Page 16 of The Seller

“I enjoy this. But I don’t think you do, Siri, and it would be better for you if you’d watch your mouth. I don’t tolerate rudeness from my material.”

“I’m not your material, whatever the fuck that means. You gonna skin me? Turn me into a handbag?”

“Watch. Your. Mouth.” He growls every word, accompanying it with another flicking lash of the belt, until all I can do is whimper and gasp.

I hate this. I hate what he’s doing to me. I hate him, but I can’t resist this anymore. I have to give in, even if it’s just so I can keep resisting later on. I do the one thing I find impossible to do. I shut the hell up.

“Good girl,” he says, his praise running off me, meaningless. I don’t care if he thinks I’m good or not. He’s a man without morals, an evil scourge on the face of the planet, and I’ll see him fucking burn before this is over.

My spirits rise when he starts undoing the shackles holding my arms and legs to the bench. It is good to be free, to have my body back under my control, even though that body is aching.

I stand slowly. He takes me by the chin again and turns my face up to his. He doesn’t tolerate my repetitive avoidance of his gaze. I expect him to say something that will make me want to curse at him, but he doesn’t say anything. His dark eyes search mine, looking for god knows what. Does he want to see the tears hiding at the corners? The glassy indication that I almost broke completely? Is he looking to see how much more defiance he has to erase? I don’t know. I try to keep my expression as blank as possible, though I know I am brimming with emotion which is impossible to hide.

“What’s your secret, Siri?” He murmurs the question yet again. There is an intimacy to it, and for an insane second I am tempted to answer him honestly. The urge passes swiftly. He is not to be trusted. To talk to him honestly would be to throw myself into an abyss from which I would never return.

His fingers tighten on my jaw. Not enough to hurt, but more than enough for me to feel the power he has. Men are built on stronger lines, and he is one of the strongest I have come into close contact with. I am used to boys, teenagers like myself, young men who are yet to fully come into their own power. Stavros is fully male, totally adult. He is sophisticated in his evil, and I do not know if I am capable of standing up to him. I know I have to try.

This is the most dangerous thing I will ever do. If I fail, it may be the only thing I ever do.

A slow smile claims his lips. I see the flash of passion in his eyes. He is enjoying this little game of domination.

“This is the part where I put you in a cage,” he says, almost conversationally. “This is the part where the bars close your world in even more.”

A cage?But I’ve been good.I almost vocalize the words, but I stop myself. I haven’t been good, and even if I had, what difference would it make to a man like him?

“A cage is worse than being chained?”

“It’s smaller,” he says. “And it will get smaller, and smaller, in every way, until there is nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, nowhere to even move. I will have the truth from you, Siri, if I have to bury you to get it.”

I feel my throat constricting, my breath growing shorter. God. He’s fucking terrifying.

He takes me by the chain at my neck and leads me further into the darkness. There is indeed a cage made for a human, no larger than it needs to be for me to sit, lay and stand in.

It suddenly hits me that we are only getting started. This is day three or four, I’ve lost count, of a a potentially indefinite captivity. His cum still marks me, and I know he’s not going to let me wash it off. It’s going to dry on my skin and flake off, leaving me a little bit at a time, but never quite allowing me to be rid of all traces.

This sick fucker is calculated. He knows exactly what it does to me when I am left alone. He knows what the dark does. And he knows what the bars will do to me next. I feel my stomach clench, my skin prickling as he swings the door to the little chamber open and tilts his head, indicating that I should go inside.

I step into the cage without resistance. He’d probably enjoy it if I put up a bit of a fight, but I’m not in the mood for that. I need to regroup, clear my mind of his influence. When I’m close to him, it’s hard to think.

I expect him to stay and gloat, but he closes the door behind me, locks it with a padlock, turns, and leaves.

Isit there in the dark and try to breathe. He won that encounter. I can smell him on me even though the dark makes it impossible to see what marks me. I can feel it too, the slow drying of his semen on my skin. He has left me with a twisted intimacy. Like a nervous puppy given a blanket from her master’s bed, I have been left smelling of him, and I am taking comfort in it, even though I don’t want to.

Stavros is a master mindfucker. He managed to get me to willingly take his cum on my breasts, and now he leaves me with the ongoing reminder of the act, the memory of his hard cock shooting his thick white loads over my skin before he whipped me for my insolence.

I am wet. Fucking soaked. My pussy is aching with need. His handling, the danger, the stress of hiding my truth, it is all conspiring to make me burn with desire, and of course he has made certain that he is the only object of desire I have any access to.

I try to ignore the feelings, but they are primal and they refuse to be ignored. I have two options, touch myself, or go mad. It feels wrong when my fingers creep between my thighs. He didn’t touch my pussy. It was right there, in easy reach and he didn’t do anything. He just punished me like a naughty girl, made me wear his cum. It is an effective lesson, I suppose. He has made it abundantly clear that this is not about me.

My fingers aren’t enough. They slip uselessly around my clit and lips, too wet to get any of that sexual friction going, so I press my sex to the cool bars, knowing that I cannot be seen, and claiming some control in this act of perversion. Grinding my clit against cool steel, I rut and fuck myself, the hard, unyielding metal reminding me of Stavros. He is more than a worthy opponent. He is a monster who might still consume me one day. This game I am playing does not necessarily have an option for me to win, but it might have one for me to survive.

Now my pussy is slicking the bars, making my lips glide against them with every rutting thrust of my hips. God.I wish he had fucked me.It would have relieved so much tension to be pounded into submission of the flesh, and feel the release which comes with sex.

I am behaving like an animal. There is no dignity in this. There may not even be release if I can’t get myself to the point of climax. My fingers wrap around the cold metal as I draw myself up against the bars, breasts pressed against the cold iron, pussy and clit humping desperately.

I wish I could be immune to him and the things he does to me. But I am human, and more than that, I am a young woman lost and very much alone in the world. I need someone to look after me. Stavros won’t look after me, not even if I wanted him to. He will use me and he will profit from me.

Pulling back from the bars, I turn and rest my sore bottom against them, using the cool of fresh metal to soothe that ache as my fingers dip between my thighs and then curl up inside me, spreading my inner walls.

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