Sex and control, but who's controlling who? Especially when the Captor starts to have feelings for the Captee.
Please feedback your thoughts, I love to hear them. This is a six part story, with a little humour and a twist.
Thank you to slickNick2412 for his suggestions.
*
Rebecca knelt on the floor by her Masters feet, her knees hurt and she was tired and bored. Behind her she could hear the football match playing out on the television as he watched it, lounging against the leather couches back, his arms spread out wide along the curved padded surface each side of him.
The past week had been a mixture of fear, humiliation, boredom and strange sexual encounters, with her strapped into various positions whilst he took advantage of her captive body.
Each night after he had used her, bringing them both to orgasm, he would untie her and wrap his arms around her, quietly asking her questions about herself. Listening as she told him about things, like what music she liked, how she loved to go to the movies, and confessing that she was a chocoholic. One night as she told him of her family the tears had started to fall, and he rolled her onto her back, covering her with his body and kissing her deeply, his tongue ravaging her mouth, before telling her he was her family now.
It wasn't the sex she hated, although she wished he would let her have her arms free during it, it was the boredom and the humiliation she detested. Nothing to do except sit and be within reach for him, and for an enquiring mind like hers, the past week of inactivity was slowly driving her to distraction.
She missed her flat, her things, her family, and her freedom. Confused and scared she obeyed him, being careful not to anger him, unsure of what he might do.
Since the night she had told him that she loved chocolate he would every so often pop a small piece into her mouth, telling her it was a reward for being a good little pet.
When he went out to do business, or in the evenings to where-ever his busy social life took him, dressed in expensive suits, and looking like the successful businessman he was, she would sit chained by her ankle to the big bed, using the remote control to flick aimlessly through the cable channels on the large flat screen TV fixed to the wall. Or sleep curled up in a foetal position, her mind trying to forget the strange circumstances she had found herself in until he returned.
Then the bedroom door would open, and his ice blue eyes would watch her hungrily as he strode towards her in such a proprietary fashion it would take her breath away.
After that first night he had removed the phone from the bedroom and re arranged the furniture ensuring that the chain that kept her anchored to the bed was long enough for her to reach the bathroom, but not reach anything she could use to escape.
Desperate, she would spend her waking time dreaming of ways to get away, to leave this strange existence and the man who seemed to believe he now owned her body and soul.