Ruby

 

 

 

A week and a half. More or less, I've spent the entire past ten days holed up in this basement, without internet, without TV, without any kind of entertainment or human contact except for him.

It's no wonder that I yearn for him to come back every time he leaves the room. I hate being left alone in here because there's absolutely nothing to keep my mind occupied. I try not to sleep too much during the day, but I find myself napping constantly, wrapped in fine silk bed sheets, yet sleeping on a mattress on the floor like a prisoner. I'm wearing my bracelet now, and he hasn‘t asked me to take it off. I‘ve noticed that he's careful never to touch it or let it become tangled up in the rope or cuffs when he restrains me.

We've fucked every single day, often more than once, and as much as it takes a toll on my body, I can't deny how much I crave it, how much I crave him. He's so good at playing me like an instrument, and he has trained me well within a short amount of time. I don't know if I'm giving him what he wanted from this, but I sure as hell know how to please him through the most simple requests.

By now, he has come up with certain positions that he wants to find me in every time he walks into the room. I expected him to want me on my knees, because that's what clients usually ask for, but he's different. He wants me standing, preferably naked, with my arms at the side of my body, my head held high and my eyes focused on him. That's another thing I noticed. He barely ever tells me to lower my eyes or forbids me from looking at him. I've had many men try to put me in my place by using such commands, but it seems he can never get enough of my eyes taking him in.

I've asked him for make-up more than once, because I feel lost and oddly exposed without it. I can't remember the last time I went without wearing any make-up for longer than a week. It must've been when I was a child. Making up my face has always been an important part of my daily routine and something I loved doing, not just for myself, but for the men I entertained. I love the effect that a well-applied mascara can have on your eyes, and your expressions. Despite my red hair, my eyelashes have always been comparably dark, but not as thick and black as I would have liked. I feel like I'm looking at an entirely different person every time I see my reflection in the mirror, now that I'm here with him and bare of any added color on my face.

He says he doesn't like make-up. He keeps saying the same things over and over again. He wants me bare, naked, exposed, and fresh-faced.

"It's a privilege to see a woman in her natural state," he once said. "Your eyes tell me so much more without that heavy frame around them."

"But isn't that what attracted you to me in the first place?" I asked. "The fact that I was so dolled-up. A perfect fuck doll, you called it."

He nodded. "Yes, but only because I wanted to strip all of it away from you and reveal the person underneath."

He's an odd man, that's for sure. But I’m still not convinced if he’s dangerous or not.

The black hearts on my bracelet tinkle against each other when I jump up from my mattress when I hear his steps approaching the door. Judging from the amount of light coming in from the outside, I'd guess that it's late afternoon or early evening, about the regular time for him to show up to bring me something to eat for dinner. I'm pretty sure he's using some kind of delivery service, because the dishes he serves are pretty exquisite, though not as fresh as a homemade meal would be.

I stand in the expected position, opposite the door, wearing nothing but a white negligé he gave me. It's the only item of clothing I received from him that is somewhat sexy, even though it's not much more than a very short nightgown with lace that shows off my legs and my tits equally.

I'm surprised to see him enter the room with empty hands. He's looking very sharp, however, wearing suit pants and a white dress shirt that hugs his broad frame perfectly. His short hair is gelled up, and he's freshly shaven, a look I haven't once seen on him since I got here.

Surprise must be written all over my face. He's smiling when he approaches me in his usual calm, confident manner.

"See, this is the kind of thing I would miss if your face was masked by make-up," he says, caressing my cheek with the tip of his finger. "That subtle change of expression, that startled glow when you see something you didn't expect."

He leans forward and greets me with a kiss, something he rarely does. My body's reaction is a clear telltale sign of how well he has me trained. There's more than just butterflies fluttering through my middle. I can't believe how much I want him, and how much that desire overpowers any aspiration for freedom I might have otherwise.

"Are you on your way to a date?" I tease, appreciatively scanning his get-up from head to toe.

"I guess I am," he says, and my heart almost sinks for a moment before he extends his hand to me.

I cast him a quizzical look, but slowly accept his offer by taking his hand. Even after all that's happened between us, his touch still feels exotic and exciting, causing my heart to speed up immediately.

I hold my breath when he leads me toward the door, unlocking and opening it as if it was the most normal thing to do. I've never walked up these stairs on my own. The only time I ever made it out of this basement was when he carried me upstairs after I'd dissolved into a crying mess. I was barely conscious enough that day to remember it.

"Are you letting me go?"

The words slip out without thinking, and I immediately regret saying it. He squeezes my hand and pulls me up the remaining steps as he reaches the first floor before me. His grip is so intense that it hurts.

"You're not going anywhere," he hisses in a sudden change of demeanor.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Don't get any ideas, toy," he interrupts. "Come."

I stumble behind him as he pulls me into an open living area that is right next to the stairs. He only gives me a few seconds to gawk at the beautiful living area, its light white and gray tones, and a modern fireplace surrounded by a seating area with white leather furniture. It all looks so chic, but yet simplistic and not lived-in. It doesn't seem like he spends a lot of time in here.

He drags me over to a dining area that separates the living room from an open kitchen. The table has a glass top and sleek black legs, just like the chairs set around it. The table has been set with exquisite silverware and modern china for two people. The whole set-up would warm my heart, that is if he wasn’t manhandling me so harshly right now.

"Sit," he commands, pointing to one of the chairs with a table setting in front of it.

I follow his order and notice something black lying on the floor right next to the legs of the chair. Curious, I try to figure out what it could be, but he's faster than me. As soon as I've taken my seat, he goes down on his knee next to my chair and fetches the item that's lying at my feet. I hear a clicking sound at the same time I feel something closing around my right ankle.

Cuffs. Those are leather cuffs, connected to a metal chain. I instinctively jerk back when he snaps the other one around my left ankle, ultimately tying me to the chair. I yank at it, just to see how much leeway I have, and realize that it'd probably be quite easy to untangle the chain from the chair. But that's not what this is about, anyway. The cuffs are locked with a little key. Even if I was to get away from the chair, I wouldn't be able to do more than scoot along in tiny steps, as the chain is too short to allow me to walk.

He gets back up on his feet and places his hand on my head, stroking my hair lovingly as I look up to him, unsure how I'm supposed to feel about this.

He's smiling down at me. "It’s time to eat."