid42 to let everything go and to cum for them and only them.
I don’t want to play games anymore. I want to experience the real thing, to know that they’re coming for me, to take me away from this putrid life that I can’t stand, from the disgusting marriage I’ve found myself in. I gasp, pushing my shoulders hard into the wall.
“Stop!” The command is sharp, precise.
I rip my hand from my pussy, my chest heaving from exertion, and I look around wildly. That had felt like they were right there with me, standing next to me in this hallway, yelling into my ear the one command and expecting me to follow without question.
And I did.
“Good, slut. Now, take a shower and clean yourself up. We don’t want you to spend too much of your energy without me, do we?”
They’re not going to let me cum.
After all of that, they’re going to leave me on the verge of orgasm and force me not to touch myself to finish off the deal. And no matter how ticked off I am by that, which is royally, I know without a doubt that I’m going to listen. I won’t touch myself. I won’t cum.
“No,” I whisper. “No, only with you.”
Chapter 15
February 14 - Hour 8
With my arms strung above my head, I stand against the wall while my captor disappears into the dim light of the room. I can’t see where they went, but I can hear the rustle of shoes every once in a while. The waiting is worse—way worse. I just want to know what’s going to happen next, because as much as it might hurt or feel good, I know it’ll end.
One night.
That’s all we’d agreed to from the beginning.
And I trust that.
I trust them.
Because for months we’d talked about this, explicitly, building up to this exactly, and I’d lost that trust for a while there, when I thought nothing would happen, when it was all over because I’d pushed too far, but I see it differently now. They were just planning. But now I don’t want to wait any longer. I want to know exactly what’s going to happen to me.
The fist comes out of nowhere, digging straight into my stomach. I gasp and cry out, tears brimming in my eyes. Pain flashes through my gut and up into my chest. I barely catch my breath when there’s another jab to my stomach. And another. I tug at the ropes, trying to make the space they're aiming at even smaller, but I don’t have enough give to escape.
Then it stops almost as quickly as it started.
My chest heaving, I catch my bearings. “Wh-what should I call you?”
I get no response, just my captor walking from side to side in front of me as if analyzing me or the way I’m strung up for whatever’s about to come next.
“I c-can’t keep calling you BandAid42,” I say a bit more confidently. In all the time I’ve been here, I’ve just let whatever is going to happen happen. But now, I’m not going to hold back any longer. “I-I don’t need a government name…”
The chuckle is slow and low, and it soothes my nervous soul. I don’t know what it is about that laugh that sends flurries of pleasure all the way through my body to where they linger and stay, but I can’t get enough of it. I do feel like a slut, a glutton, wanting more and more and more always.
“What have you been calling me?” They skim a leather-clad hand down my chest and across my peaked nipple, sliding fingers between my legs before vanishing again.
“BandAid42. Captor,” I whisper the word, jutting my hips out and seeking more touch. The contrast between the harsh touches and the simple, tender ones is so stark, and yet it’s that starkness that brings me back to reality and grounds me right where I am. “My captor,” I correct. Because that ownership is soimportant. This person isn’t just anyone. They’re mine, through and through.
