Silent Daughter 3: Owned (4 page)

I look at him with confusion. “Is this your way of apologizing?”

He nods without saying a word.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

I finish the little cake by myself. I have already gotten so used to eating alone even when he is sitting next to me that I don’t think of asking him whether he wants to try it, too.

“It was delicious,” I say when I am done. “Thank you.”

He smiles. “Told you.”

He gets up and picks up the tray.

“I will be back to tuck you in,” he says and turns around to the door.

“Tuck me in?” I ask. “Attach the leash to the hook, you mean?”

He stops mid motion and turns around to me. “Exactly.”

My heart sinks.

“I thought there was going to be more training after dinner?” I ask.

He looks at me with a stern face and shakes his head.

“Not tonight.”

My eyes follow him as he walks out the door.

No training.

I don't know whether he wants to punish me with this or if he thinks he's being nice.

I could be relieved. After all the stress of the day, there will be no strenuous and humiliating training tonight. No physical punishment, no disciplining—but also no pleasure, no orgasm, no intimate time with him that could have served as a much needed release.

No, I'm not relieved. If anything I'm disappointed.

LEONARD

A few days have passed since my dangerous negligence, and I manage to keep my distance from her. The fact that I let her convince me to leave her leash unattached and then forgot to lock her door just shows how much Liz is messing with my head. I let her get too close too soon. She mesmerized me into acting like a fool.

I developed a routine that lets me see her a few times a day to feed her and check up on her. There are times when I leave her leash unattached, so she is able to use the bathroom and move freely in her room. But I never leave it unattached when I leave the house and always make double sure that the door to her room is locked. Always.

I have to leave her by herself almost every day because William’s business calls for my attention. What he told me at the luncheon has unsettled me, and it may endanger everything I have worked for over the past few months. These bastards keeps trying to lure him into a joint venture that would destroy him, and he has no idea. The discussions we have because of their new attempts to catch him are tedious and time-consuming, but at least they keep me busy and my thoughts off of Liz.

She becomes quieter every day, but as her silence grows, so does her obedience. I haven’t fucked her since that fateful day even though my body craves her every single time I see her.

But I have trained her. Every time I walk into her room, I find her on her knees, taking in the exact position I told her to be in when I walk in. She greets me with a devotional “Hello, Master” and doesn’t look up until I tell her to. There is no more backtalk and very little sassy comments when I ask her to do something.

Some would think I did it. I broke her. She thought her decision to stay when she could have left would soften me into letting her go and becoming the kind of boyfriend who brings flowers to her door. Instead, her restraints are tighter than ever and my commands strict and demanding, and she submits with very little resistance.

It’s almost boring.

I hardly touch her and content myself with watching her obey my orders. To kneel, to sit, to crawl on all fours behind me, to present her beautiful and naked body in front of me. I tell her to play with herself, and I tease her with vibrating toys, but I never let her come. I always leave her hungry with her cheeks blushed and her sweet little pussy wet and yearning for more. I forbid her to find release by herself when I leave the room. Her biggest disobedience this week was to touch herself shortly after I left her room. She knew that she was on camera the entire time, but she still did it. When I walked in, yanking her busy hand away, she almost broke into tears. Almost.

Since then, she has complied. Every time I stop and am about to leave her to herself, she looks at me with those begging eyes, desperate with lust. It drives me crazy.

Yet, I keep my distance.

I wish I could say that it is all part of the plan, but even I don’t believe that anymore. It may create a similar outcome, but my cautious behavior is more related to my need to build emotional distance.

I want her to crave me. I want her to look at me the way she does now. Begging, yearning, craving.

But I had no intention of becoming this connected to her. This fucking close. She makes it hard for me to claim her without driving myself nuts.

It’s for the best that all this William mess keeps me busy for the week. On top of that, I keep receiving weird messages and e-mails. Hints and threats coming from an unfamiliar number. I’m pretty sure they are from the same guy who tried to scare me on the phone. I still don’t know who he is, but if he was one of the big guys, I’m sure that he would be able to come up with more than teenage boy texts and empty threats. His spelling is awful, and his messages are full of grammatical errors that suggest he is nothing more than a small tool. I haven’t replied to a single one of his messages.

It has been exactly one week since Liz moved into her room even though I know she wouldn’t call it that: moving in.

A special day calls for special food, so I find myself spending a little more time in the kitchen than usual. I have always been an avid cook even though it is not always easy to keep up with my busy schedule.

However, to me, cooking seems to be an efficient way to use my limited time. I can relax while cooking a meal, and even more importantly, I can make plans, schedule meetings, and conduct phone calls thanks to my headset. I am always dictating or talking to someone while cooking, work-related stuff that needs to be done but would be more tedious to me if I couldn’t use my time for something else simultaneously. Something useful like feeding my cute little pet upstairs. The only food I have given her that wasn’t made by me was the mini cake she got for a dessert. Baking is very unlike cooking, and it doesn’t suit me.

Today, however, I don’t concern myself with multitasking. Things have been set in motion and should be settled enough to continue as planned. The following week will show if my intuition is right in this regard, but it usually is.

Unless I am blinded by a spell cast by a beautiful young girl who is unlike any other I have met before, that is.

Even now, I find myself clenching my fists when I think about it. I hate carelessness and weakness, and with Liz, I showed both.

I cast the thought aside and finish up the dish for tonight. Whiskey-glazed flat iron steaks and grilled potatoes. The dish would work like this, but I added a side salad because green always adds to the appearance of a meal, especially for women. It’s a small portion, delicate but of the best quality. I want her well fed but not too full tonight.

She has been a good, obedient girl for most of the week and deserves a treat. However, the treat is not the meal itself, but the fact that I am bringing in two plates instead of one tonight, accompanied by some wine.

And a little surprise.

LIZ

I don’t know how much longer I can handle this. Of course, I also don’t know how much longer I will have to endure. The captivity, his very own way of cruel torture by teasing me up until the point where my orgasm is just about to hit me, and then leaving me like this, feverish and ashamed.

It is horrible and addictive at the same time. Every day has become the same and turned into a vicious routine that keeps me guessing if today is going to be the day that something changes, that he will let me come. Or tomorrow. Or the day after tomorrow.

He shows up in the morning to bring me breakfast, and when I’m done with eating, he leaves the room and gives me time to shower and make myself presentable, just as he did on the first day. Then, he returns and trains me. The morning sessions are usually short and don’t consist of much but him telling me to pose in certain ways or present myself in humiliating postures while he sits or stands in front of me in a suit. On some days, he doesn’t even touch me, but merely keeps his eyes fixated on me the whole time.

One day, all he did was ask me to sit at his feet, naked and curled up around his leg while he asked me all kinds of questions about myself. About my childhood, about school, about my family. I was reluctant at first and only gave him short replies, but he kept poking and threatening to punish me if I didn’t open up to him more. When I asked him why he wanted to know all these things, he said: “I told you, I want you to be mine. All of you. And that means knowing you.”

Still, I kept a lot of things to myself, especially the kind of information that would make me vulnerable.

I was less surprised by his interest in my desires. In fact, it is the area that interests him the most. He wanted to know about my sexual experiences with other men and what I did or did not like about them. He pulled at my hair with full force when I refused to give him any detailed information about the things I did when I was by myself in my room.

“Don’t hide anything from me,” he hissed. “Especially not this part, the part you hide from everybody else.”

So I talked and talked. More than I have talked to anybody in years because he forced me to. I told him almost everything he wanted to know until he suddenly rose from his chair and declared the training session to be over.

I felt lonelier than ever when he left my room that day.

It's not fair. I told him so much about myself, almost everything he wanted to know but I didn't get anything in return. Leonard remains as guarded as always, leaving me exposed while he refuses to let go of any of his layers of protection, be it clothes or personal information.

On some days, he chains me to the bed for parts of the day; on others, he doesn’t. I suspect that he chains me to the hook every time he leaves the house, which he needs to do more often now that the weekend is over. After all, he has work to do. Work with William Bishop, my sister’s unsuspecting father-in-law. I still get goosebumps when I think about what any of them would think if they knew where I was. If they knew who Leonard was. My mother and sister didn’t like him from the start, of course they didn’t.

If they knew how I ended up here. If they knew about the silly somersaults my heart does every time my perverted kidnapper walks into the room. If they knew I didn’t run from this when I could have, thinking that I could soften his heart into letting me go or, at least, free me from the leash and collar that have been fastened around my neck for a week now.

I was so naive.

My days are long and boring because I have nothing to do except to sleep and wait. Wait for him. He brings me food, company, and sweet torture that makes me grow more addicted to him and hate him at the same time.

On some days, he visits me again during the day, but often just to bring me a snack or something to drink or to check if I am still alive.

I have so little to do all day that I have become aware of the tiniest things that happen outside of my room. I can hear his steps long before he is close to my door and I can tell by the speed and intensity whether he is heading up to my door or his office.

Of course, it’s easy when the evening sets in, and I know that he will bring up dinner soon. Just like every other day, he shows up shortly after the sun has set and it is close to being completely dark outside. I am wearing the bathrobe most of the time when I do not expect him to come to my room, but I know he prefers me naked and make sure to drop the robe in time for his arrival.

I am naked and on my knees long before the door opens and he steps inside.

“Good evening, Master.” 

“Good evening, Liz.”

He places the tray on the table, and I keep my head low until he steps in front of me and tells me to look up at him. He is wearing his typical black suit—it hugs his buff frame perfectly, emphasizing his broad shoulders. From down here, I cannot see the tattoo that encompasses his shoulder, arm, and part of his neck, but I know it’s there, the dark ink that shows his dark inner self to the outside.

He crouches in front of me which is an unusual thing for him to do. We are almost at eye level, and I tilt my head quizzically.

“You could call today our anniversary,” he says, casting me a naughty smile. “Exactly one week since you became mine.”

“I know,” I whisper, trying to reciprocate his smile, but I am unable to hide the sadness that comes with it.

One week of being with him. That also means one week since I have lost my freedom. I still wish I could have both: him and my freedom.

Of course, he knows that. I can see understanding in his dark eyes, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

“You have been a good girl,” he says, raising one hand to stroke my cheek. “And good girls deserve a treat, don’t you think?”

“A treat?” I ask.

He nods. “Come.”

He straightens up and holds out his hand to help me get on my feet. I follow his lead and almost let out a little squeak of surprise when I realize that the table is set for two. It’s silly, really, but with Leonard, this gesture seems far more intimate than anything else we have done. For the entire week, I’ve had to eat by myself, knowing—or, at least, assuming—that he cooks the meals himself. I never asked him about it again because I suspect that his non-answer would just frustrate me.

He has always sat by my side, watching me eat, but he has never joined me for a single meal. It’s so awkward, and it has often spoiled an otherwise perfect meal, considering the circumstances.

“You will eat with me?” I ask, beaming up at him. “Or do we expect another guest?”

He chuckles. “No silly girl, you will have to do with just me.”

“Okay,” I say. “I can handle you.”

“I know you can,” he says, placing his hand on my lower back to lead me to my seat. I don’t think I will ever get used to eating naked, no matter how often he makes me do it. It’s such a weird thing to do, especially when his eyes are on me constantly.

As it turns out, Leonard is not short of ideas on how to make dinner time even more awkward for me.

I’m just about to sit down when he holds me back.

“Wait,” he says. “I want you to wear this tonight.”

I cast him a questioning look while he reaches into his suit pants’ pocket and produces something that looks like a pink bullet with a string attached to it.

“Put your feet apart,” he whispers. “Spread your legs for me.”

The tone of his voice has changed. His Dom voice: confident, determined, and calm. Even before I was this intoxicated with him, I found it very hard to resist his demanding tone. Now that he has me in this deluded state after days of teasing, I don’t hesitate to follow his order and comply immediately.

He steps forward and places one hand on the back of my head, gently pulling me close as he leans down for a kiss. It’s our first real kiss in days, and he claims me passionately, biting and sucking on my lips while his tongue explores my mouth. He is just as hungry for me as I am for him. All the more reason why I don’t understand his recent reluctance to do anything real with me. To claim me, fuck me like he has in the beginning. We both want it, we both need it. Why is he forbidding us to have our way?

Maybe, today will be the day. The day where the routine of this past week will be broken and he finally gives me what I need. Maybe even both? Him and my freedom.

Don’t be silly
, I warn myself. I shouldn’t get my hopes up for either; he may just be especially cruel today.

Our kiss doesn’t stop for an eternity and my longing for him grows with every moment. I know he doesn’t like for me to touch him, but my hands develop a life of their own and keep rising to him, shying away inches from his upper body every time they get too close.

I know what's lying underneath all that expensive fabric. His smooth skin, stretching across a landscape of sculptured muscles that flex in the most appealing way when he grabs me. He radiates strength and masculinity.

I sigh with desperation when he yanks my hands away before he reaches down between my legs. I cannot suppress a moan when he parts my lips and starts to stroke along my entrance.

He interrupts our kiss but keeps his face close to mine, our eyes fixated on each other.

“Good girl,” he whispers as his skillful fingers play with my wetness. “So responsive. Always so ready for me.”

I blush and gasp for air when he lets one finger slide inside of me. Just a quick poke, as if he was testing the water, then he pulls it out again. I know the pink bullet is still in his hand; it keeps pushing against my clit while he plays with my labia. Yet, my eyes flicker with surprise when I feel the tip of the bullet pushing against my entrance. It is thicker than his finger, but not by much.

His eyes narrow and he stares at me with utmost intensity, observing my reactions as he pushes the toy all the way inside of me. He makes sure that it is in place and pats my entrance, covering my lips with his palm.

“Now,” he whispers. “Let’s eat.”

I nod and sit down on my seat, feeling the toy inside of me with every movement. My eyes follow him as he takes his seat at the table, acting as if nothing has happened.

“What is this?” I ask, referring to the toy he just placed inside of me. “What will hap-”

“Steak,” he says, gesturing to our plates. “Whiskey-glazed flat iron steak, to be precise. With grilled potatoes and a salad. You do like steak, don’t you?”

He looks at me, wearing an innocent smile like a nice guy.

I am shivering and well aware that my cheeks must have a similar color as the tomatoes in the side salad.

“Yes, thank you,” I whisper.

He also brought two wine glasses and a bottle of red wine. Cabernet Sauvignon Merlot, a good choice as far as I can tell. He opens the bottle and fills our glasses. The smile on his face is anything but innocent as he solemnly raises his glass and beckons me to clink with him. I do, and each of us takes a cautious sip. The wine is dry and topped off with a strong grape taste, a decadent flavor and perfect companion to steak.

“You must be quite the chef,” I comment as we start eating. “And you know your way around the perfect dinner, wine and everything.”

He shrugs. “If this is your way of asking whether I cooked this myself, yes, I did.”

“I know you do,” I say, and he raises his eyebrow.

“Or well… I guessed you would,” I correct myself. “Since I saw your kitchen.”

“Right,” he says. “I almost forgot about you snooping around my house.”

“Have you?” I ask, now raising my eyebrows. “Hasn’t this entire week been a punishment for exactly that?”

He shrugs and takes another bite from his steak.

“Not exactly,” he says, reaching down into his pocket again. “But maybe this is.”

I yelp in surprise when the toy starts vibrating inside of me.