Page 44 of Silver

I drop down to my knees. I’m actually eager to obey him. It’s something I understand. It grounds me. It’s easy.

He strokes my head. “Good girl. You’ve done so well today. I’m proud of you. I’m going to go downstairs to get us some dinner. I want you to kneel up like this so there’s no pressure on your naughty bottom.”

“Yes, Sir.” I’m trembling.

He squats in front of me and lifts my chin. His gaze is intense. “You’ll feel more secure if I shackle you to the corner, won’t you, precious girl?”

Without hesitating, I nod. “Yes, Sir.” I shudder at my admission.

What is happening to me? I don’t want him to leave me here unattended. It will help if he cuffs me to the chain. The heaviness of it suddenly seems…comforting. It reminds me that I belong to him. That he’s my Master.

He smiles warmly and bends to kiss my forehead. “Good girl.” Then he stands and grabs the length of chain and drags it over to me. He circles my ankle with the shackle and clamps it into place.

The clap of sound it makes as it connects calms me. I’m so fucked up. I don’t even cry at the realization. I’ve been here one day, and already he has conditioned me to crave his form of slavery.

That’s what I am. A slave. He’s my Master.

I have to get out of this situation. It’s so wrong. I need to keep my head on straight and remind myself I’m suffering from Stockholm syndrome. There’s no other explanation. I’m weak and vulnerable. I’m tired. That’s what must be fucking with my head.

Silver glides his hand up my calf and then the back of my thigh. He skips over the burning welt and trails his fingers up my ass, my back, my shoulders…

When he reaches my neck, he circles it from behind and bends to kiss my shoulder. “Ask for what you need, precious,” he whispers. His fingers tighten.

My breath hitches, and I close my eyes. I know what I need. He knows it, too. I lick my lips. “Please collar me, Master.”

He inhales long and slow, his fingers curling into my neck, heavier, a solidness I crave. “That’s my good girl,” he growls, a distinctly pleased and pleasurable sound.

I wait with my head bowed as he steps away and returns. I even tip my head back, silently pleading for him to attach the thick metal collar. As soon as he snaps it into place, I blow out a sigh of relief.

Silver clicks the leash onto my collar next. “Hold your hands out in front of you, precious.”

When I do, he sets the heavy chain across my palms.

“Hold this position while I’m gone, precious girl. Keep your gaze on the leash. Think about who owns you and what it means to be a slave to your Master.”

I whimper at his use of the word slave. I was just thinking that exact word. I’m a slave.

After another kiss to my forehead, he leaves me alone to contemplate my life. This time, when he shuts and locks the door, I breathe easier. I like that sound. I’m starting to associate it with safety and security instead of being a hostage.

It’s total madness, but I believe Silver really cares about me. He has a fucked-up way of showing it. But he cherishes me. He has for a while. It didn’t start yesterday. It started weeks ago in the math lab.

As I stare at the leash in my hands, my arms grow heavy. They will be sore from the strain. But the good kind of sore that I’ll associate with this moment fondly.

I’m naked. This time yesterday, I was uncomfortable with my nudity. Now I hardly notice it. It feels natural.

I haven’t seen Silver without clothes on. He doesn’t even take his shirt off in front of me. It creates a power imbalance. He’s reinforcing the fact that I’m the submissive in this relationship. It humbles me.

When will he fuck me? I know he wants to. Often, I see the bulge in his jeans. With the exception of the time he stroked himself to orgasm under his T-shirt, he’s ignored his own needs. Though I suppose he may have masturbated either of the times I was locked in my room.

This chain is heavy. Fuck, this entire relationship is heavy. The weight of the leash is symbolic of the weight of whatever the fuck we’re doing here. It’s huge.

What if I stayed? What would this look like in the long run? Will he eventually break me in a way that I no longer remember who I was? Has he already done so in one day?

I don’t recognize myself. What if he were to let me walk out the door right now? What would I do? I’m worried I’d be lost.

Could I go back to my car? Could I convince the owner of the strip club to give me another chance? Could I get my job back at the diner?

There’s no way I could sleep in my car ever again. Not with that madman out there somewhere. His threats ring in my head again now.