“Let me go!” I screamed. “Let me go!” I cried piteously, panting and sucking in air as fast and hard as I could. I whispered his name. My muscles spasmed. My screams mingled with hers, with his, all of us together in a symphony of pleasure and pain. I heard her peak in one shrill scream that faintly outdid my own. I fainted. Finally.
I don’t know how long I remained there, vulnerable as I hung, gone to the world.
What I do remember is waking to the feeling of warm and dense weight straddling my thighs.
I didn’t even feel a twinge of panic. My hair was wet, but clean, smelling of familiar lavender.
Strong hands pressed my shoulders into the soft mattress beneath me and unable to resist I both moaned with relief and whimpered at the memory of the pain. I knew they were his hands, no matter who touched me in the future, I would always know his hands. What I didn’t know, was what to make of it.
His thumbs pressed on either side of my spine between my shoulders and rode my flesh to the base of my neck. His fingers speared through my wet hair and tugged gently. My scalp tingled, my body followed.
I felt I should say something, do something. Rail at him, punch him, kick him, yell at him, do something violent to inflict unimaginable pain upon his person, but his hands felt too good and my aching body needed them too badly. Besides, I never won against him anyway. His large hands pressed against both shoulders. I exhaled a long breath. No. No fighting him.
Then, because I just couldn’t help myself, I asked, “Why are you doing this? Why me?” He inhaled sharply then exhaled. He never stopped rubbing me, nor did he pretend he didn’t know what I was asking.
“Why not you Kitten? Would you choose someone else to take your place?” Gentle began to transition to rough. “If I agreed to let you go in exchange for some other girl, would that be better?” I wanted to scream yes.
Silence.
Only his hands kneading my flesh.
“What’s going to happen to me?” I asked quietly, almost hoping he hadn’t heard. I wasn’t sure I wanted an answer.
There was no answer – then, “Whatever I wish.” Before I could speak again, his fingers were doing that thing in my hair again. Only this time he gently tilted my head, pressing his thumb along the curve behind my ear. My mouth went slack. I closed my eyes, unable to think of anything else but the sensations coursing through me. Had I always been this starved for touch?
The answer eluded me.
“Who was that woman you were with?” His fingers stilled and I cursed myself for being so…
me. And yet, my heart sped up as I waited more than eagerly for his reply.
I narrowly avoided purring and stretching under him like a cat when his fingers once again trailed along my scalp and behind my ear. “My, my, Kitten, what big ears you have.” He laughed and the sound of it sent an obscure thrill through me.
“Hey!” I said indignantly, “My ears are not big. Not even a little bit.” And they’re not, really!
His laughter spurred me on, “It’s not like she was trying to be quiet. ‘Caleb! Oh, Caleb!’” His laughter abruptly died and his grip in my hair became less than pleasant, though the reaction seemed involuntary. I stilled, biting the hell out of my lip. Would my stupidity never cease? “I’m sorry Master,” I whispered.
It was over too quickly, no more talking it seemed. Unexpectedly he went to the bathroom and returned with a bucket of water and a sponge which he set on the floor. He lifted me without a word as to his intent. I didn’t speak either, too frightened of provoking him into some other form of torture. He set me on the ground. Next to a big wet spot.
“You pissed the floor,” he said, his emotions masked behind a placid expression. I looked away, both embarrassed and scared. He walked toward the door and stopped, his hand grasping the knob. With his back to me he said, “Don’t ever call me by that name again Kitten. You don’t know me. Not like that.” He left and shut the door behind him. As I stared at the large stain in front of me, I heard the door lock. My face burned with the heat of my embarrassment. Why did my chest hurt? I blinked away the threat of tears.
I didn’t know what to make of Caleb, at times so kind and gentle and at others, I feared him down to my soul. Who the hell was that woman? Why does she get to call him Caleb?
Time went on, and on. I never heard the woman again, but I often wondered what happened to her. My life became monotonous, filled only with Caleb, my punishments, my occasional orgasms, and the endless dark. It’d been so long since I’d seen the sun, or the moon, or any other light that didn’t come from candles or nightlights. I lost track of the days. I used to be able to tell by the food that he brought for me, not anymore. Now I knew Caleb fed me whatever he felt I should eat, whenever he thought I should eat. I was losing it. If only I had some sense of time, I could…I don’t know…something.
Finally, I became so angry I pulled the nightlight out of the wall and threw it as hard as I could, hearing it break. I spent what felt like several hours crying in the pitch black darkness, afraid to unplug the nightlight in the bathroom and move it, because I probably wouldn’t be able to find the plug. I put my eyes near the bottom of the door, hoping I could see something, but all I saw was dark. I banged on the door with all my strength, screaming and crying, but no one came…no one cared. I stared into the dark wondering if death felt like this. I lay on my back, imagining myself in a coffin staring into nothingness, utterly forgotten. I think I even slept with my eyes open.
Though I couldn’t know for sure, it seemed as though Caleb’s visits to my room became more and more infrequent. Meanwhile, I became less and less unnerved by his presence – in fact, it became more soothing by the day. But he, on the other hand, seemed increasingly aggravated with me. More troubling, his anger often became my punishment and I was obsessed with avoiding them both. When he touched me, I strained to remain immobile. When he spoke to me, I said not a word. When I could not help but resist, I immediately begged his forgiveness. But the more I gave in, the crueler he became. I didn’t understand.
“Surrender,” he had said.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I had insisted.
I turned my head slightly, hearing something familiar. My hearing had gotten so good and it only took another second for me to know. Dishes. I sat up quickly, banging on the door. There was no response. I lay on my back, pressed the soles of my feet against the door and proceeded to do something I knew was stupid. I kicked at the door wildly, demanding he acknowledge me.
Again, there was no response. I started to panic in earnest. “Please!” I yelled. “It’s dark in here and I want to come out!” When I heard only silence I cried out in despair. “Caleb! Caleb…please open the door.” Nothing. That is, until someone kicked the door so hard I saw a flash of color. I scrambled backward, scared out of my mind. For once relieved the door was heavy, sturdy, and locked.
I had never been filled with more foreboding than when I heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. For the first time, I considered the dark an ally. I scrambled beneath the bed. It was an incredibly tight fit that left me pinned snugly, unable to turn my head between the floor and the box spring at my back. I held my breath as the door opened. The beat of my heart literally moved my entire body. I shut my eyes tightly, willing myself to another place. A voice in my head chastised me. Under the bed? Stupid. Just fucking stupid.
“What the fuck?” I heard him whisper. Relief was short lived as I realized it was Caleb who had entered my room. “Oh Kitten, what have we done now?” he taunted.