Chapter 22
Katia
I step into the steam-filled bathroom, dressed in my flimsy gown, my skin prickling from the inner fire inside the pit of my stomach, my body on edge. I’m sweaty and dirty from crawling on my hands and knees all day, obeying every wish of my Master and now he’s ordered me to take a bath and to let him clean me. And if I’m good, he’s going to let me bathe him.
I couldn’t be happier to oblige. I hunger for his strong hands on my body, giving me the pleasure I so badly crave and he’s tempted me with all day. It’s hard to even think of myself as a Slave when I feel more like Isaac’s pampered pet. It’s definitely not what I was expecting going into this relationship, but I fucking love it. It feels like I’m living a fantasy.
I’m his fucktoy, his kitten, his everything. But what he does to me, what he commands me to do only makes me feel desired and cherished.
I catch sight of the faint scars on my shoulder and my mind drifts back to earlier today, to one of my training sessions that left me appreciating him even more.
“I want you to paint your scars,” Isaac told me as I sat on a leather training bench. He grabbed a bowl of whipped cream and strawberries off a stand nearby and held it out to me. With the bowl in his left hand, he held the long stem of a large, fresh strawberry and dipped it in the homemade cream.
“Open,” he commanded me. “Stick your tongue out flat.”
I did as I was told and he traced a line down my tongue with the point of the berry and then around my lips, teasing me. “You’ll paint them with the cream for me to lick off.”
He pulled it away from my mouth and I responded as I knew I should. “Yes, Master.” I’ve learned to love those words. I love pleasing him. He makes it so easy.
Obediently, I took the strawberry from his hands, and only then did I really register what he’d told me to do. I didn’t know why he wanted me to paint my scars with cream and fruit, but I knew I shouldn’t question him. Everything he makes me do is for my own good.
My skin pricked with his eyes on me as I carefully dipped the strawberry into the cream in the bowl and began painting my scars, slowly and deliberately. My eyes watched my movements in the trifold mirror from the vanity he’d placed me in front of. The vanity was from my room, but the bench was in his. I started with my neck first, covering all those ugly marks I so hated, before moving to my collarbone and then my shoulders.
I remember how I got them. How my old Master would chain me to the bed and let the whip rip across my back. Occasionally it would break skin, but that’s not what made the scars, it was the tips of the braided tails. In the beginning, when I wasn’t perfect, he’d attach the punishment spurs. They’d stick into my skin and when he pulled back… I closed my eyes, hating the memory.
The second I shut my eyes, I felt Isaac’s strong hand between my legs and his tongue licking along the faint bit of cream painted over my scars.
I gasped with pleasure at the sensation, reveling in the feel of his warm wet mouth, and had to fight the urge to wrap my arms around his neck and keep him in place. I knew I could only accept what he gave me, and nothing more.
He moved up to my neck, kissing away the cream, sucking on my neck.
Isaac continued kissing and sucking on my neck until all the cream was gone, and when he pulled back I was so fucking out of breath. I’d never experienced having food literally licked off my body, and the sensation of it had been incredible. The places where he licked me felt alive, tingling with sexual energy from his hungry lips and tongue. God, I had felt so good.
“Master,” I breathed, panting, my chest heaving and my pussy clenching uncontrollably. Seriously, I almost came just from that. “More. Please.”
Isaac responded by grinning at me and standing tall in front of me. “Be careful what you wish for, kitten.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant until he walked away and came back with a buzzing object. A huge fucking vibrator. Grinning, he placed it on the bench, making the tip of the head barely touch my pussy lips and clit. I instantly shivered at the sensation, so turned up already and wanting so badly to cum.
Smack!
I cried out from the pain and pleasure stinging my ass as Isaac drew back the riding crop he’d picked up from the side of the bench.
“You’re not to move,” he told me. “You’re to stay perfectly still while that vibrator teases your pussy and the only thing I want to see move is your arm as you cover your scars with whipped cream again. Understand?”
I was breathless, wanting to protest. I needed to cum so bad. I was so turned on it was unreal. But I did as he commanded.
“Yes, Master,” I replied.
The session went on to last another hour, and I was whipped several times for moving, but each time I didn’t, Isaac rewarded me with his mouth and a bit of pleasure, licking and cleaning my scars. By the time it was over, I’d gotten better at being perfectly still and I was rewarded with one of the hardest fucks Isaac had given me.
My eyes flicker back to the mirror, to the scars on my body. Scars that now have a different memory. My heart clenches in my chest. This isn’t what I thought it would be. It’s so much more. Submitting to Isaac makes me feel liberated.
My past is losing its grip on me. And it's all thanks to Isaac.
As if summoned by my thoughts, a terror that constantly haunts me, one of the recurring images that has viciously torn me from my sleep and kept me a captive to my past for years, rages in my vision.
I can see my old Master's sick smile as he hits me, delighting in the perverse pleasure my pain brings him. I can see the scene unfold as if I'm having an out-of-body experience, and I see myself cowering in the corner as he beats me over and over again, the back of hand slamming against my cheek, splitting my lip open and filling my mouth with the metallic taste of blood. Unconsciously, I raise a hand to my face, touching where he struck me.
But there’s no pain there. No bruises.
It’s not real, I tell myself confidently, shocked at how little I’m affected by that horrible image, just a fading memory.
“You need a bath, kitten,” Isaac says, breaking me out of my reverie.
I take in a sharp breath as I see him standing in front of the beautiful garden tub, cloaked in steam, his dress shirt unbuttoned and rumpled, his black dress pants doing little to hide the huge bulge in his pants. My nipples pebble, my mouth waters, and my pussy clenches with need as I think about how he will soon be cleaning me himself, his hot hands roaming every inch of my body. I want it. I want him.
“Yes, Master,” I say obediently, a feeling of warmth lacing with my desire. I feel so safe in Isaac’s presence. I could not have asked for a better Master. But I’m starting to feel a little lightheaded from the steam. Today has been such a long day, and I’m tired. Taking a warm, steamy bath will hopefully help me relax.
He gestures at my robe. “Take that off.”
I do as he says, letting the pink robe slip off my shoulders and fall to the floor. I don’t miss the flash of desire in Isaac’s eyes as he surveys my naked body, my hardened nipples, my flesh riddled with goosebumps, and the chain attached to my clit. Exactly how he likes me.
His eyes burning, he walks over to me and places a hand on my abdomen, tracing his name he’s written across it before taking the chain off from around my neck and then unclipping the other end from my clit. The action makes my back bow with the sharp release on my tender throbbing clit. My head falls back and his fists my hair at the base of my neck. “Good girl, kitten,” he whispers, kissing my exposed neck and releasing me. I glance down at my midsection where his name is scrawled, feeling a sense of pride. Every day he writes his name on me, reminding me that I belong to him… but I want so badly to ask if I can write my name on him. I haven’t, afraid it might displease him.
He’d probably let me if I ask, I tell myself. As much as I want to please him, my happiness matters to him. It’s obvious to me now.
“Take off your anklet, kitten
,” Isaac orders next, his voice heavy, his eyelids hooded with lust. He never touches the anklet. It’s truly mine. And so far, it’s helped at night. The weight mimics the shackle. But the way Isaac looks at it makes me uneasy.
I’m quick to bend down and remove it for the shower. Just like I’ve done every day.
I know where the clasps are and I lean against the wall, still feeling exhausted and weak from the day and unhook the first, and then the second.
My heart stops short as the metal falls over my ankle.
So much like before.
I’ll always be your Master. I hear his voice, and see his cruel, smiling visage. My heart races, and the room starts spinning around me. Oh my God. Not here. Not now. I feel like I’m going to throw up as a crushing weight settles on my chest and my whole body begins shaking. Fuck. I can’t catch my breath as my heart pounds out of my chest, and my vision begins to narrow into a tiny little dot.
I can’t breathe. My fingers grip the anklet, but I don’t feel the studded Swarovski, instead it’s the rough cast iron. I lean against the drywall of the luxurious bathroom, but that’s not where I am. It’s the hard, rough concrete walls of the small room he kept me in.
He’s dead. My Master’s dead. I can feel the key in my hand as the shackle falls to the ground with a loud clank.
Did they hear? My heart races faster. What I have I done? Fear grips me. I have to run. I need to run. They can’t find me. I can't let that happen.
The metal slips from my hand as I cover my mouth and feel paralyzed, knowing if I can’t escape, they’ll kill me. Slowly, painfully, for nothing more than their enjoyment.
As the floor rushes up to meet me, the last thing I see is a blur rushing at me and deep voice yelling, “Kitten!”
Chapter 23
Isaac
Fuck! My fingers dig into Katia’s waist as her knees buckle and she nearly topples forward. I saw it happening in slow motion. I’ve been waiting for something, anything to come of the anklet, but I didn’t think it would be this.
“Kitten!” I hold her close to me, keeping her upright as her nails dig into my skin. Shit! I seethe through my teeth as her nails scratch down my arm. My heart twists in my chest so tightly, as if it’s wrapped in barbed wire. The pain is unbearable.
I hate this. I never thought this would be the outcome.
“Katia, I’m here.” I call to her, holding her close, but she’s not listening. She’s not here with me. She’s far away and caught in a hell that was meant to be lit on fire and left in her past where it belongs.
She cries out, her eyes open, but not seeing what’s in front of her. I shake her, I cup her face, forcing her to look at me. “Look at me!”
But she’s not listening. She’s fighting me, pulling away and scratching and trying to run.
He has her.
Her former Master. I want to spit the word.
He’s not allowed. He’s dead. I won’t let him have this control over her.
She’s mine!
I push her back against the wall and shove my forearm under her chin, keeping her from biting me. With her wrists pinned above her head and my hip pushed against hers, I have her still.
“You think of only me when you’re with me,” I command her, pushing my thigh between her legs and pressing her back firmly against the wall. She whimpers, and her eyes finally find mine.
“You belong to me. No one else.” Her body tenses as her pupils dilate and recognition flashes in her eyes. My kitten. Stay with me. Only me.
I crash my lips to hers, slowly lowering my arm and she responds. Her lips part and she fights me again, but it’s to hold me back. To grip onto me and kiss me with a passion that makes her heart beat so hard I swear I can hear it even over the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears.
“Only me.”
“Only you.”
“Who do you belong to?” I ask her, pushing my hand between her thighs and rubbing her clit.
“You,” she says in a strangled cry.
“Why did you take it off?” I ask her.
She breathes in a sharp inhale and her eyes widen, afraid to answer for a moment. But she obeys. “Because I was told to. You told me to.”
“You’re such a good girl,” I whisper into the crook of her neck as I rub my palm against her clit.
I kiss along her jaw and down her neck, rocking my hand and feeling her grow wetter and hotter. I need to get her off. I need her to be rewarded for facing her past like she did.
I bury my head in the crook of her neck, feeling her long blonde hair against my nose and cheek. “Such a good girl.”
I slip my fingers into her heat.
“Thank you, Master,” she moans. Her head turns to the left and then the right.
She runs her hand down my forearm and I can feel the blood smear along my arm from where she scratched me. Her eyes are closed. She's just enjoying my touch.
Thank fuck. She needs this. She can’t be afraid to take it off. She needs this more than she could possibly know.
“Cum for me,” I tell her, pulling away slightly and looking at the soft curves of her face. Her forehead’s pinched and her soft lush lips are parted. Her flushed skin and quick pants of heated breathing only prove to me that she’s close. I can’t take the sight of her so wound up and turned on. So fucking gorgeous. This is how she should always be. Lost in the pleasure I give her. Never in pain.
“Please cum for me,” I practically beg her, my heart hurting and my body feeling cold and nearly numb.
She cries out as the warmth of her arousal leaks from her and her thighs tremble. Her body stiffens as she grips me with a force equal to the intensity of her orgasm.
“Good girl,” I softly say as I pull my hand away and hold her close to me.
I kiss her hair, then her cheek and her neck as she lolls her head to the side, gripping onto my shoulders and resting her cheek on my shoulder.
It takes a moment for her to calm, and all the while I just hold her to me.
“Are you alright, kitten?” I ask softly, pulling away from her for just a moment. She hides her face at first and I hate it. I hate that she’s ashamed of confronting her past.
I grip her chin in my hand and force her to look at me.
She pulls away, moving her head to the side and responding softly. “I’m okay.”
I think about questioning her. Making her talk about it. But we both know what happened.
I don’t want her to hurt anymore. I pull her into my chest and rock her slightly. She holds me back with a force that’s new to her. She’s holding me as though she’ll fall if I let her go. As if she’ll shatter without me here to hold her up.
My poor Katia. I kiss her sweetly, my heart breaking.
I wish there was more I could do.
But this will take time.
Every time she puts that anklet on, she knows what she’s doing, what she’s enabling.
This was bound to happen, but I still hate it.
I lay her on the ground, breathing heavily and catching her breath while I turn the shower on. The loud sprays hit the wall, drowning out her heavy breathing. I turn to look at her, my hand under the stream, waiting for the water to warm and she’s still, her eyes wide open, staring at the gorgeous anklet, laying across the bathroom floor from her, as though it’s a snake waiting to strike.
I’m not surprised though, when she’s showered and pampered and the time’s come to either wear it or throw it away. I’m not surprised that she puts it back on to keep the night terrors at bay. But the look in her eyes is different now.
It’s progress.
“Katia, what does being a Master mean?” I ask her as I sit on her bed and gently pet her hair.
“I don’t know, Master.” She answers so quietly I almost don’t hear her.
“What do you think it means?” I ask her.
“I feel so confused,” she admits.
“What if I told you you’ve only had one Master, Katia? What would you
say then?”
She turns in the bed, finally looking me in the eyes. “I’d say a Master is a good thing. A Master is a savior.”
Her admission makes my heart hurt. I want to save her. And I will.
Chapter 24
Katia
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
I look over at Isaac as he drives us down the road toward my family’s house in his spare Mazda CX-5, handling the car in a way that manages to turn me on, even when I’m on edge. Everything he does is just so sexy. His mannerisms, the way he talks, the way he moves. The way he owns me.
I shake my head. I can’t believe I’m letting this man meet my family after only knowing him for a few weeks.
10 days into being his slave… A man that owns me, mind, body and soul no less. It almost makes me laugh that we’re even coming with gifts, after I’ve avoided my family like a plague, all because he thinks meeting them will be for my own good. As much as I don’t like this, I have to trust him. And deep down, I know he’s right. I still love them. And I know they love me.
But that doesn’t change the fact that this entire situation is fucked.
My heart jumps into my chest as we turn onto Waverly Road, the familiar houses popping up in front of me, my childhood memories coming back to haunt me. I walked down this street the day they took me. I close my eyes, trying to block the visions, not wanting to get emotional. The last thing I need to do is break down in front of my parents with Isaac standing there. Who knows what might happen? I suck in several calming breaths before opening my eyes and focusing on the present as Isaac pulls up in front of my childhood home, parking the car next to the curb.
There it is. Home. I sit there for a moment staring at it. It looks just like I remember. A two story rustic brick home, with partial cream-colored vinyl siding and a cozy porch with several rocking chairs sitting out in front of it.