Captive in the Dark(23)

“I hit you…





what?” he growled. The slaps came so fast I lost track of how many. I bucked and screamed under the strap that beat me.

“That I hit you, Master. I’m sorry.” It was a game, I knew that now. If I forgot to say

‘master’, he hit me several times; otherwise, he only hit me once.

By the time it ended, my throat was raw, my body burned, and the word “Master” came easier to me than crying. My hair was strewn everywhere, sticking to the sweat that covered me from head to toe. My knees had given out on me during the beating. I hung by my arms, panting for breath. He was panting, too. He grabbed a brush from his bag and I whimpered.

“Please no more…Master, please no more.” My voice rasped weakly, but he heard me.

“Shhh, pet.” He brushed my hair back gathering it in a bun on the back of my head. He gave me water as well, as much as I wanted. Most of the water dribbled down my body but it felt so good I found myself spilling it on purpose.

I shook violently as I was untied. It was only a matter of unclasping the chain from the straps and untying my forearms, but as he unleashed me, he also unleashed an all new pain. I collapsed onto the floor and rolled onto my face. The prickling of the carpet tortured my skin. I yelped at the feel of his fingers digging into my abraded flesh as he lifted me.

The comforter was much different. It felt cool, inviting, and I writhed against it, lifting my backside into the air. I didn’t care about what I looked like anymore. I had no decency or shame.

He misted my body down with water and all I could do was moan.



“This is going to hurt a little but I promise you’ll feel better when I’m done.” My body tensed. I pressed my buttocks together, afraid he wasn’t done with his belt yet. I flinched when his hands made contact with my wounded flesh. He rubbed me down with cold cream, the feel of it so delicious I leaned into his hands as he put it on. I was sure he broke skin in some places.

I wanted to cry when he stopped, but didn’t. He lay down next to me, his face close to mine, but I did not turn away. I stared him directly in the eyes. But when he smiled, it was warm, inviting, kind even. Somehow, and against all odds, it still reminded me of the first time I met him. I shut my eyes.

Exhausted, I fell asleep again. This time I did not dream.



Captive in the Dark CJ Roberts

FIVE

Caleb shut the girl’s door behind him and locked it, putting the key in his pocket. He put his forehead to the closed door. He saw her body again, laying face down on the mattress, welts crisscrossing the back of her body from shoulder to ankle. He wanted to trace each one with the tip of his tongue, leaving no part of her untouched. Through the door he could hear her muffled crying and a strange shiver ran through him.

Tension coiled inside him, manifesting in his entire body, his muscles tight. He stretched his hands then fisted them tightly, knuckles popping then relaxing. He loosened his body further, forcing himself to unwind. It was three in the morning. He was wired, sweaty, and in need of something, anything - a woman maybe. He looked away, the soft hue of the lights muted but illuminating enough.

He liked this house. He liked it more with each passing week he spent inside it. From what he was told, it was once a sugar plantation until the Mexican revolution put an end to slave labor.

The land was barren now, but the house still stood. The owner had spent hundreds of thousands remodeling the home, allowing for electricity throughout, though many things were still incomplete. The large, square kitchen still looked like it was falling apart, but you could see flashes of the new and modern. It had a fire stove, but a state-of-the-art microwave. The ceramic tile under his feet was probably original, but the fireplace was electric. In fact, the only room in the house that was completely finished was the one he currently occupied – the master suite.

In the background the girl continued to cry, and the sound of her sobs seemed amplified to his ears. When he shut his eyes his brain immediately sought the memory of her flushed body tied to the bedpost - open, at his complete mercy.

Caleb let out a sigh and adjusted himself. Perhaps he’d visit the bar up the street and find a more than hospitable woman to take his mind off the girl behind the locked door. He raked his fingers through his hair and expelled another rush of air as he made his way across the kitchen.

He opened the fridge door, the cool, swampy air felt good against his skin, too good. Every nerve ending in his body was alert at the moment. Even the clothes he wore added a friction when he moved. Propping his elbow on the refrigerator door, Caleb leaned in and wrapped his fingers around a bottle of