I hope you enjoy, this is a translated story, as my main language is pt-br, despite my fluent english I did not had the time to translate all that I have written. So please take that in consideration on your feedbacks and comments. I have done my best to review the translation in order to avoid any grotesque errors. Enjoy, this is a 7 part story

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As she made her way to her doorless room—though it was less than 10 meters from one door to the other—it felt like a half-marathon. She was fragile and just wanted to hide, just wanted this week to end. At that moment, she would have left without ever looking back.

She couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened. “Am I dirty?” the question echoed in her mind. She had never imagined her first experience with another woman would be like that. Amidst the pain and shame, what she felt was unexpected pleasure, something so profound that it terrified her. “Did I like it?” she wondered, the thought hitting her with a force she tried to push away. Her hands still trembled, the memory of Anna’s touch—a blend of brutality and seduction—vivid in her mind. Deep down, it was something she genuinely wanted to experience again.

All that she had been through—the mix of pain and pleasure—confused her, blurring the lines between the two. She no longer knew where one ended, and the other began.

As she walked, the sound of her own footsteps in the corridor seemed to intensify her sense of isolation. She kept questioning her perception of reality. “Was it really that bad? Am I to blame for letting this happen? Or was it something I wanted all along?”

When she finally reached her room, which felt like a marathon despite the short distance, she hesitated for a moment before entering. The lack of a door only made her feel more exposed and vulnerable. Inside, she lay down on the bed, her body still marked by touches and actions she couldn’t decide if she wanted to remember or forget.

In that moment, the weight of everything that had happened seemed to overwhelm her mind. “What am I doing here? What does this say about me?” Her thoughts spun in circles, unable to find a satisfactory conclusion. The air around her felt heavy, denser, and harder to breathe.

Seeking distraction, Dayana turned her attention to her room for the first time, observing the place where she had been sleeping. It had only a bed, curtains instead of a door and window coverings, a vanity with a mirror and two drawers, and a wardrobe with four doors. All the furniture was made of solid wood—antique, yet well-preserved.

At that moment, she felt like a child exploring her surroundings, a flutter of excitement in her stomach at the thought of what surprises might await her. For a few moments, she managed to distract herself from the turmoil in her mind, indulging in an almost childlike curiosity about exploring and making small discoveries.

She sat at the vanity and, looking into the mirror, faced her own reflection—something she had avoided since arriving here. Her face was gaunt, her eyes swollen from crying, her hair disheveled. But for a brief moment, she decided not to judge herself. She wanted to embrace the feeling of discovery, setting aside the confusion that pulsed in her mind.

With hesitant fingers, as if unraveling a small mystery, she opened the first drawer. Inside, she found simple items: a hairbrush, a wooden comb, some hairpins, and elastic bands. She carefully picked up the brush and ran her fingers over its soft bristles, feeling the texture against her fingertips. It was as if each object carried a sense of normalcy she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

In the second drawer, there was a small personal hygiene kit: a bottle of hand cream, a lavender-scented lotion, a case with a set of nail files, and a lipstick in a soft pink shade. She picked up the lipstick, opened it, and, curious, smeared a little on her fingertips, feeling its creamy texture before closing the tube again. For a fleeting moment, she forgot where she was, imagining that these items belonged to a daily ritual like any other woman’s.

After exploring the drawers, she turned to the wardrobe, her heart beating slightly faster with anticipation.

She opened the doors slowly. The emptiness behind the first pair of doors left her frustrated but heightened her expectations for what she might find next. Upon opening the remaining doors, a mix of sensations churned in her stomach.

There were only two dresses.

The first was the one she had worn on the day of her desperate escape attempt, stored as a silent reminder of what had happened and a clear warning of what would happen if she tried again. She stared at it for a long moment before her eyes moved to the next dress, which caught her attention entirely.

Hanging on a wooden hanger lined with suede was a long, flowing dress made of light, airy fabric like chiffon or fine cotton. Its soft rose hue was warm and unexpectedly delicate. Subtle floral details were etched into the fabric, evoking a vintage charm, as though it had been pulled straight from the 1970s.

The cut was fitted at the bust and waist, highlighting her silhouette gently. The wide skirt fell in graceful waves, ending in delicate lace trim at the hem, as if it had been hand-embroidered. There was a discreet slit on one side, revealing her legs as she walked—a suggestion of understated elegance. The V-neckline added a touch of sensuality, accentuating her collarbone without being excessive, while the short puff sleeves gave the dress a romantic charm.

Dayana slid her fingers over the soft fabric, admiring its fluidity. It was beautiful—almost too beautiful for what her reality seemed to be at that moment. The lightness of the fabric, the delicacy of the patterns, and the finely crafted details made her feel disconnected from the tension and brutality she had been enduring. It was as though this dress belonged to a different life—a version of herself that could have been but now seemed increasingly distant.

As she touched the dress and took it off the hanger, it felt as though the dress itself carried the hope of a life she had never lived—something unknown, something good. On one hand, it brought a strange sense of hope. Maybe, by wearing something so beautiful, she could reclaim a part of her humanity, a fragment of who she was or could have been. But at the same time, a shadow of doubt loomed. “Do I deserve something like this? Something so delicate, so beautiful, when I feel so broken?”

Dayana closed the wardrobe doors slowly, almost as if trying to prolong the distraction. That mixture of curiosity and melancholy lingered in her chest. Everything in the room seemed simple and functional, yet the dress carried a meaning she couldn’t fully comprehend—a second chance? Or was it her survival instinct betraying her again, creating an entire fantasy to help her endure another wretched chapter of her life?

Dayana treated the dress with care, as though it might disintegrate in her hands. She held it against her body, feeling the softness of the fabric glide through her fingers. She took a deep breath before putting it on, as though the gesture itself was a small act of courage.

When she adjusted the dress on her body, she felt the lightness of the fabric embrace her skin. The fitted waist subtly highlighted her curves, and the flowing skirt seemed to dance with her every small movement. The V-neckline accentuated her collarbone, bringing a touch of elegance she hadn’t expected. The slit on the side discreetly revealed her legs, adding unexpected sensuality, while the warm rose tone of the dress contrasted beautifully with her soft skin tone, illuminating her in a way she hadn’t felt in ages.

After finishing, she sat at the vanity, picked up the hairbrush, and began brushing her hair slowly. Each stroke seemed to relieve some of the accumulated tension, an act of self-care. The sound of the bristles gliding through her hair was almost comforting, as though she were reclaiming a small piece of control over herself. After brushing her hair, Dayana stood, turned to the mirror, and, despite her hesitation, looked at her reflection.

For a moment, she barely recognized herself. Even with the evident exhaustion on her face, her hair slightly disheveled, and her eyes laden with melancholy, the dress seemed to transform her.

She felt… beautiful.

It was a feeling she hadn’t had in a long time.

“I can still be beautiful,” she thought, her lips trembling with a mix of emotions. For a few seconds, she forgot the marks on her body, the humiliations, and the doubts that plagued her existence. All she saw in the reflection was a woman who, despite being broken, still carried a spark of hope.

That dress was more than just a piece of clothing. At that moment, it was a silent reminder that no matter how lost she felt, there was still something within her worth saving.

Dayana reached the kitchen, the path that had seemed to stretch endlessly finally coming to an end. Now, she was to confront reality. Her steps were slow, as if each one demanded immense effort. The kitchen was brightly lit, the smell of freshly baked bread and hot coffee lingering in the air, but none of it felt comforting. To her, breakfast was just another form of torment, another opportunity to be confronted with her own fragility.

Nick was sitting at the table, swinging his legs and distracted by a small bowl of fruit in front of him. His eyes sparkled with excitement as he chatted with Anna, who stood near the counter, supervising the meal. Anna appeared relaxed, almost friendly, with a light smile on her lips, but to Dayana, the scene felt as disjointed as it was painful.

Dayana approached, watching Nick with a mix of relief and sadness. He seemed so oblivious to everything she had endured. Her gaze briefly met Anna’s, but the woman averted her eyes as if Dayana’s presence were insignificant in that moment.

“Good morning, Mom!” Nick finally noticed her presence. He smiled at her with the innocent joy of a child living in a dream. It was the smile of someone unaware of the darkness consuming his mother.

“Good morning, my love,” Dayana replied, forcing a smile as she sat beside him. Her heart felt heavy, but she clung to the idea that she was doing all of this for him. “I can endure this,” she thought again, trying to convince herself it was true.

On the table was a variety of food: bread, fruit, cheese, cakes, and juices, arranged impeccably. For anyone else, it would have been a welcoming meal, but for Dayana, it felt cruel. Once again, Anna served her a bowl of the gray porridge that tasted like cardboard, placing it in front of her with a slight smile, as if daring Dayana to complain.

“Eat,” Anna said, with her usual mix of sweetness and sarcasm.

Dayana picked up the spoon, trying not to show her disgust. The bland taste of the porridge made her stomach churn, but she swallowed silently, attempting to maintain composure for Nick’s sake.

As she ate, Nick chattered excitedly about his previous day, his animated voice filling the room with an energy that felt cruelly distant from Dayana’s reality.

“I made a new friend, Mom! His name is Pedro, and he showed me how to make a paper airplane that really flies!” Nick said enthusiastically.

Dayana nodded, trying to keep up with the conversation, but guilt and shame weighed heavily on her. She felt disconnected, as if she were only physically present, while her mind wandered through everything that had happened and everything that was yet to come.

Anna watched everything closely, a silent figure who clearly held control. When Dayana finished the porridge, Anna leaned in slightly and served her a glass of milk.

“Drink,” Anna ordered, though her tone was almost casual, as if the gesture were trivial.

Dayana obeyed. The milk was a relief, washing away the horrible taste of the porridge, as Nick continued talking. Her heart was heavy, but she knew she needed to keep up appearances, at least for him.

When Nick finally finished his meal, he jumped out of his chair and ran to the door, excited to start his day. “I’m going to the living room, Mom! See you later!” he said, waving quickly before disappearing down the hall.

Dayana remained in the kitchen, alone with Anna. The space now felt larger and emptier. Anna collected the dishes without saying a word, but before leaving, she paused and looked at Dayana with her enigmatic smile.

“He’s adorable,” Anna remarked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Dayana didn’t respond. Her hands trembled lightly in her lap, but she kept her head held high. When Anna left, the silence she left behind was almost deafening.

“Am I really doing this for him?” The doubt gnawed at her mind like poison. Every moment of submission, every humiliation, seemed to push her further away from who she thought she was. And yet, deep down, there was an inexplicable thread of desire—to please… to belong.

The sound of firm footsteps approaching interrupted her thoughts. She lifted her head slowly, immediately recognizing His figure entering the kitchen.

“Good morning,” He said, His voice filling the room with a natural authority that felt almost out of place amidst the tension of His presence.

“Good... morning,” Dayana replied, almost in a whisper, averting her gaze.

He approached her slowly, positioning Himself beside her as He assessed her condition. “I see you slept well enough to start a new day,” He remarked, His tone casual but heavy with meaning.

Dayana felt His words like a weight on her shoulders. Unsure of how to respond, she remained silent.

He continued: “Today will be different. You’ll spend the day with me, and you’ll have time to think about what it means to be here, what it means to surrender completely. There will be no punishment… unless, of course, you provoke one.”

His tone was serene but firm. Dayana raised her eyes to Him, surprised by the declaration, but she saw the implacable determination in His gaze. He wasn’t offering kindness; He was setting the rules for the day.

“Now, let’s begin with what’s most important,” He said, pulling something from the pocket of His jacket.

It was a collar. Not delicate or ornate, but a rigid metal band that closed firmly around the neck. At its center hung a small ring, discreet yet undeniably functional.

“Stand up,” He ordered, His voice calm but filled with authority.

Dayana obeyed, her hands trembling slightly as she stood before Him. This moment took courage, and for the first time, she truly looked at Him up close. The contrast between them was striking. Compared to her soft, delicate dress, He seemed the embodiment of oppression.

His physical presence was overwhelming. Dayana couldn’t stop remembering how hard she had tried to fight Him during her escape, punching Him with all the strength she could muster, only to feel like she was hitting a brick wall. He hadn’t just resisted—He seemed unaffected.

The memory was so vivid it made her stomach churn, and her hands trembled lightly, still aching.

Yet, as much as He frightened her—and He did, in a way that seemed to reach her soul—there was also something about Him that made her feel strangely secure. He was brutal and unyielding, but there was an implicit protection in what He represented. It was as if, as long as she obeyed, she was safe from the chaos consuming her mind.

The contrast between them was almost poetic: while she appeared fragile, out of shape, broken, and marked by suffering, dressed in something that embodied delicacy and femininity, He was her opposite. His physical strength, his imposing presence, his stern expression, and the clothes that emphasized the weight of his authority were a constant reminder of who was in control. It was almost a twisted and bizarre reinterpretation of Beauty and the Beast.

He held the collar in his hands, turning it slowly as if inspecting the object before placing it around her neck.

“This collar represents what you are now,” He said as He moved the metal ring toward her throat. “It’s a symbol of your submission.”

Dayana swallowed hard, feeling the symbolic weight of his words even before the real weight of the metal touched her skin. When He positioned the collar around her neck, she felt the coldness of the material, as though she were being marked in a way that no one else could see but that she would feel in every moment.

With a small click, He locked the collar using a strange piece of metal—part of a key He carried alongside others that were more ordinary. The sound seemed to echo in Dayana’s mind, sealing something profound and irrevocable.

“Is it comfortable?” He asked, tilting His head slightly, His eyes fixed on hers.

Dayana hesitated but nodded lightly. “Yes...”

He touched the small ring on the collar, making it sway gently. “Good. I want you to feel this all day long. Every movement, every thought... it should serve as a reminder of who you are until the end of this week.”

Dayana lowered her eyes, feeling the weight of the collar in every possible sense. He took her chin, lifting her face to make her meet His gaze. Even the control over where she looked wasn’t hers.

“Don’t forget: this is what you chose. What awaits you next will reflect who you decide to be today.”

He released her chin and stepped back, leaving Dayana alone with her quickened breath and the unyielding presence of the collar around her neck.

Dayana was wet.

Her head spun as if she were a star fighting against the massive gravitational pull of a black hole from which even light couldn’t escape. And at the center of this chaos stood Him—His scent, His touch, His voice, His beard. This man excited her because, near Him, she felt naked not just physically but emotionally.

When she entered the living room, Dayana found Nick already with his backpack, eager to leave. Dayana moved to his side, smiling nervously. His presence, seated on the sofa, made her every move cautious, as though she were before an entire jury capable of condemning her to suffering for the slightest misstep.

“See you later, Mommy!” Nick said, giving her a quick hug.

“Have a good day, my love,” Dayana replied, kneeling to adjust the strap on his shoulder. Her eyes stayed on her son, but her mind was divided between the goodbye and the tension of being in the same room as Him.

Anna appeared at the door with the driver, both ready to accompany Nick. “Come on, Nick. It’s time,” Anna said in her firm, efficient tone.

Nick gave Dayana one last wave and hurried out. As the door closed, the silence left behind was suffocating. She felt His gaze burning into her back.

Dayana slowly turned to face Him. He sat relaxed on the sofa, his legs crossed, his eyes fixed on her, observing her with a calmness that felt cutting. Her collar seemed heavier under His gaze, and His presence filled every corner of the room.

Not knowing what to do, Dayana tried to break the silence. She walked to the nearest armchair and, instead of sitting gracefully, she slumped into it awkwardly, her knees pressed together and her hands fidgeting in her lap. She threw quick, nervous glances at Him, trying to decipher something in His neutral expression.

Dayana shifted in the armchair, crossing her legs as she had seen women do in movies, but quickly uncrossed them, thinking the gesture exaggerated and clumsy. She tried to smile subtly but ended up biting her lip nervously, creating an expression more akin to a grimace than an attempt at charm.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Dayana?” He asked, His tone a mix of sarcasm and disbelief.

She flushed instantly, her eyes darting to the floor. “I... no... I mean... I...” she stammered, fumbling with her hands like a child caught in the act.

“Pathetic,” He said with a short, cold laugh.

Dayana wanted to disappear. She felt small, vulnerable, and above all, ridiculous. But at the same time, His comment seemed to awaken something in her—a desire to prove she could be worthy of His attention.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, unsure if she was apologizing for her attempt or for existing in that moment.

He observed her for a few more seconds, His serious expression now carrying something indecipherable. “We still have a lot of work to do with you,” He finally said, rising and heading toward the door.

His car waited in front of the house—a station wagon, an unusual sight among today’s SUVs, but elegant, with clean lines and a design that exuded authority. The black paint absorbed almost all the light without reflecting much, reinforcing its aura of mystery. It was robust and discreet, but something about the way the engine purred when it started suggested power and speed ready to be unleashed at a moment’s notice.

He opened the door for her—a gesture that seemed courteous but carried an unspoken command. Dayana hesitated before climbing in, feeling the stark contrast between the delicate dress she wore and the restrained brutality of the vehicle. The soft leather seat felt almost oppressive against her skin, while the faint scent of new car interior mixed with His subtle cologne, enveloping her.

Dayana sat in the passenger seat beside Him, her heart racing as the car passed through the gates of the estate and out onto the road. The engine's hum filled the silence between them, and the vehicle glided along the winding road with an ease that felt almost unsettling.

He drove with precise control. Every turn of the wheel was deliberate, every movement of the car calculated. When traffic became denser, He didn’t slow down; instead, He accelerated, weaving through vehicles with controlled recklessness, as though each maneuver had been planned long before execution.

Dayana gripped the seat with tense fingers, her heart pounding. The mix of adrenaline and fear coursing through her veins was irresistible, an exact reflection of what He stirred in her in so many other ways. The engine roared with restrained power, and the road seemed to yield to His will.

She stole a glance at Him, seeing His calm, unshaken face as He drove. It was as if nothing could divert His focus or disrupt His control. He was like the car He commanded: elegant and powerful, yet undeniably dangerous—capable of obliterating anything that dared stand in His way.

Finally, as they entered the city, Dayana let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She stared out the window, watching the trees transform into houses and then into streets in the small town. Adrenaline still coursed through her body, a reminder that around Him, everything seemed heightened—even something as simple as a car ride.

The town itself seemed to hum with opportunity. Every corner felt like an invitation, every alleyway a chance. The car door wasn’t locked; it would take only a swift movement to open it and run. But where would she go? And what if He caught her?

“You’re awfully quiet,” He commented, His eyes never leaving the road. His voice was firm, but there was a hint of curiosity in it.

“I... I don’t know what to say,” she replied, staring down at her lap, her hands clenched tightly over the delicate fabric of her dress.

He gave a short laugh. “You don’t need to say anything. Just do what’s expected.”

When they reached the center of town, He parked in front of a small, inviting shop. Without offering much explanation, He got out first and opened the door for her. “Let’s go,” He said, extending His hand in a gesture that was both courteous and commanding.

Dayana hesitated before taking His hand. His grip was firm and cold, yet something about it made her feel oddly protected, even as the thought of being alone with Him in the middle of the town made her insides twist with unease.

Inside the store, the shelves were lined with simple items, from clothing to personal care products. It was a cozy place, but Dayana felt the curious gazes of the shop attendant and a few other customers. She wondered if her collar drew attention, if anyone would notice something was wrong.

“I could ask for help,” she thought, but the weight of His gaze on her froze her in place.

“Choose what you need,” He said casually, taking a position near the entrance, His arms crossed in a posture that seemed relaxed but was undeniably vigilant.

Dayana began selecting items that would bring her a sense of comfort: a floral-scented soap she liked, a shampoo that made her hair feel soft and silky, and a new toothbrush. Each movement felt heavy, her mind torn between the simplicity of what she was doing and the constant tension of deciding whether to flee or comply.

When she was finished, she handed the items to the shop assistant, who smiled kindly.

“Anything else?” the woman asked, her voice full of genuine sympathy.

“Help me! HELP... Help me escape, protect me from Him. Please, my son...”