Chapter Twenty-Six
Declan
The howling of metal grinding startles me from a shallow sleep.
Flinching unleashes creaks from my knees and hips.
Hearing a door swing open in the dark, I huff breaths around the gag I’ve been wearing for an eternity.
I have no concept of time. I think I spent the night tied to a breeding post, but it could only have been a few hours.
It hurts to stand from the hunched over crumpled pile of meat I am.
My throat is a desert, and my tongue has swollen against the gag.
The strain of the binding around my wrists bites deeper into my already raw flesh.
Shuffling footsteps approach, then stop. I sense someone standing near me, their breath a raspy whisper against the cold air.
"Good mornings, Missster Roberts,” Miss Paxon speaks from the darkness.
CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!
The lights flash on, and I reflexively close my eyes and writhe. The bindings around my wrist jerk in the commotion, springing itchy heat up my arms.
“Hsssssh.” I wince into the rubber ball, forgetting my jaw has felt like it’s going to break since before I dozed off.
“Be still,” she says while walking into the light. There’s no more vinyl swimwear today, replaced now by a fitted black jumpsuit. The thick nylon fabric covers every inch of skin from her neck to her ankles. She’s sporting elbow-length gloves and a different pair of biker boots with six-inch heels.
She wastes no time passing me by to get better reach to unlatch the gag. She returns it to the small table she set up yesterday before returning her attention to me.
“I’m only going to say this once, Missster Roberts,” she says with a pointed tone, pausing to be sure I’m paying attention.
“I’m going to untie you.” She stops again, looking me up and down, imagining God knows what in my current state.
She has glasses on again, but without bits of tape holding them together, and her eyes seem to have lost all their color.
“You need to know,” she continues. “It is not possible to get out of this room without the approval of myself or Dr. Campos. So, there will be no funny business. No attempts to run, not that I think you’ll get far until you’ve eaten and properly rested.
No sudden moves to attack me or take me hostage.
I can assure you Dr. Campos will not negotiate for my safety.
And, I need you to let me know you understand, Missster Roberts. ”
“Yyyyee—” It feels like rocks are grinding in my throat when I attempt to answer her. Hours upon hours of sucking on a giant ball has left me parched beyond words.
“Shhh.” Stepping beside me, she presses a finger against my chapped lips to shush me. “Just look me in the eyes and nod. Okay?”
Not wanting to jeopardize my chance to be cut loose from this horrible wooden pole, I comply with Miss Paxon’s directive with haste. The authority she oozes from her dusty-coal eyes has my insides in a stranglehold.
Pleased with my compliance, she rips at a thread poking out from my wrist restraints, and like magic, they fall to the floor.
“That’s a good little boy,” she says softly, then unbinds my ankles from the post in a similarly efficient motion.
I step to push my legs apart and promptly lose my balance, but she’s there, pressed into my arm pit with her shoulder and her arm wrapped around my back.
“Now, now, Missster Roberts,” she says, tilting her head to our left. “Let’s go that way. There’s a bed and a tray with some food. There’s also a toilet, should you need to relieve yourself.”
With my lack of strength, it takes a bit to get me across the room in one piece.
This place must be the size of a sports complex, and yet there’s nothing else in here.
My feet drag across the cold surface beneath us, and I keep expecting Miss Paxon will drop me and let me figure it out.
But she doesn’t. She stays attached to my side.
When I finally see the small single-person bed I quiver with an onslaught of emotion.
I’ve never been so happy to see a shitty mattress and blanket.
“Take it easy, Missster Roberts,” she says, lowering me cautiously.
Once my ass hits the cushy surface, Miss Paxon withdraws her arm and helps me scoot back until my back presses against the hard rock wall.
She turns away briefly, and when she recoils back, she’s holding a tray meant to straddle my lap, with a plate, bowl and large glass of water resting on top.
My brain leaps at the prospect of fresh liquid coating my tonsils, but my arms won’t accommodate my desire.
“Let me,” Miss Paxon says gently, able to sense my struggle.
She helps me take long sips of the best water I’ve ever tasted. Okay, maybe it’s just the thirstiest I’ve been. When I’ve drained the glass’ contents, she moves on to the bowl, which my nose tells me is filled with chicken noodle soup.
“Careful, it’s hot,” she says before feeding me spoonful after spoonful. When I’ve sucked the last morsel down, she snatches a napkin from the tray and dabs at errant dribbles of soup rolling down my chin. The feel of her jumpsuit against my skin is soft and pleasant.
“Thank you,” I say, though I have mixed feelings about all of this.
The woman sexually assaulted me. Her fingers were in my ass.
I didn’t ask for that. I didn’t consent to that.
I’m livid. I want payback. I want to get my hands on her.
But I’m also scared. Because I didn’t hate it.
And worse, though I can’t explain it, I want her approval.
What the fuck does that say about me? Is it cheating if I would have said “no” if I had been able to speak? Would I have said no? I’m not so sure.
Miss Paxon breaks apart a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the plate and softly drops bit by bit into my mouth, waiting for me to chew and swallow, making a point to stay locked in my gaze.
“You’re being such a good boy, Missster Roberts,” she says with a grin below those tantalizing eyes when I push down the last tidbit.
My face goes warm at her praise, and I can't help but smile.
I shouldn't be enjoying this. A grown man being fed like a dog.
But there's something about Miss Paxon that makes me surrender to her every whim.
"Thank you," I manage to whisper, my voice rough from disuse. The room feels less haunting when she's here, less like the prison it is.
She wipes a smudge of jelly from the corner of my mouth with her thumb, the gesture so intimate it makes my heart race.
Then, removing the tray, she helps me tug the blanket out from under my weight, then lays it across my lap. “Get some rest, and I’ll come back a little later. The doctor still has much to discuss with you.”
I think I want to speak, but the brain to mouth coordination is still rebooting. Instead, I watch her buoyant hips sway back and forth while she walks away. My body’s a wreck. I’m sore and exhausted. And yet it’s impossible not to admire such an alluring ass.
Fuck.
Wait, is she looking at me? When did she stop? There’s no way she didn’t notice. I have no idea how long I’ve been gawking at her voluminous cake, but the devilish smile she gives me says I’m busted.
CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!