Chapter 6 #2
He says those words almost casually, but I remember what he said about Dave, that the only reason Dave wasn’t dead was because he was trying to protect me. The man who tried to hurt me tonight won’t ever have a chance to make another mistake.
“Are you an organized criminal?” I ask the question knowing very well it’s not the sort of question anybody is supposed to ask, and it’s definitely not the sort of question an organized criminal would answer directly.
“I’m a man who the world has been unkind to in action, but not in finance,” he says.
“You’ll know more soon enough, Laura. I am going to make it so you are never in danger again.
Nobody will ever dare lay a finger on you again.
You won’t be exposed to those losers who believe they have some right to take what they want. ”
As opposed to him, who has only ever taken what he wants when it comes to me. I try not to point out the hypocrisy. He’d reject it, I’m sure.
“I’m going to get you to bed,” he says. “You need rest. You will feel better in the morning.”
He picks me up in his arms and carries me off to the bedroom, which is large and masculine in decor. The bed has deep blue sheets and pillowcases, all of which feel deliciously smooth when I lie down on them.
I don’t want to sleep. But I am not going to be given any choice. He says it is bed time, and so it is bed time.
I fall asleep feeling so satisfied and comfortable, but not recognizing my environment. My brain feels addled in a way that makes me aware of my surroundings, but makes it almost impossible to recall the reason for them. I feel as though I am trying to think through a head full of Jell-O.
I’m not in my bed, that is for sure. I don’t own silk sheets.
The room I am in is also as big as my entire apartment.
The floor is polished concrete. The walls are dark paneled wood.
When I look up, there’s a fancy light ornament over the bed.
It’s so fancy I don’t even have the words for describing the particular kind of fanciness.
There are five flared bulb holders at intervals, and they’re sort of made out of glass that reflects the light in red and yellow and green.
The bed is otherwise empty.
I get out of it, and find that I’m wearing a short white mesh-type nightgown. I don’t recall putting this on at all. Did he dress me overnight? How did I not wake up? Did he drug me?
***
I drugged her.
I slipped a little something into the hot chocolate she probably doesn’t even remember drinking at this point.
Her apartment was always going to be a short-term thing.
It was fun to break into, but the thrill was starting to fade from repetition.
Keeping her captive will be much more amusing and satisfying.
I’ll have complete control, and she will be entirely safe.
I watch her on the cameras that cover the room from several different angles. When I fuck her, I’m going to be able to watch it back in an almost cinematic fashion.
Right now, I am cutting grapefruit for her breakfast. I have croissants warming too with ham and cheese melting into them. I think she will enjoy this simple repast. I watch as she tries the door and finds it locked. There’s a moment in which she panics, but she settles pretty fast after that.
Laura doesn’t know it, but she has all the mental qualities of a good captive. She’s adaptive, she’s open, and there’s a softness to her that melts into submission whenever it is given the slightest warmth.
From the first moment I saw her, there was something about the way she looked at me that made me feel as though she was begging me to take care of her. She looks at the whole world that way, but most of the time it doesn’t answer. This time, it does. I do.
I go up to her room, unlatch the door from the outside, and carry the tray in.
She is sitting in bed looking adorable and confused.
“Have you kidnapped me?”
“Yes,” I say. “I suppose I have.”
“It’s going to suck wearing a balaclava in your own home. Who are you?” She’s got some attitude this morning. She didn’t like finding that she was locked in, I’d bet. It gave her a fright. Her mouth becomes much rougher when she is afraid.
“I like it,” I say. “It’s lightweight.”
“Is your face scarred under it, or something? You have nice eyes, ohhh, croissants!”
She’s easily distracted from her own plight as I reveal her breakfast treat. Laura works as a waitress, bringing people delicious treats. It is a pleasure to bring her something she enjoys and to help her see that she deserves to be treated well.
She starts eating immediately. She’s obviously hungry. I noticed that her apartment didn’t have much in the way of good food. She pecks here and there, gets a meal at the restaurant she works at when she is on shift, but she’s not buying good amounts of groceries.
“This is so delicious,” she says. “Pity most of your face is covered. Maybe you could get an eye mask and then you could eat with me. Did you have some already? Oh, my god, these croissants are amazing!”
One might be forgiven for thinking she doesn’t care that she has been captured.
I am sure she does, but now she is trying not to let me know she is scared.
It almost works, but for the fact there is a tremor in her fingers though that she can’t quite hide, and the way she downs her juice makes me think her mouth is dry. She’s avoiding eye contact with me too.
“You were attacked last night,” I say. “Someone tried to hurt you. I will never allow that to happen again. That’s why you’re here. So you can be looked after.”
“Is that how you frame kidnapping in a more kindly way?”
There’s that attitude again.
“You’re about to have your ass spanked long and hard,” I growl at her.
Her eyes widen. I’ve only disciplined her once before, but we are getting very close to that again at this point. I knew the familiarity of having her in my home would create a little disrespect.
“Why?” she squeaks.
“Because you’re giving me attitude, and I don’t appreciate it.”
“You kidnapped me, and I don’t appreciate that, actually.”
I cock my head to the side. I feel as though I am being baited, almost as if she wants a spanking.
I wonder if she does. I’ve seen her family situation.
She grew up mothering most of her siblings in a house with no stable male role models.
The man who is sometimes around now isn’t anything like a father to her.
She needs a spanking from her daddy, that’s what she needs.
“Finish your breakfast, Laura,” I say. “There’s plenty of time to earn yourself a punishment.”
She stuffs more croissant into her mouth, and then spoons eggs in, almost as if she is in a hurry to get into trouble. I watch her, quite aware that she is very curious as to what I intend to do with her next.
“Breakfast was nice,” she says. “But I can’t be a captive full time.
I have things I need to be available for.
Like my shifts at the restaurant, and…” She pauses because she doesn’t want to tell me about the existence of her family.
Of her mother who burned out years ago, and the rough, humble, but kind man who provides for them materially while Laura remains a pseudo-parent to her siblings.
There is nothing about her I do not know, but she likes to imagine they are kept safely private and I intend to let her think that is still the case.
“I have people who need me,” she says. “Friends and things. I don’t have time to be captive. They’ll notice.”
“They can notice all they like,” I say. “You’re mine.”
The expression in her eyes becomes one of true fear.
I don’t think it is for herself. I think it is for her responsibilities.
It would be good to alleviate her of them, for her to understand that the world doesn’t stop turning in her absence, and that people who have come to unfairly rely on her can stand on their own two feet.
“I really need to be able to go,” she says.
“And you will,” I say. “In time.”
“My shift at the restaurant starts in…”
“You’re not going back to the restaurant,” I tell her. “You were assaulted there last night. It’s a crime scene.”
“If I am missing, they will think I am involved. They might think I shot him.”
“They will not think that,” I laugh. “They might think you were taken, but that is not a fear I need to allay immediately.”
“You’re going to fuck up my life, you asshole,” she curses as she starts to lose her temper.
I sit down on the bed. She is glaring at me with indignant fury. She doesn’t yet understand what she has just earned herself.
“Come here,” I say, crooking a finger at her.
Laura
What the actual fuck does he think he is doing? I don’t know what he knows about me, but the fact that he’s been stalking me for ages tells me he knows where I work and probably that I support my family.
“I’m not going there,” I say. “I am going home.”
I stand up. He grabs my wrist and he pulls me down over his lap in one quick motion, wrapping one arm around my waist and snugging me hard up against his belly. My hips are over his thigh as he props that up.
“Let me go!”
“You’re becoming quite bratty,” he says. “You’re not going anywhere without my permission from here on out, and you will do as you are told when I give you an order. I know you are new to this, but you need to learn that there are consequences for disobedience, and even more for attitude.”
I start to respond, but he slaps my ass hard.
I squeal at the top of my lungs, because this is so fucking unfair, and because hot pain just went flashing through my body. He continues to spank me, his palm making very sharp contact with my ass.
“I know this hurts,” he says. “It’s supposed to. Remember how this feels next time you think about talking back to me, or refusing to do as I tell you. This is a punishment.”