Penny
Prison is so dull that new bottles of shower products are exciting.
Before Jacob left for work this morning, I asked him if he would take me shopping. I chanced it because he seemed to be in a nicer mood than usual, and I’d hoped shaving him had put me in his good graces. Sadly, I was wrong.
“You’re not on vacation,” he said in a voice that brought down the room temperature. “Tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you.”
I tried to stick to the barest necessities, but I had to say “underwear” while wishing I could sink into the floor. Thank god my period came and went a week ago so I didn’t have to add related items to the list.
Undressed, I stare at myself in the mirror, my gaze lingering on the last thing left to take off: the collar. I trace the edge of the black leather with my finger.
The collar looks good on you.
I hate that Jacob is right. I don’t want to like the symbol of my imprisonment. Yet it draws the eye and gives me an edge.
Without it, I’m a plain, dark-haired girl. With it, I’m sexy and mysterious. I look like I know all the tricks to sexually satisfy someone.
Collars are a mark of ownership too. By wearing this, it means I’m currently owned by a man. I make a face.
“How many steps backward for feminism is this?”
I remove the collar and set it on the counter beside my clothes, then I step into the shower. Just as I turn on the spray, I’m startled when the bathroom door swings open and Jacob enters.
“What the hell!” I cross my arms over my breasts then realize my pussy is exposed. I slip one hand lower to hide my mound and gape at Jacob through the shower’s glass door. “Why are you in here?”
He steps closer and folds his arms, leaning his shoulder against the wall between the towel rack and the shower door.
“Private showers are a luxury you can’t afford.”
“You’re joking.”
It’s a really bad joke too.
A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Nope. This is serious business.”
There’s unhinged and then there’s Jacob’s thirst for humiliating me a level or two above it.
I want to ask if he’ll also come in to watch me while I’m on the toilet. I hold it back because I don’t dare add to the many insane ideas rolling around in his head.
The chunky, cursive words on a t-shirt that I owned once float through my mind:
THERE’S ALWAYS A LITTLE CRAZY IN THE CUTE ONES AND I’M THE CUTEST!
We stare at each other, the shower water splashing the floor filling the silence. The complaints bubbling up inside me fizzle out when I remember his warning.
Protesting is disobedience.
Reluctantly, I face forward, hyperaware of his stare as I step under the spray of water.
I’ve been stuck on morning showers since I got here and I was happy to restore my routine tonight. I’ll have to take them before he gets home from work, though I suspect he’ll quickly put a stop to my workaround.
Creeping condensation on the glass door gives me an idea. I increase the water’s temperature, glancing over my shoulder in satisfaction as his view becomes obscured. To my dismay, he tugs open the shower door and all the steam rapidly dissipates.
I glare at him. He smirks at me. My glare deepens into a scowl.
“Water might get out if the door is open. It’ll ruin the floor.”
“A price worth paying for the fantastic view.”
Oh my god!
He’s not even trying to pretend that this is only about punishment!
Jacob has that gleam in his eyes again. The one I saw after I took off my clothes for the supposed “intake process” and after he put the collar on me.
Would you let Daddy slide his cock inside you?
He made it seem like he was taunting me. I think it was sort of an admission too. I’m sexually inexperienced, not totally clueless on the subject.
Despite his dismissive denials that “it’s just biology,” I believe Jacob actually wants to fuck me.
I look away from him again as warmth fills my face and confusing feelings swirl in my mind. After years of being on Jacob’s shit list, I like being desirable to him. I’m ashamed for liking it too.
Girls with daddy issues typically seek love and affection from older men unrelated to them. My issues must be planet-sized to enjoy sexual attention from a man who was once like a father to me.
Jacob’s stare is palpable on my back and my ass. The sooner I get out of here, the better. I quickly wash my hair and body, fresh embarrassment coursing through me when I clean myself below the waist with my fingers.
I will never, ever take for granted again the peace of mind of solo showers.
The situation worsens when my shower is over. He’s standing right by the door, closer than he was before. His posture is casual but he’s watching me with unwavering attention. It reminds me of how he looked at me this morning after I caressed his cheek.
My face burns. Shielding my intimate parts with my hands isn’t going well. My arm can’t contain my breasts and I’m sure he can still see glimpses of my pussy through my fingers.
“Can you hand me the towel behind you?”
“Your shyness is pointless,” he says, ignoring my request. “I’ve already seen you naked.”
I scowl. “Then you don’t need to do it again. Please hand me the towel.”
Jacob straightens from his lean, standing taller. My sense of vulnerability climbs.
He’s blocking the door and his towering presence is intimidating in this small, enclosed space. He could step into the shower and trap me with him.
I’m naked.
He’s bigger and stronger than me.
It would be easy for him to take what he obviously wants.
That awareness terrifies me. Perverse curiosity lurks just underneath the fear.
If Jacob shoved me against the wall and fucked me against my will, would I hate it like I should?
Absofuckinglutely.
Based on the little thrill that goes through me when I imagine that scenario, I think I might be lying to myself.
He twists at the hips, yanks the towel from the rack, and hands it to me. I snatch it from him and hold it to my front. He makes a soft, amused sound then turns and leaves the bathroom.
I let out a long breath. These two weeks won’t be easy. Jacob has shown restraint but will it last? Or is he just fucking with me because it amuses him though he’ll never cross that taboo line?
Dried and dressed, I wipe the collar clean before putting it on again. I return to the living room and come to an abrupt stop.
The TV is on. Jacob is sitting on the couch with a game controller in his hand, playing a first person shooter I recognize. It’s the same one Kevin likes to play.
“It works! It’s a miracle!”
Jacob tosses an amused look at me.
“The wonders of electricity.”
My brow tightens. “Oh, that’s how you’re doing it.”
He turns off the power to it before he leaves for work. The jerk. He’s so inventive with his torment. Now that he’s escalated to watching me while I shower, I dread what else he has in store for the next several days.
My worry fades into the background when I notice my tablet and drawing pen on the coffee table. I take a seat on the couch and look at Jacob, pointing at the tablet.
“Did you put this here so I can use it?”
He nods. “Until bedtime. The piece you were painting the other night was impressive. I want to see how it turns out.”
He likes my art.
I’m glowing on the inside as I pick up my tablet.
It’s nice sitting beside him while he plays his game and I work on my painting. This feels normal, like how we were in the past, hanging out on the couch and enjoying each other’s company.
When I move my head every so often, the collar rubs against my skin and reminds me that this moment is a lie. A short respite before Jacob makes it clear we’ll never go back to the way things used to be.
* * *
At almost ten thirty, Jacob exits his game and turns off the TV.
He stands and silently holds out his hand. I save my progress and close the drawing app, pursing my lips as I give him my tablet and pen. A few more minutes and I would’ve finished colouring the demon’s left arm.
He points at the basket beside the couch that contains the pillow and sheet he lent me.
“Pick up the basket and come with me.”
What’s he up to now?
Jacob is a man of many surprises, most of them unpleasant. I follow his order, trailing behind him at a slower pace. My suspicion rises when he swings a right into his bedroom. I pause just outside the threshold while he stands by the door.
“Come in.”
“What’s going to happen if I do?”
“Do as I say, Penelope.”
God, his overbearing attitude gets on my nerves. It’s annoying he likes to use my full name when he’s bossing me around too.
As usual, I obey with reluctance. Jacob closes his bedroom door with a firm thud that makes me flinch. I spin to face him, clutching the basket tighter.
This must be what prey feels like when they venture into a predator’s lair.
He steps to the side to set down my tablet and pen on his dresser. When he faces me and smiles with a satisfied gleam in his eyes, my spine stiffens.
Oh, no.
Some kind of fuckery is absolutely on the horizon.
“You’ve been upgraded from sleeping on the couch. You and I are going to share my bed from now on.”
There it is.
The fuckery.
“Why would you want me to sleep in your bed?”
Though I think I already know the answer.
“We’re in this together, we should be bunkmates.”
His tone is casual, almost friendly as though I would agree that his reasoning makes perfect sense.
Hell no. It doesn’t.
I jab a finger at the bed behind him.
“That’s not a bunk bed and you’re not my cellmate. You’re the warden.”
“It’s more comfortable than the couch.”
“The couch is more appropriate. I would even prefer the floor.”
He folds his arms. “You know what I would prefer? If you’d never re-entered my life. It was peaceful and predictable, then you came and fucked it up. Again.”
“You should’ve taken me to the bus station like I asked!”
He unfolds his arms and moves closer. That look in his eyes… he’s like a hunter with his target in sight.
My heart thumps harder. I back up and raise the basket, darting a glance behind him at the door.
“Don’t even try it,” he growls. “If you run, I’ll catch you.”