Page 27 of Cruel Master
“Don’t get too far into your own head, okay? Me and the boys are going for drinks tomorrow.” He raises a hand, cutting off my protest. “Not out of the Compound, just at the bar. I know you wouldn’t want to leave Juliet. I think it’d be good for you to come along.”
It’s phrased like a request, but one glance at Kendrick’s stony expression tells me it’s probably an order. They want to keep an eye on me. I’ve got them on edge, and maybe they’re right to be.
If Candice is causing trouble, I can’t let them discover it. Kendrick might shut her down, and I won’t let that happen a second time. History isn’t going to repeat itself.
I’ll do anything to prevent it.
Chapter Eleven
Juliet
Ican’ttrackthepassage of time, and it’s driving me crazy. I tried resetting the timer, but it didn’t work. It must need Saldar’s fingerprint to access it, as I suspect the cupboard does too. The flashing zeroes mock me, and eventually, I turn it to face the wall. The lights don’t change, either, giving off steady, dull light.
Sleep, another cold wash in the trickle of water, and another meal of bread and cheese from the chest has my mind feeling clearer than it has since I arrived. The Morse code message is a beacon of hope, filling me with energy.
I’m not alone here. Someone is coming to help.
Unless it’s all another game.
That lovely idea didn’t occur to me until I woke up from my second nap, and when it did, I almost started crying. Of course it could be another game. He’s already shown he loves to mess with me. He could tempt me into trying to escape, then punish me for it once he catches me.
Or maybe I’ve seen too manySawmovies and it’s making me paranoid. Either way, if a chance to escape comes, I’m taking it.
Even a punishment would help with the boredom.
I’ve never been the sort of person to stay alone for long, and when I am, I'm always busy. Working, drawing, reading. Anything to keep my mind and fingers active. Right now, I’d sell my soul for a sketch pad. For anything to do.
Another meal appears in the chest, this time a bowl of stew. Fuck’s sake. Why did I make the meals in the game so basic? I don’t even like stew. I should have given my poor characters chocolate cake and pizza. Maybe a spicy Pad Thai.
God, I’m starving. The stew will have to do.
More time passes. I leave the chest open, hoping to catch the moment the empty bowl disappears and something else appears, but of course, nothing happens. He’s watching me. The chest won't replenish when I’m looking at it, and I’ll starve to death. How long would he let that go on before doing something about it?
Who am I kidding? I’d crack way before he would. I once tried intermittent fasting, and it was the worst eight hours of my life.
I take another cold shower and try to do something with my hair but fail miserably. It’s gradually knotting itself into a horrible tangle, and if I don’t get hold of some conditioner and a comb soon, I’ll have to chop it all off. What would Saldar think of that? Maybe a freak like him would like me bald.
Christ, what am I thinking? I’m going insane. I try doing some exercise, just to give my body something to do, but I can’t shake the knowledge I’m naked and being watched. When Saldar was in here, my nudity felt…right…somehow? It’s hard to pinpoint exactly why. Maybe because clothes never feature in my darkest fantasies and this experience is following that path.
Thinking of someone on the other end of a camera watching me do sit-ups in the nude, though, is much more disconcerting. What if it isn’t just Saldar? What if a whole crowd of his buddiesare watching the show? Or people on the dark web, paying by the minute to watch him torture me.
Fuck. At that thought, I wrap myself up in the blanket again.
Every time I put pressure on my ass, I’m brought right back to what Saldar did to me. It hurts, but it’s the satisfying kind of hurt that makes my toes curl. A deep ache that finds its way into my core and sparks me up again. I’m a sick puppy, but knowing that doesn’t help the issue.
When Trent burned me with his cigarette, I went home, vomited, and cried myself to sleep for three days. I never felt the slightest bit aroused. Why the hell am I reacting like this to Saldar? Is it because he’s mimicking a character I love? Or because his treatment of me has, so far, felt like measured discipline rather than out-of-control sadism?
It would take a therapist the entire ten million in my bank account to sort that one out, and even then, I don't think it could be fixed. I’m horny. It’s as simple as that.
I lie on the floor, tucked against the side of the altar. The ache spreads through me, and I can’t help replaying Saldar’s last visit. His hand in my hair, yanking me into an arch as he slammed into my poor ass. The weight of him on me as he spent himself, leaving me with a throbbing clit and unfinished business.
Don’t touch myself? If he wanted me to obey that rule, he shouldn’t have left me alone this long. I need to be smart about it, though. I don’t want him storming in and ruining it right as I’m about to come. I shift around as if settling in for a nap and close my eyes. Even someone as weird as Saldar can’t enjoy watching me sleep. Right?
In any case, he won’t be able to see what I’m doing.
Under the thick blanket, I slide my hand between my legs. I should be embarrassed at how soaked I am, but by this point,I don’t really care. I’m a captive with absolutely nothing to do besides this. I find my clit and start to play.
I shiver as pleasure lights me up from the inside out. The stinging strap marks and the lingering pain in my ass morph into something else as soon as my fingers hit that magic spot. They’re fuel, stoking the fire burning in my center.
