Page 29 of Savage

“What…” I look up at him pleadingly, but I can’t shake my head and I don’t dare verbally refuse. Not again. I whimper. “I’m not sure if I can sit up that much,” I tell him honestly, even though I try to lift my hips.

“You can.” Hunter leans in and, without waiting for me to get ready, begins pushing the dildo in. It slides in easily enough, and I realize he must have lubed it before bringing it out.

I pant heavily and try to relax enough for the dildo to slide in all the way. When Hunter is satisfied, he pushes down on my thighs and angles me so the dildo’s base lands—and sticks—on the chair. I let out a soft whimper, but all my squirming does is make the dildo work its way deeper inside of me. “Master…” I start to protest, but I can see now that it’s only going to make things worse for me to try to argue.

Hunter takes a step back to observe me, then nods in satisfaction. “You look good like that.”

I don’t feel like I look good. I’m uncomfortable and miserable, and again I’ve gotten myself punished for simply hesitating to obey him.

He grabs one of the brown bags with the food in it. There’s another oddity: he doesn’t strike me as somebody to eat straight out of takeout containers, but here he is, popping the lid off the plastic container and spearing a piece of chicken. He brings the fork close to my mouth and rubs the saucy chicken over my lips. “Open.”

I don’t want to see what else he has planned for me if I don’t obey him fast enough again, so I open my mouth. The chicken is sweet and sour, a flavor bomb I don’t remember having in… a long time.

Before Ntimacy.

They didn’t bother to feed us anything that was beyond palatable. This is an entirely different thing, and despite the absurdity of my situation—the dildo I’m impaled on, my nudity, my self-consciousness—it’s the taste of the food that makes tears come to my eyes.

I blink quickly to drive the tears away, but Hunter notices. He sets the fork down and brushes a thumb along the corner of my eye.

“Crying? I haven’t even done anything,” he says softly, but something about the way he’s staring at me makes it clear he’s turned on.

I don’t know what to make of it. I don’t know what part of my reaction is turning him on. My helplessness? The toy? The tears?

All of it, probably.

“I’m sorry,” I say, wishing I could duck my head but finding the collar gets in the way of that, too.

Hunter eats some of the food himself, watching me the entire time. When he’s done chewing, he gets more for me, and I squirm in humiliation. I try to remind myself about the good things. I’m eating delicious food. I’m not being shared.

But I’m strapped naked to the chair, the dildo rubbing along my inner walls, with Hunter’s eyes roving all over me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so exposed in my life, not even when I was dancing for the men at Ntimacy.

Once I’ve taken the food off the fork, Hunter scoots his chair a little closer and reaches out to cup my breast. “What size were you before the malnutrition?” he asks, running his thumb over my nipple in slow circles.

It’s distracting, and it takes a moment for the words to sink in because I’m having to bite my lip against the unwanted pleasure. “What size what?” I ask, confused. “Bra, or clothes, or…”

“Bra, but clothes too. You probably need to gain at least twenty pounds, if not more.” His hand travels down to my ribcage, and he taps on one of the ridges. “There’s no point in buying real clothes for you when they won’t fit you soon, anyway.”

I shake my head. It’s been so long that I don’t even really remember. “A C cup,” I say. “And…” I close my eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.” I’d always been skinny, but I have a feeling he’s not going to accept that.

“We’ll get you to the right size,” Hunter says. After a few more lingering touches, he pulls away and gets more food. “Do you know why I bought you?”

“Because I cry a lot?” I ask, feeling a little bitter because it’s probably the truth. “I don’t mean to be a crybaby. Giulio always says…” I trail off. I don’t want to think about Giulio Pavone. I don’t want to think about Ntimacy.

“Because I needed somebody who wouldn’t fight me,” Hunter answers. “I deal with enough of that everywhere else in my life. When I get home, I just want things to be… easy. Neat. Orderly. Controlled.”

To my utter shock, Hunter’s lips twitch into something that almost resembles a smile.

“I think that’s the clichéd psychoanalysis they always give about people like me.” Hunter lifts more food to my mouth, and I automatically eat it. That hint of a smile drops away. “So after a day of dealing with patients, dealing with their entitled partners, answering unnecessary phone calls, and analyzing worrying ultrasounds, I just wanted to enjoy a nice evening with you against my thigh.”

I blink at him. That hadn’t been what I was expecting at all, but I guess it makes sense. “I’m sorry,” I say, though I’m not quite sure why I’m apologizing. For not immediately getting on the floor? For not leaning against his thigh? That was a little ridiculous.

“Now I have to think about what we’ll do instead.” Hunter eats for a few moments, and I watch him warily. We’re already doing something else.

If I could, I’d be looking down to hide my face from him. I’m sure my body is completely flushed red. The dildo isn’t helping on that front. I squirm, and of course that just sends another tingle of pleasure through me.

The strange feeding continues, until Hunter is satisfied that we’ve both eaten enough. I don’t tell him that I’m far too full, actually. I haven’t eaten this much in months. Years, probably. But Hunter places his hand on me and rubs my bloated belly gently. “Good,” he murmurs. “Maybe I can forgive your little… rebellion.”

I don’t want to say that it wasn’t a rebellion, that it was just my uncertainty, because he might see that as talking back. It’s already exhausting, trying to figure out what he’s going to see as rebellion, but I have to figure this out.

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