Silent Daughter 2: Bound

Silent Daughter

2: Bound

Copyright © 2016 by Stella Noir & Linnea May

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

Stella's Newsletter

Linnea's Newsletter

This is the second part of the
'Silent Daughter'
serial.

Read the previous part here:

Part 1: Taken

LIZ

I tried to convince myself that this was still part of the game. That he would return any minute to put me out of my misery. That he would tell me he was playing a part, because he knew this is what I wanted, because he knows I have been fantasizing about being in a situation like this and he wanted it to be believable.

That it was all a game.

He would come to me and say that I am not really his captive, and I could leave at any time if I wanted to.

I sat on the bed for an eternity, a collar locked around my neck, my ankles still tied to the bed posts, staring at the door, waiting for his return.

It is dark outside. The sun is long gone and night has set in. I have no idea what time it is or how long I have been sitting on the bed like this.

There is no light in my room; it has turned just as dark as the night outside. I look at my tied up feet and wonder if I can untie the knots by myself. It is not so much a question of the rope itself, but rather if I can reach them properly.

My legs are spread apart wide, and I am not a gymnast. Plus, I have that damn collar. The leash is pretty long and allows some leeway, but I am unsure whether it will be enough to lean forward that much.

I have to try.

I lean forward to the right side to see how far I can get and find out that my hands reach my ankle without my legs hurting too much and without the collar suffocating me. I begin fiddling with the knot.

It is a lot tighter and more sophisticated than I expected. I am breaking a sweat attempting to unfasten it, but my efforts don't seem to get me anywhere.

"Fuck," I hiss in the silence. It is the first thing I have said since Leonard left the room. I can tell that there is no point in screaming for help; he would have silenced me if he was worried about anyone hearing me. In any case, I have no inherent desire to scream.

I loosen the knot a little, but not far enough to free my foot. It is frustrating as hell, and my efforts turn more and more violent by the minute.

I am sweating and gasping for air and need to take a break as my legs and arms start hurting too much from the unfamiliar position.

I freeze and hold my breath when I hear something outside the door. My head turns left, spying the door in the dark just before it opens from the outside. Light from the hallway floods into the room and with it comes Leonard, who is carrying a silver tray with food and a small bottle of water on it.

My stomach growls when the smell spreads through my room.

"Good evening, little Liz," he says, placing the tray on the table at the other end of the room. "I'm sorry this took so long. I wanted your first meal to be something special."

I frown at him through the dark.

"Let me turn on some lights for you," he adds. The sweet tone of his voice makes me furious.

He switches on a floor lamp next to the dining table and lights the candles on the table. The lamp light is warm and soft, providing an amber glow to the clinically white room.

Leonard walks back to the door and locks it. That bastard.

He turns around to me, looking just as handsome as he always has. He has changed again and is wearing another black suit. His hair is gelled and combed to the side, very much like it was on the day of the party.

"You are hungry, aren't you?" he asks as he approaches the bed in wide and confident steps.

In truth, I am starving. Somewhere between drugging, kidnapping, and imprisoning me, we never got around to lunch, and it is beyond dinnertime by now. But I won't give him the satisfaction of a truthful answer.

"I want to go home," I hiss.

"You are home," he insists. "For now, this is your home."

"For now?" I probe. "How long do you intend to keep me here?"

He shakes his head. "Don't make this harder on you than it has to be."

What the hell. Can this man not answer one single question like a normal human being?

Then again, if he thinks that kidnapping and confining another person is acceptable behavior, he is anything but a normal person.

Leonard is standing next to the bed and scans me from head to toe. I am still completely naked, just as he left me.

"What's that?" he asks, pointing at my right ankle, where it is clearly visible that I tried to unfasten the rope around it.

"Are you trying to give me reasons to punish you?" he asks, looking at me with a stern face.

I reciprocate the look. Asshole.

We remain in a silent staring contest for a few moments. There is no way for me to read what might be going through his head. He looks angry and concentrated. Does my silence scare him? He might be thinking of letting me go if I prove to be this unwilling to play with him. Or maybe he just contemplates on whether he should let me in on his game.

"Alright," he finally says. "If that's how you want to do this. Three strokes."

I look at him with narrow eyes. "Three strokes?"

He smiles. "I am being gentle with you. Don't take it too far, though."

He leans forward, and I instinctively flinch when he touches my left ankle.

"No need to be scared now," he assures me. "You'll eat first."

"I don't want to eat here. I want to go h
—
"

He interrupts me by slapping my thigh hard. I yelp in surprise and pain and try to yank my leg away from him, but I am still restrained.

"You will eat before it gets cold," he insists. "Too much effort was put into this meal for you to ruin it. Understand?"

He continues to fiddle with the knot around my ankle. Since he is the one who tied it, he knows how to loosen it a lot better than me. His movements are controlled and unerring, very unlike my attempt earlier.

I stretch and circle my freed foot while he pushes my ankle down on the sheets.

He looks at me.

"I said: Understand?"

I frown at him and try to lift my leg to kick him, but he is stronger and keeps me pinned down on the sheets with seemingly little effort.

"You cannot honestly think that I'm still
—
"

Another slap on my thigh. I shriek. He hit the inside this time, and it stings like burning hell.

"Stop it!" I yell. "I won't fucking
—
"

He darts forward and grabs me by the throat, pushing me back on the mattress. The collar cuts deep into my skin as he closes his fingers around my throat. I stare up at him in panic as he climbs on top of me, pinning me down with his weight and strength. He lets go of my throat and pins my arms down while controlling my freed leg with his own.

"Oh, but you will," he hisses. "Listen, Liz. I am patient with you. I know this new for you, and you have a lot to learn. But my tolerance is very, very low when it comes to ruining or wasting food."

I stare up at him with disbelief. My throat aches where he put his strong hand around it. He kidnapped me, drugged me, tied me up and hits me every time I protest
—
and he is talking about wasting that goddamn food?

"You will eat now," he repeats. "And we can talk. Calmly. You won't put up a fight. You won't cause trouble. You will obey and eat like a good girl. Understand?"

I bite my lower lip and glare up at him.

"Fuck you."

"Fair enough," he says and shrugs.

I am so angry at him, but also so fucking hungry. The food smells incredible, it is almost like torture. I hate being this weak, but the thought of not eating whatever brought that delicious smell into my prison makes my head spin.

He lets go of my arms and waits for a second to see whether I remain calm. I don't move, laying on my back while he climbs off of the bed and walks around to the other side to untie my left ankle.

"Get up," he orders, and I comply. I feel weak and dizzy. All those hours on the bed with no food inside of me had taken a toll on my circulatory system.

I stumble off of the bed like a new born fawn and almost fall when I try to stand.

He catches me and supports me with his strong arms, a gesture that I would have appreciated a lot more if he wasn't the one who did this to me.

"Careful there," he warns. His voice is soft now, as though he was talking to a little kid.

I look up at him, surprised at the sudden warmth of his demeanor.

"Can I have some clothes, at least?" I ask.

He looks at me for a moment, pondering.

"You won't be wearing much clothing while you are here," he says, still in that soft and loving tone. "But I promised to be patient with you. So..."

He makes sure that I am capable of standing on my own and turns around.

Thanks to the leash, I am forced to remain next to the bed, feeling incredibly exposed. He has seen me naked; he has already been between my legs twice. But it's very different to be standing around like this now.

He walks over to another door at the other end of the room that I hadn't noticed before, mainly because it is painted in a similar color to the room's walls. White, pure white.

Leonard disappears in what seems to be a connected bathroom. When he reappears, he is carrying a thick bathrobe with him. It is dark white, just like almost everything else around me.

He holds it up in front of me and helps me get in.

"Better?" he asks.

I nod as I fasten the belt around my waist. The fabric is thick and exquisite. It feels heavenly on my skin, but he doesn't have to know that much. "Thank you."

He leans forward and unlocks the leash from my collar.

I glare up at him.

"Don't get any ideas," he whispers, close to my face, his eyes dark and narrow. "Be a good girl and eat."

He hooks his index finger through the ring at my collar and leads me to the table. I struggle against him at first, but soon realize that I am only choking myself by resisting. So, I follow him like an obedient puppy as he drags me over to the table.

He makes me sit down on one of the chairs, and I finally get to see what he is serving me. Steak accompanied by a rich sauce with onions and pepper, potatoes and green vegetables.

I stare down at the plate, my stomach growling with need while Leonard heads towards the door and
—
much to my surprise
—
leaves the room. Am I to eat alone? My heart sinks at the thought of it, even though it doesn't make much sense. After all, I am furious at him for locking me up and making me believe that I am to spend the night against my will.

A part of me still hopes that this is all a game. That it is his idea of playing.

The door opens, and he reappears with two glasses and a bottle of red wine.

"Go ahead," he says. "You may eat."

He sits down on the other chair, places the glasses on the table, and proceeds to open the bottle of wine.

I hesitate for another moment before I grab the fork and reluctantly try the vegetables. They taste exquisite, steamed and seasoned with something that I cannot quite name. The first bite only agitates my appetite. I hastily add a second and go for the meat next.

"I knew you'd be hungry," he comments, amused.

I want to tell him to shut up, but I am too hungry to risk another beating or punishment.

He pours us each a glass of red wine and looks at me expectantly as he holds up one of them to me.

I frown at him, still chewing.

"It goes well with the meat," he says in a conciliatory tone. "Try it."

I know that he won't accept any backtalk, so I take the glass and even lower myself to clink glasses with him. This wine better be the best I’ve ever tasted.

It is. I am positively surprised at the taste. Fruity but not sweet, dry but not too harsh, and it does go well with the meat.

"Told you," he says, sporting a confident smile on his face that I have come to loathe. "How is the food?"

I put the glass on the table and cut off another piece of the steak in violent motions.