Page 24 of Cruel Master
Discipline. Even through the chill and my aches and pains, my body stirs at that word. It’s an itch kinky playtime has never managed to scratch. How is it discipline when I can leave whenever I want? My mind is too logical to suspend reality enough to find real satisfaction in playful punishments.
It’s what drove me to seek extreme, dangerous forms of play. The fatal flaw in my brain.
Well played, Saldar. You got me.
I force my sluggish body off the bench and onto my knees. The plug shifts, and I can’t stop thinking about the fact I’m still full ofhim.It’s filthy and degrading and shouldn’t make me want to touch myself, but it does. For fuck’s sake.
I look up at Saldar. He’s even more intimidating from this angle, towering over me, staring down with his blank, impassive mask. Well. Might as well get it over with. If he leaves, I might be able to get myself together and actually make my brain work. It’s a good brain. It’s not its fault that this man fucked it into oblivion.
“Thank you, Master, for giving me the discipline I need.”
I want it to sound snarky, but it doesn’t come out that way. I’m too tired, and too much has happened. It sounds worryingly meek and compliant.
Saldar clearly approves, as he touches my cheekbone again with his long finger. Very human, those hands, despite the ink. Why didn’t he wear gloves to complete the look? Then he heads to the chest. The empty chest. I know that because I already took everything out of it.
I watch, mouth slackening, as he extracts a massive furry blanket that looks like real animals died to make it. Did they? Surely not.
Yes, because psychopaths who kidnap you and fuck your ass always care about animal welfare.
More to the point, though, the chest was empty before. It’s replenished. It’s replenished like chests in the real game do, and for some reason, that one, perfect detail is the thing that pushes me over the edge. The enormity of what this man has accomplished, the lengths he’s gone to to create this prison, hits home all at once.
Replenishing chests. Fuck me.
I start to shake, and my legs wobble under me. Before I can topple over, Saldar is there. He wraps the blanket around me, and the maybe-real fur against my skin is the softest thing I’ve ever felt. It’s so comforting it pushes a sob out of my lips, and once I start, there’s no stopping me. I shake and sob, and hecrouches on the floor, holding me tight to his chest like I’m a weepy burrito.
What the hell?
I don’t know how long I sob for. What’s wrong with me? I’m a spinning top, bouncing between emotions, and I don’t know how to stop. Saldar’s arms around me shouldn’t feel good—this is all his fault—but they do. I’m being comforted by a lunatic in a demon suit. Even for me, this is a new low.
Once my well runs dry, Saldar sets me down and stands. The moment there’s distance between us, any illusion of comfort vanishes. His fault. This is his fault, and I’ll be damned if I start to go soft on him.
He resets the timer for two hours, all business once again. “You may remove the plug in two hours. I’ll be watching you at all times, from every angle. I’ll know if you disobey. Check the chest for provisions—there will be soap and food. Try to sleep. And don’t make yourself orgasm. I’ll know.”
Excuse me? I gape up at him. The mask shifts, and even though Saldar doesn’t have eyebrows, I’m certain the man underneath just raised his left one. A feeling hits me, the strangest sense of déjà vu, a sort of disconnected familiarity. What is it? I chase after the thought but can’t catch it. It’s gone.
“Understood, Juliet? There will be consequences if you disobey.”
Sure there will. Under this thick blanket, I could fuck myself stupid and he’d never know. “Understood, Master.”
“Good.”
He strides from the room.
I don’t bother to get up. We’ve already established the door won’t open, and I don’t trust my legs to hold me anyway. The blanket is a warm cocoon. I say a silent thank you to whatever animals may or may not have died so I could be comfy andsnuggle in properly. It’s big enough I can even rest my head on it.
The pain, the terror, the plug in my ass all fade into the background. Sleep is calling. And I’m not going to fight it.
***
When I wake, the light-emitting cracks in the ceiling are dim. Is it nighttime? No way to tell. The timer shows zeroes, but I’m groggy as all fuck. Have I slept long? It doesn’t feel like I have. What woke me up? I blink. Something is strange, and it takes me a second to realize what.
In the top left corner of the room, right where the wall meets the ceiling, the light is flickering. It’s incredibly faint and localized to one tiny spot, but it’s there. A flickering light. No big deal. Except…
I stare at the spot. Not flickering. Pulsing. But not regular pulses. It’s a mix of short and long, and it clicks into place all at once. I cover a gasp, then force myself to disguise it as a yawn and snuggle back into the blanket.
I turn away from the light, shift around as though trying to get comfy, then settle on a position where I can see if from the corner of my eye.
Long and short pulses. Dots and dashes. Morse fucking code.
