Page 61 of Silver

He chuckles. “Sit, precious girl.”

I take a seat, but don’t dare touch the sandwich without his permission. My mouth is watering. It looks delicious.

Silver grabs our water tumblers from our desks and returns. When he’s seated, he strokes a hand down my braid in a sweet gesture. “I’ve looked over your class schedule. I see you have two classes that meet Monday, Wednesday, and Friday in the mornings and two that meet Tuesday and Thursday also in the mornings. It’s a pretty easy schedule for your first semester.”

“Yes, Sir.” I’m leery about where this is going. Our conversations have been so normal for a few hours that I’ve almost let myself believe he’s a reasonable human being.

Of course there are a few exceptions, I remind myself. For one, I’m wearing nearly non-existent clothes. Two, this man reminded me he will strap me to the pegboard on the wall and cane my ass if my homework isn’t perfect. That’s fucked up. And three, I can’t forget I spent part of the morning in a dog kennel.

He gives me another smile. “Relax. We’re just having lunch. I realize I should probably tell you what your daily routine will look like. I’ve been remiss. Sometimes, I forget that other people can’t read my mind.”

I don’t move a muscle. It’s best to wait for him to continue explaining when he’s ready. Besides, there’s a good chance I’m not going to like some of what he has to say. Reminding me of the horror that’s in store for me will help shake me out of my complacency and return my focus to where it needs to be—escaping.

This isn’t a sustainable arrangement. It’s way too fucked up for me to consider living this way on a permanent basis. Maybe if the man were a bit less sadistic, I could get on board, but he’s got a dark streak in him that’s borderline abusive.

He points at my sandwich. “Eat, precious girl. Let’s discuss your lunch options while we eat. You should know I’m usually rather boring when it comes to meals. I could eat a turkey and cheese sandwich every day of my life and not grow tired of it, but I forget others aren’t as fond of the repetition. Make me a list of the foods you like, and I’ll arrange for you to have some variety in your diet.”

I stare at him. This is such a normal conversation. The sort of thing two people might discuss who’ve decided to make a commitment to one another and move in together. They would eventually talk about lunch preferences.

I’m not Silver’s girlfriend. I’m not even his equal. I’m a hostage he’s toying with while he gets his rocks off. But I don’t say any of that to him.

“You’ll make me a list?” he prompts.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl. Most days you’ll come home after your classes, return to our room, change your clothes, and eat lunch I’ve left in the mini fridge for you.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You may sit at the table to eat. I want your head clear before you start your homework. That’s what I’ll expect you to do in the afternoons.”

“Yes, Sir.” How does he sound so reasonable? I’m starting to think I’m crazy, and everything that’s happened until this moment was a figment of my imagination. Is he capable of being somewhat normal? If he acted like this all the time, I’d be content to stay here forever.

“I usually teach an afternoon class, and I have office hours. Some days I work in the math lab for a while. You’ll be on your own in our room.”

“Okay.” I still haven’t touched my food. My stomach is in knots. I don’t think I can swallow while he’s lecturing me.

“Let’s recap your mornings.”

Oh, yay. This won’t be normal at all.

“I’ll wake you at ten minutes before five. We’ll head to the gym for an hour. Then back up here. Shower, breakfast, then your training. I won’t always be working on your ass. We’ll move on to other training eventually. After that, you’ll spend time in reflection, centering yourself.”

I can barely breathe. He says all of that so matter-of-factly. The only words that were batshit were ass and training. When he says, “spend time in reflection,” he means me sitting in a dog kennel naked, restrained with my pussy open, and a horse bit between my teeth.

My cheeks flush as I try to control my anger. Now isn’t a good time to let him see me pissed off. But his word choice is batshit.

He continues, perhaps oblivious to my growing ire, “I’ve ordered new clothes for you. You’ll wear modest dresses when you leave this house. I want your hair tidy and in a braid. No makeup. You will not draw attention to yourself in class. No tight jeans that cause boys to look at your ass. No stretchy shirts or see-through blouses that accentuate your tits. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.” Part of me is fuming. How dare he tell me what to wear and how to style my hair? I’m a grown woman. I can make my own choices. The only thing that keeps me from slapping him is the fact that another part of me is grateful. Grateful that he’s buying me clothes. Grateful that he’ll be inadvertently keeping guys from hitting on me. I hate it when guys ogle me. It’s demeaning. I know I have a nice body, but I didn’t ask for it. I was born this way. When people’s gazes stray to my chest instead of focusing on my face, I want to scream.

I shudder at the memory of Friday night when I almost stepped on that stage and stripped for a room of strangers. I was desperate. I needed the money so badly I’d stooped to agreeing to just about anything. I’ll do whatever it takes to get my education. It’s so important to me.

That was two days ago. Less than forty-eight hours ago, I almost stripped down to a G-string for money. The night Silver found me and stepped in to save me from the humiliation and degradation. How ironic, since he spends most of his time humiliating and degrading me.

But now I’m here. I have food and clothes. Shelter. I don’t have to work to scrimp by in life. I’ll be able to focus on my education and reach my goals. Not only that, but Silver insists I succeed. It might be more important to him than it is to me.

I glance toward the corner and shudder as I stare at the dog kennel he puts me in. My gaze wanders to the wall on the other side of him, next to the door. The pegboard where he restrained me so he could cane my ass. The welt still stings. It will for a few days, I suspect. What if he hits me with that evil stick several times a week? What if my bottom is always sore because I’m not perfect?