A couple days went by and Mike and I rarely spoke to each other. To say I was pissed at him over his disclosure was an understatement. I even went so far as to refuse his help getting around the house and instead got around on my hands and knees, crawling everywhere. Mike insisted on sleeping in the bed so I slept on the recliner to avoid him. I managed to get myself dressed as good as I could although I couldn't find my pants or my bra and had to make do with getting around in a shirt and panties.
"You ever gonna' talk to me again?" He said this at breakfast on the morning of day three of our silence.
"I might. Are you ever going to let me go?"
He chuckled. "Lori, I've never kept you here. You've been free to go whenever you want to go, the door is always open for you."
I poppped. "You FUCKING know what I mean! I can't get out of here fucking crawling! So when are you going to call someone to come get me? I'm not your fucking slave you know."
He got up from the table and went to the door.
"SAY SOMETHING!!!" I screamed at him. He went out the door and closed it just in time to avoid the coffee mug I threw at him. I got down from my chair and crawled to the window just in time to see him start up the truck and drive away.
And he didn't come home that night. I'll be honest that as mad as I was at him I still missed him at least for company and I guess I missed him a little just for being around, too. The next day when I heard his truck roll into the yard in the afternoon I had to consciously remember to be mad at him and not be happy that he was home. He came through the door and I glared at him as best I could.
"So where were you?" I demanded.
"When you said you were my slave I wondered, if you leave here are you calling the cops on me?"
It seemed like the thing to say at the time, "Yeah, if you don't get me the FUCK out of here I will call the cops and tell them what you've been doing and you'll go to jail."
I stared at him as if it was a challenge. I probably shouldn't have done that now that I think about it.
He pulled up a shopping bag that was shockingly pink and he pulled out some pretty wild looking stuff and put it on the table.
"Since you accused me of being your slavemaster I decided to give it a try and see what that's like. I mean, hell, you're gonna' have me tossed in jail, right? So I may as well make it worth it."
I'll save you the description of the very brief struggle that went on after that but I'll tell you that when Mike got done I imagine I looked like someone from a cheap porn magazine. I had a ball gag in my mouth that was secured around my head with something that felt like leather, my hands were cuffed and chained to the headboard of the bed, my legs were cuffed to what Mike told me was a 'spreader bar', and the worst indignity was that he put a collar on me as if I was his dog. The collar was then chained to the headboard same as the handcuffs were. He had worked up a sweat getting me out of my shirt and panties and then trussing me up on the bed. He got up and admired his handiwork.