“At the end of the week,” he continued, “assuming you’ve made good progress, I’ll take you away from here. I can’t drop you off in the city, for obvious reasons, but I’ll give you money and leave you somewhere where you’ll be able to get yourself home.” His voice cracked, and he choked out the rest of the words. “It’s over, Alana. It’s done. You’re free.”
He stood abruptly and, without another glance at her, fled from the room.
Alana sat on the couch staring down at her hands. She fingered the iron bracelets at her wrists, still not entirely sure this wasn’t just another elaborate ruse, another dangerous, cruel game.
But the tears, that stricken look on his face. Was he serious? Would he really set her free? She thought of her family, who had to believe she was dead at this point. What would it be like to return to them, to reclaim her life, her career?
And Mark. What would become of him? She would never see him again, of that she was certain. He couldn’t risk that. He would vanish, or be caught. Then there would be the trial, and certain jail for him—a life sentence, he now the one behind bars…
At the sound of footsteps, she looked up. Mark entered the room, his mouth set in a grim line. He held a small key in his hand. “Hold out your wrists,” he directed.
As she did so, he inserted the key into the small opening at the clasp on the bracelet on her right wrist. The mechanism sprang free and the two ovals parted. He repeated the procedure on the other wrist. Then, kneeling before his slave, he did the same with each ankle cuff.
Alana touched the skin at her wrists, which felt naked and strange.
“Stand up and take off your panties.”
Alana rose to her feet and lifted her dress. As she tugged down the underwear, he pulled a tiny pair of jeweler’s pliers from his jeans pocket, and she understood what he was going to do. She almost protested. She found to her own surprise that she didn’t want him to remove the gold hoop. She wanted to keep it. It was hers.
But she didn’t dare say no. Even though he claimed to have given her back that right, she found she was incapable of refusing. Perhaps that would come in time. This was all so new, so uncertain.
If Mark was aware of her discomfiture, he gave no sign. Crouching in front of her, he sprung the lock on the small oval of gold that hung so prettily from her pussy. “There,” he said, looking up at her. “You’re free.”
Alana lay sprawled diagonally in the bed, no chains, no cuffs, no Mark. It was strange, though not unpleasant to sleep in the guest bedroom by herself. As she came fully awake, she stroked her bare wrists, feeling the absence of the iron that had been a constant.
She had slept fitfully, a part of her waiting to be awakened by a blow, or a sting of the lash, or a stiff cock thrusting at her lips or invading her cunt or ass. On some level, she was still waiting for the game to be up, and for the retribution that would surely follow.
But it was morning, and he hadn’t come to her. She could smell coffee brewing. She sat up and slid her feet over the edge of the bed, letting them rest on the soft throw rug. It was warm enough now that she didn’t need a robe, but she liked the idea that she could use one if she wished. So she reached over to where she had placed the robe on the end of the bed, and wrapped it around her body, enjoying the feel of the soft silk on her skin.
After washing up in her own bathroom, she ventured out into the living room. She could hear Mark moving about in the kitchen, and the tantalizing smell of frying bacon assailed her.
“Good morning,” Mark called out to her.
“Good morning, Sir,” she replied as she came into the kitchen. It wouldn’t have occurred to her to greet him first. She had been trained for too long in the art of silence.
“Have a seat at the table. I’m just making some scrambled eggs.”
Alana smiled uncertainly. Her kneeling cushion by his chair was gone. She’d been next to the table, on it, under it. She had never actually sat down at it. She slid awkwardly onto the chair, feeling faintly ridiculous, like an imposter.
Mark hovered around her, setting down a plate of eggs and bacon, pouring her coffee, stirring in the sugar and cream he knew she liked. Alana sat staring at the food.
Mark soon came and sat across from her, his own plate piled high. He took a swallow of coffee and reached for the salt. “Eat while it’s hot. Aren’t you hungry?” His tone was jovial, if a little forced.