Page 61 of Truth or Dare

A document was on screen with a note from Gan Chen.

I regretted I was unable to say Goodbye to you prior to your departure. Something urgent had arisen. I was informed that you were not provided with some of Felicia’s details prior to pick-up. These would have been provided to you prior to departure but with the rush, typical protocol was broken. I have enclosed them here. If there is anything listed that displeases you, we would be happy to discuss an alternate or enroll Felicia in re-training. Your satisfaction is our top priority. If you require further information please do not hesitate to reach out. Should you require the same information for Monalisa, this can be provided.

This information will expire on this device one hour from opening it. I hope to be meeting with you and your brother at our Partner Summit in October.

Kindly RSVP through our mutual acquaintance by September 30.

Regards,

GC

I thought the information would contain her details, details about her past. I braced to find out her name, how they’d gotten to her. But that was not the info I got. I was not at all prepared for the information on the next screen.

The next screen was the Report screen that came up with an error on the last tablet. It was not blank this time. It detailed information gathered through her training. It was like a report card with grades and a few comments sections.

Everything had her individual score as well as a median score for others in the resort. It said she had a high pain threshold, higher than 80% of the other slaves. I didn’t even want to know what they used to test that.

It said that she’d taken 19 days to break. The average slave took an average of 3-4 days under their program. 19 fucking days. Fuck.

It classified her as a sexual submissive. There were categories: dominant, submissive, and switch. In each category was a graph, a degree, and she graded at slightly more than the 75% submissive mark 22 months earlier and now was listed at the furthest submissive degree.

It said she had no known sexual aversions, that she had the most intense orgasms when experiencing multiple penetration, and that her orgasms were off the chart when she was restrained. She liked it rough. She liked to be bossed around during sex. She had intense reactions to spankings. It said she had panic attacks in her first several months at Kruna but had not had any in over 14 months. Their anecdote for her panic attacks was to restrain her and bring her to orgasm. There was a rancid feeling in my gut and a foul taste in my mouth as I skimmed through the bullet point notes stating that withholding orgasms as punishment worked much more effectively than pain in disciplining her but that she had not required punishment in more than 18 months. Her last infraction was self-pleasure.

It said that she was an exceptional asset who was capable of multiple orgasms that exceeded the average Kruna assets by 400%. She was the most often specifically requested Kruna asset out of the 200 they had by patrons in the past 7 months, prior to that was the second most often requested for the previous 4 months. They had to hate giving her up. My father must’ve really pulled strings for her.

I reviewed the rest of the information and then closed it off and sat and seethed in my car, chain smoking for the next fifteen minutes before I could head up to my office. I was seething that they’d toyed with her to the point that they could grade her on pain. I was seething because she had endured something for 19 days straight that was designed to break her, that she’d fought so hard to avoid being broken, and that she was now obviously utterly broken because they’d rated her well enough to trust her off the property. That she’d gone from that determined to hold onto who she was before they made her into Felicia but then became so exalted as an illustration of Kruna perfection made me want to fucking puke.

And I couldn’t comprehend that she had the insatiability I’d always wanted, that she was a sexual submissive who climaxed the hardest when restrained, and that she was mine, that she wanted to be mine. They gave me this information to optimize her use. They gave me information to keep her under my control.

She only wanted so badly to be mine because they had taken 19 days, more than quadruple of what broke the average Kruna slave, and once she was broken she was so utterly broken that they didn’t have to worry about sending her out in the world to be the slave of the son of one of their most important partners. Was she a submissive who loved to fuck so much only because she was broken? If I’d met the girl in Alaska with the piercings and the wild curls and mischief in her eyes would I have wanted her? Would she be so compatible? Or, would she have had that spark, that wildness I loved and still been my Angel, been fucking perfect in every way for me?

I was enraged. Enraged at them because they broke her and enraged at myself. I stomped on the tablet and then walked with it and tossed it in a dumpster behind a nearby fast food joint.

How the fuck could I keep her? How the fuck could I not?

I was bored. Maybe that was a good sign. Was it a sign that I might be snapping out of it? I was itching to be outside. Back at Kruna I was content when I was in my room or when I had free time with nothing to do. I didn’t get to watch TV and I hardly socialized but I was fine in my own company because it was a brief reprieve from the roles I was always playing.

There was a quiet courtyard Zen garden area we could go to for fresh air and there were common rooms where we could read or talk with other girls. There were some board games, Mahjong tiles, a chess board. There was a gym. I generally spent time alone when I wasn’t on assignment. But my mindset had already begun to shift. I didn’t feel like I was still Felicia, but I didn’t feel like me, either. I just wanted to be Dare Ferrano’s angel. But him asking me to be me was niggling at me, too. Did I know how to be me?

I’d reorganized everything in his apartment, not that it was messy, and I didn’t go digging through his drawers or anything private, but I’d washed and dusted everything so often it had become tedious.

He’d said I’d eventually be able to come and go. I wasn’t sure what I’d do out there but the idea of taking a walk, feeding ducks in the park, window shopping, people watching, going to the library… it all sounded good.

I wasn’t sure where he and I were, though.

He was back just a few hours after he’d left. And he was in a mood. He’d come in, jaw tight, eyes angry, body language rigid, pissed off. He threw his keys on the table by the door, roughly hit buttons on the alarm, walked past me with a chin lift and then slammed the door behind himself in the den. Slammed it hard. I’d been at the island, needlessly wiping it when he came in and now I didn’t know what to do with myself.

A few hours later he emerged from the den. I was watching TV. He grabbed his keys and hit buttons on the alarm panel and then headed out the door, barely looking at me. I watched him go without a word.

An hour later he was back, slamming the door, hitting alarm panel buttons, then heading into his den, again without speaking to me.

He hadn’t come out by 9:00 at night and so I made a PB&J sandwich and figured I’d might as well go to sleep. I didn’t know whether to sleep in his bed or not so I curled up on the sofa. I didn’t want to disturb him in the office where my clothes were so I just got under the soft throw and put the TV on and I eventually drifted off to sleep.

I woke up to him carrying me. Again. My heart leapt forward like it’d done last night when he’d carried me to his bed. If I got lucky enough to spend my life with this man, I’d be tempted to fall asleep on purpose somewhere other than his bed every single night if it meant he’d carry me to bed like this every time. It was so gallant, so dominant, so perfect. I opened my eyes and looked at his face and he had what looked like a hard, stone-cold look in his eyes when he looked at me. I didn’t know what to make of it.

But he didn’t attack me and yank my clothes off. He just put me under the blankets, undressed down to boxer briefs, and then climbed in with me and spooned me. I was in yoga capris and a tank top so I guess they’d do for sleeping. I nuzzled in and pondered it for a minute but then dared to plant a kiss on his forearm, which was across my chest, his hand cupping my shoulder. His lips touched the back of my neck just above the collar and he squeezed me and then gently took the elastic out of my hair and twisted the length of my hair around and around his fist gently, sweetly. He played with my hair until I fell back to sleep snuggled against him.

I had a long chat with my brother on the webcam before I went to bed.

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