They slide their hand down my chest again, tweaking my nipple hard and pulling it until pain shoots right through my chest. The fact that I feel a surge of wetness between my legs is shocking. I didn’t honestly think I could cum again tonight, not with how used and broken I feel.
“Do you like that?” they murmur into my ear, doing it again. “Do you like the pain?”
“Yes,” I whisper back, turning my cheek toward them as if we’re that intimate, that close that every single detail of this is planned out. “Yes, I do.”
“Good.”
Fingers wrap around my neck, pushing my head into the wall. They tighten, making it harder for me to breathe. I gasp, staring wide-eyed at those dark brown eyes hidden behind the mask. Then there are fingers inside me, pumping ferociously in and out of my pussy. Bending my knees, I try to ease down onto them, but I can’t with the ropes holding my arms up. The strangulating grip around my neck tightens even more, making it harder to breathe.
I can’t catch my breath. Rocking my shoulders into the cinderblock wall, I struggle just to get fresh air into my lungs, the pounding against my pussy hard and sure, as if they know exactly what they’re doing to me. The pull of pleasure, tendrils of orgasm, flitter through my cunt and deeper into my body. I rock against the hand and fingers with my hips and gag on my own spittle as I vie for breath.
“Sluts like you don’t deserve a name.” Their mechanical voice wraps around me, consuming everything I hear aside from my own gasps for air. “You’re nothing more than a body to fuck, to be used, to be abused.”
I swallow back a moan, those tingles of pleasure growing faster and faster, to the point that I can barely keep up with them. I can’t breathe. My lungs burn as I can’t get enough oxygen into my body. My head swims in and out of blackness, my vision going dark and then bright like I’m in a nightclub with flashing lights.
All I can do is feel. The brutal way those fingers pound into me, the tightening grasp against my throat, the tightness in my chest. I don’t even know how I’m still conscious, how I’m still managing to stay awake. The ropes are the only thing keeping me upright.
Everything is so overwhelming. Each sensation hits me hard, like it’s the first time, and so intense that I’m going to black out from it. My heart hammers, my body’s on fire, every inch of my skin is alight and waiting for touch, and each time the cinderblock scrapes against my back, it’s another wave of fire through me, culminating straight between my legs. I’m about to combust.
I gasp and gag, vying for whatever little edge I can take. And then it hits me. Orgasm, blackness, pleasure, pain—all at the same time. My vision is completely gone, and my heart continues to race. My ears are full of white noise. And all I hear is my captor.
“Master. You’ll call me master.”
Chapter 16
December 17
I haven’t taken the device out of my ear in days now. Except when I’m in the shower, and even then, I shower as quickly as possible so I can get back to the voice. I shiver just thinking about it. That voice has become my life.
Myobsession.
Everything I do revolves around BandAid42 telling me exactly what to do and when to do it, and when I don’t get that precious instruction, I feel lost and beside myself. I didn’t know that I could ever feel this way. And it’s become a fixation. I can’t stop myself from thinking about them, this fantastical dark person who’s more a blur in my mind as I truly have no idea what they might look like or actually be like.
Chewing on my thumbnail, I curl deeper into my chair. My book still lies open but unread on my leg as I simply wait for whatever’s next. They’ve been silent for the last hour, despite my attempts to get their attention by talking and texting. No response. Which isn’t entirely abnormal, but I still want to hear that sweet mechanical voice in my ear, the one telling me to touch myself, that I’m dirty and disgusting, but fuck, that voicebrings me so much pleasure that I can’t help but find release to it.
I bet I could do it now, just thinking about what they’d say to me.
“Lizzie.”
I startle. When did Reik get home from work? Looking up into his pudgy face, I focus on him. “Yeah?”
“I thought you said you were going to clean the living room and kitchen today.” The disgust in his voice is evident, but it doesn’t affect me like normal. I’m not ashamed or frightened for not having gotten my list done today, or this week for that matter.
“I-I was,” I answer and shake my head with a furrow on my brow. “I’m sorry. I’ll work on it now.”
Reik purses his lips with a heavy sigh. “You’re doing a shit job at keeping this house together.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I brush my fingers over my cheek. He’s right, of course. I’ve been so distracted with BandAid42 and listening to them that I haven’t even been keeping up with my basic responsibilities at the house, never mind preparing for the upcoming holiday season and getting the house ready for company.
“I expect you to get everything done tomorrow.”
“I will. I promise.” I can hear my complacency, and I’m sure Reik notices it too. But he doesn’t comment on it. He’s so particular about the way the house looks when his family visits, and they always visit for the holidays. Never my family, always his. I can’t even remember the last time I saw my mother and sister, but I know it’s been years. I’ve never met my nieces and nephewbecause I’ve been so secluded in this house, unable to leave and do anything that I want.
And I just quietly gave that power over to him.
Willingly even.
It isn’t what I expected it would be.
