Turn The Key 10 Spare The Rod

CW: Mind control, Dollification, Non-Consent, Capture, Substances, Impact, Knives. All characters are adults.

Spare the Rod

Time has no meaning anymore. I try to count the tea parties, but I have no sense of how long they last. There is no night, no clear rhythm to mark the passing of the days. Each time I drink the tea the sun is already shining and eventually consciousness slips away, but I wake only during daylight hours. Sometimes I have clothes to wear and sometimes I have none. Sometimes my dress is changed several times in an hour just to suit the man's fancy. My body is bruised and aching from being clumsily tossed around and the different colored splotches on my skin seem to be the only indication that any time has passed at all.

I stretch in the bed under the coarse cotton blanket I've finally been allowed and rub the sleep from my eyes. I could have sworn that the blanket was yellow, but now I see that it is clearly green. My head spins for a moment and I realize as I sit up that the man has moved the bed to wall facing the door. I don't dwell on this long. The tea plays tricks with my mind.

The man is never here when I wake and I have no expectation that this day, if it even is a new day, will be any different when I rise. I lift myself slowly out of bed, my feet finding the cool wooden floor. The armoire holds a burnt orange robe today and I gently tug it on. Many of the clothing items he has given me are in autumn shades and slightly too large for my petite frame. I suspect that they once belonged to

Madmoiselle Pêche

, and as the delirium takes a hold of me, I think that Ana should have named her Miss Pumpkin Spice.

I sigh and reach for the door. There is no help for it. I'll need to eat if I'm to maintain my strength and can only hope I'll eventually begin to develop a tolerance to the tea. I cross the threshold and then collapse against the doorframe, a wave of vertigo nearly taking my legs from under me. My heart begins to race and I grapple for orientation.

The structural layout of the cabin is identical, but the color of the blanket and position of the beds aren't the only things that have changed. The aged vintage loveseat that I'd become accustomed to seeing the man sit on during tea has been replaced by a pair of wing chairs, upholstered in forest green, and a small café table. Turning to glance across the room the I notice that the hideous mounted deer head on the wall has been replaced by a sensual rendering of a nude woman on her knees, facing away from the viewer, and that an abstract area rug in shades of cocoa lines the floor.

"A bit disconcerting, isn't it?" the man remarks from the kitchen. The scent of freshly baked muffins begins to tempt my empty belly as he continues his monologue and I continue my stunned stare. "The cabins are the pre-fab sort that you can just order and drop down on a parcel of land. I got a deal on them when I purchased the pair." It begins to dawn on me that it is possible I've been moved to a new location during an episode of drug induced stupor. "They're actually quite identical, other than the furniture and the unique remote locations, but at least you won't have to sit on the floor during tea anymore," he chuckles.

My heart begins to sink. It won't matter how many days have passed if I've been moved again and this man has significant resources at his disposal. He could have a number of hideaways purchased with cash or under alternate names. "It's been twelve days little darling," the man breaks the silence again. "I'm starting to worry about you developing a ketamine dependence and so I've worked out a solution." The hairs on the back of my neck begin to prickle and stand at attention as he moves towards me.

I step backwards into the bedroom but the man is quick on his feet, snatching me around the waist and dragging me back into the main living area. I struggle and kick out at him with my feet, but he pins me to the floor under his considerably greater weight and by the time the skirmish is finished, I find that I'm sporting a smooth steel bracelet with a large O-ring on each wrist. A tug confirms that they are locked in place as the man gets to his feet and straightens his clothing. "I'm sure you understand what those are for," he says breathlessly as he raises his hand to gesture towards a larger set of rings secured firmly in a beam just below the ceiling. I can't recall whether the other cabin had a matching pair.

"This is how it's going to work," the man continues, regaining his composure. "Each day you will dress in the clothing of my choosing and we will continue to share a mid-morning tea. While there will be no drugs involved, you will be a polite little darling. You will obey my commands and assume a doll like form when I turn your key. I don't give a flying fuck if you have to fake it, but you

will

behave. If you do not cooperate, you will be punished until you comply. It's very simple. Do you understand?"

I feel the blood drain from my face as I nod to acknowladge my comprehension. "Good girl," he encourages, making me feel ill as he carries a tray of muffins and sandwiches from the kitchen to the café table. I join him on one of the green chairs, and tentatively sniff my tea. "No drugs, I promise," he assures me. I cautiously take a sip.

The man seems unbothered by my lack of responses to his commentary about the cabin grounds, the unlikelihood that I could make it out on foot, and his high hopes for our future together. After what feels like a solid thirty minutes of rambling, I realize I've consumed both the tea and a muffin without having begun to float. Allowing the understanding to sink in that the food has genuinely not been tainted, my belly grumbles and for the first time I realize how hungry I truly am. I attack the sandwiches like a feral animal with no regard for the mess I'm making as I swallow two of them nearly whole.

The man's eyes widen a bit as he takes in the scene, but he recovers himself quickly and praises me for being reasonable and eating. By the time I'm finished, both the robe and the chair are covered in crumbs and I finally meet his gaze. He smiles mischievously back at me. "Little darling," he says shaking his head in mock exasperation, "you've made quite the mess." I brush off some of the crumbs onto the floor. "Well now, that just won't do," he continues as he runs his eyes over my predicament. "Undress for Daddy so he can wash you in the tub."

I hold my breath for a moment and he waits patiently for me to reach a decision. Bathtime with my real Daddy has always been sacred. Tears threaten as I think of making a selection from my colorful collection of glass bottles, filled with different scented bubble bath. I hold onto the image of Daddy gently massaging shampoo into my long curls and running his hands over my body with such exquisite tenderness and care. Holding that moment in my heart, my decision is made. I can't simply can't do it. I shake my head. "No."

The man inhales sharply as if he is surprised, but I assume he's not. "Are you absolutely certain little doll?" he asks. I shake my head again in conformation and before I can even stand from the chair he pounces, grabbing me by my hair and dragging me from my seat to my knees in front of him. I reach up to protect my burning scalp and he uses my instinctive reaction to grab a hold of both of my wrists in one of his large hands. Reaching with the other behind a pillow on his own chair, he produces two lengths of chain which he affixes to the rings on each of my cuffs before yanking me into the center of the room below the ceiling mounted rings.

The man is much taller than I, and lifting me off of the ground with a hand around my waist he's able to secure the short chains in place above my head, separating my hands and rending my arms useless. My feet just barely touch the ground when raised up on my toes, giving just enough support to spare my shoulders but limiting control over my moment.

Out of breath, the man steps back and surveys the fruit of his efforts. The robe has opened partially baring my breasts and

ma minette

, but remains draped over my form. The man steps away to the kitchen and returns with a wicked looking blade in his hand. I nearly faint with terror when he approaches, and using the end of the knife under my chin, lifts my face to meet his eyes.

"You did say you understood the rules, did you not?" he asks. I don't dare nod my head in such proximity to the blade. The man steps back and make quick work of slicing the robe from my body. "If you keep disobeying me, you may find you quickly run out of clothes to wear little doll."

The man leaves the cabin briefly through the only door and I struggle in my bonds, testing their strength and finding it formidable. He returns with a large aluminum bucket in his hands, like the sort that one would use for laundry. Without pausing for explanation, he simply hooks his arm behind my knees and lifts me off the ground, straining my shoulders for a moment, before depositing my legs into the bucket. The door has been left often and unseasonably cool breeze chills my skin while he returns outside once more. The man returns with the end of a hose and a pressurized nozzle in his hands. My legs begin to tremble.

The man comes to a stop before me and gripping my face in his hands he gives me one last chance to surrender. "Apologize nicely and I'll reconsider," he says firmly. The man leans in to kiss me and I snap my teeth in response, narrowly missing biting his lip. He on the other hand, doesn't miss when he responds with a slap across my face. The crack rings out in the silent room and my vision swims. He catches me around my waist and to my utter dismay, apologizes to me instead.

"I'm sorry little darling. That was a perhaps a bit too harsh," he whispers against my hair. "Will you forgive me and we can put this ugly incident behind us?" I give him my eyes willingly this time and I know that the hatred that fills them must be unmistakable. Unable to find my voice I look up instead at my bound wrists and manage to salute him with the middle fingers on both hands, which I still have some control over.

The man steps back. "I'm not going to strike you that way again," he says. "We won't make any progress that way. There is still the matter however, of cleaning up the mess made by my defiant little darling."

With no other warning he lifts the hose above my head and squeezes the trigger. The freezing water pelts my body, stealing my breath with its icy temperature and causing me to choke and sputter as it pours into my mouth and nose. I cry out as he switches the angle abruptly spraying upwards between my legs, the pressure and cold nearly too much to stand. The whole thing only lasts for a few moments, but it feels like an eternity before he releases the grip and leaves me dripping and shivering in the bucket while he returns the hose outdoors and mops up the water which has spilled over onto the floor.

I follow his eyes to my nipples, hardened by the cold and feel disgust at the lust I find there. "All clean!" he announces, lifting my body again and sliding the bucket out of the way before allowing my feet to return to the floor. I tremble uncontrollably, rivulets of water running from my drenched curls over my curves. The man pulls his soaked shirt up over his head, revealing his muscled upper body, which under other circumstances would have make me slick. I look pointedly away, not wanting to see any more of his nakedness.

"Open your legs wide so that Daddy can make sure we didn't miss any important spots," he commands. I cross one ankle over the other tightly squeezing my thighs together in response. The man sighs and shakes his head as he walks around behind me and I instinctively tense when I hear the sound of his belt sliding through the loops of his jeans. I hear the first crack of the belt before I register the sting against the wet skin on both of my thighs, just above the backs of my knees. My knees buckle when the second blow lands just above the first.

Several more strikes land across my bum and legs before he speaks again. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be little darling. All you have to do is open your legs and show Daddy what's his, and this hurt can all stop." He pauses to allow me to collect my wits, but I keep my thighs together as well as I can manage. I whimper as more blows land on my ribs and belly in response, but I don't cry out until one lands against my breasts. By the time he wrenches my thighs apart and the belt directly strikes

ma minette

, my pride is drowned in suffering and I don't even care that I've begun to scream.