AUTHOR'S NOTE: Dear self-appointed critics: Contrary to popular belief, I know exactly what I am doing with this story, and it's exactly what I want to do. I have been a reader in this category for years, and it's challenging to find stories that are well-written and truly non-consensual. It may not be the most popular category, true non-consent, but there are those of us who really like stories like this.
Emory's P.O.V.
I probably dozed off, though I couldn't tell for sure. I could feel my skin burning, but there was nothing I could do about it. The gardener, Brady, gave me water when he turned me around on the X frame, exposing my protected back to the sun.
I refused to let Tristan mind fuck me like this. Forcing me to wait and anticipate his next cruelty was terrifying me, and since I knew that he was counting on that, I decided to think about something else. As much as I wanted to believe that Lee was going to rescue me, it was time to be realistic. I had to start thinking for myself. The experiences of the last twenty four hours had forced me to change in drastic ways, leaving my sheltered mind groping for any shred of reality. Dependence could be on no one but myself. And I had to escape from this mad man as soon as possible.
I took my mind off of my predicament by thinking of possible escape scenarios. There were holes in Tristan's defenses and plans. There had to be. I just had to figure out how he worked in order to find them. Though it was a distasteful task, I reviewed everything I knew about him. He was an admitted sadist. Obviously successful, judging by his mansion and designer clothes. Incredibly self-controlled. This was only making me lose hope. What could be a weakness? Was there anything out of place in his granite image?
My mind latched on to his little game with the vibrator, and then his cruel play with making me beg for food. He liked games, that much I was sure of. But how was that a weakness? I felt my spirits falling, but I refused to give up. Maybe Emory, I thought to myself, in order to beat him at his game, you have to outplay him. Trick Tristan at his own games? Unlikely. But perhaps if I introduced an activity of my own, he would take the bait. Even if I couldn't escape, getting to know how his mind ticked could only be an advantage. Besides, I knew that there was some other reason for my abduction. I just had no idea what it could be.
My thoughts took a different direction as I half dozed against the wooden cross, my face pressed against the polished wood. Just two days ago, I had been sitting with Lee after church, blushing at his whispered suggestion of sex. He had seemed almost as shocked as I was with his bold proposition. But I had agreed. I had watched porn before, but before Lee came over, I watched hours and hours of videos until I was so horny I didn't know what to do with myself. Lee had done the same thing before suggesting that he come over, judging by the racy text messages that had flown back and forth between us. I knew that deep under the sweet and sassy church girl image was a sexy woman trying to get out. I could feel it, and I had believed that Lee would be the one to set her free.
Maybe Tristan is the one who will liberate you, a nasty voice whined in my head. My eyes popped open with the shock of the notion. Tristan was evil. He would never liberate me in any way. His twisted soul was made to beat me down and change me into a mindless slave. But I would win. I kept telling myself that over and over.
Tristan's P.O.V.
The sun was setting as I strode back out into the cooling humid air. Emory was dozing in her bonds, her skin a pleasing pink, as if she had just been given a good whipping. I stepped behind her, running my hands down her back and over the slim curve of her hips. She really was a pretty little thing, which made tormenting her that much more enjoyable for me. She moaned, raising her head as she automatically shied away from my touch.
"Did you enjoy your respite?" I asked, unshackling her left wrist.
"As a matter of fact, I did," she surprised me by answering clearly. I quickly wiped the frustration from my face, almost before the emotion made itself known. This session had backfired on me, it seemed, giving her a chance to regroup. I unchained her other hand and bent down to loose her ankles.
"Remember your manners, pet," I reminded her as she turned to face me.
"Master," she said with a little smile, as if she knew something that I didn't. I narrowed my eyes at her.
"Careful," I warned her. This attitude was going to cost her. She had to be close to cracking. She was running on a few hours of troubled sleep and a lot of physical and psychological torture. She thought she was going to beat me. I smirked as she stared up at me, waiting for my next move. I would win this game of wills. I always won.
"Wait until you see what I have planned for you in my basement," I murmured, fingering her leather collar. She paled but kept her confidence as I led her back to the house. My steps were light on the marble floor as I walked behind her, anticipating the session to come. I purposefully kept my hand on her shoulder, feeling her shudder involuntarily at my touch. Now that we were out of the outside dusk, I could see that her skin was very pink all over, darker in some places.
She hung back a step as we came to the basement door, clearly afraid. It was a good sign. I had suffered a minor setback, but I was about to remedy that.
"Go on. Show me how strong you are. Prove to me that my tricks aren't working on you," I taunted her, my voice deep and sinister enough to make her shake. She lifted her chin and yanked open the door, almost hitting herself with the corner. Step by trembling step, she forced her legs to carry her down the stairs.
It always interested me how people always reacted differently to my playroom. Slaves were terrified, afraid of their impending punishment. Close friends were interested in my different toys if they enjoyed a similar lifestyle. Others were taken aback, a bit frightened. Descending into the basement was the opposite of entering my study. My posture became more predatory, my thoughts darker, my movements more sensual and dangerous. It was an interesting effect, how simple spaces in a house could change me like that.
"Turn around," I instructed her, watching as goosebumps were raised on her arms and shoulders. She turned to face me, folding her arms across her chest defiantly. They always did that. I had only ever seen her completely naked, and now she chose to be embarrassed.
"Arms at your sides," I said. She stubbornly kept them across her breasts.
"Don't make me repeat myself."
