Page 3 of Brave
She coughed, choking on sobs she couldn’t keep back. That made noise, but she couldn’t stop. All she could do was press the hand towel tighter over her mouth with both hands and muffle as much as she could.
It had been a long time since Ethen’s last party, but she remembered every one of them. Her body remembered. Her aching, pulsing, needy pussy remembered best of all, because even despite the humiliation and the shame, if there was one thing Ethen was good at, it was making her come even when she hated it.
Puppy buried her face in terrycloth, hugging her knees tight and willing the ache of arousal to stop. Just stop. It wouldn’t. It had been over a year now and the throbbing hum of need hadn’t quit yet. It wasn’t constant, but it wasn’t very far beneath the surface, ready at a word or the spark of a memory to reduce her to this. Hiding in the damn bathtub in the middle of the night, rocking, her breasts heavy, her pussy swollen, and her clit throbbing without the slightest relief in sight.
She missed it. Not Ethen, never Ethen, but the things he did—all the parts she used to love—what kind of person went through the things that she had, called it rape, called it abuse, and secretly missed it?
Her whole life was in limbo. She hadn’t felt the security of a man’s hand grabbing the hair of her scalp, or the scrape of rope bindings tying her up in ways that made her feel sexy and subservient in the wake of his strength and authority. She hadn’t felt the stinging, fiery, burning, hurting fury of impact after impact that showed no sign of stopping no matter how she writhed or screamed, not until she yielded to it. Gave herself over to it. Let herself rise high above it until she was flying on wave after wave of sweet, absolving release.
She was a puzzle book, so far beyond her ability to solve that she didn’t even know where to start. Wallowing in the bottom of the tub in a bathroom she shared with Pony, she smothered her own intensifying sobs because she wasn’t just missing pieces, she was missing whole pages and she didn’t know how to get them back again. She wanted so badly to be the person she used to be, back before Ethen found her and she stupidly gave herself into his care. The things he’d promised had been everything she’d ever wanted—a 24/7 relationship with a man who would let her kneel to him, who would give her the impact she craved without thinking her weird for it, who wouldn’t hesitate to bind her in ropes and restraints until she couldn’t move so much as an inch on her own and who thought the marks those sessions left behind were every bit as beautiful as she did.
At least, that was what he’d said. He’d said he would lead if she would follow, and that he would look out for her, guide her, take care of her, watch over her even as he pushed her until every last trembling nerve in her body was screaming on the very edge of what she could bear without her crying out the safeword.
Except, with Ethen there were no safewords.
As she’d come to learn, Ethen didn’t give two shits where her boundaries were. Which didn’t mean he didn’t know where they were. He knew; he knew every single edge, fear, doubt, and insecurity that she harbored by heart, and he rarely missed an opportunity to use them against her.
It was almost funny how, back when she’d been living with him, something broken in her head had said it was okay when he did that to her. It was okay that he whipped her when he was angry, because Doms needed release too and she’d told him she liked impact play. So really, he was giving her what she wanted, right?
It was okay that he locked her in a dog kennel too small for her to be able to fully sit up or even to stretch out her legs. Sometimes he’d leave her in there for a day or more, never letting her out, not even to pee, just so he could rub her nose in it when the inevitable happened. Back when they’d first met, she’d told him she hoped to find someone who would take complete control over her. So really, she’d asked for it too, hadn’t she?
And it was perfectly normal for him to make her the fuckable centerpiece of his private parties, because a submissive was all things to her Master and he enjoyed having a toy he could share with his friends. He liked watching as they took their turns, even when she didn’t want to do it, because one time she’d confided that she’d always fantasized about being taken over and over and over again, until all she could feel was the slick smoothness of cum on her body and she was so exhausted that she couldn’t even move.
Except that the reality had been nothing like the fantasy. It hadn’t been fun; it had been mortifying and uncomfortable, and all she’d felt when it was over was dirty and used. But he kept making her do it, even after she worked up the courage to ask if it could stop. Because it made him happy, and isn’t that what a good submissive was supposed to want to do? Make the Master happy?
It had taken a year of separation before she finally reached a point where she no longer cared about making Ethen happy. She no longer slept in a kennel or crawled on a leash, or put on her puppy gear and romped at anyone’s feet. She didn’t care if she ever put on puppy gear again. She was free now.
Free to go wherever she wanted.
Free to work wherever she wanted, except she hadn’t been able to hold a job for more than a week without breaking down into panic and tears.
Free to spend her own money however she wanted, and yet she couldn’t keep herself together enough to earn a paycheck.
Free to meet people and talk to people without worrying about what Ethen would say or do or whether she’d get punished for it later on. But who was there to meet when she hid all day in her mother’s house? Under Pony’s supervision. The only time she ever left was when it came time to visit Ethen in prison.
What was wrong with her?
Who was she anymore?
Why couldn’t she get the fuck over this?
Once upon a time, she used to be brave. She used to be adventurous. She once thought almost nothing of getting dressed up in her sexiest outfit and heading down to the club, just to see who she might meet up and play with.
That was how she’d met Ethen, but she’d met other people too. Nice people. People who would probably be appalled now by what she’d let herself become.
Disgusted with herself, she shoved off the back of the tub far enough to slap the water on. The shower spewed, dousing her instantly in spraying drops that rapidly got colder the farther she wrenched the faucet toward the blue line. Throwing herself back up against the end of the tub once more, she huddled with that useless hand towel lying on her feet. The tangle of her brown hair grew stringy and wet, plastering against her skin as she shivered under the icy pelting spray. It was the worst punishment she could think of—yet another rule she was breaking, although she was almost certain Ethen would be amused if ever he knew.
Unlike leaving the house, which was far more likely to piss him off.
Hugging her knees, Puppy shook as the water ran off her. She clamped her jaw tight to keep her teeth from chattering.
She couldn’t leave even if she wanted to. Pony slept in the corner by her closet, where all her clothes were hanging up. Sliding open that door risked waking her up.
Like she could dress herself up for a night on the town. Hell, the only reason she didn’t walk around naked every day was because her mother quietly put clean clothes on the foot of her bed in the mornings. The only reason Pony got dressed was because Puppy did the same for her. How pathetic was it that neither of them could do that much for themselves?
But she used to. Up until Ethen, she’d been dressing herself every day since she was five.
She could do it again, couldn’t she? If she tried? She could pretend she was doing it for Pony, then reach into the dark closet and whatever she pulled out, that’s what she’d put on.
