Page 15 of Lily

“I trust you’re well, Lily,” he commented as he followed along behind her.

“Yes, Sir. Very well, thank you.” It was the oddest, most ridiculous conversation since he could easily see the four recent welts on her backside now and couldn’t have missed the stripes across her tits when she’d opened the door.

She was most certainly not doing “very well.” Mind games were her Master’s specialty, and he loved to bring his guests into her torment.

After she showed the man to her Master’s study—another foolish show because he knew exactly where the study was located—she stood in wait pose next to her Master’s desk, as was expected of her when there were guests.

“I see you’ve had to discipline your wayward slave again today, Leo.”

“Yes. She is an obstinate girl. I’m convinced she’s a masochist and misbehaves on purpose because she enjoys the feel of my cane.”

Both men laughed as if this were the most hilarious news.

Roselia kept her head lowered and her teeth gritted tight. What she wanted to do was tell them both to go fuck themselves. She couldn’t begin to imagine what her punishment might be for that.

It was clear that her Master enjoyed looking at her body. He liked it displayed for him often. He kept her close, inventing excuses to accompany her to any room where he wanted her to clean.

At first, she’d thought he didn’t trust her to be out of his sight, but after a few weeks, she’d realized he derived perverse pleasure in watching her and would often dictate her moves.

“Bend at the waist when you clean that shelf, girl. Legs parted. I want to see your ass and your cunt while you dust.”

“Shoulders back. How many times do I have to tell you to keep your tits high? They are one of your best assets. Pull that corset up a few inches.”

In a preposterous twist, he would often order her to lie in the strangest places for an hour or two in the afternoon. He would verbally arrange her on the large glass coffee table, the dining table, his desk, or even the floor. Always with her legs spread as wide as she could, a pillow under her ass to elevate and expose her sex.

He would simply stare at her. The twist was she looked forward to those hours because she got a break from cleaning and cooking. She wasn’t permitted to nap or even close her eyes, but she at least got some rest. She used those times to let herself think of Marco.

By now, it was hard to remember him. His face was fading. His voice was, too. She hated that she couldn’t remember his scent or his smile. He probably hadn’t even thought about her once. It was possible he’d forgotten her entirely.

The visitor jerked her out of her reverie with his comments about her body. “Those welts across her tits are a work of art. I have no idea how you’re able to strike your slave so perfectly with straight lines that come just shy of bleeding.”

“Honed skill, my friend. I’m too squeamish for blood, and I wouldn’t want to watch it running down her body.” Her Master laughed.

His guest’s cell phone rang, and the fat man leaned to one side to pull it out of his pocket. He tapped the screen a few times and leaned again to return it to his pocket, but he missed.

Roselia watched in shock as the phone slid down between the couch cushions, then was shoved deeper when its owner leaned his excessive weight over the seam.

Heart racing, she spent the rest of the man’s visit praying he wouldn’t notice the missing phone until he got home.

Please, God. Grant me this one wish. Please.

Though her Master had a cell phone and a laptop, both items were always in his possession or locked in a drawer. Never once had he been careless enough to leave either unattended.

After four months, Roselia had given up hope of ever managing to use his phone when he wasn’t in the room. Suddenly, she might have her opportunity.

She’d gone over this possibility in her head a million times in the first few weeks she’d been here. Who would she call if she had the opportunity? She only had two options. 911 or Marco. She was afraid if she dialed 911, she would never be discovered, and she would be punished in a way she couldn’t fathom, perhaps even ending her life.

The police would surely believe her and come to the door, but her Master would simply answer it and accuse them of having the wrong address. She knew he could get away with that because he’d shown her the hidden room behind the bookshelf in his office. It was small and cramped, but that didn’t matter. Its existence was singular, a place to force her to hide if anyone ever came to the house who was not privy to her existence. He’d assured her it was soundproof and locked from the outside.

If cops came to the house, lights flashing and sirens blaring, she’d find herself locked in that room for a week and probably die there.

Her only other choice was Marco. His was the only phone number she knew, and that was because she’d memorized it when he’d given it to her like a silly schoolgirl with a crush on a boy. Except Marco was no boy. He was a man. A man who’d smiled at her and cared about her more than anyone she’d encountered in recent years.

As the men finished their meeting, Roselia held her breath.

Please leave the phone.

Please leave the phone.

---