Liana

 

 

 

I wake up confused and disorientated for the third time in the last twelve hours, but this is the first time that I find myself comfortable.

I’m lying on the softest bed I’ve ever rested on, nestled in warm, slippery silk sheets in pastel colors and covered by a matching blanket that hugs my body like a gentle lover’s arms, as soft as cashmere. Only when I try to move am I reminded that this is not an ordinary bed or an ordinary bedroom. The leather collar cuts into the skin of my throat, choking me as I try to turn my head to the side, painfully jerking the leash that’s attached to the bed frame.

I have a look at the clasp and realize that I could probably unfasten it on my own, but something tells me I shouldn’t. He has me chained here for a reason, and he said that I was not allowed to take the collar off. This probably goes for the leash, as well.

Luckily, the leash is long enough to give me some leeway so that I can sit up straight. The room is brightly lit, a stream of New England’s brilliant sunshine breaking through the sheer curtains, immersing the room in a warm glow. I have no way of telling what time it is because there’s no clock in this room either, but the gurgling growls coming from my stomach announces a dire need for food. It’s been so long since I’ve eaten a proper meal, that I have trouble trusting my eyes when I notice the tray to my left. There’s a giant plate filled with fluffy scrambled eggs, perfectly cooked bacon, buttered toast, a sliced avocado, a serving of fresh fruit salad, and a bottle of spring water. I quickly reach for the water, as my thirst overpowers my hunger by far. After emptying half of it a few greedy gulps, I turn my attention back to the food.

Did he make this for me? How come I cannot remember him bringing this in here? Was I already sleeping? And he didn’t get mad at me? I remember just wanting to rest my head a little. After all that had happened this morning, I just needed a moment to rest. And the sheets were so inviting, so soft.

I don’t waste any more time thinking, and instead reach for the plate so I can place it on my lap to eat. As I pick up one of the crisp bacon strips, I cannot help but laugh. This is so absurd. The whole situation, this scene. Me, sitting in a lavishly made bed, naked,  a leather collar around my neck, and my ass cheeks still burning from the beating I received earlier, digging into one of the best homemade breakfasts I’ve had in weeks, maybe months. I haven’t been eating right since my relationship went to shit, and it only got worse after what happened to Professor Miller. This is the first time that I’ve been able to enjoy food in days.

Here of all places, and now of all times.

I still haven’t figured any of this out, though. I don’t understand why I’m here, and I don’t understand why any of this is happening, a twisted dream – a fantasy – coming true in its darkest form.

Maybe that’s what it is? A dream? Maybe someone drugged me while I was at that bar, slipped something in my drink when I wasn’t looking?

Just as I get caught up in my paranoid stream of thoughts, the door opens and he walks in. He has changed his clothes and is now wearing butt-hugging black jeans and a gray cashmere sweater over a white collared shirt. His dark hair is gelled to the side, and he looks freshly shaved, baring his angular jaw. I freeze mid-bite, watching as he approaches the bed taking deliberate steps, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“I see you’re enjoying your breakfast,” he says.

I lower my eyes, very aware of the fact that I’m still naked, my hair ruffled, and God knows what my face must look like with all the smeared make-up. I feel inferior to him in so many aspects, causing me to question if I’m even worth being kidnapped by a man like him. Couldn’t he have found someone so much better than me for himself?

And why does a man like him even see the need to kidnap a random woman off the street? From the looks of it, he could have anyone, any beautiful woman he wanted, a luscious chic in a fancy dress and stiletto heels, parading her immaculate body, and perfectly dolled up to the nines to please him. Like that Barbie doll at the bar.

The Barbie from whom I stole that red fur coat.

What if…?

“You better finish all of it,” he says, interrupting my inner ramblings.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, casually supporting himself on his left hip as his eyes wander back and forth between me and the plate in my lap. I notice his eyes. They’re not dark brown as I thought before, but rather they’re hazel, a dark hazel. I’ve never seen eyes like his – they’re not a conventionally pretty color, but seem to be as complex as the man trapped behind them.

“I will,” I say. “I was starving. Thank you, Master.”

It feels strange to thank him for this, after all that has happened, and all that he has done to me. His mere presence is exciting and intimating at the same time. He radiates a heated promise just as much as he does a chilling threat. I wouldn’t dare not finish the breakfast he prepared for me. I’m sure there’d be another punishment attached to that.

I continue to eat under his watchful eyes, still troubled by questions I don’t dare ask. He gives me a few moments to finish eating before he moves the tray off from my lap, telling me to present myself to him.

“What do you mean?” I ask, honestly bewildered at his request.

He rolls his eyes.

“Move the blanket away,” he says. “I want to see what’s mine as I talk to you.”

I know he won’t accept any kind of backtalk, so I just do as I’m told and move the blanket aside, exposing my naked body.

A pleased smile appears on his handsome face.

“Good girl,” he says, placing his hand on my knee and slowly caressing up along the inner side of my thigh, moving toward my center.

I tense up, not ready for another round of his confusing treatment. Is abuse the right word? I’m still unsure.

“Let’s clarify a few things before we go on,” he begins. “You should be familiar with the basic rules, and understand the consequences of your transgressions by now, but I will summarize them for you, nonetheless.”

He pauses, his eyes fixated on me to make sure he has my full attention.

“This is where you will stay, always. Unless you fail to obey and displease me. The punishment you received earlier was just a small taste of what else I have in store for you, but those punishments are only for the transgressions that happen naturally during your training, when you forget things, act clumsily, or misunderstand an order,” he continues. “If, however, you openly refuse to follow an order, you’ll lose your privilege to stay here.”

My privilege to stay here? Is he fucking kidding me?

My frowning eyebrows cause him to interrupt his little lecture, casting me a warning look.

“It means you’re going back to the attic,” he clarifies. “For however long I decide, and it won’t matter how much you scream or bang against the door. Understand?”

I nod. “Yes, Master.”

“Good,” he says, getting up from the bed, ready to leave.

“What do you mean by training?” I hurry to ask. “You keep saying you’ll train me. For what?”

He looks at me as if the answer should be clear to me by now.

“For my pleasure,” he says. “You’re my pet. It’s what pets are for, to be trained by their masters.”

I wrinkle my eyebrows and instinctively cross my arms across my chest, closing my legs to cover my nakedness.

“Will I get my clothes back?” I ask.

He shakes his head no.

“Unless there is something specific you’d like to have?” he wants to know.

I’m confused by his question, but since he’s asking, I’ll answer.

“My purse, with my phone,” I say. Obviously.

He laughs. “You know you can’t have that.”

“Why? Are you afraid I’d call the police to get me out of here?” I dare to ask. I know I’m playing with fire here, and his look only confirms that.

“You know that’s not happening,” he snaps at me. “So, is there anything else you need to have with you?”

I hesitate. I don’t understand why he keeps pressing me on this. If he wants me to have my stuff, why not just give it to me?

“The coat,” I finally say. “I want the red coat.”

He sighs. “Fine.”

My surprised gaze follows him as he walks toward the door. I didn’t expect him to grant me that request.

He puts his hand on the doorknob, but before he leaves, he turns around to me one last time.

“I’ll be back later,” he says. “Get some rest, but don’t get any ideas.”

I meet his look with narrowed eyes.

“Afraid someone will hear me if I scream and bang against the door?” I ask.

His face remains stoic.

“No,” he says. “No one is here. No one will hear you.”

With that, he opens the door and walks out the room.