She knelt on the entranceway rug, naked. Her task was to wait for his return, however long it took. The air in the room swept lazily along the basement's cement walls before sweeping across her naked skin. It chilled her, rose the goosebumps across her breasts and forearms, but she dared not to put anything on. He didn't like finding her clothed.
How many months had it been since he brought her here? She tried to recall it, but everything was a haze. The initial anxiety and fear was still there from when he grabbed her in that subway station and clapped that chemical-smelling rag over her face. Still there, but distant, and now mixed with something more. A certain thrill invaded the hatred she held for her captor, a man whom she'd never met before and yet seemed to know her every secret and desire.
Now she knelt on his rug, in his world, far away from her own. Time, place - it didn't matter anymore. Only he mattered. When he called, when he left... And when he came. There were his footsteps, coming down the wooden steps, and then the click of the deadbolt locks arrayed along the door. She straightened up as a bolt of strange excitement coursed through her, and watched the brass doorknob turn.
He had come, just as he said he would.
"Ah, right where I left you."
Not even the air could chill the cold aura his greyish-blue eyes gave. The man wore a black suit, its professional strictness hiding the raw bestial muscle and sinew he cultivated beneath. A predator in hiding, like a wolf in sheep's clothing. She met his gaze as best she could, still as an autumn leaf trying to hold on against the breeze.
"Lets see if you deserve my gift today..." he said. He stripped off his outer coat and laid it across the workbench counter. The worn floorboards creaked beneath his step, their age showing beneath his polished boots.
"Have you groomed yourself, Cunt?"
'Cunt'. That was her name now. What is was before didn't matter, not to him. The way his fingers laced through her hair, his warm fingertips grazing her scalp, made her head nod under a volition not her own. He passed behind her and hummed.
"Good. You're learning well enough. Still refusing your full meal though..."
She glanced over towards her food bowl. Half of this morning's meal still sat in it. The smell of the roasted turkey and spiced stuffing had bothered her all day. Still it was her way of protesting her captivity, to leave as much of his meal rejected as she could despite her craving for all of his offerings.
"Why torture yourself, Cunt? That's my pleasure to enjoy, not yours."
He nudged the steel bowl closer with his boot. Its savor wafted up into her nose. Enticing, delicious. Her eyes fluttered and her stomach grumbled. But she averted her eyes and dragged them back up to stare into his.
"Hmph, willful still. I like that spirit, if not its direction."
The bowl slid back under the workbench with a flick of his foot, and he stood in its place. He grasped the back of her neck, working his fingers into her straining muscles in an idle way as he reached over to his suit jacket on the bench. A box appeared in his hand, a polished black one with a hinged lid.
"Do you know what this is?"
She looked at the box. It was dark purple, polished till it shone. Jewelry of some kind. Still she wasn't allowed to say a word. Speaking was not what a good Cunt was for. That was a painful lesson to learn, and her pussy quivered at the memory of all those whippings. So she shook her head, and that was enough for him.
"Of course you wouldn't. But you will enjoy it." He thumbed the edge of the box, keeping his tight hold on the back of her neck as the lid flicked open. Inside there was a crimson-red choker - no, not a choker, but a collar with a silver-plated tag on its front. On it was etched her name.
"Cunt. See, so no one forgets your name," he said. She stared at it. That strange thrill passed through her heart again, thumping and seeping down through her belly to pool between her legs. A frown touched her lips, but her thighs clenched together. She wasn't allowed to touch herself without his permission, but she was desperate to. None of this escaped him either.
"Not that you or I would forget, hmmm? But soon enough I'll be showing you off, if you are a good Cunt for me."
As he spoke he took the soft leather from its box and wrapped it about her neck. The fitting was snug, not too tight yet impossible to ignore. She swallowed as felt the cool metal of the front jilt against her throat.
"Ahhh, such a pretty Cunt you are. Now, stand."
She complied, her body moving without even giving it a thought. She poised herself on her heels, feet together, arms at her sides. There was no more shame she was allowed to feel standing there, nude and exposed. A Cunt wasn't allowed to wear clothes without his permission. The thin collar alone made her feel more comfortable, more sheltered and safe. And sexy.
"Good girl. Oh, I can see you like it already," he said, his eyes turning down to her unshaven mound. He liked her natural, though well-groomed. His fingers petted through her soft bush and slid along her moist nether lips. She sucked in a quick breath, but kept her eyes forward like a good Cunt.
"So wet already. You haven't been touching yourself today, have you Cunt?"
