God, she was tired. Bone-tired. Almost shaking in her weariness and dread at the thought
of facing another day in the office. Another day in a world that wasn’t really her own.
She worked because she must to earn money for her keep. She’d gone through all the
appropriate motions in life, graduated high school, gotten a business degree, found a job
with moderately decent pay and benefits. She’d flirted and dated and kissed and had sex
with guys. But she hadn’t found fulfillment from any of these things.
There was an elusive something always at the edge of her consciousness. A thing she
craved and couldn’t even name. When Sylvia was younger, she’d tried to write poems about
this unnamed thing, strings of words intended to convey her thoughts and feelings, but the
poems had said nothing. Her inner being was beyond the words a child knew, beyond what a
young girl dared to dream of. Even in her bed at night as she fingered her clit and
fantasized, she hardly dared admit to the wild, erotic images that tumbled through her
mind.
Only when she was older did she understand that chains and whips and cages weren’t for
circus animals only. A woman could long for such things. She could imagine the whip
applied to her flesh, the chains clamped tightly around her neck and ankles, the cage
keeping her contained and vulnerable. Oh, and she could imagine hands. Hands doing
delicious, horrible, cruel, wonderful things to her body. And a man...or perhaps men with
hungry eyes gazing at her, delighting in her submission. She would be on display for them,
a beautiful, exotic specimen for them to admire. Yes, she wanted that and so very much
more.
But Sylvia was a normal girl from a decent family. Her wild imaginings would stay in the
realm of fantasy while she dated nice, normal guys from decent families and worked in a
nice, clean, safe work environment. Her vanilla world was draining the very life from her,
but she dared not change it. She needed someone to change it for her.
Another day she crawled out of bed. Another day she took a lukewarm shower because the
water in her crappy apartment never got truly hot. Another day she selected an outfit from
the same, boring wardrobe—sedate, businesslike, gray. Another day she rode the train to
work because it was too tough to own a car in the city. Another day she went through the
messages on her machine, cleared out her email inbox, finished the paperwork from the
previous day, had a yogurt for her mid morning break, filled out more paperwork in the
afternoon, attended a mandatory meeting for all office employees about safety hazards.
Another day she drifted into a doze as the department head droned on and on.
Hands pinching her awake. A voice telling her roughly that she wasn’t allowed to sleep
until He gave permission. Sylvia always thought of Him with a capital letter, like
Christians referred to God. It was proper. He was her god, the man who directed every
aspect of her life. She adored him. Her only desire was to please him. She craved his
pettings and his punishments equally. She wanted to be with him always, to be so very
small and inconsequential that he might carry her around in his pocket.
If she could but find Him, the things he would tell her to do, the commands she would
obey all in His name. This was what she wanted. This was what she dreamed of and what her
childish poems had tried to say. She wanted to be something other than an average human
woman, a creature with no will of her own but to follow His greater will.
Sylvia had read about dominance and submission. Online was safe, but only a little
because couldn’t the ubiquitous “they” find out such things cached somewhere deep in your
computer. Her greatest fear was others knowing of her perverse desires. She wasn’t strong
enough or brave enough to pursue what she craved.
Once she had seen an ad in the newspaper for a BDSM club and had driven past the spot at
night. She’d parked a little way down the street and watched the people who came and went
from the place. They all looked like they were attending a costume party. They were
exciting and interesting, self confident and bold. She was not like them. She could never,
would never go inside. Sylvia drove home.
Another day and she finished filing the last of her cases. She smiled at her office mates
and declined their offer to go to a bar with them. You should go. You need to make more
friends, her mother’s voice reminded her. You’ve always been too much of a loner, Sylvia.
She could put on what she called her “people” face and pretend to be one of them. She
knew how to play the game, talk the talk, act as one of the gang. But tonight she was
simply too exhausted to project that persona.
Shouldering her satchel, she walked to the elevator with the others then pretended to
have forgotten something and went back to her desk. She couldn’t take listening to them
all the way down to the first floor.
Another day over. Another night of television and dirty fantasies. Perhaps she should get
a cat for company if she wasn’t going to date. But alone was better. Alone with Him and
the degrading, humiliating, wonderful things he did to her.
Another day riding down in the elevator, walking to her car in the parking garage,
footsteps echoing, scent of gasoline and exhaust fumes perfuming the air. The garage was
empty tonight. She had waited a while, finished up a project first, and the others were
long gone. Her heart sped a little and she walked faster. She held up her car keys and
flicked the button to unlock her car. She thought she heard the phantom sound of footsteps
following her and glanced over her shoulder. But she was alone.
Sylvia put her satchel in the backseat and reached for the handle on the driver’s side
door.
Footsteps behind her, for real this time. She spun to face them. Strong arms encircled
her, pulled her tight against a hard body. A gloved hand covered her mouth before she
could even scream. There was a strange, sweet, medicinal odor and her vision grew blurry.
Should’ve taken self defense courses, her mind stood calmly apart from her body,
commenting on the action.
Sylvia struggled. She kicked out with her legs, banging them against the side of the car,
and pushed her body back against her assailant—even less resistant than the metal of her
car. He was so strong, his hold on her body so secure, and she began to melt into him as
her mind floated away. Before blackness shrouded her completely, one last thought exploded
like a firecracker in her mind. He’s come for me at last.
* * * *
Sylvia. Bound and gagged before him at last, just like in his dreams. He’d watched her
every day. Talked to her once or twice, but she hadn’t seen Him, hadn’t recognized his
true nature.
But her Master had seen the submissive in her, had recognized it from the first time he’d
looked at her. There was pleading in her eyes. She wanted someone to rescue her and take
her away. It was as if she was screaming aloud, but only he could hear her.
Carefully he’d planned for this day. It wasn’t a whim to kidnap her. He’d considered
other ways to win his slave. Simply talking to her, explaining what he could offer and
giving her the chance to accept it...that would’ve been a safe and sane way to begin their
relationship. But that wasn’t what he wanted.
The excitement of planning her capture and preparing her prison were part of the
exquisite thrill—both for him and for her, because he had no doubt Sylvia would embrace
this with open arms. She might resist at first, and if he felt her resistance was real he
would certainly let her go. But he’d studied her for a long time and was certain he knew
what was best for her.
Sylvia was a woman who wanted her autonomy stripped away. She wanted to be flayed bare,
brought down to nothing and give up her will completely. He would help her achieve her
goal. This belief wasn’t based solely on his own need for it to be true. He’d infiltrated
her apartment and hacked her computer, examined the sites she’d visited and read bits of
her personal diary and poems. She had been waiting for him a long time.
The pallet where he’d placed her was in the basement of his home. It was a temporary spot
to keep her until she’d acclimated to her new environment. Besides, the dungeon-like
nature of a basement with shackles and chains on the walls was simply too erotic to pass
up. What better place to instruct his slave in her new life.
He sat on his chair, watching her chest rise and fall with her breathing. Her
shoulder-length brown hair tumbled in waves around her lovely face. Her eyes moved rapidly
behind her pale eyelids, lashes fluttering softly. Her nostrils flared as she drew breath
and her pink lips were stretched prettily around the ball gag in her mouth. He’d tied her
wrists together and her feet then attached them together with a length of rope to keep her
well hobbled.
Oh, he could hardly wait for her to wake up and the training to begin. And then her
beautiful gray eyes opened, blinked and focused on him. They went wide and she began to
struggle, discovered her hands and feet were tied, and cried out into the gag.
He tugged on the black hood shielding his features and leaned toward her. “Welcome to
your new home.”
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