Page 12 of Savage

I hold up the piece of chicken to her lips and wait.

“I can feed myself,” Stef says, her cheeks flushing. She lifts her hands. “I even have enough give in the chains. You don’t have to feed me.”

“Eat,” I say, pushing it against her mouth.

She pulls away from me and shakes her head, her lips pressing tight together. She stares at me, meeting my eyes as she refuses the food.

Her refusal is putting a damper on things, but I should have expected this. She doesn’t comprehend yet that I’m doing all this for her own good.

“Do you remember the rules?” I ask her, unable to keep the annoyance from my voice.

She flinches away from me, but the glare doesn’t fade. “I don’t want you to feed me. I’m not an invalid.”

“I can also mash it all up and set up a feeding tube,” I threaten. “If you don’t want to eat real food. It’s not my preferred method but if that’s the best way to get food inside you…”

“I’m not even hungry!” Stef says, her voice going a little high. “I just ate this morning. I’m… I’m fine. I just want to be unlocked. I need…” She shudders, looking around the room. “I need to pee.”

I put the food aside, clean my hands with some disinfectant and tissues, and nod. “Very well. I’ll unchain you and escort you to the bathroom.” I unhook the chains from the ankle cuffs, but I leave the ones on her wrists in place, simply running my thumb over the skin just underneath the cuffs.

“You don’t need to escort me. I don’t know what you think I’m going to do,” she protests. “I couldn’t even get out of this room if I wanted to.” For all her talk earlier about how she’d listen and obey, she’s certainly not doing either right now.

I unhook one wrist from the chain, then guide it over to her other wrist so I can hook the two together before finally releasing her from the bed entirely. She now has her legs free, but her wrists are bound together in front of her. If she’s very flexible, she might still be able to get out of that, but I’m not going to give her that opportunity.

I grip her shoulder to help her sit up. “Come on, then. Since you need to urinate.”

She squirms, trying to pull out of my grasp, but I’m not letting her go. She finally sits up, and I guide her out of the bed so she doesn’t trip or fall. “Why are you being like this?”

“I told you. I can’t trust you. I’ve seen what drug addicts do to themselves.” My mouth curls into a sneer. My rotation at in-patient hospital care cured me of any notion that people could take care of themselves. You could give them all the tools in the world, and they would still choose self-destruction over salvation.

Maybe I ended up as an obstetrician because those patients are almost always happy to take care of themselves, for the sake of their unborn children.

Stef stares at me, shuddering and trying to pull back, but I only tighten my grasp. I can feel her bones grinding together beneath my fingers, and she winces. For a moment, we just watch each other, and she seems to be fumbling for something to say.

Nothing comes of it, though. Instead, she starts walking in the direction of the bathroom with halting steps.

I push the door open and follow her inside, gently pushing her toward the toilet seat. I glance at the bathroom mirror and wonder if I should have removed it, so there’s no risk of her shattering it and using the shards to hurt herself.

But she’s so frail, and I’m going to keep her chained up. I’d already removed all medications and razors that used to be stored here.

She stands in front of the toilet seat, looking at me again. “Can you at least… turn away for a minute? I’m not going to hurt myself that fast.”

I steadily meet her gaze. “No. You need to get used to me being here, overseeing everything. I’m going to be controlling every single one of your actions from now on. Now sit and do your business.”

My cock thrums with arousal, although I make sure not to react. I’m not a teenager who can’t control himself anymore. I know that patience can bring the best rewards.

A shudder runs through her, and her expression is a little conflicted as she looks at me. But her voice is a soft whine as she complains, “That’s going to take too much time. You have a lot to do as… as a doctor and all. You don’t have time to control everything.” Or so she hopes, apparently.

I grip her shoulders and push her down onto the seat. “I have time for this.” I wait, but as expected, nothing happens.

“I can’t while you’re right here,” she says. “I need… I need a little bit of privacy. Master,” she adds, though there’s no sincerity to the word or in her tone at all—unsurprisingly, too.

I reach down to her belly and push down over her bladder. Stef gasps and squirms, and her skin takes on a flushed hue that looks surprisingly good on her. It hints at what she could look like when she’s healthy. “If this doesn’t help,” I say, “I can always get the catheter.”

Stef cringes, shaking her head. “No. I just… I need a minute. Please.” Now that sounds sincere.

“Then I can wait,” I answer, stroking her belly and insistently pushing down on her bladder to help things along. I hate how many of her ribs I can see, and how her breasts seem to be almost deflated. I’ll need to start getting a lot more nutrients into her.

She probably needs a good exercise regimen too, but that can wait until after the detox and after she’s put on another ten to twenty pounds. She probably doesn’t weigh even a hundred pounds at this point, which is not a weight I would recommend for any healthy adult.

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