Silent Daughter 1: Taken (8 page)

My moans soon turn into little shrieks of pain. He is massive, and the savage way he is fucking me is foreign to my body. I have never been fucked this hard before.

It hurts, but I welcome the pain.

Even without touching my clit, I can feel my orgasm building up quickly.

"This," he grunts in between shoves. "This is how I want you to come. On my cock."

He starts rubbing my nub with his thumb while he continues to force himself inside of me.

I scream out, unable to control myself as my climax finally takes over.

He notices and increases the force of his pushes even more. Two or three more shoves through the most intense waves of my orgasm and I can feel him pulsating inside of me as he joins me in this mind-shattering release.

LIZ

What happened? Why am I lying on a bed?

My head is spinning and I feel sick. Dazed and confused, I slowly regain consciousness.

Did I fall asleep?

I open my eyes, but my vision remains obscured, shielded by a blindfold. I try to lift arms to remove it, but I can't.

My wrists and ankles are tied up, spreading my arms and legs wide. I am on my back with all four limbs extended like a starfish. A restrained starfish.

I am still naked. I am completely exposed, lying on a bed with soft silk sheets beneath me. It smells foreign but clean and fresh. A little flowery, even.

I yank at the restraints, but they are tied tight, allowing little leeway for me to move.

"Leonard?" I call.

My voice is hoarse and weak. I clear my throat and realize that it hurts quite badly.

"Leonard? Where are you?"

Nothing. All I can hear is my own breathing. I shift around on the sheets, but there is no point in trying to remove myself from my restraints. Even my efforts to remove the blindfold by shifting my head are futile.

"Leonard!" I shriek, now an edge of panic in my voice.

What happened? How did I end up here?

I try to gather my memories. We were on his boat; we had sex on the sofa, and then…what?

Slowly, the memories return. I remember him picking me up and wrapping me in his strong arms. He didn't want me to put clothes on but gave me a blanket to wrap myself in when I complained that I was chilly.

Then, we had a drink. We talked a little, and he poured us some champagne. I cannot remember the content of our conversation, but I do remember sitting on the sofa, wrapped in a soft, warm blanket while he was next to me. Clinking glasses, talking...

That's when my memory stops. Something must have happened in between then and now. I am clearly not on his boat anymore; the bed is not moving beneath me, nor do I hear water or wind. As far as I can tell, I am in a room confined to a bed.

Am I at his house? How did I get here?

Did I just fall asleep and he brought me here? I cannot imagine dozing off and then being tied to a bed without waking up once, and without any memories as to how I got here.

Did he drug me?

My heart rate accelerates at the thought.

He wouldn't do that.

Why would he do that?

"Leonard?" I shriek again. "Leonard! This is not funny! Where are you?"

I realize that this is the first time that I am saying his name out loud, which gives me an idea.

"Master?" I ask. "Master! Where are you?"

I breathe heavily as I wait for a response.

Just a few moments later, I hear a door opening to my left. I instinctively turn my head to where the sound is coming from.

"Master?" I ask. My voice is trembling with fear now. I feel so exposed and vulnerable.

I hear steps approaching the bed, then someone leaning on the mattress.

"Master? Is that you?" I ask again.

I recognize him by his smell even before his lips touch mine. He kisses me, gently and carefully, as if it was our first kiss.

"Yes," he finally says. "I'm here. Don't worry, little girl."

"What is this?" I utter. "Where am I? How did I get here?"

"You're safe," he whispers, now caressing my cheek.

"Untie me!" I demand. "I don't like this! This is going too far."

I flinch when I feel the tip of his finger stroking along my jaw line and down to my neck.

"Hush," he soothes me. "Don't worry, nothing bad is going to happen to you."

"Untie me!" I repeat.

"No," he says. "You'll stay like this for now. It's safer."

"Safer!" I blurt out. "Are fucking kid—"

I cry out as he slaps me across my left boob. Fiery pain stings through my nipple.

"Behave!" he warns me. "What did I tell you? How do I want you?"

I gasp for air, my eyes open wide in terror. What is happening? Is this part of the game?

I always fantasized about something like this. About being abducted, tied down and used, completely at a man's mercy.

But reality is a lot scarier than fantasy.

"Are we—is this a game?" I ask shyly. "Are we still playing?"

He slaps me across my boobs again, twice this time, left and right. I scream out in pain, squirming in my restraints.

"Please, just tell me if—"

Another slap interrupts me. The pain gets worse with each strike. Tears are building up, threatening to run down my cheeks.

This hurts so fucking much. I decide to avoid any further pain for now.

"How do I want you?" he repeats his question.

"Obedient," I reply with a trembling voice. "And willing. Obedient and willing."

"That's right," he praises. "Good girl."

I startle when his hand is on me again, but it is gentle this time, caressing the burning skin around my nipples.

"Do what I tell you and I won't have to hurt you," he promises. "Understand?"

I nod. "Yes, Master."

"Close your eyes," he orders

His command confuses me, but I follow it nonetheless. A few seconds later, I am glad that I did because he removes the blindfold from my face, and my black vision is replaced by a dark orange which suggests that I am in a brightly lit room.

"You may open your eyes now," he says.

I obey and squint as the light blinds me. It's not artificial light but the evening sun that bathes the room in a bright orange color.

My eyes need a few moments to adjust, but I soon realize that I am in a canopy bed, my limbs tied to each of the four bedposts. I am surrounded by gauzy white curtains, draped around dark steel. It is surprisingly tasteful. I enjoy the monochrome theme that continues throughout the room.

The room is about twice as big as my childhood room at my parents' house. The high ceiling is decorated with elaborate stucco and the windows to my right are outlined with thick, wooden window frames painted a warm white color. Apart from the giant canopy bed, the room is sparsely furnished. I can see a dresser at the wall opposite from the bed and a vanity between the windows, both in very dark mahogany wood, matching the hardwood floor. In the middle of the big room, quite far from the bed, there is a small dining table with two chairs opposite of each other, all of it in the same dark mahogany as the rest of the furniture.

The setting sun is casting warm light through the room like a cozy fire. Hours must have gone by since our session on the boat if the sun is setting.

I turn around to Leonard, who is standing at the left side of the bed, observing me with a confident smile. He has changed clothes and is now wearing a dark sweater and jeans. It is the first time that I’ve seen him in anything else but a suit.

"Where am I?" I repeat my question.

He tilts his head to the side and gives me a loving smile. I would feel flattered if it wasn't for my confinement.

"I told you, you don't have to worry," he says. "You're safe."

"That doesn't really answer my question," I argue.

"Yes, it does," he insists. "And if I were you, I would be careful with that bratty attitude."

I narrow my eyes.

"Please," I whisper. "Just tell me that this is still part of the game, so I can enjoy it."

He chuckles and leans forward to place his hand on my breast, gently squeezing the left first, then the right. His touch is enticing, so sensual. I squirm beneath his hand, wishing for more. His hands feel so good, so warm and strong.

"If you want to call it a game," he whispers. "Sure."

What is that supposed to mean? Is he still trying to scare me? I would very much prefer to know that I am not in any real danger, that I can get out of here anytime I want to.

"What time is it?" I ask randomly.

"Late afternoon," he replies.

"How did I get here? I don't remember anything..."

"I brought you here," he says.

I frown at him. "Thank you, I think I got that far."

He raises his eyebrows. "Do you want to be hurt?"

"No," I hurry to reply. "Sorry."

Why am I the one apologizing? If anything, he is the one who has to do some explaining.

"But please," I add. "I don't remember anything. How did we get off the boat?"

"You slept for a while," he explains. "I had to carry you."

"When did I fall asleep?"

"On the boat after I fucked you," he says, petting my head.

"Did you drug me?" I blurt out.

He smiles and shakes his head.

"Sweet girl, you worry too much."

"So, you did drug me?"

He doesn't reply, but places himself over me, putting his hands next to my head. He lowers his face above mine, so close that our lips are almost touching.

His smell is enticing. The soft fabric of his sweater gently caresses my nipples.

"May I kiss you one more time?" he asks.

I nod, and he doesn't waste a moment before he presses his lips on mine, his tongue invading my mouth like a hungry beast this time. Faint moans escape my lips mid-kiss. His kiss is loving, gentle and sensual.

The rope cuts deep into the flesh of my ankles and wrists as I start squirming beneath him. For a few moments, I forget my worries and enjoy the excitement of finally being tied up properly, while the sexiest man I’ve ever met claims me. It is all I have ever wanted.

He moves one of his hands along my neck, wandering further along my body while we continue kissing. He gropes my breast, causing me to arch my back and exclaim in another moan before he continues to stroke along my belly, teasing and tickling me.

"Good girl," he praises when his hand reaches its destination between my legs. He places his palm on my lips. I am so excited that his hand feels cold against my burning sex.

"That delicious little pussy," he whispers. "I'm sorry I was so rough with you earlier."

"Are you? Really?" I tease him.

He smiles.

"No, not really," he says. "Are you sore?"

I blush at the question. Of course, I am. It has been a while since I have had sex, and no one has ever taken me as roughly as he had. My entrance is swollen and sore, which annoys me because I am still hoping for more.

"Yes," I whisper. "You are really big."

The compliment makes him grin from ear to ear, as it would any man. It is the truth, though. His cock has stretched me like no other, adding to my soreness.

"Cute girl," he says, planting a kiss on the side of my mouth. "I'll have to be gentle then, won't I?"

He parts my folds and slides a finger in between, carefully circling my wet clit. I close my eyes in shame when I realize how wet I am. The sound of his teasing finger alone is such a telltale.

He shakes his head, casting me a naughty smile.

"And still, you want more," he whispers. "What a cute little slut I’ve got myself."

I remain mute and purse my lips.

"Why are you so wet?" he presses, letting his finger slid inside of me.

I arch my back and moan with relish. My poor center is so swollen and sore that even his finger feels gigantic inside of me. It stings, despite my wetness.

He starts massaging my clit with his thumb while keeping his finger deep inside of me.

"Come on, baby girl," he whispers. "Speak to me."

I groan with desperate lust.

Speak to me. That fucking phrase has haunted me all my life. Of all the great things he does to me, why does he force me to do the one thing that has always been the hardest for me: speaking.

"Tell me," he insists. "Why are you so wet?"

"You," I simply say, hoping that he would let me get away with this true, albeit short, reply.

"Me? What about me makes you so wet that you're dripping all over my hand?"