Comfort Food (13 page)

Having her so afraid, so willing to please me if I’d feed her . . . I can’t deny the effect it had on me. It’s going to be a difficult seven days. I’m willing to admit what I want. I don’t just want her. I don’t even just want her not to pity me. I want her fear, desperation, complete and total obedience. And I am willing to wait for it.

She asked me why I was doing this to her, and for once I was glad I couldn’t speak. My silence will help mold her, my hands will become my voice, and eventually she won’t know the difference and won’t care. Breaking her will be the best thing I’ve ever done.

May 18th:

She acted out much like I expected, throwing her soup like a child. I believe she still thought I was planning to kill her and wanted me to lose control and do it quickly. It’s the only explanation I can think of for the behavior.

I’ve scoured every behavioral psych book I could get my hands on for months. Although I’m quite sure the authors didn’t intend for it to be used this way.

At first I studied it to try to understand her better, since she’d gotten her degree in psychology. Then I decided to use it to condition her because there’s nothing quite so insidious as torturing someone in a way so they know exactly what you’re doing but know they can’t escape it.

No, I’m not really physically violent, but I guess I am sadistic. I cleaned up the mess she made and then left her. She ruined her food; she isn’t getting more. Once she learns the tantrums are useless and don’t affect me, she’ll stop doing it.

It was strange and unsettling, seeing these events through his eyes. It was even weirder to see a confirmation that we’d understood one another from the beginning. I hadn’t suspected he was mute, of course. I should have, probably, but he was so calculating with everything else he did, why would I assume a handicap of some sort? Especially one so rare?

Muteness often comes with deafness, as with my sister. And he clearly wasn’t deaf. He’d turned at the sound of my voice many times. He hadn’t just been reading my lips.

Aside from that, I’d been right about everything, and he’d been right about me. Communicating without words had taken us both to a place where we had to just instinctively get each other. I swiped at another tear as it trailed down my cheek and looked up at him.

“Please don’t make me go,” I said. I’d just put the journal down so I could sign as I spoke.

His eyes widened. He genuinely hadn’t known I could sign. What are the odds right? Life is strange, but there it is. I should have guessed the mute thing at least considering my family history.

Why hadn’t that been one of my questions on the few days I’d been brave enough to ask them? In hindsight, it was probably best I didn’t think of it.

We’d both existed in a world where people spoke with their hands, and yet neither of us had suspected the other.

I’d come to see him as omnipotent and all-knowing. In my mind he knew every detail of my life, but he wouldn’t be able to get every detail practically. I realized most of them he’d probably gotten from going to my seminars. I talked a lot about my personal life at the conferences. Probably more than I should have. But I’d never talked about my sister.

He stared at me for a long while before he finally signed back.

Read.

I skipped to the next dog-eared section. I thought if I did what he said without fighting him, maybe he’d realize I was worth keeping.

That thought unhinged me. The only thing keeping me from having a complete meltdown was the idea that he was letting me go because he was trying to do the right thing. So I kept reading.

June 16th:

As thrilling as it was to see her submit, to give me her body like a wrapped-up present, I knew it wasn’t real. Not yet. She still wanted out. Once she saw the rooms I’d given her, she knew what she was.

When you give someone your body in exchange for anything, you’re a whore, and nothing drives that home like ridiculous levels of luxury. As I watched her on the monitor last night I could see the wheels in her head turning as she planned to attack me, the way she studied objects in her rooms that she’d never looked at so closely before.

The attempt was weak. It’s not that she didn’t try, she just never had a chance since I could see her waiting by the door with her weapons before I came into the room. The moment it all backfired, she was once again the scared little rabbit I’d first taken, cowering away from me.

I’m not sure I was able to keep off my face how much it affected me now to see her like that. I love the submission, but the fear drives me as well. I stretched my hand toward her and was surprised by how fast she took it. The resignation and acceptance in her eyes. And I knew I’d only have to put her back in the cell once more, and after that she’d be mine forever.

I took her outside and showed her around the grounds, then figured I’d let her try to run. I’m sure if I were an average, merely frustrated man, that by this point her tears would affect me in a way besides making me hard. The helpless obedience would turn my stomach or make me feel the twinges of guilt, and yet it doesn’t. Whatever little feeling from before must have been leftover from what I’d always been taught was right and wrong.

I’m sure if I had a voice, I would still have done it. I didn’t realize that until I saw her walking away from me, knowing she couldn’t get far. She was prey, and it brought out a predatory instinct I’d suppressed for far too long.

When she’d gotten far enough away, I got up and began to chase her. It was as if an invisible thread tied us together because I think she sensed me behind her long before she could have heard me running. She started to run, and it felt like a game to me. To her it was survival and escape, but to me it was just fun.

Then when I knew she could hear me, she tensed, and only moments before I could have reached her and tackled her to the ground, she stopped and turned to me, her hands held out in surrender. If I have this dark need to have complete power over her, she has an equal almost pathological need to give it to me.

I would never have expected her to react like that. Fear of pain drives her in such an extreme way that she won’t fight. In some ways her fear of pain seems greater than her fear of anything else, even death. Because I hadn’t hurt her yet, she already trusted that if she obeys me, I won’t start. I’m not about to disabuse her of that notion.

I’ve been working to communicate it from the beginning. She’s safe if she obeys me. I just didn’t expect such dramatic obedience in a moment when freedom at least felt real and possible, if for no other reason than she was outside the house in the open air.

I wanted to throw her down and fuck her right there in the grass, but I’ve been training her to see fucking as a reward, and so to do that would erase everything I’ve done so far. I gritted my teeth and turned to lead her back to the house. I’ve already decided it will be two weeks this time, and I’m not sure how I’m going to manage to abstain from touching her.

June 30th:

I considered making her wait until July 4th to get back to the nice rooms. I was tempted. I’m probably a bit too amused with irony. Move her back there on the day of independence. I’m sure she equates that room with freedom at this point.

While she was locked up this last time, I realized I do want to hurt her. I just don’t want to hurt her out of anger. And I want her to want me to hurt her. I had a lot of time to think about all this while I was waiting. I ended up getting another room outfitted as a dungeon.

I hadn’t thought I would go this route, but the more I fantasize about her, the more I see myself whipping her. And really, what else was I going to do for the two weeks of torturous waiting? A project was what I needed.

I guess it started out wanting to punish her. I wouldn’t give her tampons or pads, so she ended up going about the cell naked, and who could blame her? I suppose bleeding on herself naked was better if I wasn’t going to give her anything to stop her from making a mess. But I kept seeing her body on the screen, and I wanted to punish her because I had to wait. I couldn’t take her without fucking up all my progress.

One day she talked to me. She got pretty panicked over the idea that she might get pregnant and I’d kill her. I have no idea why she’d think that, but she’s a smart girl and figured out just by my facial expressions that I can’t have kids. Just never wanted them, and the vasectomy made the problem go away. All she knows, of course, is that I’m sterile, and she doesn’t have to fear that.

She asked me to talk to her again, said she’d do anything I wanted if I would. It pissed me off. I believed she would have. But I need her to submit knowing I might never speak to her. Because I can’t. I’m not here to please her; she’s here to please me. Even if I could speak, I don’t think I would. There are no compromises here.

She will obey or she will be punished. If I’m extreme enough in the beginning with the deprivation, her fear will drive her to please me, and I won’t have to worry about correcting bad behavior later or traumatizing her worse than is absolutely necessary.

As I started to leave that day, she begged me to take her out of there and not leave her alone. I jerked off for the next week to the memory of the desperation in her voice and the way her lip quivered when she spoke to me.

Then, of course, once she stopped bleeding, she still went around naked. By this time she was trying to tempt me, and I was glad she had another week left in there. I wanted to get rid of all the variations of rebellion that she had.

One day she got so brazen as to lie on the floor and masturbate, knowing I was watching. I jerked off watching her on the monitor and managed to finish before she did so I could catch her and still be in control of myself. Because she did have an effect, but that doesn’t matter. She will not lead me by my dick like other women have. She’s mine. She’ll learn it and she won’t forget it.

I stared her down until she stopped and then left the room. It was time for the book. I wanted her to understand I was her master, and I couldn’t think of any way to convey this information. If I left her a note, she’d know of my handicap or at least suspect it. So I figured I’d be as fucking creepy about it as possible.

During her imprisonment, while working on the dungeon, I’d started highlighting the word master every time it appeared in an erotic novel from her room. I watched, fascinated as she walked around the book several times before finally picking it up. She thought it was a trick. I could see on the monitors how afraid she was of making the wrong choice, not knowing what I wanted from her.

She really is more than I ever could have hoped for. When I first decided to take her, it was because she was just so goddamned beautiful. And now I know she is completely surprising.

Even studying conditioning methods, I don’t think I could have hoped for a better slave. When I came back into the cell, I waited. I was a bit disappointed at first when she didn’t address me. I turned to leave, and that’s when she said it.

“Master, please.”

Those words, coming out of her mouth. That was her ticket out, lesson over. I’d decided to fuck her ass, and if she submitted to that without a fuss, I’d move her back to the suite.

I was as careful as possible. I didn’t want to rip her. I just knew this was possibly the most vulnerable I could make her, even after everything else, and if she would give this to me she was completely mine.

It was better than I’d thought it would be, and afterward I just held her. I needed her to know that if she obeyed, I would touch her, I’d let her come, I’d hold her. All she had to do was give me her will completely and accept her position. There is no escape and she knows that now. She can die in the cell or she can submit.

I stopped reading. There was more, but I couldn’t read anymore, not from that day.

I couldn’t stand to read his reaction to whipping me, his arousal at my fear and helplessness. I skimmed through the rest of the dog-eared pages looking for one thing, why he was letting me go.

But it wasn’t there. Even the last entry had only talked about our most recent time together. There was no indication he was tired of me, nor was there any hint he was sorry. I looked up then. I half expected him to insist I keep reading, but I didn’t want to see anymore. I’d seen enough.

“Are you sorry you did this to me?”

He shrugged.

“Why are you letting me go? Are you letting me go?”

Yes. You’re free to go. I’m releasing you because I’m finished with you.

Just like that. He was finished with me. He’d taken me and considered me a toy, property, and now like any toy the owner was bored with, I was being thrown in the trash.

I wanted to fall to my knees and beg him not to do it, but the bored expression in his eyes told me it would do no good. He put the keys back in my hand.

The garage door is open, and if you press the button you’ll see which car it is. The headlights will flash. You should be able to find your way easily enough.

“This doesn’t make any sense. Yeah, maybe you’re done with me, but why just let me go with something that can be tied to you? Aren’t you concerned I’ll go to the police?”

Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. After all, bringing up the police could buy me a hole in the ground instead of my freedom.

He shrugged again.
I don’t care one way or the other. Go take back your life, Emily.

It took him longer to spell out my name, a word that had become so disconnected from my being. I couldn’t believe I didn’t want to go. I’d thought there would be something in the journal that would explain something, but every explanation was one I’d expected.

“Did I not please you? Did I do something wrong?”

I knew even as I said the words that a normal person would take their freedom and not ask questions, but I’d been with him so long I’d come to depend on him. He’d offered me a kind of security I’d never experienced, even if it was somewhat warped in its nature.

You pleased me. You did nothing wrong. You exceeded my expectations. But now you need to leave.