Claimed

Maybe he would change her name and color her hair. They could drive down to Texas or Mexico or somewhere and start a whole new life, where no one knew them. But for now he would lie low. It might look suspicious if he suddenly took off. He would touch base with Reynolds, let him know he was leaving the bank for good, and then bide his time until it was safe to move his precious cargo out of the state.

He sat up, feeling much better. He held out his hands in front of him, pleased to see they were steady as rocks. His breathing had returned to normal and he was no longer sweating. He’d handled things brilliantly with the cops. They hadn’t suspected a thing. And Kelsey, darling Kelsey, wonderful Kelsey, hadn’t made a peep. He would let her eat a whole sandwich for lunch, and a peach too.

He stood and moved toward the bedroom. Opening the door slowly, he peered in. She was lying on her side, her back toward him. Her lovely ass was crisscrossed with welts and there were even a few marks on her slender back and pretty shoulders.

He’d done that. He’d marked his property, while teaching her to accept her place as his obedient wife. They would start the blog entry right after lunch, he decided. Despite her little slipup earlier, he deemed her ready.

As he approached her, his cock twitched in anticipation. Reaching into his shorts, he stroked it, pleased to see it was already erect, despite his having fucked her only an hour ago, and despite the cops sending him into a temporary tailspin.

Everything was fine now. Better than fine. His eyes on his prize, he quickly stripped off his shirt and shorts. He approached the bed and reached for Kelsey’s shoulder, pulling her over onto her back. As he straddled her chest, her green eyes opened wide, her lovely lips parting in surprise.

Putting his hands lightly around her throat, he pushed his cock into her pretty mouth and closed his eyes. Ah, life was good.

Chapter 12

Kelsey sat cross-legged on the throw rug beside James’ desk chair. She stared down at the legal pad on her lap, her pen poised, her mind blank. She knew what James expected—he’d read her enough of the endless, nauseating blogs written by brainwashed women and their deluded partners—but she couldn’t seem to make her brain perform the necessary functions to get words onto the page.

At least her stomach was full, almost uncomfortably so. After the beating that morning Kelsey had fallen into a fitful sleep. James had woken her with a tray of food, and instead of the usual two or three bites, he’d let her eat the entire sandwich, plus a peach and a big glass of iced tea. Maybe the prick was feeling guilty.

Kelsey closed her eyes, trying to let go of the negative energy building inside her. It wasn’t good to resist. It only made things worse. Positive thoughts. Focus on the good things. Anger is destructive. He’ll sense it and he’ll punish you. James loves you. He takes care of you. This is your life now.

She stole a glance at James. He was shirtless, wearing his favorite khaki shorts. His right hand was resting lightly over his crotch, his mouth hanging open, his eyes glued to the screen, though whether he was reading from one of his favorite blogs or staring at naked girls, Kelsey couldn’t tell. At least he was leaving her alone, for the moment anyway.

Kelsey glanced down at the welt on her left breast. She could feel welts on her back, ass and thighs too, though she didn’t dare shift her position to try and see, not with James right there beside her. She tried to recall what heinous crime she’d committed to deserve such brutal treatment. His words came back to her. You forgot one of the prime rules of wifely submission. A wife doesn’t voice what she does or does not want. She asks what would please her husband, and no more.

Okay, so she’d fucked up. She’d forgotten the rules, but did that really merit the savage beating that had followed?

You were disobedient. Don’t question him. Do what he says. You belong to him. To resist is to suffer. Focus on the good.

She knew she should listen to that voice of reason. James quite literally held her life in his hands. She knew better than to break the rules. Why was it suddenly so hard to control the rage she thought she’d conquered?

Because something was different now. Somehow that beating had reawakened a part of her that had been lying dormant during this time of forced captivity. She realized she’d been sinking deeper and deeper into a kind of trance, a self-induced pretense to make her lot bearable. How long until it was no longer pretense, but her reality? How long until she’d shut down completely, giving herself over to James’ constant brainwashing and subjugation?