Liana

 

 

 

Things have changed since that day he finally decided to fuck me. Our whole dynamic has shifted now that I believe I understand what is really happening here.

He made a mistake when he grabbed me off the street. He doesn’t just think that my name is Ruby because it’s written on the business card he found in my coat.

He thinks I’m Ruby because that’s the woman he was looking for. The woman whose coat I was wearing at the time when he took me. The Barbie doll from the bar. She looked like an escort to me, and by now I’m pretty sure that she actually was.

And he bought her. The deal he keeps talking about, all the times he acted as if I should know things that I didn’t know. He thought he was talking to the escort he hired to do all this. An escort to live out his perverted fantasy. The fantasy of kidnapping a woman and making her his sexual slave.

None of this is real. We are playing a very elaborate form of role play. That is why he’s given me so little explanation and that is why he kept complaining about me making so many transgressions in the beginning. I had no idea what was going on, but he expected me to.

Now I’m in the know. I finally understand how I ended up here. In a way, I brought this upon myself by stealing that woman’s coat. If I hadn’t done that, he never would have grabbed me. It was her identifying mark, the one feature that helped him find her, and the only item of clothing I was allowed to keep.

A significant amount of power has been handed over to me now that I know.

Yet, I’m still here. Naked, curled up in the soft sheets he lets me sleep in, with a collar around my neck that hasn’t been taken off in eleven days.

Why am I still here?

Why can I not bring myself to tell him? He would probably let me go. He might even pay me to keep my mouth shut because he can get in serious legal trouble for what he did.

I could even blackmail him.

At least then I wouldn’t have to worry about money. He must be loaded if he can afford all of this, this house, the lavish interior, his tailored suits, all the expensive lingerie he makes me wear, or just the plain fact that he can buy women to serve as sex slaves for days and weeks. I have no idea how long he intends to keep me here.

I could ask him to let me go, and only promise to keep my mouth shut if he paid me an enormous sum of money. Something that would last me for a few months, maybe even a year, until I get my feet back under me.

Because what kind of life will I be returning to? I’ve lost everything, my arguably idiotic boyfriend, my job, my safe haven. There’s nothing waiting for me except an empty apartment, an uncertain future, and a funeral I don’t really want to go to. It pains me not to be able to bid goodbye to Professor Miller, but I know that the funeral would be a terribly crowded affair. I may have been his right-hand for more than a year, but no one really knows me there, especially when it comes to his family. Maybe I would even be in the way.

It doesn’t matter anyway because I’m not going. I can’t go. I cannot even leave this room without his permission.

But what troubles me most is that I don’t want to leave.

Figuring this all out is not the only thing that has changed since that fateful day we fucked for the first time. Everything has changed. The way I see him has changed. He’s no longer a handsome but terrifying kidnapper who scares the hell out of me, but so much more. I feel weirdly close to him, attached even. I know that they have a word for this phenomenon, but I can’t help experiencing it nonetheless. Now that I know who he thinks I am, I cannot help but feel differently toward him and what he has been doing to me. He’s not a criminal, just a wealthy man with a dark and twisted need.

And he’s so good at expressing his need. There have been many days where I felt like I was the one drawing more pleasure from this than he was. I practically had to beg him and show him with every fiber of my being how much I needed him to fuck me, until he finally did. He gives more than he takes, but insists that my orgasms all belong to him.

In a way, I can’t believe how lucky I am to be on the receiving end of his dark desires.

It’s still early morning, and I’m waiting for him to come unleash me from the bed, the first ritual of the day. I don’t know if he has a set time when he shows up in my room because I still don’t have access to a clock. But I’ve grown so used to all of this that I usually find myself awake a few minutes before I can hear his steps approaching. It’s always enough time to fix my hair and take my position to greet him. The leash is long enough for me to leave the bed, but I usually stay on the sheets. He doesn’t seem to care whether I kneel for him on the floor or on the bed.

Even our morning ritual has changed. He no longer greets me by stroking along my cheek after he first sets foot in the room. He’s doing something else now.

Every day and every moment with him starts with a kiss.

Kisses were never part of the routine during our first week together, but they are so integral now that it would feel like a punishment if he took them away from me.

I love his kisses. Unlike his rough hand, they are soft and gentle, stirring something inside me every time our lips meet, a tingling that reaches all the way to my throbbing core. I always want more, and my body gets ready in anticipation, knowing that there will be more. Every day.

The days with him have become less frightening, but not less exciting. They are predictable as much as they are rich in variety. He’s asking more things of me, expecting my obedience with all kinds of tasks and commands. I’ve become better at obeying him, and I’ve grown to like complying with this obedience. Hearing him praise me as a good girl and seeing him smile in that proud and complacent way, pleases me more than I ever thought possible.

But I’ve also become better at playing his game. I always knew that I have a suppressed desire to receive all these things, the punishments and pain, as well as the simple bliss of intense release. Agony can be more than a flavor enhancer. It’s closer to a drug.

I resist and defy some of his commands by choice, just to see what he will do if I don’t go along right away. I never let it go as far as getting locked up in the attic, because that’s not the kind of punishment I seek.

I want to feel leather and rope on my skin. I want the breathtaking sensation of a whip cutting into my flesh. I yearn for the vertigo of throbbing after pain.

And now I’m here, in a place where I can try all of these things, with a gorgeous and troubled man. A man who no longer scares and confuses me.

I will keep my mouth shut. Only for a while longer. The last few days have been closer to a dream than a nightmare. It would feel wrong to run away now.

I jump up when I hear his steps approaching the room. He’s here. It’s time to get ready for another day with my Master.