Claimed

His life had new meaning now. He was training Kelsey to be his obedient, dutiful wife. All the research he’d done assured him that her love would come in time as a natural byproduct of the obedience and duty.

Already Kelsey was completely dependent on him for everything she did—he’d seen to that. He was the only person she saw or talked to, ever. She didn’t eat unless he fed her. She didn’t sleep until he gave her permission. She didn’t use the toilet, or bathe or read a book unless he said she could. When he decided she’d earned a punishment, she bent over his knee or assumed a punishment position without hesitation and without question. And she thanked him afterwards, even through her tears.

Maybe he’d been too hard on her this morning, but he couldn’t deny the deep, wild thrill he had gotten from whipping her all over and holding nothing back. He’d loved the sudden howl of shocked pain when he’d brought the whip down on her back and shoulders. He’d loved the way her perfect breasts jiggled with each blow of the whip, her nipples hard and red by the time he’d finished stimulating them with the stinging leather.

If he were honest, the whipping hadn’t been about teaching her, or punishing her, not by the time he was done. It had been a kind of lovemaking really, the whip an extension of his cock, her entire body just a quivering cunt, his cunt, there solely to satisfy his lusts.

James was distracted from his thoughts by a sound coming from outside. It took him a second to register that it was car tires crunching on gravel. He couldn’t see the driveway from the kitchen window. Dropping the mayonnaise knife, he sprinted into the living room toward the front windows that looked out on the porch and beyond to the driveway.

A nondescript black sedan was pulling up in front of the house. There were two men inside. Don’t panic. It’s probably just salesmen or preachers or something, he tried to tell himself. He glanced back at the bedroom door, which was ajar. His heart slamming into high gear, he sprinted across the room and glanced inside the door.

Kelsey was sleeping like an angel. James pulled the door closed with a click. As he turned around, he saw the ropes dangling from the beam and raced toward them, yanking them down and kicking them under the couch. Trying to slow his breathing, he ran his hands through his hair as he watched the men climb out of their car and lumber up to the screen door.

Deciding to seize the bull by the horns, he went out onto the porch and pulled open the screen door, hoping the smile he was aiming for made it to his face.

Before him stood two uniformed policemen.

The air thickened somehow, and James found himself unable to draw a breath. Sweat sprouted under his arms and beaded along his upper lip as he stood staring at the men, his mind suddenly, utterly and completely blank.

“James Bennett?” one of them said, while the other held out his badge.

James opened his mouth and managed to croak, “Yes?”

“May we come in a moment, sir?”

They hadn’t pulled out a warrant for his arrest, at least not yet.

Feeling as if he were a fly trapped in amber, James somehow made his limbs move. He stepped back and gestured the men onto the porch. “What’s the trouble, officers?”

“We’re making inquiries into a possible missing person. Bob Reynolds gave us your name and address information. We called your cell phone a couple of times but it went to voice mail.”

“Oh,” James had forgotten that Reynolds knew about his cabin. “We get sporadic cell service out here sometimes,” he offered lamely.

“We?” one of the officers, a heavy man in his forties with a buzz cut cocked an eyebrow.

Oh god. I’m dead. I’m dead. “A figure of speech,” James found himself saying. “I mean service is sporadic around here. I’m alone here in the cabin.”

Don’t make a sound, Kelsey. Not a sound.

Sweat was rolling from his forehead into his eyes and James wiped at it with his hands.

“You okay, Mr. Bennett?” asked the younger cop, a thin, wiry man in his twenties.

“I—I’m fine. I’m sorry. I’m—I’m not feeling so good.”

“Mr. Reynolds mentioned your condition.” The cop’s tone was sympathetic.

James seized on the man’s words like a lifeline. “Yes,” he agreed, hoping the tremble in his voice would be attributed to his “condition”. “They’ve been really great at the bank, letting me take all the time I need. I haven’t told them yet, but there’s no cure. I haven’t got that long left…” He trailed off, lifting his chin and offering what he hoped was a brave countenance in the face of impending death.

The two cops were staring at him, and he wondered suddenly if he’d laid it on a bit too thick. “Uh, I’m sorry.” Again James took the bull by its horns. He would get through this and send these men packing. “You said you were here about a missing person? Someone from work?”