Riley: Naked and Collared
I cry for a long time, and Jack sits with me as if there’s nothing else in the world he needs to do. My breathing starts to come back under control, and slowly I stop. I wipe my tears away.
“Wash yourself for me,” he says. A command.
“You’re going to stay and watch?”
He nods.
I pick up a loofah and an ornate, perfect bottle of body wash. You made a deal and signed a contract, and he’ll kill you if you don’t. It still feels so unnatural standing naked before a stranger, baring myself completely like this. I'm even uncomfortable being naked in front of Caleb. I don't exactly love my body. I know I'm not hideous or anything, and true beauty comes from within or whatever crap soap and lingerie commercials try to tell me, but my figure's still not something that I've ever felt was worth showing off. Jack's a stranger and a monster, and I shouldn't care what he thinks, but under his gaze, I still curse myself for every donut, cake, and skipped gym day. I've had a lot of all of those. I wish I could stand up fearlessly, but being naked terrifies me.
I used to think I would be beautiful, back in those ballet classes as a girl. I used to watch professional dancers and want to be them someday—I delighted in the thought of people marveling at my physical feats and perfect form on the stage. When my mom pulled me out of classes, she told me bitterly that not everyone got to be beautiful.
I force myself up. I wrap one arm across my breasts and tuck the other hand between my legs, but I realize I’m not going to be able to wash like that. Just be as quick as possible. My hair is already soaking wet, but I’m not planning on spending the time to wash it in front of Jack. I pull my hands away from my body and try not to look at him. I wash my face and my upper body, acutely aware of his eyes on me every time I touch some private part of myself.
Washing my armpits in front of a man makes me feel dirty for some reason. Touching my breasts and nipples feels downright pornographic, and he watches me hungrily as I rub at them. He’s the kind of guy that wants to screw anything that moves. That’s it. I’m blushing and sweating now, under the water.
I wash between my legs as quickly as possible. Even the gentle pressure of my hands makes me feel like I'm going to melt. Why the fuck am I so aroused?
I whisper thanks to the ether that the shower hides my wetness from him.
I realize I’m going to have to bend over to wash my legs. I try to do it elegantly, bending from the waist and keeping my back arched, and I don’t wonder why until I’m finished. Don’t try to perform for him; what’s wrong with you? Fuck him.
I stand up under the water and hold my hands at my sides. “Is that good enough for you?”
My gaze brushes over his pants—there's an enormous bulge there. My mouth drops into an O and I snap it shut.
“Yes, that was good enough for me,” he says. He walks towards me until we’re inches apart and I’m trembling, but he just turns off the water and returns to the sink. “Turn around and spread your legs.”
“Why?”
“Just do it,” he says, and something in his voice makes me obey. I’m afraid of him again.
I turn, spread my legs, and lean forward. I'm shaking with anticipation, but he only examines me.
“You need to be shaved properly, but we’ll do that tomorrow. You’re soaking wet—again. Don’t think I can’t see from here.”
Shaved properly, what a prick. But I blush all the same, as if I should be embarrassed for not meeting whatever sick requirements he has.
“I was thinking of another guy. Someone polite and nice who doesn’t kidnap women.”
“No, you weren’t. That’s not your type.”
“How the hell do you know my type?”
“Because I’m your type. Now stand up straight and put your arms behind your back.”
“Why?”
“Don’t ask me fucking questions, Riley. You signed a contract. Obey and follow it, or I’m going to cut your ex’s hand off and punish you.”
I stand up, turn around and clasp my arms behind my back. Jack takes something out of a cabinet and walks towards me, and I back away until my bottom and back are pressed against the marble. He leans in. I’m shaking again. He smells like whiskey and cigars and things I can’t name. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for his lips.
And I wait.
“Do you think I’m going to kiss you, Riley?”
I snap my eyes open and he’s only watching me.
“I fucking hope not.” But my thighs are trembling and I’m still wet.
“I could have you whenever I want.”
“That’s what kidnappers can generally do with their victims.” I’ve never been good with words in the moment—I’m always thinking of things on the staircase after the party and wishing I could’ve said them two hours before. But Jack makes me so angry that I’m able to snap off responses, even through the fear.
“That’s not what I mean. You’re going to be begging for my cock by the time I fuck you.”
“I will fucking never. The only thing I would beg for about your cock is to have it cut off.”
He smiles at that. “You’re already trembling and wet. You crave me. Have you really only been with one man? If that’s true, and considering the man, I pity you. You have no idea what you’re missing.”
“I’d take any man over a monster.”
He raises his eyebrows again. “I don’t think you would. I think I could do more profound things to your body in an hour, with just my little finger, than you’ve ever experienced in your life.”
“I’d like to see you try!” I spit out, then snap my mouth shut, embarrassed. Like I said, I’m not always great with words. And I’m incredibly flustered at the moment.
Jack smiles at the slip-up. "I'm sure you would. But like I said, you'll have to beg me first." He raises his hands and I see what he took out of the drawer: an elegant black leather collar. "Kneel." I do it, not breaking from his gaze. "You belong to me now. You're my possession."
He wraps the collar around my neck and buckles it snugly, although he leaves me more than enough room to breathe. And to my shame, I shiver with pleasure.
“You’re meant for submission. You crave it.” The cruel grin is back on his face.
“Go fuck yourself!”
The collar has a small lock on the buckle so that I can’t remove it on my own. It has a ring on the front of it, and he threads a leash through it. “Crawl after me,” he says and pulls me forward on the leash. I blush with wrath and shame, but I’m already on the floor and I don’t see any point in resisting at this particular moment. Jack is twice my size, and he has all the other power—men, money, influence. There’s nothing I can do to fight him.
He walks away and I crawl behind. I’m led like a pet through his penthouse, naked. He looks back and watches me; his eyes move between my bottom and my breasts. That makes me wet, too. He could have any call girl in the world. Why does he want to look at me? If he gets off on the power trip, there must be more satisfying, beautiful women to dominate than me. Yet he looks at me all the same, and if I didn’t know better I’d think I saw fascination in his eyes. And arousal.
He leads me to a large room and it feels different from the rest: his bedroom.
“Your room isn’t ready yet. You’ll stay here for the night.” It has the same dark, rich colors as the main room. The bed is enormous. The only difference is that there are piles of books everywhere. They’re stacked haphazardly throughout the room. Some are very old, some brand new. There are even library books. They all look worn in and read—even the new ones. A small, worn reading desk sits in one corner by the window.
“Crawl onto the bed.” I do and my heart starts thundering again. He goes to a closet and comes out with two of his ties, one black and one silver. “Give me your hands.”
I obey, trembling again and cursing myself for it. He binds my wrists with the ties and then loops them around the bedposts on either side. It keeps my arms stretched out, but I can lay them on the bed to rest them, and it's not uncomfortable. He's tied the knots around my wrists just tight enough so I can't slip free, but they're loose and leave plenty of room for circulation. He knows exactly what he's doing.
“You’re obviously very aroused; you may touch yourself in the night if you aren’t bound. I’m doing you a favor by helping you obey our deal. You don’t have permission to touch yourself, even to thoughts of me.”
“I would fucking never touch myself because of you. I think you’re the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen.”
Cut in front of me at a coffee shop? I'll demurely bow my head. Bring me the wrong order at a restaurant? I'll probably just miserably eat it anyway. Yell at me for some stupid reason because you're having a bad day? I'll apologize to you. But if you're a mobster who could actually murder me? For some reason now I decide to start talking back. He makes me so furious that it keeps overcoming fear and reason.
Jack smiles at my outburst. He leans his head down, hovering just over the throbbing tenderness between my legs, and breathes a warm breath over me. I try to stay still. I fail and writhe and shiver, just a little. He smirks again, although it doesn’t reach his dark eyes. There’s something…different in his eyes. I can’t tell what it is. And then he turns and leaves the room.
My heart doesn’t stop racing for a long time. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep after the night I’ve had and the day I anticipate ahead of me. But eventually exhaustion steps in and I drift away. I’m assaulted by lurid dreams of Jack ripping my clothes off, throwing me naked over his shoulder, and ravishing me again and again and again.
And then I wake up the next morning, and my actual humiliation begins.