Page 27 of Under Fyre

For my first one in months to be about Fyre, and for it to be as detailed and sordid as the one I had…

There was no way I was telling him about it.

But it made me wonder.

I’ve been here a few days, and things are changing. My mind is already…shifting.

It could just be because I’m off my meds for the first time. Could be because I’m trapped in this room day in and day out. Could be a lot of things that I don’t have the experience, or the knowledge, to understand.

And that’s the point.

I don’t understand a single fucking thing of what’s happening to me right now, or why Fyre is doing these things.

But what if it’s working?

Is he really fixing me?

There’s only one way to find out.

And, apparently, it involves him blindfolding me…and then what?

Guess I’m about to find out.

Chapter Fourteen

Fyre

Ithought she was a vision this morning in her jeans and that cute little ponytail? Seeing her naked like this, ready and waiting on the bed, I’m battling to remain neutral. But it’s impossible to ignore the hard-on I’m barely keeping trapped behind my pants, impossible not to imagine how fucking good it would feel to be inside her.

“Part your knees.”

Charlotte hesitates, and then shuffles her thighs apart. It’s bright in the room. I can see everything I need. Everything Iwant.

Concentrating on Peter’s notes is a task. I keep glancing over at Charlotte where she’s sitting, so perfectly obedient, so wonderfully oblivious of what I’m about to do to her.

Did Peter experience this hedonistic anticipation too? Was it part of the drive for controlling Charlotte like this?

The thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth, and there’s only cherry liquor to wash it away. It tastes like fucking cough syrup, but I take another shot regardless.

Alcohol calms my mind. But it’s a precarious balance to maintain. Too little, and it does nothing. Too much, and I lose every ounce of self-control.

Just right, and it’s like turning down the volume on a radio station.

I take another shot, and turn to face the bed.

Peter kept her drugged a lot of the time. He claimed he only used alcohol, but if he was honest about just howcompliantshe was, then he must have mixed something else into her drinks. Perhaps Ketamine, perhaps GHB. Especially taking into consideration the extent of her amnesia.

I thought I’d have to tie her up, but she’s been an almost willing participant. How far will I go before she starts fighting back?

The sight of her—naked, ready, blindfolded—is enough to send my body into overdrive. But I force my mind to be objective. I can’t be a hundred percent unbiased in this, but I can attempt to remove my feelings from the equation.

There’s a small bucket in the cabinet under the bathroom sink. I leave Charlotte as she is and go to fill it with warm water. If she’s curious about the sounds, she doesn’t show it.

I arrange the bucket of warm water, a hand towel, and other things around her on the bed. She shifts uneasily every time I add something new to the collection, and even licks her lips once or twice, but doesn’t try to escape.

When I dip the edge of the towel into the warm water and touch her inner thigh, she flinches and reaches for me as if to protect herself, but then she quickly laces her fingers and puts them in her lap.

Peter had her in a slightly different position. He said it was so he could see every inch of her cunt, but now I understand the real reason.

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