Chapter Nine
Juliet
There’s something very, very wrong with me.
Everything from the waist down burns, and I’m shaking from the pain.
I thought I’d been spanked before, but nope, I hadn’t.
Not really. It’s on another level, knowing I have no way to stop it.
No magic word, no careful partner who wants me to have fun.
Just a man punishing me for something. What was it again? I can’t remember.
My brain is a mushy lump of scrambled egg, and I’m drowning in heat. Heat from his brutal lashes, but also the other sort. No sane human being would feel horny in this situation but somehow, I am.
When he shoved his fingers into my pussy, they slid in easily because everything about this situation is tugging on the darkest threads of my soul. I’m helpless, and he’s a psychopath, but damn it if he hasn’t done his homework on the things that make me tick.
I tense up as he squeezes lube into my ass, but it’s not the painful sort. Of course it isn’t. He wouldn’t want to subject his own cock to that, would he? Fuck, though. My ass is still sore. I try to make my muddy thoughts come out in a sentence.
“But…it’ll hurt.”
Wow. With that kind of argument up my sleeve, I should have been the debate team captain. It’s all I can manage, though, and it cuts off with a squeak as he sticks his fingers inside me yet again.
“That’s not my problem.”
That deep growly voice is doing something to my insides, even though I know it’s fake. None of this is real, but it’s getting harder to remember that. Maybe I’ve been sucked into some alternate dimension where demons exist, and one of them has decided to take me as his pet.
He withdraws his fingers, presses his cock against me, and oh, the stretching starts.
If I was burning before, I’m a ball of lava now.
The pain as he works his way in overwhelms everything, and I’m flooded with that addictive something that makes me melt into the altar.
A groan escapes me, and it’s a raw mix of agony and need.
He’s fucking you. Do you understand what this means? He thinks he owns you. He’s making you his slave. His sex slave.
That voice, so rational and terrified, runs on a background loop as the rest of me dissolves into a puddle.
He bottoms out inside me, and I mewl as his fingers tangle in my hair.
I’ve never seen his face. Or his cock, for that matter, and he’s buried in me to the hilt.
It’s so wrong—everything about it is so wrong—but I’m gasping as he pulls out and slams back in, yanking on my hair.
My back arches, pressing my hip bones into the altar, and he grabs my breast as I tilt my head back to relieve the pressure.
I’m a puppet in his hands, and my ass screams in protest as he starts to fuck me in earnest. The friction brings the pain flaring back, and I cry out as he growls into my ear.
“That’s it. Take your master’s cock like a good little slut. This is what you deserve, Juliet. It’s what you need.”
Tears sting my eyes as he twists my nipple.
I yell and bat at his hand, but it’s no use.
It’s too much on top of everything else, and my brain short circuits.
There’s just the pain, the pulsing need between my legs, and his battering ram cock hammering into me.
And into me. And into me. On and on. Is the man a robot? Shit.
He picks up the pace, and even through his mask, I hear the change in his breath. Ragged gasps echo oddly through the chamber, a counterpoint to my own desperate whimpers. What am I desperate for? For it to end? Or for him to slide a hand underneath me and give me some friction on my clit?
He doesn’t, though, and I’m not surprised. He already told me this is for his benefit, not mine. Why does that make my pussy clench harder?
His grip tightens, and he lets out a low, inhuman growl as he shoots himself into me. There’s a finality to it, and it wraps itself around me as he lowers me to the altar. My face presses into the cold stone as our mingled rough breaths split the silence.
That’s it, then. He did it. I’m only a few hours into my captivity, and he’s already fucked me. Any lingering hope that this might not be exactly what he’s told me it is disappears. He’ll use me however he wants. He just did.
I’m screwed.
I wish I could say I wasn’t horny, too, but my body won’t allow me that much dignity. I’m a floppy, useless jellyfish of a woman, and I don’t even move when he pulls out and his weight disappears.
Hopefully he’ll leave me alone now, and I can get myself off and hate myself for it afterward. Bliss.
He returns, and what the actual fuck? He’s sticking something else in my poor ass. It’s not big or painful, but Christ, I thought we were done with that area for the day.
“You’ll keep my come inside you until I tell you otherwise,” he informs me, and I’m too spun out to even complain. Fine. Whatever. Message received.
A hard slap on a particularly sore spot snaps my eyes open and my mind back into reality. “What do you say, Juliet? I gave you an order.”
“Yes, Master,” I mutter. It’s already becoming automatic.
Exactly what he wants, but how the hell can I fight it?
What can I, the jellyfish woman with a plug in her ass, do against this force of fucking nature?
I know exactly what he’s doing, but it doesn’t make a blind bit of difference. It’s still working.
“Sit up, Juliet, and look at me.”
Sit up? That would require my muscles to actually work. Little by little, I bring my awareness back into my limbs, like they teach you to do at the end of the yoga class. Though half the time, I fall asleep on the mat.
Oh dear. Awareness isn’t good.
As the high from his savage treatment of me fades, reality creeps back in, and I wish it wouldn’t. I’m cold. Not horribly so, but enough that I know it’ll make me miserable soon. My body aches, my ass hurts like hell, and shivery unhappiness hits me from all sides.
Still, I force myself to sit up, hissing when the cold bench presses the stupid plug in further. The stripes from his strap sting, and to my horror, my lip wobbles as I look into Saldar’s inhuman eyes. I’m all over the place. A mess.
He’s already back in full costume, whatever he removed to fuck me back in place. His mask gives nothing away as he studies me. I must look as pathetic as I feel, because he rubs a thumb over my cheekbone. “One final task, and you can rest.”
Oh fuck. What now? Whatever it is, I really, really hope it doesn’t involve anything else going into my ass. I can’t take any more.
“Get on your knees, Juliet, and thank me.”
Thank him? Fucking thank him? A little flare of anger sparks, but chilly reality snuffs it out before it can take hold.
Rest. I’m not sure how I’ll do that in this cold, stony place, but I’ll make it work.
I hadn’t realized how heavy my eyelids were, but they’re made of lead, and gravity wants to drag them down.
Even so. Thank him for what? For fucking my ass? Kidnapping me?
Might as well ask. “Thank you for what?” I pause, teetering on the edge of rebellion, then add, “Master.”
His eerie, mobile face shifts, and it has to be a smirk or a smile under there. So glad he’s amused at my expense. “For giving you the discipline you need.”
Discipline. Even through the chill and my aches and pains, my body stirs at that word. It’s an itch kinky playtime has never managed to scratch. How is it discipline when I can leave whenever I want? My mind is too logical to suspend reality enough to find real satisfaction in playful punishments.
It’s what drove me to seek extreme, dangerous forms of play. The fatal flaw in my brain.
Well played, Saldar. You got me.
I force my sluggish body off the bench and onto my knees. The plug shifts, and I can’t stop thinking about the fact I’m still full of him. It’s filthy and degrading and shouldn’t make me want to touch myself, but it does. For fuck’s sake.
I look up at Saldar. He’s even more intimidating from this angle, towering over me, staring down with his blank, impassive mask.
Well. Might as well get it over with. If he leaves, I might be able to get myself together and actually make my brain work.
It’s a good brain. It’s not its fault that this man fucked it into oblivion.
“Thank you, Master, for giving me the discipline I need.”
I want it to sound snarky, but it doesn’t come out that way. I’m too tired, and too much has happened. It sounds worryingly meek and compliant.
Saldar clearly approves, as he touches my cheekbone again with his long finger. Very human, those hands, despite the ink. Why didn’t he wear gloves to complete the look? Then he heads to the chest. The empty chest. I know that because I already took everything out of it.
I watch, mouth slackening, as he extracts a massive furry blanket that looks like real animals died to make it. Did they? Surely not.
Yes, because psychopaths who kidnap you and fuck your ass always care about animal welfare.
More to the point, though, the chest was empty before.
It’s replenished. It’s replenished like chests in the real game do, and for some reason, that one, perfect detail is the thing that pushes me over the edge.
The enormity of what this man has accomplished, the lengths he’s gone to to create this prison, hits home all at once.
Replenishing chests. Fuck me.
I start to shake, and my legs wobble under me.
Before I can topple over, Saldar is there.
He wraps the blanket around me, and the maybe-real fur against my skin is the softest thing I’ve ever felt.
It’s so comforting it pushes a sob out of my lips, and once I start, there’s no stopping me.
I shake and sob, and he crouches on the floor, holding me tight to his chest like I’m a weepy burrito.
What the hell?
I don’t know how long I sob for. What’s wrong with me? I’m a spinning top, bouncing between emotions, and I don’t know how to stop. Saldar’s arms around me shouldn’t feel good—this is all his fault—but they do. I’m being comforted by a lunatic in a demon suit. Even for me, this is a new low.
Once my well runs dry, Saldar sets me down and stands. The moment there’s distance between us, any illusion of comfort vanishes. His fault. This is his fault, and I’ll be damned if I start to go soft on him.
He resets the timer for two hours, all business once again. “You may remove the plug in two hours. I’ll be watching you at all times, from every angle. I’ll know if you disobey. Check the chest for provisions—there will be soap and food. Try to sleep. And don’t make yourself orgasm. I’ll know.”
Excuse me? I gape up at him. The mask shifts, and even though Saldar doesn’t have eyebrows, I’m certain the man underneath just raised his left one.
A feeling hits me, the strangest sense of déjà vu, a sort of disconnected familiarity.
What is it? I chase after the thought but can’t catch it. It’s gone.
“Understood, Juliet? There will be consequences if you disobey.”
Sure there will. Under this thick blanket, I could fuck myself stupid and he’d never know. “Understood, Master.”
“Good.”
He strides from the room.
I don’t bother to get up. We’ve already established the door won’t open, and I don’t trust my legs to hold me anyway.
The blanket is a warm cocoon. I say a silent thank you to whatever animals may or may not have died so I could be comfy and snuggle in properly.
It’s big enough I can even rest my head on it.
The pain, the terror, the plug in my ass all fade into the background. Sleep is calling. And I’m not going to fight it.
***
When I wake, the light-emitting cracks in the ceiling are dim. Is it nighttime? No way to tell. The timer shows zeroes, but I’m groggy as all fuck. Have I slept long? It doesn’t feel like I have. What woke me up? I blink. Something is strange, and it takes me a second to realize what.
In the top left corner of the room, right where the wall meets the ceiling, the light is flickering. It’s incredibly faint and localized to one tiny spot, but it’s there. A flickering light. No big deal. Except…
I stare at the spot. Not flickering. Pulsing. But not regular pulses. It’s a mix of short and long, and it clicks into place all at once. I cover a gasp, then force myself to disguise it as a yawn and snuggle back into the blanket.
I turn away from the light, shift around as though trying to get comfy, then settle on a position where I can see if from the corner of my eye.
Long and short pulses. Dots and dashes. Morse fucking code.
One of the benefits of having a hippy mum was the freedom to chase whatever weird ideas took my fancy as a kid.
For reasons I can’t remember—probably the ancient Enid Blyton mysteries Mum read to me growing up—one obsession was Morse code.
She joined in, and for a while, we had fun tapping messages to each other through walls.
It’s been a long time, but once I learn something, it tends to stick. I watch the repeating pattern of the light and gradually piece it together.
Stay strong. Help is coming.