Page 13 of Savage

It takes a little longer—and a little more pushing—but finally, her cheeks flush and the thin dribble of urine sounds from inside the toilet. “Okay,” she says, trying to pull back. “I’m… I’m done.” She glares at me, for all that it lacks real heat. “Are you going to insist on wiping me, too?”

I’m surprised at the intense thrum of arousal I get from even the mere suggestion.

“Yes. You can hardly wipe yourself with your hands bound,” I answer steadily as I rip off some toilet paper. “Stand up, spread your legs a little.”

She stares at me in disbelief. “You’re serious,” she says slowly. She swallows hard but slowly stands, trembling as she parts her legs for me.

I do a quick wipe, resisting the urge to tease her clit, and throw the used toilet paper into the toilet before flushing it all.

“Good,” I say, and I’m rewarded by Stef’s face lighting up in crimson. Her skin is so pale that the blushes show beautifully.

She looks down, staring at her feet instead of looking at me, and closes her legs quickly.

I wash my hands quickly, then grab her arm to pull her closer. “I’ll wash your hands, too.”

Stef stumbles a little. “My hands aren’t dirty,” she protests, but she doesn’t stop me from pulling her hands under the stream of water.

I make sure to get the soap all over and carefully wash between her fingers. It’s a bit difficult since the cuffs are keeping her hands close together, but that’s why I’m here to help her. When I’m convinced that her hands are clean, I turn off the water and stand behind her, looking at both of us in the mirror. I run my fingers through her limp hair and sigh. “You’ll look so much better once the drugs aren’t ravaging your systems.”

She doesn’t look up at the mirror. “Why did you… buy me?” she asks, her voice choked. “Just to torture me? I was fine at Ntimacy.”

“Were you fine?” I ask coldly, and she starts to squirm. “You’re emaciated, drugged up to the gills, crying, and you barely made any money from what Giulio said…” I shake my head. “You’re better off with me.”

“Giulio said you like crying,” Stef says after a moment, finally daring to meet my eyes in the mirror.

I inhale sharply. Giulio and his big mouth. “Whether I enjoy tears or not doesn’t matter.” I stroke her bony shoulders and down her arms. “Maybe I should be asking whether you enjoy dancing for all those men, day in and day out. Presumably you fuck them, too. Is that better than here, where I’ll take care of you and make sure you get healthy?”

“You’ll want the same thing from me, eventually,” Stef says, her eyes finding the countertop again. “Dances, sex… I can’t say no to you any more than I could say no to them, and at least there I had… stuff to help me get through the day. All I have here is my own thoughts.”

I don’t bother disagreeing with her. Eventually, yes, I’ll want to fuck her. But I know that when I finally do, she’ll be begging for me.

“Let’s get you back into bed,” I say. “And you need to eat, if the last time you had food was in the morning.”

“I’m nauseated,” she says, which probably isn’t far from the truth. “I don’t think I can keep anything down, and I don’t… I don’t want to throw up all over myself.”

“You need to eat anyway. We’ll do small bites, but you need energy to get through all this.” I grip her shoulders and guide her back to the bed.

She trembles and shakes her head, making a few cursory attempts to avoid getting chained up again, but she really doesn’t have any muscles on her body. She doesn’t have a chance against me.

I finish chaining her ankles and hands to the bed again. On a whim, I wrap my hand around her delicate wrist, and a small thrill goes through me when I manage to encircle it entirely. With a bit of pressure, I could easily break her. Her bones might as well be as brittle as a bird’s.

Stef whimpers and tugs at her hand. “Please. I just want to…”

I let go of her and reach for the tray of food again, picking up another small slice of chicken. “Eat,” I order. “You need the calories. It’ll help with your recovery.”

She pulls away from me, but this time when my eyes narrow in warning, she slowly opens her mouth.

“Good,” I tell her, picking up a piece of carrot next.

She lets me feed that to her as well, though she balks when I try to get her to take a third bite. “I really don’t feel good,” she says, staring down at the bed sheets instead of looking up at me.

I consider carefully how much I can trust her. If her stomach is truly upset, it would be unwise to feed her more just so she’ll vomit it up later, especially when she can’t reach the toilet on her own. But addicts are prone to lying.

“If you’re truly nauseated, I can hook you up to an IV drip,” I say. “Then you’ll get the nutrients delivered straight to you. I would probably need to tighten your bondage though, so you don’t rip the IV out.”

Stef looks up at me, like she’s trying to figure out whether I’m being serious or not. I am, and she clearly sees it in my expression, though it only makes her look like she’s even more at a loss. “I am nauseated, but I don’t want an IV. I’m… I don’t need to eat. I ate this morning.”

I scowl at her. “You’re an adult woman. You need more calories than that. If you don’t want the IV, you’ll eat now. I will not tolerate lack of care about your health.”

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