Sweet Captivity

I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. I didn’t want to beg him for it. That reminded me of our first few days together, when he’d been demanding and scary. I enjoyed the fantasy of our relationship too much to face the reality that he was still demanding. And even if I no longer found him scary, he could definitely be intimidating. He touched me however he wanted, whenever he wanted. Just because I liked it didn’t mean my consent was necessary.

Was it? He still hadn’t taken me against my will. He held himself back, even though I could tell it caused him almost physical pain to deny himself what he wanted: me.

He wants me to beg, I often reminded myself. I won’t beg.

I might beg him to touch me on a daily basis, but I wouldn’t beg him to take my virginity. It was my last shred of dignity, of control over my own body and my own life. I couldn’t surrender it. No matter how badly my body ached for him to fill me, to connect with him in the most intimate way possible.

After years of fear and isolation, his touch was like a drug. I doubted even Bliss would have been more effective at keeping me wet and needy for him as soon as he walked into the bedroom in the evening. He’d been right from the very beginning: he didn’t need drugs to make me compliant.

At times, dark thoughts plagued me. Despite our chess games, it occurred to me that perhaps I was nothing more than his plaything, his pet. That made my chest ache, a sensation I didn’t fully want to contemplate.

So I’d ignore it and concentrate on potential opportunities to escape. Even if that made the ache persist.

But it wasn’t like he ever afforded me an opportunity to escape. He still kept me collared and chained to the bed in his absence, and I was completely reliant on him to see to all my needs. It should have made me resentful. I should have hated him.

But the way he held me so tenderly when he cared for me made me feel cherished. Even the pain he gave me was a form of caretaking; he brought me transcendent bliss with his deviant toys. I wasn’t scared of the playroom anymore. I wasn’t even scared of the flogger. He’d shown me how good it could feel when applied with my pleasure in mind rather than wielding it to punish.

When I did think about escape, it was to plan for the day when Andrés would give me access to a computer. The day he decided I was ready to work for his brother. It was the only opportunity I could see available to me.

And it was coming soon. Some of my days were hazy, but I thought my assessment of three weeks in captivity was about accurate. That was the deadline Cristian had given Andrés. I’d been so well behaved, surely my captor would think I was ready to be trusted with access to the internet.

Then I could finally get away from him and make my way back to the Bureau. Back to my friends. Back to Dex.

I rubbed at the dull throb in the center of my chest and turned my attention back to my comic book.

I’d only been reading for a few minutes when the bedroom door banged open and Andrés stormed in. It was the middle of the afternoon. He shouldn’t be back yet. And the fire in his eyes and furious twist of his scar mirrored his expression on the day he’d dragged me to the spanking bench and threatened to hurt me while he was angry.

I scooted back on the bed and held up my hands to stall him.

“Wait!” I gasped out. “Andrés, wait. Please.”

He stiffened and stopped in his tracks, only three steps away from grabbing me.

“You’re upset,” I said quickly. “I don’t like it when you’re like this. You scare me. Please, don’t… Don’t hurt me.” My heart twisted as the words left my lips. He might give me pain sometimes, but never more than I could handle. He was always fully in control, carefully administering how much pain he was inflicting. But he wasn’t in control right now. I hadn’t begged him not to hurt me in… How long?

Long enough that I’d forgotten how terrifying he could be when he was in a truly black mood.

A low, feral sound rumbled from his chest, and his fists clenched at his sides.

“Please. Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong. What happened. Is it your brother? Did he—?”

“Of course it’s my brother!” he shouted, and I cringed away as his rage slammed into me. He closed the distance between us and grabbed my upper arms, pulling my body up against his. I struggled, but he snarled down at me. “He wants to see you. He expects you to be ready by now. But you’re not. I’ve been too soft with you.”

“You haven’t,” I insisted, desperate. “You don’t have to hurt me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he bellowed. “He does. Why can’t you understand that? I’m not the one who wants to break you. I want to save you. I want to protect you. I can’t do that if you continue to defy me.”

“I haven’t defied you,” I gasped out, my fear rising. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked.”

“No,” he railed, shaking me. “I’ve given you everything you’ve asked. I’ve tried to make you happy here with me. I’ve indulged you and played with you when I was supposed to be training you. And now he wants to see you, and you’re not ready.”

“I am,” I squeaked out, needing him to believe he could trust me with a computer. Terror rode me hard, and in that moment, I wanted to escape him more desperately than I had since the day I’d first been captured.

“Don’t lie to me, Samantha,” he warned on a growl. “You think you can manipulate me with your pretty tears? You think I’ll do anything you ask if you smile for me? I won’t allow you to play games with me. I’m in control. You belong to me.”

His eyes took on a feverish light as he spoke.

“You’re not in control,” I said, trying to blink back the tears that burned at the corners of my eyes. “You’re scaring me. You’re hurting me.” His fingers were digging into my arms hard enough to bruise, but that ache was nothing compared to the horrible sinking sensation in my chest.