All she could do was wait and hate. And Seraphelle had become very good at hating; in fact, she was completely consumed with it. She hated EVERYTHING.
She hated where she was (wherever that might be). She hated the ever burning candles that wafted a perfectly timed cycling of all of her favorite aromas. She hated the temperature always being in a range that kept her naked body cool yet not cold at all. She hated that she was strapped down to some well cushioned table or rack that was covered with the softest gentlest fur she'd ever felt. She hated how comfortable it was to sleep upon and even more so how wonderful it felt against her erect nipples and belly as she was shoved against it. She hated this whole situation that she was in and hated that it was due to her trying to drive whilst drinking her favorite scalding drink that had caused her car crash and left her (hopefully only) temporarily blind and vulnerable to this arrangement. She hated that she had to be fed her every meal like a baby and that she had no control over where she relieved herself. She hated that when she was being cleaned afterwards, it was in exactly the way she would have demanded, were she some member of royalty. She hated that every meal had been the absolute best food that she'd ever eaten in her life. And being a chef in (what she now considered to be her former) life, not being able to see it or know where it was being prepared was pure torture.
She hated the man whom she had recklessly crashed into and whom had pulled her from the life-threatening wreckage only to bring her here where he controlled this and every other aspect of her life since...(how long had it even been...?) and for the foreseeable future. She laughed at this hate because she actually couldn't see any thing at all. Well, except for the slight change in light and dark that she took to mean day and night. She hated that she didn't ever know what time it was and hated that, even though the daily applied medicines were helping, she was actually beginning to not care.
She hated how she was beginning to hate how long it took this man who face she'd never seen to arrive every morning. She hated that she had begun to look forward to his arrival.
She hated how hearing him move towards the door to where she currently was made the hair stand up on the back of her neck and hated even more how the creak as the door opened made her visibly wet. She hated how he'd just move silently around the room not speaking allowing something (a finger...or something else?) to brush against her exposed skin teasing her with what she knew was coming. She hated how his hands were just the right balance of scratchy and softness as if he'd lotioned them after working construction all day. She hated that this perfect stranger knew exactly where to grab her hipbone as he positioned himself to enter her. She hated how large he was and how he filled her to the brink of near pain with every thrust. She hated how he would slowly pull almost all the way out and then slam back in full hilt against her. She hated how he purposefully went just slow enough to make her orgasm build and build and build.
