Chapter 21
I moan as I pry my eyes open from their groggy state. I breathe slowly, trying to catch my bearings. I freeze. The floor is…soft. Turning my cheek slightly, carpet brushes against my skin. It’s rough, but nothing like the cinderblock wall I’d last been pushed against.
Turning onto my back, I stare down at my hands and wrists. They’re bruised where the rope was, where the pillory held them tightly, bruised but not scratched. Pushing myself to a sitting position, I take an inventory of my body.
Bruises litter the skin on my arms and wrists, but my chest is just red, as if it’s been scratched but not bad enough to cut or even scar.
It had felt so much worse than it now looks.
How is that even possible? My legs look like my arms, bruises blossoming slowly on the tops and insides of my thighs, my ankles bruised more than anything from the bar they’d been strapped to.
I’m not sure I can even stand, but I know I have to try.
What day is it even?
Moving slowly so I can make sure I’m steady, I shift onto my knees and use the ottoman in the living room to pull myself to my feet one at a time before I slowly stand.
My back is killing me, no doubt from being bent over as much as I have been.
My pussy hurts, sore and bruised like it’s been used nonstop for hours.
Which, it has. So that makes sense.
I move my fingers through my tangled hair and wince, then I make my way slowly into the kitchen. There on the counter is a glass of the wine I’d poured before, the bottle empty, and the burner phone. I flip it open and turn it on. The date and time flash across the screen before a message pops up.
Eleven hours.
That’s all it’s been? It feels like days and seconds all at the same time.
How is that even possible? I wish it were days.
I hate that it’d only be seconds or hours.
And I despise the fact that I’m back here now.
With a shaky hand, I reach for the wine glass and take a sip, but the flavor doesn’t hit my taste buds.
It does wet my parched lips and mouth, though, which is exactly what I need.
BandAid42
Take a bath, clean yourself up. You’re dirty as fuck.
I snort at that thought. Even after all of that, my master is telling me how to take care of myself.
They’re setting it up so that I’m ready for whatever’s next.
Does that mean they’re coming back to take me again?
I’m not sure I can live in this house after everything I experienced. Because I want so much more.
For now, though, I feel fucking amazing.
Giggling, I take my glass of wine and the burner phone and head upstairs to the bathroom.
When I reach the top of the stairs, I hesitate.
The wine stain is gone, as is the broken glass.
And now that I think about it, the broken glass in the back door was fixed.
Did my master do all of that while I was gone? Cleaning up as if nothing had ever happened?
Taking a sip of wine to settle those thoughts, I step into the bathroom, knowing that my master is watching every single step I take to make sure that I’m doing what I’ve been told.
Because if this is what it’s like to be treated after being taken, then by all means, I don’t want to make my master regret taking me in the first place.
Opening the bathroom door, I stop short. The tub is already filled, and it looks like there’s something in the water because it’s cloudy. A bottle sits on the edge of the tub, and I snag it to read the label. Epsom salts.
“Right.”
Biting my lip, I glance toward the doorway, my cheeks rosy with a blush.
Do they really care that much to go to all this trouble?
I slide into the bathtub and let the perfect temperature of the water cocoon my sore body and ease my weary muscles.
It feels like heaven, but it’s more than just the water.
It’s the care and consideration that’s been taken, something that I’ve never been given before.
It’s always fallen to me to take care of myself.
I take the loofah and dip it into the water before adding some soap to it. Gently, I rub it over my body and clean the dirt and grime from the last day off my skin. I can clean myself all I want, but nothing will erase the abuse my body’s been through, and I wouldn’t want to.
Laughing lightly, I continue to scrub. Completely and utterly satisfied.
That’s all I feel right now; that’s all I wanted to ever feel.
And my master is the only one who’s managed to do that for me.
Sighing, I dip down into the water and wet my hair.
I’m going to sink into this water and relax until it chills my skin. I never want to get out.
I have a few more days until Reik returns from his trip, just enough time for the bruises to really bloom and for me to find a way to hide them.
I should feel guilty, right? I should feel ashamed for my actions, for letting my master take me, but I don’t at all.
I can’t stop smiling. I’m not sure I could if I tried, but I don’t want to.
Everything feels so light and free. I haven’t ever felt like this before. Trailing the loofah along my skin again, I soak myself and relax in the pleasure and knowledge of everything I’ve done in the last twelve hours. I never want to forget a single moment of it, at least the ones I can remember.
It takes me close to an hour to untangle my hair, and by the time I’m dried off, lotioned up, and resting in my bed, the wine glass is empty. I slide under the covers with the phone clasped tightly in my hand. It buzzes, and I manage to pry my eyes open long enough to read the text.
BandAid42
Sleep well, my little slut.