The day after I finally lose control and come, I find myself hoping tonight isn't one of the rare nights my owner doesn't come to me. The night before, I was afraid at first he would punish me for coming, but he didn't. Now I almost can't wait for him to return. I am sick with myself for wanting him, but can't help it. I have nothing else to look forward to!
He comes unexpectedly during the day and says he has to lock me in my room for a little while and he gags me. He doesn't look angry, but his expression is hard, inscrutable. He barely looks at me. I'm locked up for two or three hours, wondering what's going on, getting scared. I hear sporadic, muffled noises that I can't interpret. He eventually unlocks my door and removes my gag. He shoves a bag full of clothes into my arms and tells me to start wearing them now. He leaves the apartment without another word.
I look in the bag and see it contains a few pieces of lingerie, much kinkier and sluttier than the little skirts and teddies he gave me before. I'm not even quite sure how to wear some of them.
I leave the bedroom and look around the apartment, trying to figure out what was going on. I don't see anything out of place. Finally, I try a door down the hall from my bedroom that's always been locked. It's not locked now. I open it, slowly, scared of what I'll see. I feel for the light switch and switch the light on. When I see what's inside, my heart sinks.
It's a large room. Everywhere I look, there is something frightening. There is a hook in the ceiling with chains hanging off of it. There is some kind of low table with V-shaped legs. There is a black circular platform on the floor with shackles attached to it forming a trapezoid. There is another smaller platform with two shackles on it and two above it hanging from the ceiling. It's just like the one I was on at the auction!
I see a cabinet like the one at the auction mansion. Almost shaking, I walk over and open it. It contains a set of whips, dildos, restraints, and other things I don't want to look it. I finger a large whip like the one he whipped me with at the auction, and quickly slam the door shut and back away from it.
I look around again. I see elements of the auction mansion here, and also know he must have been doing some research, probably looking on the internet. I go back to the door, turn off the light, and slam the door, breathing hard. I practically run back to my room and then sit on the bed, thinking.
I realize that I made a mistake last night. He is in the mood to start hurting me again. He got into using me as a sex toy for a while, and so did I. I thought he had calmed down, but the desire to hurt me is still very much present underneath. And I've brought it back out again by coming last night. I don't know why, but I did. Why did I allow myself to come?!
That evening, I pick out what seems to me to be the least kinky thing, a thong and a bra that just sits under my tits, pushing them up, but not covering the nipples. I've seen them before. Under different circumstances, I would love it. I look at myself in the mirror. It fits pretty well! For just a moment, I forget myself and stroke and tweak my nipples. Then I stop abruptly and look around, thinking of the possible cameras in the room.
After dressing, I find something to clean, as always, but as I'm cleaning, I'm thinking of what he might do to me tonight. I get more and more scared. I give up cleaning and try practicing my martial arts forms to calm myself, but after a few minutes, realize it's no use. Finally, shaking with fear, I try the main door again. I haven't bothered trying it in a long time. Not surprisingly, it's still locked.
Then I try to find somewhere in the apartment to hide. I know it's useless and will probably make things worse, but I can't stop myself. The apartment is very sparse and the only place I can find to hide is under the bed.
When he finally comes, I'm still on my stomach under the bed, willing myself to be invisible. I fail miserably at that. He finds me and orders me out. I shake my head. He reaches in, grabs an ankle, and drags me out by it. I flip over on my back and start slapping at his hands and kicking at him, saying "No! No! No!" This is the first time I've fought him since we got here. He finally grabs me by my hair and hauls me up, with me scratching and clawing at his hands.
He grabs me under one arm like a football and unceremoniously carries me down the hall, with me struggling and scratching at him. He ignores me. He brings me into the room and puts me on the platform with the four shackles. He has no trouble getting me on my back and restrained (he's more than twice my weight!), although I'm fighting with him the whole time. When he's done and I'm restrained, he just stands for a moment, both of us panting from the exertion.
I lay there, looking at him. He looks like a different man. As I was afraid of, he looks angry, like the brutal killer he appeared to be that first night.
Seeing this, what I most feared, I can't stop myself from pulling and struggling with all my strength against the restraints, knowing it's useless, but too scared to stop. He finally smacks me on one tit, and says, "Knock it off!" I force myself stop struggling, knowing as always that fighting is no use. I tell myself that I have to do what he says or it will just go worse for me. Get a hold of yourself, girl! You have to stop fighting!
