Chapter Eighteen
Juliet
Open my mouth. Again. What will it be this time? His cock, unless I’m very much mistaken. He abandoned me for hours, and it’s right back to this. No apology. Nothing.
And just why in the fuck would he apologize to you? You’re his slave. Get used to it.
The voice is right, of course, but it still stings. I’d let myself believe I was important to him in some messed-up way, but clearly I’m not. But I open my mouth anyway. I’m all out of choices.
Nothing happens for a long time, and I can’t help picturing how depraved I must look. Strapped down, blindfolded, waiting like a good little sex object for my master to put whatever he wants in my mouth.
My pussy gives a twisted little pulse. The aphrodisiac has faded, but some of it must still be lingering, or there’s no way I’d be able to be turned on right now. Not after hours spent crying my eyes out.
Screw him. He doesn’t get to make me horny, not after leaving me alone and scared.
When the ice cream hits my tongue, I yelp. It’s just so unexpected, an explosion of icy cold flavor after days—is it days? I’m losing track—of grim, bland food. I swallow it, licking my lips, and when the next spoonful comes, I’m ready.
Holy shit. Did he import this from Italy?
It’s the best goddamn ice cream I’ve ever tasted.
Rich and sweet but with the slight bitter note that tells me it’s a dark chocolate variety.
I’m as serious about my ice cream as most people are about wine or coffee, and this is insanely good.
I swallow and open my mouth without prompting, like a baby bird asking to be fed.
Dignity be damned. I need more.
Saldar laughs, and his deep chuckle resonates through my bones. “I take it you’re enjoying your reward?”
I nod, then follow it up with a “Yes, Master,” just to be sure.
He chuckles again and feeds me another spoonful.
I spend the next few minutes in chocolatey heaven, all my senses focused on nothing but the next spoonful.
Blind and restrained, I relax for the first time in hours.
Maybe it’s the sugar hit after days without it, or maybe it’s just the fact that Saldar is treating me gently for once, but my body melts into the soft blanket.
Does he know ice cream is my ultimate comfort food? Did he discover it in his research? I should be furious, but right now, I’m just happy he did his homework.
When he starts to explore my body with the hand not busy feeding me, I don’t even flinch. The angry, sensible voice inside me screams a warning, but it’s muted for now. I’ve had a long fucking day. If Saldar is in the mood to hand out treats, I’m not turning them down.
“Such a good little doll.” He feeds me another spoonful and trails his fingers down my stomach, toward my aching clit. He brushes over it just once, then pulls away. Christ, no. No more teasing, please. I’ll go insane.
I sense movement, and then his hands are on my inner thighs, spreading me. Even the lingering chocolate on my lips fades into insignificance as my world narrows to that one forbidden spot. The place that’s tormented me for the last day.
Please. Oh God, please.
“Poor thing. You need this, don’t you? Tell me how badly.”
My skin flushes, and it’s not just from desire. This, I struggle with. But he touches just his finger to my clit, and it forces the words out. “Please. I need it. It’s been so hard. I wanted to so badly.”
“I know you did. And you were good.” He moves his finger in a slow, agonizing circle. “You’ve earned one orgasm. Now, what do you say?”
One? Jesus, I could come ten times in a row. But beggars can’t be choosers, and I force out, “Thank you, Master.”
Saying it doesn’t feel as weird as it should.
There’s a long pause, long enough that my heart rate spikes again. He couldn’t have been messing with me, could he? He’s not going to leave me like this again, right?
Then his tongue, hot and wet, slides over my clit, and my body freezes.
His tongue. That means he’s taken the mask off. You could…
Another pass of his tongue, and my brain short circuits. I need this. I need it so badly it hurts. At first, he takes it slow with long, teasing strokes, but that doesn’t last long. He dives in like a starving man, twisting his tongue around my clit in a way that makes my toes curl.
Holy shit, he’s good. Some guys eat pussy like they’re scared it’s going to bite, but not Saldar. His fingers join his tongue, thrusting into me easily. God, I’m soaked. He fucks me hard with his hand as his tongue rasps around my clit.
After hours of denial, my body clings to pleasure like a drowning man taking a lungful of air. My orgasm builds fast and hard, and I moan as the edge slides into view. He won’t stop, will he? Please don’t let this be another cruel tease.
I don’t realize I’m going to speak until I hear my own words. “Please. Please, don’t stop. Don’t—”
He doesn’t.
Pleasure annihilates my senses, scorching a path along every nerve as I detonate.
Fuck.
Oh, fuck, yes.
It’s almost too good, a feast after a famine, and my body clenches as I cry out. Saldar doesn’t quit, licking as my body spasms, wringing every last ounce of pleasure from my body. Aftershocks shudder through me, and my hands tremble as my brain slowly comes back online.
Was it the aphrodisiac, or is he just that good?
He pulls away, and I wait for him to say something.
An order to say thank you, maybe, or a smart comment about how much I enjoyed it, but all I get is silence.
Then it hits me. Maybe he’s putting his mask back on.
Without his mask, there would be no gravelly Saldar voice. I’d be able to hear the real him.
I’d almost forgotten there was a human behind the mask.
He does something to the restraints at my feet, shifting them so my legs are bent instead of stretched out flat. The sleepiness that invaded me in the wake of my orgasm vanishes as the significance kicks in. Before I can frame the thought, his deep voice confirms it.
“That was your reward, doll, but if you come again when I fuck you, I won’t punish you for it.”
Shit.
Shit.
He’s already used my ass and shoved an entire toy-shop-worth of things into my pussy. Why is this such a big deal? It is, though. When he fucks me there, it’s the final rubber stamp on my status as his sex slave.
I tug on my restraints, instincts kicking in. I’m trapped with a man who doesn’t understand the word “no.” Who sees me as his property. He’s going to fuck me, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Just like you’ve always wanted.
The stupid voice is right. I’ve spent countless hours fantasizing about this, and reality blurs at the edges as his weight settles over me.
His skin presses against mine, warm and very, very human, despite the thick muscles in his thighs.
He’s not Saldar. He’s a man, and my heart hammers on my ribs as he rubs his cock over my soaked entrance.
“Do you feel that, doll? You were made to be owned. Made to be fucked whenever I like.”
The gravelly voice so close to my ear makes me jump.
Reality swoops and dives again, because the voice belongs to Saldar.
The real one I imagined in my mind and tried my hardest to commit to the screen.
It’s as though this man stole him from the deepest part of my soul and gave him back to me with interest.
I never imagined Saldar as this cruel, but I can’t deny how right it feels.
Your captor is about to fuck you, by the way. In case you’d forgotten.
Oh God. He’s not Saldar. He’s a man, and he’s about to—
He presses his cock into me in one relentless thrust. I’m as ready as I’ve ever been in my life, but I still cry out at the sudden stretch. He groans as he settles inside me, and even through the distortion, the satisfaction rings out clear. “There. Doesn’t that feel right, doll?”
The worst thing is, it does.
I’m still so primed and ready that my body welcomes him in, grateful for a shot at round two. I spent half the night desperately imagining this and the other half cursing myself out for thinking like that. A slap to my cheek snaps me out of my daze.
“Doll. Answer me.”
Another slap, this time hard enough to sting. My pussy clenches at the pain, and I stammer out, “Y-Yes, Master.”
He starts to thrust, and I shift my legs to let him in. The sting from his slap radiates across my nerves, heightening everything. The pain sharpens the pleasure, and as if he’s reading my goddamn mind he grabs my poor, sensitive nipple and twists as he picks up speed.
It’s lightning, bringing every sensation into brilliant focus. My pussy is still sore from the dildo stick, but even that deep, bruised pain feels good, and I moan even as my eyes water. I rarely orgasm from penetration alone, but this? This is different. I’ve never been so needy.
Hours of torture make me easy to please.
Saldar lets my nipple go and shifts his hand to my face, cupping it.
He presses his thumb to my lips, and I open them to let him in.
I taste salt on his skin, and it’s another reminder of his humanity.
It’s a man fucking me, not some construct of my deepest fantasies. A man holding me against my will.
Right now, though? I don’t care. I want more. Need it. I grip his thumb in my teeth—not quite a bite, though it’s close—and he hisses. He shifts his hand to my hair and yanks. “Behave, doll.”
He slaps me hard across the tit, and I yell as it ricochets through me, spiking straight into my pussy. We’re in a race, Saldar and I. Can I come before he does? He’s made it clear I’ve had my reward already. If he finishes and I don’t, he won’t give a single shit about it.
His breathing picks up to match mine. I grind out, “Again,” and he doesn’t disappoint. He lashes out, slapping my nipple repeatedly in counterpoint to his own frantic thrusts.
It’s enough. The pain, whatever remains of the drug, and the hours of deprivation combine to fling me over the edge into a second orgasm. It’s as aggressive as the first, and if my legs weren’t tied, I’d be clamping them around his back.
My pussy clenches as rough pleasure drenches me. Saldar’s distorted moan echoes around the dungeon as he pistons into me one last time, shooting inside me. We stay locked together for a long time. Long enough for the high to fade and reason to reassert itself.
What the hell am I doing? I’m not meant to be encouraging the man. If he wants to believe he can turn me into a happy, willing slave, I’m not doing a single fucking thing to show him otherwise. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Fuck.
I need to stop letting my pussy drive.
Easier said than done, though, when Saldar seems to be reading my mind.
He pulls out and, after a couple of minutes, unlocks my restraints and takes off the blindfold. He’s fully dressed again, costume as impenetrable as ever. Will I ever see his face? Or am I destined to spend the rest of my life as a plaything for a guy in a mask?
I push myself up to sit and watch him. He’s all business, collecting the empty ice cream bowl and spoon, until he looks over at me and pauses. I can’t follow the direction of his glowing gaze, but he stretches out his hand and traces the scars on my inner thigh. I flinch, old shame creeping in.
It’s my fault I ended up with these. I was stupid and reckless, and I’m lucky it wasn’t worse.
Logically, I know I was the victim, but it doesn’t stop me flinching away and covering the scars with my palm. He doesn’t stop me, but the silence grows heavy until he asks, “What happened here? Who did this?”
I never told anyone what happened, and I sure as shit don’t want to start with him. “Just an accident.”
“Don’t lie to me, doll.” He grips my chin with his fingers and turns my face up to his demonic one. “The truth, or there will be trouble.”
Trouble. I can’t handle trouble. Trouble means punishment, and my body shrinks from the very thought. I need to curl up in my blanket and sleep for a week. And what the fuck does it matter anyway? He already seems to know everything about me.
I avert my gaze to the wall, focusing on a splodge of oatmeal. “They’re cigarette burns. A session got out of hand, and…”
The hand holding my chin shakes. It’s subtle, but I feel it in my bones. I swear his voice drops another octave as he grinds out, “Who?”
I freeze. The question hangs in the air.
Why does he want to know? Why does the crazy man with the resources to build an insanely realistic, custom-made prison want to know who hurt me?
I can think of only one reason, but it feels ridiculous.
Surely he’s not planning on taking revenge? Why would he care?
His fingers tighten on my chin. “The name, doll. Who was it?”
Is he going to hurt Trent?
And if he is, then why should I give a single fuck about it? If he hurt me, how many more women has he done it to?
A shiver tracks down my spine as a single crystal-clear image burns itself into my brain. I’ve always been able to picture things with amazing clarity when a scene comes into my head. Right now, that scene is Saldar with one booted foot pressed on Trent’s scrawny neck as Trent screams for mercy.
I’m Saldar’s captive, but having a demon on my side might work in my favor just this once.
“Trent Bartley. He lives at 15 Paul Henry Taylor Parade. Or at least he used to.”
I’ll never forget that address.
“That’s good, doll. Good.” He drops his hand to my thigh and rubs his thumb over the burn scars.
This time, I don’t mind. He didn’t ask how the hell it happened or berate me for not taking precautions.
He jumped straight to the right conclusion, and warmth spreads through me as he traces the circular marks.
It’s gentle, and I don’t want it to end.
When he stands, my heart sinks. He’s leaving me alone again. Too soon. Maybe I should ask him to stay.
Are you fucking crazy?
Right. Captor. Of course.
“Be good, doll. I’ll see you soon.”
My skin still tingles as he sweeps from the room. Maybe Trent is going to get a visitor.
Good.