Trigger warnings: Non-consent, abduction, forced imprisonment, drugging, brief mentions of suicide, degradation, forced BDSM, and cruel punishments (including but not limited to starvation and isolation).

Note: This story, including all names and people, is entirely fictional and not based on any real life experiences or events.

If you like this story and want to read more, you can find a list of all my stories here!💜 You can also find a list of the parts of this story whenever they are published.🥰

A few months later

“Please make me come, Master.”

“God, I never get tired of hearing you begging for it, my good little pet.”

His words make me moan, my back arching into the bed as I grip his hair tighter. I eagerly shove him back between my legs, encouraging him to continue eating at me.

He does exactly what I want him to, using his tongue to flick my clit while his fingers keep moving in and out of me. The combination of sensations wind me so tight that I think I’ll die if I don’t get to come anytime soon.

“Please,” I beg, gripping tighter. I swing my legs over his shoulders, pushing him so close I’m sure he won’t be able to breathe.

He just moans in response. There are probably worse places to die than between a woman’s thighs, I suppose.

After minutes of this torture, Master finally breaks, pulling back just far enough to say, “Come for me, my pet.”

I break apart as I do as I’m told, moaning and shaking and bucking off the bed. The collar around my neck tightens as I do, the leash being pulled tighter from where it’s fastened to the headboard. The feeling of being choked by the leather just makes the orgasm way more intense, and I ride the high by grinding on my Master’s face until I come back down to earth.

He gives me one last lick at the most sensitive parts of me, making me stir. Once he moves away, I slump against the bed, feeling like I’m made entirely of jelly.

“Thank you, Master,” I say, honestly. It doesn’t even occur to me that I shouldn’t be saying it anymore. I just say it, because honestly, it’s the polite thing to do. He doesn’t have to make me come on his face, so I’m always happy and appreciative when he does.

He smiles down at my naked body, his lips coated by my arousal. His tongue darts out to lick it away, and the sight of it makes me ready for another round. “Good girl,” he praises, and I beam at him.

He removes my leash from my collar, then pulls me into his arms, and I can’t help but lean into his touch. The way his arms wrap around me is so comforting and I almost purr when he begins rubbing my back.

He leans down to kiss my forehead, earning a smile from me. “You wanna eat?” he asks, and I eagerly nod. “Good. I got you something special today.”

“Oh?” I ask, instantly intrigued.

Smiling, he walks out the door to grab whatever he made from the kitchen. He locks the door behind him, because even now, months after my escape attempt, he still makes sure I can’t escape.

But honestly, by this point, being locked in here is more a comfort than anything else. Sort of like using a weighted blanket on a cold, winter night.

He comes back a minute later, and I jump up at the sight of the plate in his hands.

It contains a large, juicy looking steak, some veggies, and some sauce, and it makes my stomach rumble.

“Sit down, princess,” he instructs sternly, and I do as he says, sitting down on the bed.

He places the plate between us, then uses the steak knife to cut off a piece. He stabs a few pieces of the vegetables, then brings the fork to my mouth.

I moan at the taste, eliciting an affectionate chuckle from my Master. He smiles as he feeds me every bite, and I eagerly open my mouth for each one.

Once I’m finished, I give him a “Thank you, Master,” and he kisses my cheek. He grabs the plate, placing the utensils on top of it, and places it on the dresser drawer. Once done, he turns back around to face me, then announces, “I got you something else.”

I don’t get a chance to ask what he got me before he leans down to his bag and pulls out his present. It’s wrapped beautifully, and I immediately get flashbacks to when he got me my collar, but this box looks much smaller.

But when he hands it to me, I immediately realise it’s a book. I gasp, using my eyes to ask for permission and ripping the wrapper apart when he nods.

I recognise it immediately, because I remember when this author announced this book almost a year ago. It was supposed to come out around this month, so this must mean my Master got it for me just as it came out. The cover is gorgeous, and as I run my fingertips across it, tears prick at my eyes.

It’s kind of like when I get the occasional newspaper, but not really. While the newspaper offers me a glimpse into the real world, the book is a strange reminder of how my world used to be. I might’ve been at the bookstore the day of release, buying it together with one of my friends so we can read it together.

But instead, I’m here, having to read it alone while my Master expects me to feel grateful for the chance to do so.

And despite knowing it’s fucked, I still do feel grateful. I know psychologists could write fifty dissertations about how messed up my brain is, but it’s not like it’d change anything. I’m still messed up, regardless of how logical it is or how well I understand why.

“Thank you,” I finally mutter to my Master, and he smiles gently as he begins moving to the door.

He probably thinks I’m getting teary eyed because I’m happy about the book (and I am, of course), but that’s not entirely it. I think when he slings his bag over his shoulder and goes to grab the empty plate that I just feel…lonely.

“Wait,” I say, just before he grabs the plate. “Master?”

“Yes, angel? What’s wrong?” His voice is soft and comforting, but it still makes me nervous to have to justify there something being wrong.

“Can you stay?” I finally whisper, looking down at the book in my lap. “I don’t want to be alone.”

I sound pathetic, begging the man who kidnapped me to not leave me alone, but at this point, who really cares?

He must catch where my eyes have wandered, but what he says next still surprises me. “You want me to read with you?” he asks carefully.

I finally look up at him, my breath catching at just how gorgeous he looks. His hair is a little longer than when he first showed me his face, and he hasn’t shaved in a few days. He still looks lethal, but by now, that lethality just brings me a feeling comfort and safety.

I feel a bit ridiculous, asking this big, intimidating man to read a romance book with me because I’m lonely. But when I nod, he doesn’t hesitate for a second. He gently places his bag on the floor again, then moves into bed.

I go to cuddle up to him, but he indicates for me to remain sitting while he gets comfortable. He sits with his back against the headboard, then spreads his legs and indicates for me to get between them.

Holding my book in one hand, I do as I’m told, sitting between his legs and laying down on his chest. I’m immediately hit by how damn comfortable this is. I feel his heartbeat against my back, every breath he takes lifting me a little into the air. And when he grabs the covers and places it over us, then wraps his arms around me, I feel safer and more comfortable than I ever have.

I snuggle in closer to him, burrowing further into the warmth of him beneath me. I lay there for a long few minutes before he gently nudges me, whispering, “Read your book, baby.”

His hot breath fanning my ear makes me shiver, but I do as he says, pulling up the book and opening the first page.

And then we read.

I read a little bit faster than he does, so I have to wait at the end of every page for him to catch up, but that’s okay. I just can’t get enough of how my Master wanted to read with me. It’s such a random, meaningless thing, yet it warms my heart so much to hear him chuckle softly at a joke from the main character.

I’ve never even gotten a boyfriend of mine to read with me, yet this scary criminal who abducted me and keeps me as a pet does it with no hesitation. It’s so…weird, yet for some ridiculous reason, it makes sense for him. He’s always so soft and careful and nice with me when I’m obeying him, and since that’s pretty much all the time lately, it makes sense that he’d want to read with me like this. It’s not like I can forget all the cruel things he’s done to me, but when I get a reward like this, I don’t even need to remember the punishments to get me to obey.

We keep reading and reading and reading and suddenly, the sun has set outside. I’m still waiting a few moments at the end of every page for him to catch up, but he’s no longer telling me that I can turn the page, so I just do it myself. He doesn’t protest, so I figure it’s fine.

More time passes, and eventually, we get to a steamy scene. My breath quickens as I read the words, suddenly a little shy about reading this with a guy.

I expect some witty comment from him or maybe even for him to begin touching me, but he does nothing. I keep reading, trying to pretend like he’s not here, but it’s impossible.

But then, when I turn around to look up at him, I realise why he hasn’t been saying anything for a while. He’s asleep.

At first I want to laugh. I mean, I get it, we’ve been here for several hours, but still, was the book that boring? To be fair, I think I could fall asleep in this position, but I’d at least tell him I want to sleep first.

Sighing, I put the book away, then gently pry his arms away from me, letting me sit up. I crawl out of bed, standing and looking back at his sleeping form with a small smile on my face.

He looks so peaceful it’s almost comical. His scary face and body look ridiculous when he’s asleep, almost like he’s a baby, but all the sight does is warm my heart.

I round the bed, making my way to the bookshelf to grab the bookmark I have there. Once I have it, I stick it between the pages in my book and put it away on the bedside table.

I’m about to shut off the light and get back into bed, but then my eyes catch something next to the bed. The light flickers off something shiny, and my heart stops when I realise what it is.

He never took the plate out. And now there’s a big, shiny steak knife laying there. An incredibly sharp, lethal looking steak knife.

I look back at Master. He’s asleep, in bed. And I’m awake, untethered and able to move about as I want.

I could…oh god.

My breaths turn ragged, my heart pounding hard in my chest as I realise this is, by far, the best chance I’ve ever gotten. This isn’t like when he left me outside a few months ago, or the blunt pens strewn about the drawers in here.

No, I could stab him in the neck right now and be done with it. I’m not locked to the bed. I could kill him, cut his thumb off, and run. I could find a phone, call for help, or even just run out the front door and see if he has a car.

I could be free.

So why the fuck am I hesitating?

He could wake up any second, and I’d never have a chance like this again. He didn’t mean to fall asleep, and I’m sure he doesn’t think I’ll kill him, but I don’t doubt that he’d be careful never to give me an opportunity like this again.

But why is it still so hard to wrap my fingers around the knife? I do it, but it feels like I’m touching a hot stove after my mother’s told me not to touch it. It feels like I’m doing something terribly wrong, but not because I’m about to kill someone. It feels wrong because my Master would think it is, and that’s apparently enough for my fucked-up brain.

I walk over to the side of the bed where my Master is sleeping. He looks peaceful, just like before, except now, it’s like the calm before the storm. I don’t see his calm features as anything but the cruel things he’s done to me over the time I’ve been here. I don’t think of the way he’s been kind to me, I only think of the ways he starved me into submission.

The anger boils my blood until I’m gripping the knife so tight my fingers turn white. Tears are rolling down my cheeks at the image of what I’m about to do, of killing the man who I’ve been calling my Master for so many months.

Why is this so fucking hard? He’s a horrible, cruel person who stole me from everything I knew to use me as a sex slave. He’s forced me to become his “pet”, locked a collar with a fucking tracking device around my neck, made me piss on the floor, and forced himself on me any time he wants to.

I should fucking hate him. But I don’t.

Because interspersed with his horrific cruelty are images of all the kind things he’s done for me. He didn’t have to give me a nicer room or give me all my clothes and my books. He didn’t have to take me outside every few days or buy me new books.

But he did, because in his own twisted way, he cares for me, and despite how much I hate myself for it, I can’t help but care for him too in an even more twisted way.

I could look at it objectively, of course. I could say he’s conditioned me into appreciating all his kindness simply because the alternative is so horrible. I could say he’s forced me to come, that he’s forced me to accept him and his treatment of me, that he’s forced me to love him, despite how much I’ve fought him tooth and nail.

But you can only force someone to do so much. He can force me to bend over to fuck me, but he can’t force me to enjoy it. He can force me to obey, but he can’t make me want to obey for the sake of it.

Only I can do that. And the fact that I’m hesitating with going through with this tells me more than enough about how fucking far I’ve fallen.

A lump appears in my throat when I realise I just can’t do this. It’d be so easy, and with enough therapy I probably wouldn’t even feel guilty about it. I’d run back home, hug my mom, and live happily ever after and forget this ever happened.

But how can I, when I’ve grown to love being here? It’s not enough that I’m content with my life here, or that I’m scared of leaving. That’d be one thing, but when those scenarios of beautiful, blissful freedom run through my mind…all I feel is dread.

It's like imagining the death of a parent or a romantic partner. I…I can’t live without him. The terrifying image of him lying dead in a pool of his own blood, followed by police interviews and media coverage and therapy and…it’s all too much.

I’m so pissed off at myself for not being able to just kill him. This is the best chance I’ve gotten by a mile, yet all I do with it is cry when I imagine my life without my Master.

I fucking love him.

I love him.

My anger and emotions boil over, and before I realise it, I’m screaming and tossing the knife somewhere behind me. I hear it clattering across the floor right as my Master’s startled eyes fly open.

“Hannah?” he asks, voice laced with grogginess and confused concern.

I breathe heavily, probably looking completely fucking insane. My cheeks are wet with tears, I’m completely naked except for the pink collar wrapped around my neck, and I’m standing right above him, panting like I’ve just run for a mile.

His eyes dart around my face, then to the source of the loud noise, and I watch as he puts the pieces together. For a moment, I’m terrified of him. What if he’ll punish me for this? What if this counts as an attempt to harm him, and he’ll shove me back in the other cell for ten days?

But then, so softly that I barely hear him at first, he says, “What happened, Hannah?”

I don’t know why that’s my breaking point. It just is. I feel like I deserve his cruelty for this, that’s the worst part. So when his arms open and he indicates for me to crawl into his lap, I hesitate. Not because I don’t want to touch him (I desperately want to), but because I don’t think I deserve it after coming so fucking close to killing the man I call Master.

“Come here, Hannah,” he orders sternly, and I finally get my ass into gear and crawl into bed with him.

I lay on his chest as his arms wrap around me, crying softly. “Shh,” he soothes, rocking me back and forth and rubbing my back. “Tell me what just happened.”

His voice is somehow both firm and soft at the same time, offering sympathy yet leaving no room for arguing with him.

I should hate it, but it just makes it easier to talk about everything.

And so I do. I tell him everything. I give him every little detail, not even giving a shit that I might be incriminating myself and offering myself up to be punished. I’d honestly choose punishment over comfort at this point.

I finish my story by saying, honestly, “I hate myself, Master. I hate myself for wanting to stay here. I feel like there’s something so seriously wrong with me, but I can’t help it…”

“Shh, my beautiful girl. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re supposed to be here, of course you’re going to want to stay here.”

I nod against his chest, desperately needing those words to be true. “I’m so sorry,” I say. “I don’t know what happened, I just…”

“It’s okay,” he says, rubbing gentle circles over my naked back.

“It’s not, though, Master. I almost…” I trail off, unable to give word to the horrific thing I barely stopped myself from doing.

My Master’s grip tightens a little, bringing me closer to him. “I know. And I’ll have to punish you for putting yourself in danger like that.”

Dread pours through my veins, burning me. I don’t want to go back to that fucking stone cell. I haven’t seen it in months, not since last time I tried to kill him with a knife.

But I can’t verbalise my protests. I can’t stand the idea of going back there, but part of me also thinks I deserve the punishment. I came this close to putting him in harm, so spending a few days in the cell is more than deserved.

That’s why I nod, not saying anything. His hand gently pets my hair as I make myself as small as possible in his arms, clinging to his kind touches like they might save me.

“You’re not going back to the other cell, Hannah.”

“What?” I ask, dumbfounded. I try to sit up to look at him, but he clings to me, preventing me from getting off his lap. “Why not?” It’s not like I want to go back, but I definitely should.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be punished, and you won’t enjoy it.”

Again, being punished for this brings me way more comfort than it should.

I nod, muttering, “Thank you, Master,” because truly, I am thankful that he’s making sure I get punished for all this.

He gently lifts me from my lap, setting me down onto the bed. He leaves for a minute, probably to get god knows what, and when he returns, I swallow hard when I see the metal handcuffs in his hands.

“Bend over,” he orders, and I obey, resting my cheek on the cool pillow and sticking my ass high in the air. My wrists are pulled behind my back a moment later, followed by the sharp pain of metal handcuffs wrapping around them.

I grit my teeth at the pain. They’re so tight I can barely move without feeling the metal digging into my wrists in the most painful way. Yet despite that, I make no noise of protest. I’m determined to take my punishment, whatever it is.

Master slaps my ass a little, though not nearly enough to hurt. He cups my pussy after a dozen slaps, and he laughs at how wet I’ve grown.

He keeps slapping my ass, though, and soon, I’m wincing with pain at each slap. It’s becoming increasingly difficult not to move my hands too much, to not cause myself even more pain through pulling at the metal at my wrists.

I eventually lose count of the painful slaps, but honestly, it’s not as bad as I thought it’d be. Sure, it hurts a lot, but compared to the other punishments I’ve received, is this really all that bad?

But then, my Master slaps my ass one last time, announcing, “I’m going to cane you, little girl.”

All the blood drains from my face at that promise. I wouldn’t protest anyway, but I don’t even get a chance to regardless before I feel the cane hitting me squarely on my ass.

I scream, unable to help myself. I realise why he was slapping my ass for so long. It was to get me ready for this, to make my ass extra sensitive and incapable of handling the cane.

He hits me again, eliciting another horrific scream. On the third hit, I can barely keep myself upright. The pain is so fucking overwhelming that I can’t feel anything but the welts the wooden cane leaves behind. I can’t stop myself from pulling at my handcuffs, adding to my discomfort, and I have to spend every scrap of sanity and strength I have to not resist his strikes.

Minutes pass, and I lose track of the strikes. It could be ten, or it could be fifty. All I know is that I’m in so much pain that I can’t think clearly. I exist purely in a haze, but any time I get lost in the fog, another strike aggressively pulls me back.

“Fuck!” I scream when he hits the backs of my thighs, grazing my pussy. I involuntarily roll over in a subconscious attempt to guard my sensitive parts, and surprisingly the strikes stop.

My Master crouches next to my pathetic form. I’m crying and whimpering at the sight of him, feeling as much fear as I did on my first day here. “Shh,” he coos, wiping hair from my face. “You’re not done yet.”

“Please,” I gasp, unable to help myself. “I can’t…”

“Be a good girl and keep that pretty mouth shut. Otherwise, I’ll have to gag it.”

I whimper, shutting my eyes like that might ease the pain and fear coursing through my system, but I still manage a nod.

My Master helpfully grips my hip, pulling me back up until my ass is exposed again. I shiver at the feeling of open air against my sensitive pussy, but that is quickly overshadowed by another strike directly on it, somehow hitting my clit.

I don’t think the scream I release is human. I somehow keep myself upright, but I barely can. The pain is the strongest feeling I’ve ever felt, and before it’s even faded, another strike follows.

The caning continues for so long that I lose track of time. There is nothing in this world beyond the cane. No wonder Master said I wouldn’t enjoy this. This is actual hell, and if I had to choose between this and the old cell, it’d genuinely be a difficult choice.

Eventually, the caning stops for a few blissful moments, and my Master crouches before me again. He again brushes my hair away from my wet face, but his face is entirely blank and emotionless, though I don’t miss the tent in his pants either.

“Five more, and you’re done. Got it?”

I nod. “Yes, Master.”

He nods back. “I want you to count and thank me for each strike. Do you understand?”

I have to take a deep, shuddered breath to be able to respond clearly, eventually managing, “I understand, Master.”

“Good girl.”

With that, he gets back up behind me, and only a moment passes before I feel the cane against my ass again.

I scream, pure terror and pain lacing the guttural sound. “One!” I push out. “Thank you, Master.”

Thanking him for hitting me fills me with a strange feeling. It’s humiliating, and it feels wrong of course, but beyond that, it feels…fitting. After all, I fucked up – badly – so why shouldn’t I be thanking him for correcting my behaviour?

His next strike hits my upper thighs, the cane against the sensitive skin pushing an even more guttural scream from my lips. “Two,” I whimper, voice desperate and pleading. “Thank you, Master.”

“Apologise, Hannah,” he orders, pausing.

“I’m sorry…” I whimper, taking a breath. “…Master.” I can barely get the words out, but I still push them out. “I shouldn’t have touched the knife.” Even if he wasn’t caning me, I’d still happily apologise for touching it.

“Three!” I scream the second the next hit lands on my ass. “Thank you, Master.”

“Tell me you’re going to be my good little pet, Hannah,” Master orders, surprising me.

It takes considerable effort to collect my shattered pieces so I can speak properly. “I’ll be your good little pet…” I gasp, heaving a few breaths.

“Tell me you fucking belong to me.”

“I belong to you, Master.” Shivers run down my spine at the humiliating words.

Another strike hits my ass without warning, the scream I release stuttered and shocked as a result. I barely manage to say, “Four. Thank you, Master,” because of how fucked my vocal cords are.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

This admission feels like so much more than just the caning. It feels like admitting what I’ve been denying for months, ever since he took me. That I belong to him. That I’m his, in every sense of the word. It doesn’t even bother me to admit it, because by now, I desperately need the words to be true.

“I’m yours, Master.”

He groans somewhere deep in his chest, and the sound is followed by the sound of the cane whizzing through the air.

It lands on my pussy, and it’s by far the most painful strike. I can no longer keep myself upright, and I roll over to my side, sobbing uncontrollably, yet somehow still managing to say, “Five. Thank you, Master.”

Relief floods my senses when I see him put away the cane. A second later, he unlocks my handcuffs, and I wince when my wrists are freed.

My ass hurts, welts and bruises covering the entire surface area. My pussy hurts too, but I’m somehow impossibly turned on by my Master’s display of dominance and ownership.

That’s why, when he says, “I’m going to fuck your greedy little cunt, and you’re going to take it like my good little pet,” I can’t do anything but nod and plead.

“Please fuck me, Master. Please.” My voice sounds pathetic, the sound croaky and desperate, yet it doesn’t even phase me.

Master repositions me until I’m laying on my back with him above me. I wince in pain at the feeling of the welts on my ass against the bedsheets, but I don’t complain. If anything, it just makes me happy to be reminded of his marks on my skin, especially as he begins unzipping himself.

His mouth crashes with mine the same second he pushes into me, and we both groan and whimper into each other’s mouths. The cane hit my pussy several times, so it hurts like hell when he pushes inside me, yet I live for that pain. It makes me feel alive, and having my Master hurt me like this makes me feel better than I have in years.

“Oh, god,” I whimper, repeating the same two words several times. My Master is slow with his thrusts, yet they’re hard and deep, hitting me in my most sensitive spots. When I look down, the sight of him pushing in and out of me is the most erotic and overwhelming sight I’ve seen in my entire life. Watching his hard, thick cock forcing its way into my aching, red pussy is so overwhelming it brings tears to my eyes, and I moan.

“God you’re so fucking tight,” my Master groans against my mouth, and I eagerly nod.

“More,” I beg. “Please, Master, I need more.”

His thrusts quicken in response, giving me more pain and pleasure all entwined into one emotion. I groan at the combination of sensations, and I think, in this moment, that I’ll die happy once this is over, because this is truly the best experience I’ve had in my life.

I’m desperate to come, and I feel myself getting closer, yet I keep myself from coming without permission. I wouldn’t blame him for denying me after the stunt I pulled today, so I keep myself from begging for it, instead waiting for him to tell me I can come.

But he doesn’t. His thrusts turn violently fast as he takes me, and it’s all I can do to hold onto his shoulders as my legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer with every thrust. The bell hanging on my collar jingles with each violent thrust like a reminder of his ownership over me. Our mouths connect, each of us absorbing the other’s sounds of pleasure and pain, and I realise I could never be without this, without him.

His mouth leaves mine after a minute, and he goes to my neck, biting so hard that I know it’ll leave a mark. I scream at the pain, yet it sends shivers of pleasure down my spine, all gathering to right where we’re joined together. My pleasure turns so intense that I could mistake it for pain, and I’m desperately clinging to him as I feel everything he lets me feel.

Without warning, his thrusts suddenly slow. “God, you fit so fucking well around me,” he groans. “You were made for me, Hannah. Every part of you belongs to me.”

“Yes,” I moan, not realising until now how badly I needed to hear that.

“Tell me,” he orders into my neck, his thrusts quickening again.

“Every part of me is yours, Master,” I moan, each syllable broken by his desperate thrusts. “I’m yours.”

“Good fucking girl,” he groans, and a moment later, he snakes a hand down to my clit. “Come for me like you belong to me, my pet.”

I don’t need to be told twice.

I desperately chase my impending orgasm as he rubs my clit between deft fingers. He knows exactly what I respond to and what gets me going, so his touches bring me higher and higher and higher until I feel nothing but pleasure and his skin on my skin and his cock inside me.

Every part of me aches for him, even now, and when he stills, releasing his come deep inside me while groaning my name, I come apart.

I scream, every sensation that much more intense thanks to everything that happened today. My ass stings like hell as I grind against Master’s fingers and thick length, desperately riding the orgasm he’s given me. He’s still thrusting inside me, ensuring our combined pleasure lasts as long as possible, and when I finally – fucking finally – come back to my own body, I slump against the bed, feeling like a puddle.

There’s always been hints of shame at best whenever he fucks me like this and I enjoy it. Part of me has always hated myself for finding pleasure in the way he treats me, and it’s, frankly, been a suffocating feeling.

But tonight, as he spanked me, caned me, and fucked me, all I felt was an intense love and need for him. I felt nothing but the way he pushed into my soul, and I happily accommodated him.

He’s been dragging me beneath the waves for months now, but I’ve stopped fighting him. I threw away the knife willingly, all because I don’t want my life here to end.

I’d happily let him drag me to the bottom of the deepest oceans if it meant I could drown in him.

It takes a few days before I’m able to sit without cringing at the pain. The welts stay for a while longer, though, and I honestly feel sad when they fade. It’s nice to have his marks on my skin, branding me as his, so when they completely fade, I can’t help but feel disappointed.

We’ve gone back to relative normalcy after what I did, though, which is nice. After we recovered, he carried me into the shower and spent what felt like a good hour cleaning me and taking care of me. He cleaned my wounds, washed my hair, and made sure every inch of my skin was clean.

When we got back into bed, I had to remind him to lock my ankle cuff to the bed, which he did with a small smile grazing his handsome face. Afterwards, I cuddled up to him, thanking him for punishing me.

It made me feel so, so much better, honestly. The punishment felt awful, obviously, but it felt good to, in a way, pay for what I did.

It’s still terrifying to me how close I came to killing him. Months later, I still keep thinking about what could’ve happened had I gone through with it. I would likely have escaped, then gone back home, but then what? Live happily ever after, finally free?

Freedom is a deceptive beast, and if freedom means never being able to feel my Master’s heartbeat beneath my ear again, then I don’t want it.

Eventually, before either of us realise, over a year has passed since he took me. We don’t celebrate it (even now, celebrating that would feel a little odd), but I happily tell him how much I love and appreciate him for keeping me as his pet.

After a while, I ask if he can leash me to the bed instead of using the ankle cuff. I can’t exactly explain why I ask for that, other than that it just feels right. The ankle cuff is one thing, keeping me from acting against him out of fear of starving next to a rotting corpse, but we both know I wouldn’t even entertain that idea anymore. But being leashed to the bed feels so fucking good it’s unreal. Being his good little pet, collared and leashed as we sleep together in each other’s arms is like no other feeling in the world.

Years pass of our life together in his house. He eventually grants me more and more privileges, letting me explore his impressive house and property, though under his supervision. He shows me the woods far off in the distance one day, bringing me to a small lake deep inside. We spend hours swimming together, and I desperately thank him for bringing me there.

Other than the occasional trip outside, though, we mostly stay in his house. He keeps my collar around my throat at all times, and he prefers holding my leash while we’re in the house, whether that be while I eat, while we watch a movie, or while I read a book.

It's amazing, him holding my leash like that. It’s not even that I want to run, but not even having the option to just gives me fuzzy feelings all over. It’s the strangest thing, but I’ve grown tired of questioning it.

One year, around Christmas time, we relax in front of the fireplace while it snows outside. He’s sitting on the floor with my head in his lap, one hand holding my leash and the other idly petting me.

He gave me a few presents earlier, including a new book, which I’ve already finished, because of course. His other presents included things like pretty clothes, some sex toys, and even a vase full of beautiful red roses.

I’m aware that, logically, I’m still in a horrific, terrifying situation, being held captive by a man who forced me to call him my Master. Years ago, when he first took me, I would’ve of course chosen freedom over staying with him.

But as the months passed by, it became a harder choice, even before I realised it. I came to enjoy and love the way he treated me, even when he punished me, like the caning after the last time I messed up.

Over the years, the path I’d been led on became even more clear, and I realised one day that given the genuine chance at freedom, I’d say no in a heartbeat.

I know he’s trained me for this. He’s used cruel, horrific punishments to beat me into submission. But he only really did that a few times at the very start. Eventually, he didn’t have to, because I learned to love being his pet.

And truly, isn’t that the most beautiful gift he could’ve given me? Being his pet feels like what I was made for, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

I may not love him like a boyfriend, and he may not like me like a girlfriend, but that’s just not us. I love him as my Master, and he loves me as his good little pet.

So, when I feel his calloused palm gently petting me in front of the warm fire, a fuzzy blanket covering my naked body, I know, deep in my heart, that I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else than here in my Master’s lap.

Thank you so, so much for reading this short story😍 It's been such a joy to write and share it on here, and I'm genuinely overwhelmed and overjoyed at all the love and support it's received, so thank you so much for that💜 I hope this was as satisfying a conclusion to you as it was to me!

As for new stories, I have a few ideas in mind. Some of you might've seen that I mentioned I've written the first few parts of the next one, but I still want to work on it for a little longer before I feel I'm ready to start posting it. My hope is that I'll start sometime this week💜 It's another abduction story, but it's a little different from my usual stuff. I hope you guys stick around for it regardless🥰