Page 20 of Vicious

Even the blowjob had been strangely pleasurable in a way I try not to think about.

Damn it.

I’ve gone so long without facing this part of myself, and now that I’m forced to confront it all at once, my head is spinning. I don’t know how he’s awoken this part of me, but now that it’s here, I can’t make it stop.

I glance around the room, trying to distract myself by exploring, but every single item in here is another reminder of what’s happened—and what’s to come.

The implements hanging from the wall are terrifying and fascinating in equal measures. Whips, floggers, paddles, and other things I can’t put names to are all displayed so proudly, for all that they’re in a room he can deny the existence of.

I wonder if I’m the first person he bought and kept down here.

I wonder if I’ll be the last.

He’s never struck me as the serial rapist and killer type before, but then, I thought saying no would keep him out of my life.

God, what an idiot I’d been.

I should’ve just given in and gone on a single date with him to extinguish his curiosity.

But no. I know better. It wouldn’t have just been one date. He’d have ensnared me, ensuring there was always another. He’d have managed to wake up something inside of me that I never, ever wanted to admit was there either way.

Maybe it would’ve been better if I’d just tumbled into it willingly.

The thing is, though, that if I’d given in and let him pull me into his orbit, it would’ve been worse when he ultimately kicked me out of it. He’d have probably romanced me and given me everything I ever wanted only to take it away when he got bored of me. It would’ve been back to eighty-hour work weeks and struggling to get by after a brief vacation. This was a game to him, but I’m the one who would have to keep living my life when the game was over.

Now, I have to hope he grows bored and tosses me aside.

I cross the room as far as the chain will allow me to go, stopping only when it pulls taut against the collar locked around my throat. I can’t reach anything, of course; I can’t pull those drawers open or peek into the cabinets to see what else he might have in store for me. I both want to know and wish I could hide from the truth.

After a long moment of fiddling with the little lock on my collar, I resign myself to the fact that there’s nothing I can do but stare and wonder. I return to the bed, flopping down on it and pulling up the covers, and I try to go back to sleep.

My brain is too busy reminding me what my body had done less than an hour earlier, though, and I can’t even keep my eyes closed without being reminded of what Chase had done to me.

Despite the situation, despite how terrible and strange and frustrating it is, I find myself getting bored, and I don’t know what to make of that. I should be panicking and hiding, not restless and wishing I had even a book to read to pass the time. I’m not used to sitting still and being alone with my thoughts. I’m always running from one job to the next, stealing sleep when I can and spending time with Baba when I can’t make my mind quiet down.

I’m not used to this empty stillness, and I find that I don’t like it one bit.

I end up napping, even though I should be figuring out some way out of this—or at least, some way to get Chase to let up on… everything. The blankets and pillows are nicer quality than anything at home, and I feel guilty that I’m enjoying this small comfort.

I don’t deserve it.

The sound of the door opening wakes me from my uneasy rest. I’ve always been a light sleeper, and even this exhaustion isn’t enough to change that.

Chase is back, but with another man at his side. The man is taller, Caucasian, with black hair that has a slight curl to it. He’s dressed almost entirely in white, which looks out of place in this gloomy basement dungeon. He’s also carrying a small duffel bag.

I pull the blankets up higher around me, not wanting to openly display my nudity to Chase, let alone another man. I should feel dread, or fear, or something, but instead I’m just relieved to have a slight reprieve from boredom and my own thoughts.

For some reason even I don’t understand, I don’t think Chase is the type to share me, and I remember him saying something about birth control. I’ve never had the need for it before, and I wish I could say I don’t have the need for it now.

But the last thing I want is to carry Chase Vicious’s baby.

The thought alone makes me shudder, but I say nothing as I watch the two of them.

The second man stops and looks around, his nose scrunching up. “It’s so… dark.”

Chase laughs and claps him on the shoulder. “Yeah, sorry. I’m not into the all-white aesthetic.”

“My place isn’t all white,” the man responds, his voice and bearing so bland that I wonder how someone as lively as Chase can put up with him.

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