Chapter 10
Kinsley
A Surprise
Over the next several days, I continued telling Marcel what I had endured.
With each passing day and each story told, the hellish memories got lighter and lighter.
The experience of sharing with Marcel was everything I thought it would be back in Seattle when I dared to hope to unload my heart.
His level of patience as he walked me through each memory only made me love him more.
In person, the splattering of freckles was more prominent, and his sharp eyes were a beautiful cerulean color.
They never missed a thing as they analyzed me during our sessions.
Outside of our talks, he was much more relaxed and had a spirited, quick-witted sense of humor, especially with Sebastian.
I wondered if he was similar with the Kings.
While breaking through my walls, he seldom had to use his Dom voice with me anymore. I trusted him with my secrets in so many ways now and let him guide me through my answers to his questions.
I was getting better at determining my own feelings, thanks to his help, and it was exhilarating to be free from hiding everything. Though a level of fear still lingered because the Mask had found me again. But even then, he helped me manage my emotions.
“Let’s pick up where we left off yesterday, and then I have a surprise for you,” he teased.
“Where were we again?” I asked, even though I already knew. We had worked our way to right before Owen rescued me. He gave me a look, which made me chuckle.
“Start talking, young lady,” he commanded, then grinned.
“Remember when we talked about how my initial fear of the ball gag and Gorean slave whip became known to the Mask?”
I had told him all about the day X became a slave whore and was beaten, collared, gagged, and then fisted.
I shuddered, thinking about it again. He nodded, and I took a deep breath in preparation for sharing my final beating by my captors.
I rehearsed the words, reminding myself to change the context so the girls’ anonymity was protected.
“I do. But you seem to be struggling. Do we need to slow things down?” he asked cautiously.
“No, Sir.”
I walked him through the day, swapping Autumn out for X to keep the story I crafted going. The words poured out of me as I explained hearing her cries and how I wanted to make it better despite knowing it was breaking the rules. But I had to try.
“So I asked her what her favorite song was.”
I closed my eyes and allowed myself to travel back to that specific day. I’d heard Autumn because her room was right next to mine. The walls were so thin that I knew the exact place she was sitting on the other side of me.
On my side of the wall, I had sat down on the carpet so I could be closer to her. It was silly, but I’d put my cheek to the wall and imagined her doing the same. I was startled when Dr. Marcel brushed my tears back, squeezing my hand to ground me back to the present.
“She never answered me, and in hindsight, I’m thankful she didn’t. I chose ‘Amazing Grace’ and kept singing it to her. After the second time, she stopped crying. I sang it four times all together, and then, in a moment of stupidity, I asked her what her real name was.”
Marcel and I had gotten so in tune with each other that he began rubbing slow circles on the underside of my wrist to both calm and encourage me. I was safe. This next part would be hard for me to share, but he needed to have the full context.
“Like before, when I asked her about a song, she didn’t answer me.
At first, I thought maybe she was afraid, so I offered her mine.
Even though she was more than aware of it since I’d been beaten several times for using it.
But the Mask had come into my room as the first syllable of Mischa left my mouth. ”
Marcel’s face was stoic as he listened, though his eyes narrowed because I had previously recounted the day I’d written it down and how I’d been buried.
As hard as it was for me to tell him, his broad shoulders helped me carry the load.
His subsequent encouragement and murmurs of being a good girl helped, so I pressed on, explaining how the Mask flew into a rage and beat me with the Gorean slave whip.
“I’ve got you, Ms. Taylor. You’re safe here with me. I won’t let anything hurt you. Focus on how the story ends. It will help put into perspective the tougher parts. You’ve already survived it. I won’t let the memory hurt you.”
God, I loved this man. My heart swelled with brotherly affection. The emotions welled up inside me, and I let them out in a fresh wave of tears. My counselor saw me, the real me, and he still held my hand, brushed away my tears, and spoke to me with admiration.
You can do this.
I continued to describe the beating to him in detail, recalling the torn leotard and dirty tutu and how upset I was over it. I chuckled ruefully. “Funny how minds remember random, insignificant details like that, huh? I kept thinking it was one of my favorite leotards, and now it was ruined.”
“There’s nothing random or insignificant in human thought and memories.
I’m sure if we were to analyze the thought, we could very easily make the connection.
Maybe it reminded you of one you had before, or it could have held the memory of a dance you had done before being kept in captivity. The significance is real.”
“You know, I remember the first few times I heard your voice. I thought you’d be an amazing therapist. I’m happy to say I was right,” I bragged and then buried my head into his chest, needing connection.
“That’s a great compliment,” he said, pushing my face back. “Let’s hear the rest, please,” he admonished me gently, realizing I was stalling.
As I continued, Marcel reached behind me and handed me some tissues for the tears that were flowing.
“You’ve got this,” he breathed.
“By the fifth time he smacked me to the ground, I was exhausted, and my body was in so much pain. I wanted to die, and the worst of it hadn’t even happened.” I sobbed hard, hating that I wasn’t able to focus like Marcel needed me to.
“Do you need a break?” he asked, gauging my emotions.
“No, Sir, I can do this,” I said, determined to defeat the fear. “He ripped some of my hair out. I remember how much it hurt. He yanked me around, and I saw the ball gag out of the corner of my eye. I started dry heaving, remembering what X had endured.” I rubbed my head in memory.
“We’re halfway there. The end is our goal,” Marcel coached me.
“He shoved it into my mouth, and I thought I was going to be violently ill. The sheer panic of thinking he would let me die if I threw up was so overwhelming.” I sobbed for about five minutes before I could continue.
Marcel spoke to me in a deep, soothing tone. His voice almost putting me in a trance-like state as it washed over me.
“You’re so strong and brave. I’ve never been prouder of a patient than I am with you right this moment.
” His words were life to me and soothed my brokenness.
“Sharing is never easy, but you’re here doing it.
You’re opening up your heart and allowing me in.
It’s so damn beautiful and an honor that you trust me.
Let me take you the rest of the way. This is merely a memory.
Once it’s shared, you don’t ever have to repeat it unless you want to.
You’re safe with me, always. I promise you. ”
His words only unleashed another torrent of tears, but these were happy ones. Once my emotions were under control, I spoke again. “He dragged me over to the wall where he chained X that day, and then he terrorized me about keeping me and making me his slave whore.”
His vile promises echoed through my head, each word scraping like broken glass against my thoughts. I couldn’t speak the words. All I could do was try to crush the horror clawing its way up my throat. Marcel sensed and helped me breathe through it.
“The man told me he was going to whip me so I would never forget again. He said that by the time he was done and removed the gag, I would call him Master.”
I took several deep breaths to calm the nausea that rose within me.
I was almost done. “Somehow, or maybe it was all talk, he finally stopped without fisting me. He removed the gag, and I remember waking up riddled with pain. I didn’t think someone could feel that level of pain and live, but I did.
He screamed for me to beg for mercy. And I did, like I had seen so many women before.
I begged like how X had done before. I didn’t want to, but I did it anyway. ”
“There’s no shame in what you or any of those women did. It’s human nature to preserve our life at all costs.”
“I called him Master, Dr. Marcel. He hit me one last time with the whip, and I couldn’t stop screaming. I lost my voice for two days. He gagged me again to stop the noise and then unchained me, leaving me on the cold floor.”
“Jesus,” Marcel murmured, then shuddered.
I moved on and shared the night we were rescued. When I got to the part where I had to dance wearing only a tutu, incredible shame filled me. I asked for a break, which Marcel was happy to give. He fixed me a drink, and I sat in silence with him while I sipped it.
“You remember I told you I was once whipped with a badine, the ones that left the two scars, and what it was for, right?” I finally asked, shuddering when I thought about that horrific event.
“Yes, you were whipped because you were caught exploring your own body,” he said. I nodded, confirming it.
It was humiliating to have been caught, and the Mask couldn’t let an opportunity pass him up to terrorize all of us.
He beat me with a badine that day and then threatened to mutilate me if I ever did it again.
The following day, to drive his point home, our instructor showed us a video of female circumcision.
Marcel had already heard that story, so I moved on.