Mother. Fucker. Heat bloomed across my body. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t scream. But emotion had returned. He had tied me – naked – to a bedpost. To suffer. And he was somewhere in the house fucking some whore’s brains out. He wasn’t thinking of me. Of the pain I was in because of him. He simply did. Not. Care. Hot tears streamed down my face.

I couldn’t help but wonder if he was being kind to her. Was his face buried between her legs as he had done to me? The thought did unusual things to me. I had never had an orgasm before. Never. But he had forced it out of me. What did that mean? I panicked, frantic and trying with all my remaining strength to pull myself loose…nothing.

The other woman’s cries had become louder and more guttural. In fact, as I listened – hard, her sounds alternated between soft, low purrs and loud, piercing cries. Soft, then loud, without ceasing. I forgot about the pain for a moment, transfixed by the woman’s sounds. The harder I listened, the more I seemed able to discern. She seemed to be enjoying it. Suddenly, an undercurrent of deeper, heavier moans prevailed.

I remembered those moans from earlier as he lapped at me with his tongue. Heat burst throughout my body at the memory – more sweat, more dizziness, more whimpers. Shame,pleasure and I hadn’t stopped thinking about it. I closed my eyes. Why couldn’t I just fucking black out? His sounds became a little different, angrier and more labored, a runner trying to finish a race. I grit my teeth and leaned forward for reasons unbeknownst to me. My shoulders burned. My struggling hadn’t helped.

The woman screamed, hoarse, rasping screams that seemed to come from deep in her throat. She was yelling something. I wondered if it might be his name. The thought thoroughly irritated me for some reason. Here I was, here, in this place, tied to a fucking bedpost like a thing while some other woman screamed his name. No doubt during intense orgasms. Meanwhile, I had to call him Master. I wasn’t allowed to say his name. Not even when I came, not that I would anyway, that wasn’t the point.

She yelled again and this time I couldn’t help whining his name out loud, not in ecstasy like her, but in agony. I’d never said his name before, and I hadn’t realized until now. I’d thought of every day since I’d arrived here. He was Caleb in my head, always, but I’d never let his name slip past my lips. I said it again, daring myself to call his name a little louder, willing myself to outdo the competition. New aches assailed me, heavy, warm, and wet between my legs. I pressed them together.

“Caleb.” I groaned.

“Caleb!” she screamed.

I pushed forward in my straps, ignoring the pain, ignoring the burning in my legs, anything that distracted me from listening intently. I could hear him. “Caleb…” I pressed forward. He was panting, low and hard. His sounds picking up pace even as the strange woman’s moans became elongated and alien. Panic swelled inside me. The sweat. The fucking sweat, sticking to me, irritating me, driving me toward frenzy I had never felt. If I thought I might be the least bit successful, I may have tried to chew through my arm like a coyote to get free.

“Let me go!” I screamed. “Let me go!” I cried piteously, panting and sucking in air as fast and hard as I could. I whispered his name. My muscles spasmed. My screams mingled with hers, with his, all of us together in a symphony of pleasure and pain. I heard her peak in one shrill scream that faintly outdid my own. I fainted. Finally.

I don’t know how long I remained there, vulnerable as I hung, gone to the world.

What I do remember is waking to the feeling of warm and dense weight straddling my thighs. I didn’t even feel a twinge of panic. My hair was wet, but clean, smelling of familiar lavender. Strong hands pressed my shoulders into the soft mattress beneath me and unable to resist I both moaned with relief and whimpered at the memory of the pain. I knew they were his hands, no matter who touched me in the future, I would always know his hands. What I didn’t know, was what to make of it.

His thumbs pressed on either side of my spine between my shoulders and rode my flesh to the base of my neck. His fingers speared through my wet hair and tugged gently. Myscalp tingled, my body followed.

I felt I should say something, do something. Rail at him, punch him, kick him, yell at him, do something violent to inflict unimaginable pain upon his person, but his hands felt too good and my aching body needed them too badly. Besides, I never won against him anyway. His large hands pressed against both shoulders. I exhaled a long breath. No. No fighting him.

Then, because I just couldn’t help myself, I asked, “Why are you doing this? Why me?” He inhaled sharply then exhaled. He never stopped rubbing me, nor did he pretend he didn’t know what I was asking.

“Why not you Kitten? Would you choose someone else to take your place?” Gentle began to transition to rough. “If I agreed to let you go in exchange for some other girl, would that be better?” I wanted to scream yes.

Silence.

Only his hands kneading my flesh.

“What’s going to happen to me?” I asked quietly, almost hoping he hadn’t heard. I wasn’t sure I wanted an answer.

There was no answer – then, “Whatever I wish.” Before I could speak again, his fingers were doing that thing in my hair again. Only this time he gently tilted my head, pressing his thumb along the curve behind my ear. My mouth went slack. I closed my eyes, unable to think of anything else but the sensations coursing through me. Had I always been this starved for touch? The answer eluded me.

“Who was that woman you were with?” His fingers stilled and I cursed myself for being so…me. And yet, my heart sped up as I waited more than eagerly for his reply.

I narrowly avoided purring and stretching under him like a cat when his fingers once again trailed along my scalp and behind my ear. “My, my, Kitten, what big ears you have.” He laughed and the sound of it sent an obscure thrill through me.

“Hey!” I said indignantly, “My ears are not big. Not even a little bit.” And they’re not, really! His laughter spurred me on, “It’s not like she was trying to be quiet. ‘Caleb! Oh, Caleb!’” His laughter abruptly died and his grip in my hair became less than pleasant, though the reaction seemed involuntary. I stilled, biting the hell out of my lip. Would my stupidity never cease? “I’m sorry Master,” I whispered.

It was over too quickly, no more talking it seemed. Unexpectedly he went to the bathroom and returned with a bucket of water and a sponge which he set on the floor. He lifted me without a word as to his intent. I didn’t speak either, too frightened of provoking him into some other form of torture. He set me on the ground. Next to a big wet spot.

“You pissed the floor,” he said, his emotions masked behind a placid expression. I looked away, both embarrassed and scared. He walked toward the door and stopped, his hand grasping the knob. With his back to me he said, “Don’t ever call me by that name again Kitten. You don’t know me. Not like that.” He left and shut the door behind him. As I stared at the large stain in front of me, I heard the door lock. My face burned with the heat of my embarrassment. Why did my chest hurt? I blinked away the threat of tears.

I didn’t know what to make of Caleb, at times so kind and gentle and at others, I feared him down to my soul. Who the hell was that woman? Why does she get to call him Caleb?

***

Time went on, and on. I never heard the woman again, but I often wondered what happened to her. My life became monotonous, filled only with Caleb, my punishments, my occasional orgasms, and the endless dark. It’d been so long since I’d seen the sun, or the moon, or any other light that didn’t come from candles or nightlights. I lost track of the days. I used to be able to tell by the food that he brought for me, not anymore. Now I knew Caleb fed me whatever he felt I should eat, whenever he thought I should eat. I was losing it. If only I had some sense of time, I could…I don’t know…something.