Liana

 

 

 

He’s clasping the other end of the leather leash in his hand, hovering next to me like a possessive dog owner. It’s humiliating and degrading, but I find myself yielding to the role more easily than I would have imagined. This role play was embedded in the crevices of my darkest fantasies, a collar, a leash, a handsome man using me for his pleasure and rewarding me with bliss in return. It’s scary how much of this closely resembles the images that have been haunting me for years. Images that I tried to bring to life in my failed relationship with Luke, who only considered my fantasies to be psychotic. He said I was disgusting and sick, and I let him believe he was right.

Now here I am, coerced to be someone I always wanted to be, stripped away of everything I was in the real world outside of this gilded cage, my core still throbbing from the most intense orgasm I have ever experienced.

This could be perfect, if I knew I could go home tonight and return to my normal life.

My normal life. The life that was robbed of everything that was good in the days leading up to this terrifying event. It’s a Saturday morning and I have nowhere to be, no one waiting for me, no one wondering where I am. No one will miss me until Monday, when I’m supposed to show up for work at the university. They will notice I’m gone, but I’m not sure they will be worried about it… definitely not worried enough to search for me.

Sadness overcomes me when I realize there really is no one else. I haven’t spoken to my mother in years. She will only hear about my disappearance once the police get involved, if then. How long will that take? Days? A week? Two? Will Luke realize I’ve fallen off the radar? He and I haven’t spoken a single word since I threw him out of the apartment nearly a week ago, and I see no reason for him to contact me at this point.

Two days, at least, maybe three, that’s how long it will take until someone becomes suspicious that I’m no longer where I’m supposed to be. Will I still be here then? Will I still be alive?

“Are you hungry?” the man I’m supposed to call Master asks, jarring me away from my depressing thoughts.

I am hungry, but I don’t want to admit it to him. Judging by the light streaming in through the window, I’m assuming it’s still early morning. I only had a light dinner before leaving the house last night. The last thing I consumed was that cheap drink at the bar last night.

“I’m thirsty,” I tell him, not admitting my hunger. My thirst is far worse than my hunger.

“I imagine you are,” he says. “And I’ll give you some water in a minute. But food is a different story. You’ll have to earn food. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” I say, ignoring the silly sensation of pride in regard to my obedience.

Silence stretches between us. He looks at me with a questioning face and I reciprocate the look.

“You don’t want to know how?” he asks. “What it is you have to do for food?”

“I’d like to know a lot of things,” I hiss back at him. “Food is the least of my concerns.”

He narrows his eyes, and before I can fully grasp the meaning of his expression, he yanks on the leash, choking me and forcing me forward. I lose hold of my stance as I have to support myself with my hands on the floor. I’m coughing and gasping, caught by surprise and trying to process the pain in my throat.

I almost fall over when I try to reach for my burning throat, and he yanks the leash again, now pulling me behind him as he drags me across the room. I’m forced to follow him on all fours, humiliated and furious.

He heads for the other door, unlocking it and kicking it open. He continues dragging me behind him as he walks through into another room. The interior of this room couldn’t be more different than the bedroom we were in before. The floor I’m crawling on is wooden and creaks, similar to the floor in the attic, but it’s a darker color. It’s painted in black, and the four walls surrounding us are painted in a deep red.

I freeze when I see a giant X-shaped piece of equipment nailed to the wall opposite the windows. I know it’s meant for tying people up, submitting them to the mercy of another. The X is not the only thing that catches my attention. The entire room is filled with furniture and objects that aren’t typically part of a welcoming living room, but instead belong in a torture chamber. There’s a bench in the middle of the room. It looks a bit like one of those sawhorses found in the school gym, except for its black color and the shackles attached to it.

A glass cabinet at the other end of the room displays all kinds of toys and utensils, whips, cuffs, floggers, canes, and other things that I cannot identify.

He watches me as I take in the room and its trappings, an expression somewhere between horror and fascination evident on my face.

“You asked me what I’m going to do to you,” he says. “This may give you an idea.”

I take in the volume of toys and utensils on display in the room. I feel a small sense of relief when I don’t see any knives or similar tools that might be used to kill or maim me.

“You’re a sadist,” I say, looking up at him with frightened eyes. “Are you going to kill me?”

He furrows his eyebrows. “Let’s not go overboard.”

Another yank at the leash forces me to follow him the length of the room until we reach the cross.

“Stand up,” he commands.

I swallow hard, unsure whether to happy to be back on my feet, or worried about what he might do next.