He stops, and she whimpers as though she wants him to continue. He slides his finger all the way out and glides it up her body and over her erect nipple, making his way to her mouth and slipping it inside as she opens wide for him. She moans again as her tongue flicks out, licking as much of it as she can, then sucking on it so deeply, dimples formed in her cheeks.
The video is paused.
He taps me on the head with the remote control. “When this happens,” he points to the screen, “I want you wet for me, Whisper. Do you understand?” His thighs tighten on either side of me when he talks to me.
I can’t pull away from him. I’m caught in the Venus flytrap.
His fingers creep their way under my dress to make a point. He rips at the side of my panties, painfully tugging until I hear the cheap seams give and tear.
I now understand from all the movies I have been allowed to watch in the past, and the porn today, that he wanted me to wear white because I’m a virgin. He methodically plans everything, and I’m too naive to know what’s coming for me.
I am trapped.
My heartbeat has accelerated to dangerous levels, and I know the camera trained on me for his sick pleasure later will be capturing my anxiety and my undoing.
But he said it wasn’t happening today. He’s just trying to torture my mind.
He rocks us from side to side so he can pull my underwear roughly from my body as his excitement builds.
I’m a block of wood. I don’t feel.
He said it wouldn’t happen today.
He licks the side of my cheek slowly as his hand cups my breast hard. I squeak out in protest, while his other hand at my throat tightens more. He could break my neck if he chose to.
He’s a strong man; he spends time on himself. I’m lean and tall; I would weigh nothing to him. He is also much taller. My neck is long, and it would snap with a twist. It would bleed out if sliced open. I could be defeated so easily, and he knows it.
“Whisper, when the time comes, you will be sopping wet for me.” His hand is painfully tight wrapped around my throat, and I think he has finally lost his mind and I will be suffocated.
“Stop...please,” I rasp out.
I thrash my body out of sheer uncontrollable terror, and he responds by squeezing his hand even tighter. I’m gasping for a small bit of air to inhale.
This excites him more. He wants to see how far he can go. I’m being choked to death. If I live, I will bear the bruised fingerprints on my neck for days.
I try to thrash about, or my mind wants to thrash, but I can’t even feel his hand anymore. I’m starting to see spots. I have been mindlessly clawing at his hand on my throat, but now they have given up the fight and fallen limply to my side.
He’s crushing my windpipe. My soul feels like it’s leaving me. I have nothing left in me.
I have stilled.
“Fuck! Whisper! I haven’t waited patiently all these years for you to take the easy way out. You do not have permission to die today. You will die on my terms!” I faintly hear him shouting abusively at me.
I’m in a tunnel.
I’m no longer able to keep my eyes open.
His fingers have released my throat and he’s shaking me.
I am a blob of jelly.
My body and mind can take no more today.
I wake up later in my bedroom with a sore throat and having a hard time swallowing. I check myself over. My panties are gone and the dress is in place. I’m trying to feel for any changes to my body.
“You’re finally awake.” He’s walked in on me while I was assessing myself.
I wait for him to brag.
I won’t look at him. My eyes are downcast. He’s faceless to me; it’s a coping mechanism. I won’t think about what he could have done to me. I can’t change it.
He tells me nothing. He waits because I know he wants me to ask.
I won’t give him the satisfaction.
***
From my eighteenth birthday onwards, he came for me twice a month. He knew my cycle, and I was left to fret when those two times would be. The only peace of mind I had, was knowing he wouldn’t come for me when my period was due. He granted me ten days of peace, but when he did come for me, I would have to wear an identical white dress every time, and I would be drugged, blindfolded, and bound by my hands to the banister of the staircase. He always liked to remind me of the punishment ahead of me, but he never told me what he did to me.
I never remembered.
I didn’t want to remember.
I just put it all back into a box and sealed it down tight. I knew it was a game and I didn’t want to play. I could at least keep that for myself and show no outward signs of anguish.
It was a form of torture not knowing, a hideous mind game, which he played for his own amusement. I found no physical form of sexual assault, but that didn’t mean it didn’t happen.
He would play with my mind by leaving sex toys on the floor and empty condom wrappers to be discovered when I came to my senses, my mind still foggy, while he sat in a high-backed chair he positioned facing me. He would be dressed in the same outfit, his face shadowed by the fabric of the hood, laughing while I slowly moved, trying to get my body back under my control.
He was mocking me.
He would grant me permission to go to my room, knowing I couldn’t stand properly and I was bared to him. I didn’t care. I would pull myself up, feeling as wobbly as a newborn calf, hold my shredded dress to cover some of my body, and make my way back to the sanctuary of my room.
I had long lost the emotion of embarrassment for my nakedness displayed in front of him. I was a cardboard cutout of a person.
He took to handcuffing me to my bed every night from the time I turned eighteen. It crossed his mind I might entertain the thought of fleeing; he really didn’t get that my mind was too broken. I was a pet who lived in an invisible cage. I had mental boundaries I was too scared to breach.
Cameras were my constant spies, always ready to confess all my sins for breaching the rules. Master William did grant me the privacy of my bathroom and bedroom, which I was grateful for. Small mercies I devoured.
My days were kept busy. I did what I was told. I was the cook and did the washing. I kept the house tidy, not that there would dare to be anything out of place. Gardening was a true joy of mine.
My life was on a timetable, which was monitored each and every day.
I was waiting for a superhero to save me, but my mind wouldn’t entertain the thought of leaving by my own will. It was trained too well. I was a hostage to my own fears. This is where I had lived all these years.
How was I ever going to get freedom? I craved it so much, yet what would I do with it? Where was I going to go, anyway? I had no money or transportation. Those thoughts were always on a hamster wheel, going round and round.
Never an end in sight or a solution.