Page 13 of Married to My Master

Letting him do this, she realized, was one thing she didn't have a choice in, though. Terrified and helpless, she realized she was his prisoner here.

But was she really his prisoner by force?

Dane came back in with one of her dining room chairs held in front of him. As she watched him set the wishbone chair, with its low back and no armrests, down at the foot of the bed, Emily couldn't help but wonder why she hadn't moved even a fraction of an inch while he was away from the room.

“Sit up,” Dane ordered, as he came over to the bed. “On the edge of the bed. Now.”

What was this chair about? Emily eyed the chair and her captor warily, her eyes going back and forth between the two as she sat at the edge of the bed.

“Ever been sleep deprived?” he asked.

Eyes focused on him again, she shook her head.

“Well, I have, princess. In the Air Force, they'd give you pills. They called them ‘go pills,’ and they’d use them for long flights and combat sorties. You'd get ‘stop pills’ afterward. It damn sure fucks with your head. Now, get in the chair.”

She hesitated for a moment, but he shot her a look that told her not to try anything. She quickly got up, not knowing what he would do if she remained obstinate, and sat down in the chair as he went over to grab the duct tape from where he'd left it on the nightstand.

“What are you doing?” Emily asked, finally speaking up.

“Teaching you to behave,” he said, as he returned with the tape. “Struggle, and I'll make the tape so tight you'll worry your fingers are about to fall off. Got it?”

She nodded.

He roughly forced her left arm against the chair back, forcing her sit with her back arched uncomfortably. He taped her in place and moved to the other arm.

“This is uncomfortable,” she said.

“That's the point,” he replied, as he taped her other arm in place.

Her back was arched cruelly, stressing the muscles of her lower back already. However, she quickly found she could adjust herself to a more comfortable position by thrusting her chest out a little, putting her breasts even more fully on display for Dane.

He got down on his knees in front of her, and she reflexively slammed her legs shut. He grabbed both of her knees and pried them apart. “Hold still,” he hissed.

Even from this distance, she could feel his hot breath on her body, slipping up between her thighs. She felt the blood rushing to her extremities, her body betraying her as she adjusted herself in the seat.

She shouldn't be feeling this way. Not about what he was doing to her.

He bent his head and began to tape each ankle to one of the chair legs. Binding completed, he pulled at each of her feet, testing her bonds. Satisfied she couldn't move, he looked up between her thighs. She could feel his eyes on her pouting lips. He glanced up at her, no expression on his face.

Emily blushed and looked away. She couldn't bear to make eye contact. Not now.

He got up from between her legs without saying a word and left the room.

Alone again, at least for a moment, she tested her bonds. He'd done a competent job, though, and she could hardly move given the way he'd taped her into place. She didn't have a chance of getting out of these duct tape shackles.

He came back in a moment later, a pair of heavy, padded headphones dangling from his hand, loud and raucous music already blaring from them.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

He didn't say a word. He just slipped the headphones over her head, and dropped the mp3 player in her lap, the metal and plastic like ice against the inside of her naked thighs.

“Hey!” she screamed, as she twisted to look at him, unable to hear even her own voice over the blaring of the distorted electric guitar, thumping bass, and screaming lyrics that were too loud to understand. “Dane!”

She watched as he took the tie he'd earlier been wearing and held it out in front of him. He had a determined, crazy look in his eyes—more so than at any point so far.

Was he going to strangle her to death? Was this how they'd find her, with headphones blaring heavy metal into her dead ears, her corpse taped to one of her dining room chairs in her bedroom? She could just picture the news, too: “Youngest Female CEO of Fortune 500 Pharma Company Found Dead in Home. Deviant Sex Play Suspected as Cause of Death.”

She recoiled in fear, panic filling her at what he might do with that innocuous article of clothing.

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