Page 27 of Anorthic Anarchy

“Nope. You don’t get to speak, eat, or spit until you’re sorry.”

I’m shaking with frustration and unease as he clips a long dog leash to my collar and removes the wrist and ankle restraints from the cross I’m bound to.

My muscles tense once I stand, but he taps the backs of my knees with the heel of his foot until they buckle. I hit the carpet with a groan, kneeling in front of him. His branding on my skin aches as it stretches, a constant reminder of the man who thinks heownsme. Done with his chicanery, I grab at his waist to haul myself up or pull him down; I’m not sure which. Using my nails to dig into his arms, I scratch at the skin, but he quickly snares my wrists behind me.

He’s powerful and strong. Especially when I fall to my side to use my legs to push him off me, but he’s already clipped the wrist binds to my ankles. When he sits me upright, he cups his chin with a hand and stares at me. His lecherous eyes scan every inch of my naked body. Given my position, kneeling before him, my chest is pressed out and my nipples peak under his inspection.

It’s cold being so exposed, but there’s no choice for me. I’m completely bound. To make matters worse, he takes the end of the leash and wraps it around his bedpost, then waltzes into his bathroom casually, leaving me alone.

Sliding my thighs together, I try to get more comfortable. I really can’t without falling over, though. And given now that it’s dinnertime, my stomach growls with anticipation of my last meal of the day.

But I won’t say sorry. Not to the monster.

It takes so long for him to return, I have to pee, but when I try to move, the chain catches on the bedpost, and I can’t. Instead, I’m stuck in this awkward position with his cum inside of me. And drool forms around the silicone gag. So much, I’m unable to swallow it and it oozes into a puddle in my lap. It just makes me need to go to the bathroom sooner.

Dilan enters and sets a delicious smelling tray of food on a side table in front of a wing-backed chair, then turns to leave and pauses. “Oh. Hello.”

“Hhhaaaa…” I moan out for help to get to the bathroom.

“Well, Mrs. Strauss. Your dinner tray is in your parlor.”

The consort walks in from the bathroom freshly bathed and his white hair slicked back as if he just combed it. A set of silky red pajamas gleams in the dim candlelight of the room. “Thank you for dinner. We’re not acknowledgingthatuntil she apologizes.” He places a palm on Dilan’s back and presses his lips to her temple, not even looking at me. I’m a desperate hostage on the floor.

She nods and smiles slightly at him. “Will you need anything else, darling?”

Easing onto his chair, he picks up a knife and fork to carve into his delicious smelling steak. “No, thank you.”

“Goodnight, darling.”

Dilan glances at me before leaving, giving me raised eyebrows and a slight nod as if to say,I told you to behave.

Honestly, the sound of his chewing and pressure in my bladder may make me comply. Temporarily.

The master appears extremely relaxed. He pulls his phone out of his front pocket and taps on the screen in between luxurious bites. But he doesn’t pay me any attention at all.

I’m not sure why, but it truly bothers me. Here I was, trying to getoutof his sights. But I think his indifference is the worst thing imaginable. Also, it’s unsafe.

Some lilting melody plays through a speaker on his bedside table. I don’t recognize the deep alto voice of the singer, but she jazzes the end of every note pleasantly. It’s the only comfort I’ve had in this place.

Strauss takes his time to finish his meal, and as I get used to the song, resting my head on the mattress, he shuts it off. As if I’m not even there, he walks to the bed and takes off his shirt. Tossing it toward the foot rail, he then slides under the covers, then settles in with his book.

Involuntary whimpers rise from my chest as I know I’ll have to go soon and may all over his carpet. His only action is to sigh and slam his book closed, then he turns off his lamp.

My armshurtand my knees are starting to strain. Maybe I’ve pulled a ligament or something. He can’t leave me like this for this long. I’ll dehydrate from all the spit flowing out of my mouth!

Fine. I can saysorry. I won’t mean it. And pretty soon, it won’t matter what my words say. I’ll shoot him with one of those rifles. Perhaps I’ll even torture him first.

“Aaaarrrr!” I yell as loud as I can. It’s only been an hour or so since he went to sleep, but he sits and turns on the lamp again.

“I’m sorry? Did you speak?”

“Aarrrr!”

He stretches arduously, then walks over to me and unbinds the gag from the top of my head, leaving the neck strap on. My jaw burns and clicks as I move it around. It feels amazing to have my tongue back inside my mouth.

“Now, try that again. What was that?”

Glaring at him as he bends over me, I scream, “Sorry!”

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