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The last possibility for escape, the one I tried not to think about, was to wait until we left the island, even if it meant being his kitty, his bed toy, and his precious piñata. But this last option for escape scared me, because already I could see the break between the old me and the one here, now, on this island. I’d changed.
“Mmm. I like seeing you down there. You are showing me stuff about myself I never knew was there. I don’t think I could fokken well ever go back after having you. There’s something pure about owning someone...or you, at least.”
His words seemed to echo my own thoughts and I lay there a little shocked. He sat down and put his feet on my side and smiled, as if to say, you are worthy of being my footrest.
Confusion – that was the summation of my thoughts.
Resisting wasn’t worth it? The problem was I could see the allure of being his toy taking me over if I left it unchecked. Kneeling, not speaking, obeying, it dulled the mind. I had to keep myself thinking. What was his motto? I’d have my own.
No giving in. Yes.
No giving in could sustain me until I found my way out. I’d be meek, pliable, his, I’d kneel and be his footrest but I’d still remember to be me. I’d lull him into a state of vulnerability.
Another option came to me. The rifle I’d seen him carry into the hut. I could kill him if I got hold of it. Could I kill? Maybe. But did I want to?
“What are you thinking?” He peered down at me.
“Nothing, Sir.” I blinked innocently.
“Ja. That’s good then. I believe the sun rises in the west too. Sit up and kneel. I’m getting our dinner.”
Wary, I did so. When he returned with two bowls of soup and some bread then put a bowl down before me, and the other on an upturned box next to his chair, I wasn’t sure what he intended.
“Eat.”
No spoon? I looked from the bowl to his hand and the bread he carried.
The chair creaked as he sat. Then he leaned sideways to tip up the chair and free my leash from the leg.
“Go on. I want to see you lick it up. Be good. When you want bread, nudge my hand.” He smiled but there was a dark glitter in his eyes, as if he expected a challenge.
Fuck you, Pieter. Another demeaning task. I see what you’re doing, sir.
No giving in.
I counted to ten. I could do this.
Then I crept forward and began to lap. I was hungry and my resources needed to be kept in reserve, plus my butt hurt, he was big, and I had zero chance of winning a level fight. Licking up soup took time and he finished before I did. To get him to give me the bread I found I had to butt his hand with my nose, but then I got a smile and a pat on my head, and once a kiss. It was so humiliating that it made my toes curl, but in my affection-starved universe, where once upon a time the best I’d had was a peck on the cheek or hug from an aunt or my friend, this was alluring in a weird way.
I could feel the effects inside me, warming me, and it was so scary.
I didn’t like this, just like I didn’t like pain. I stared at my empty bowl and called BS on my logic.
While I was wrestling with my weirdness, he traipsed inside and returned with a stapled-together sheaf of pages then sat down and leafed through them.
Reading the words on the flipped back front page wasn’t easy.
“Time for your lesson.”
I whipped my gaze to his face. Lesson sounded bad.
“Jazmine Foulkes. Freelance journalist. As you can see, I printed out some information before I left. Very interesting. You are a clever girl. Want to tell me how you really got into this mess you’re in? You can talk.”
Then he turned it around and showed me page one where a clear photograph of me was featured, smiling for the camera, windswept hair but perfectly and fashionably dressed in a suit.
Is that really me?
His hand under my chin tilted my head. Then he said in that gravel-deep voice, “That’s you, a gorgeous, smart woman, but I like you better how you are here. With my cum on you, mostly naked, and that pretty, tear-stained face.”
