Chapter 9
Lula
I floatin a haze of nothing. My eyes are open, but the images are blurred and unfocused, like I’m looking at the world through rain-spattered glass. I reach for my anger, my readiness, but it slips through my fingers. My own body drugged me as effectively as Victor did with a needle earlier today. Or was it yesterday?
Water laps at my legs, washing my scourged flesh. It hurts and soothes, much like everything Victor’s done to me.
My captor has me in his arms. I’m taller for a woman, with strong thighs and an ample backside, but next to Victor, I’m petite. I feel every inch of the height difference between us.
Together, we sink into the bath. He’s got me cradled close, and for once, I’m grateful for his proximity. My strength is gone. If he wasn’t holding me, I would slip under the water and drown.
I don’t know how long we soak together. The bath is Roman style, big enough to fit Victor one and a half times or one of him and all of me. There’s a bright flash of metal in the corner of my eye, but I am too limp and wrung out to wince at the intimidating sight of the straight razor. He sets it to my ankle, and it takes me a moment to realize that he’s shaving me.
I have thick, dark hair and splurged for laser hair removal for my underarms but didn’t bother treating anywhere else. If I want my legs smooth, I have to shave them practically every other day.
He shaves me carefully, drawing the blade up my leg in smooth strokes. I keep as still as possible, resigned to my fate.
Other than a few blotches, the red on my shins and thighs has quickly faded to pink. My breasts bore the brunt of his punishment.
I didn’t know I could cum from pain.
But I don’t want to think about that.
I lick my lips. He’s given me plenty to drink, but it takes a few tries to find my voice. “What time is it?”
“Late. Or early.”
“You’re not going to tell me.”
He raises his hand in my line of sight, presses his fingers together and makes a chopping motion. “You don’t need to know.” He smooths his hand over my knees, the razor following in the wake of his touch. “You don’t need to know anything, sweet Lula, except how to please me.”
I scoff, but I know he’s right. I’m becoming attuned to the shift in his moods and his postures. I will study him like the prey studies the hunter if it means my very survival.
His dick is hard under my backside as he parts my legs, guiding the razor over my sensitive inner thighs. I’m breathing faster now.
“It’s all right,” he murmurs. “I’ll be gentle.” And he is. With deft and nimble movements, he shaves my pussy bare. Is it my imagination, or does his knife linger a moment over my femoral artery? One easy slice, and I’d bleed out in his arms.
But then his fun will be over. I have the feeling his plot for revenge has only just begun.
“Why knives?” I ask because I’m too high from my orgasms to keep my barriers up. Which I’m sure is what he counted on.
“Why not?” He sounds amused. “They’re strong yet versatile. Simple, easy to hide. People use them every day but forget how deadly they are. But if they handle them too carelessly. . .” He holds up the blade and presses it to his thumb, shaving a layer of skin from the callouses there. “They exact a price.”
“But. . . why not a gun?”
“You prefer guns, don’t you, my lethal little one?” He kisses my temple and sets the blade at my pussy, angling it to scrape away the dark hairs there. I try not to breathe.
“They’re expedient,” I say when I can.
“Who taught you to shoot? Your father?”
“No. My father didn’t approve at first.” I’m distantly aware I’m spilling too much information, but the bridle I keep on my tongue is long gone. “But there was no stopping me. I made one of my uncle’s men take me to the shooting range until my father relented and gave me a gun.”
“He didn’t encourage you?”
“He thought it was amusing.” My voice is hard.
“He underestimated you.”
“Yes.” Like every other man in my life. Except Royal. And now, maybe Victor.
“And now you are an excellent shot.”
“I missed Stephanos.”
“You got closer to him than anyone has. He’s better at hiding and surviving than anything else.”
“So I’ve heard.” This is why my father and uncle gave up on avenging my mother decades ago. Until I learned the truth of her murder and decided to do it myself. “And it still wasn’t good enough.”
“Do not punish yourself.” He sets the blade aside with a clink and palms my bare pussy. His lips find my ear. “That is for me to do.”
His long, skilled fingers glide up and down my sex, drawing out threads of arousal.
“Did your fiancé ever touch you like this?”
I can’t stop my sharp laugh. “David? No. I never even let him touch me. How do you think I got him to the altar so quickly?”
Victor hums and touches me more, taking what I’ve refused to give any lover. I try to stay his hand, and he captures my wrists with his large left hand, keeping his right one free to rub me. Under the thick blanket of fatigue, my pussy throbs under his touch. My orgasm threatens.
I rock my head from side to side, resisting. “No. . .”
“Yes. Just one more, Lula. And then I’ll let you rest. I’ll be done with you for at least a little while.”
The hard cock under my ass says otherwise, but I have no choice. I melt into the strong cage of his body and allow him to wring another round of climaxes from my exhausted body.
* * *
I wakeon my back and raise my head. I’m still in Victor’s murder dungeon, with the same gray shadows and dim lights. The long, steel rods of my enclosure separated me from the rest of the room, but I slept comfortably for being in a cage.
I’m on a soft pallet directly on the concrete floor. There’s no blanket, but it’s warmer now than the night before. Or maybe my naked flesh is still warm from the flogging and bath.
There are no windows or natural light. No sign of what day or time it is. No way of knowing how long I slept.
The memory of last night comes back to me, and I squeeze my eyes shut. His big, capable hands guided the knife over my slick, sensitive flesh, shaving me. Baring me. I was sensation-drunk, and he knew just how to touch me. He could’ve asked anything of me, and I probably would’ve done it.
I need to shore up my defenses against him, but I have no idea how.
It’s not the pain I’m afraid of. It’s the orgasms. And his prying mind, slicing open my psyche, seeing and cataloging every hope and desire.
I sit up, and Victor immediately appears in his psychopath-relaxing-at-home outfit of loose black clothing. His feet are bare as he squats to come to eye level with me.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you,” I reply automatically. The side of his mouth draws up at my politeness, but I figure it can’t hurt to be courteous. Until I figure out a way to kill him.
“Any pain?” His gaze lingers on the red blotches on my chest.
I shrug. “I’m sore. Like a mild case of sunburn.”
“Very good.” He makes the Okay symbol with his thumb and pointer finger. “You will tell me if the pain is too much.”
I barely stop myself from rolling my eyes. “So you can hurt me more?”
He clucks, angling his head to the side so the light lovingly highlights the planes of his beautiful face. “I do not want you to hurt all the time. Only when I wish it.”
“Right.” I glance down at my naked self. My shaved pussy looks paler against the rest of my skin. Humiliation is a bitter taste in my mouth, but what’s worse is how my pussy pulses, aching to be filled. His cruel smile, the sexy rasp of his voice, his perfect face fills me with need. He’s a monster holding me captive, I shouldn’t feel this way.
He smirks down at me as if he knows what I’m thinking. How part of me likes being naked and helpless in contrast to his powerful, clothed form. As if he knows the depths of my desire for him.
Rage surges within me, and I stoke it, needing its heat. “Do I get clothes?”
“When you earn them.” He offers me a bottle of water, already unscrewed, with a straw sticking out of the top. I reach for it, and he shakes his head, holding it for me and praising me like I’m a wild animal he’s coaxed to drink from his hand. “Good girl.” His pointer finger taps his thumb a few times. He’s trying to train me with hand gestures, like a dog. I hate it but make a careful note of each one.
I drink the entire bottle, grateful he’s not adding water deprivation to the torture routine.
“More?” he offers, and I decline politely, hoping he’ll keep me hydrated as needed.
He makes a come hither motion with his four fingers pressed together. Another damn hand signal. “Turn around and put your hands through the bar.”
I hesitate.
“Good girls get rewards.” Again, he makes two taps with his forefinger on his thumb before reaching behind him for a white paper bag. When he opens it, the scent of fried food wafts over me, and my stomach convulses and growls so loudly that the sound echoes.
“That’s from Three Diner.”
“Yes. I learned you went there after you. . . left me. But they would not speak to me.”
My throat tightens. I fight the vision of a baby-pink uniform spattered with blood. “Did you hurt them?”
“I had no reason to.” He motions, and I scoot around and lean against the bars. He grabs my wrists and links them together. I crane my head but can’t quite see more than black leather cuffs. They’re soft and snug, joined by a short chain. I’m able to relax my arms without wrenching my shoulders. Could be worse.
He has me turn back to him and kneel so he can feed me by hand, one bite of burger at a time.
“Gonna kill me with cholesterol?” I joke between French fries.
“You will need the sustenance,” he informs me. My stomach flips at his intent expression, but the trepidation isn’t enough to dull my appetite.
After the meal and a little more water, he wipes my face. I look past him to a small sink beside a door. The small room beyond seems to hold a toilet.
Victor catches me looking and raises a brow, waiting for me to ask.
“I need to use the bathroom.” I lower my eyes, not sure if I’m feigning humiliation. I’m already naked and kneeling, locked in a cage.
“You can have anything your heart desires.” He produces a black leather contraption—two straps wrapped around a silver ring. “As long as you please me.”
He motions me forward with the same Come signal and has me kneel up and hold still while he affixes the ring gag. With the straps buckled tight, my lips are rounded into a forced “O,” and my heart trips.
“Okay?” he asks, with the corresponding hand signal. I nod. It’s that or try to talk around the gag.
Victor shoves his pants down and shows me the beautiful monster of his cock—long and uncut and turgid—and my heart stutters. My mouth is already open, ready for him, and I’m drooling around the metal ring.
The first taste of him is sweet. He glides deeper, spearing my mouth, and I breathe in the wintry scent of him, tasting salt. He reaches through the cage bars to grip my hair and control my movements. “Breath through your nose.” His harsh direction is a mercy as he fills me with his length, tipping my head back until he’s knocking on the entrance of my throat. My chest surges, and I bite down on the metal until my teeth ache.
“Good, good girl.” He eases out, giving me a moment to gasp. He taps his thumb and forefinger together a few times before swiping a thumb at the corner of my eye, collecting my tears. He tastes them and gives me the Come signal. “Again.”
After a few rounds of this, my knees are aching, but my throat has gone soft enough to let him in. Tears streak down my cheeks, and I let them because they seem to please him. At long last, he presses my head against the bars and spurts down my throat.
“Perfection,” he pronounces and massages my face after removing the gag. “You’re doing well, Lula.”
And despite myself, I feel a stab of pride.
* * *
Victor
I haveto help Lula upright. I collared and blindfolded her before I allowed her out of the cage. Her nostrils flared like a frightened mare. She’s more tense now than she was in her cage, her arm rigid in my grasp. She hates to be out of control.
She’ll grow accustomed to this life. Moving gracefully through my home, naked for my pleasure, kneeling as often and for as long as I like, and obeying my hand signal’s silent commands. One day, perhaps, she will crawl for me and beg to be caged, to be chained.
I unclip one of her hands and allow her to use the bathroom with the door slightly cracked. The privacy is more than she deserves, considering her history of hiding weapons under sinks. But that was my oversight.
When I tell her time is up and open the door, she doesn’t seem grateful.
“How long are you going to keep me like this?” she asks, glaring at me. She’s removed the blindfold, a liberty she’ll be punished for, but she allows me to secure her free arm behind her.
“It’s up to you. My bed is ready for us. But first, I will train you to submit the way I like.”
Her lips press together.
“Surrender now. It’ll go easier for you.” When she doesn’t respond, I take her arm and guide her past me. She goes obediently enough but rears back when she sees what’s waiting for her.
The steel table is gone from the middle of the room, pushed to the side and hidden from view. In its place is a Saint Andrew’s cross. Made of sturdy dark wood and padded with black leather, the X shape seems to fill the space.
I give her a moment, enjoying the music of her harsh breathing. Then I draw her forward to stand before the cross.
“As long as it takes, Lula. I won’t stop until you beg me to make you mine.”