Below are the first two chapters of Forever His, the first book of the In the Dark series.
(The following content contains BDSM and is for mature audiences only!)
I kneel on the tiled floor with my arms behind me and my back straight as I command my body not to falter. This position serves two purposes: it juts my breasts out as the gifts they are thought of being, and indicates my subservience since such a position was demanded of me by Master.
And I’ve been holding it for a good twenty minutes now. Although it’s a guess because I can’t see anything in the surrounding darkness, and haven’t been afforded a way to tell time since I arrived here.
Where is here? Fuck if I know.
Either way, every minute feels like forever, and numbness in my knees is fast approaching. But I can’t move; won’t move. He has to find me this way, or there are consequences.
I wish I could say I’m afraid of them, but I can’t. I’ve never experienced them because I’ve done everything asked of me since the beginning. I didn’t fight.
Not that I didn’t want to fight; I just knew there was no point.
And I suppose I’m afraid to find out what the consequences are exactly, which is why I won’t move even as the tingling in my heels amplifies. I bite my lip to keep from making any noise in reaction to the feelings, and hope he arrives soon, as I was told he would when informed I should prepare for his visit.
I’m in the dark and have been since I was put into this room — the only exception is when I’m cleaned and even then I’m blindfolded. Naked all the time and chained some of the time. Fighting would only cause me pain and other than the kind of pain Master gives when fucking me, I’m not interested in being hurt.
My thoughts go to the collar around my neck. It’s rare for it to cross my mind anymore, but when alone, I stroke it and run my hands around it, knowing I won’t find any way to get it off, but hoping I’ll suddenly find a way to remove it anyway.
It’s steel, smooth, and if I had to guess, permanently locked. When I touch it and move my fingers around it, I feel a sliver of a space and there, a little hole. I’ve no doubt it’s a tiny screw and the device to remove it would have to be very tiny — probably an allen key or something.
When Master first locked the collar around my neck, I cried. It felt heavy and cold and uncomfortable to sleep in. At rest, it met my collarbones, and getting used to it had been my biggest challenge. He would pull on it and there was no give — if I didn’t move, it would dig into my skin, and I’d move because I had no other option. He only had to tug on it hard once when I wouldn’t move to prove his point, and I’ve never resisted again. It was also the last time I cried; after that, I simply gave up any hope of leaving this place.
Lost in thought, the touch of his hand on my shoulder makes me jump, wobbling for a moment in my stance before using all my willpower to make sure I don’t fall, and I hear him chuckle.
The sound is, as always, muffled. I don’t know if he wears a mask or what, but he never speaks once we’ve begun kissing and fucking, and I suspect it’s because he doesn’t want me to recognize him by voice, ever.
“Good girl,” he says, his hand trailing up my neck to the top of my head, before flattening his palm against the top and sliding it down my hair. “I’ve kept you waiting and you’ve done exactly as you should.”
“You may sit down and relax. I know your feet must be numb.”
“Yes, Master.” I suck in a breath as I move to sit down, but swallow my cry of discomfort as my feet and legs instantly burst back to life, pins and needles shooting through every inch. “Thank you, Master.”
The tile is cold on my ass, but damn does it feel good. And once I’m comfortable, I slide my hands back behind me and clasp them together, as I know he expects.
I sense him walk away, now that I’m not inside my mind, and for the millionth time, wonder what he looks like. I’ve never seen him. I have just felt him in me and around me. I’m not allowed to touch him either. He always keeps my hands tied together or away from my body and his, no matter what position I’m in.
I’m not sure where he walks to. The room is pitch black. There are no windows, and I’m not sure when the last time I saw daylight was. I’m sure any light now would hurt my eyes so bad, and I’m glad he doesn’t torture me that way. He stays consistent and I find comfort in what he’s given me.
My voice is meek, and I wince because I know he likes it when I’m strong, but I’ve never asked him a question without being prompted first. I don’t know why I chose now to do it.
“Have I given you permission to speak, Cara?”
“N-no, Master. Sorry, Master.” My tongue feels heavy in my mouth as I swallow at the name he gave me, knowing he’s walking toward me even as I apologize, and hoping I’m not about to find out what the punishments are.
He stops in front of me, the soft fabric of his pants brushing the left side of my face with how close he is. “Are you able to stand?”
I know it’s not a question he wants an answer to. He wants me to rise, and so without using my hands, I get on my knees before rising to my feet, continuing to face the same way.
“It’s been a few days, Cara, hasn’t it? I’ve neglected you.”
“No, Master,” I respond in an instant, knowing the correct response by heart. “I’m happy with any attention you wish to give — or not give — me, Master.”
He moves behind me, and when his hand comes up to move my hair to one side, I let out a sigh of contentment and relief. His hands slide down my arms, and when they reach my waist, one moves around my side until he’s wrapped it around me. Stepping close, I feel his cock through his pants, resting in the crack of my ass.
My body responds to his touch, no effort necessary. His mere presence is now enough to send my body into full-blown sex mode. My nipples tighten on their own, my pussy wet and ready without even being touched, eager to take him inside and be fucked raw. Hard and fast, or however he wants it. I’m his slut and nothing more. He’s made it very clear I only have a name because he’s given me one; without that, I’d only be a nameless vessel for his desire.
“You’re gorgeous, Cara. So fucking gorgeous.” He removes his hands, and while I make sure to keep our bodies touching, I feel his hands between our bodies. The sound of him unbuckling his belt makes me want to moan, a desire I repress as I hear it slipping through the hoops, followed by him slapping it against his legs. “I’m going to miss you when you’re gone.”
“G-gone, Master? What do you mean?”
He doesn’t speak, but before I know what he’s doing, he steps away and the belt hits me on the upper thighs.
I’m unable to stop the howl of pain and surprise, because this is the first time he’s ever hit me with the belt, and I’m not sure why he’s doing it. I can’t even move because I don’t know where I can go in this room, and I keep my hands behind my back while standing in the position he left me in.
“You’re the perfect slave,” he says, not answering my question as he walks around me, his clothes brushing against me as he stays close as possible. “I expected a fight, but you’re smarter than that, aren’t you? You’ve done nothing except please me from the beginning, and I only wish you were mine to keep. But you’re not. And soon, you’ll go home.”
I’m cut off with another hit of the belt, and my howl is louder this time as I dance on my feet, another hit coming before I can even recover. Tears spring to my eyes, soon trailing down my cheeks as he hits me over and over again, moving the belt up and down from my thighs to my ass and back again. I dance in place, knowing if I move from my spot it will probably get worse.
“Please, Master,” I wail. “Please, stop.”
“Are you telling me what to do?” He raises his voice, and I know I’ve shocked him with my disobedience, which he confirms by hitting me again. Really hard. “I know you’re not telling me what to do, Cara.”
“I—I don’t understand,” I sob through my tears, stilling my movements even as my shoulders shake, my whole back side burning and tingling. “W-why are you mad at me, Master?”
I hear the belt drop to the floor in response, the buckle clinking against it, seconds before Master’s hand wraps in my hair and guides me over to the bed.
“Bend over,” he bites out as he releases me, his clothes rustling behind me as I do what he says, placing my left cheek against the mattress as taught while keeping my hands behind my back. “Hands above your head.”
I slide them up, palms down, covering one with the other in the way he prefers and wait. I don’t dare speak again, but all sorts of thoughts rush through my mind.
I’m going home? Why? I know I should be happy, but I’m confused. Why was I even here in the first place if he was going to let me go? What am I missing? And if it upsets him, why is he letting me go?
He smacks my ass and I stiffen, jarred out of my thoughts once more, as he puts his hand in my hair once again. Tugging it back, I lift my head even as I force my body to stay put as he desires, and a whimper of mixed pleasure and pain escapes.
“I’m going to fuck you right now, Cara. You want my cock pounding your pussy, don’t you?”
“Yes, Master.” I lick my dry lips, the very idea of him fucking me making my pussy clench with anticipation. “I want you to fuck me any way you like, Master.”
“I always fuck you any way I like. And you like being my slut as much as I like you as my slut, yes?”
“Yes, Master.” My words emerge on a sob of desires as he slides his cock up and down between my pussy lips, and I move my ass in an encouraging manner, trying to get him to give me what we both want. “I’m your slut, Master, and I love your cock.”
With no further warning, he rams his cock into my pussy, all the way, until the tip is pushing against my cervix and I’m grasping the sheets in my fists. My moan is loud as I feel every inch of him. He fills me and stretches me and pushes me to my limits with his cock alone.
He pounds into me, yanking harder and harder on my hair until my neck is burning with the stretching sensation, my nipples rubbing against the sheets underneath me in a way that has pleasure skipping through me at a rapid pace, and my cries grow louder and louder.
“Oh god. Oh god Master, please may I come?”
“Don’t you fucking dare, Cara. You know you’re not allowed.”
“Please, Master,” I beg, desperate to let go around him while he’s inside me, so desperate I clench my pussy muscles around him as I sob harder. “Please let me come.”
He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he leans over my body, covering my back as he slowly releases my hair. I know better than to move though; I keep my head in place where he last held it and he buries himself to the hilt before stopping his movements. His hand slips around my throat, sliding his fingers to caress under my chin before following the path down to my collar, and sliding his hand around until he’s gripping the back.
I whimper as he draws it toward him, until it’s digging into the front of my throat, partially blocking my airway, and all I can focus on is the blood throbbing there. I can’t move as he’s holding me hostage, restricting my breathing enough to make me feel it, but not hurting me, and withdraws his cock to the edge before plunging back in with such force as to make me gasp. I’m starting to feel lightheaded, his cock relentless, and when he speaks I have to force myself to pay attention even as he fucks me with no mercy.
“I know you touch yourself when I’m not around, Cara. But you never get off do you?”
“No, Master.” My words are a whisper, the haziness in my mind taking over more and more, but I know I have to keep answering him no matter how I feel.
“Why, Cara? Why don’t you get yourself off?”
“Because you told me not to, Master.”
“Such a good listener.” His voice is steady and I wonder how he can fuck me like he does, but never sound out of breath. “Such a good fucking slut. Do you think you deserve a reward for being such a great slut, Cara?”
I know he values my honesty, so I answer as I have to. “N-no, Master. I only deserve what you think I deserve, Master.”
He groans, releasing his hold on the collar, and I suck in a breath of desperate air as he grabs my hips and fucks me even faster. Then, one hand slips around and down between my legs, and I cry out the moment he touches my clit. He plays with it equal in pace to his fucking, and I am barely able to gasp out the appropriate request, but I do it.
“May I come for you, Master? I want to come around your cock.”
“Fuck, yes. Come for me, now.”
It’s easy to do as he says on his command, because I’m hovering on the edge, and I fall off with his strong stroke. My pussy clenches around him, my long moan of pleasure spilling out my lips, as my orgasm rips through every fucking inch of my body and has me shaking.
He moans, long and loud as he grips me tight, his release following mine close. He collapses on top of me, but he doesn’t touch and caress me like he did before. After a few moments, he moves away, leaving me bereft of his touch and warmth. I lower my head and body to the bed, seeking something, anything to comfort me.
And I don’t know what it is that makes me so sure, but I know this is the end, and since it is, I speak freely.
It’s all I ask, but I know he knows what I want. The rustling of him putting on his clothes stops and he walks close, resting one hand on the small of my back with sigh.
I wait, relishing in the little bit of connection I get from his touch, knowing how much I’ll miss something I never knew I wanted or needed until I ended up in this predicament. I’m sure people would think I’m crazy to think such a thing, but it’s true. And I’m not sure how I’ll go back to the life I had before.
“You’re not mine to keep,” he says in a whisper, his hand sliding up my back and down again until it rests on the small of it once again. “And you must go home now.”
In that moment I realize two things: his voice isn’t muffled, which is why he’s whispering, and sick and twisted or not, I’ve fallen in love with a man whose face I haven’t seen and whose name I don’t know.
Within seconds, he’s gone from the room, and from my life, leaving me to sob into a pillow, releasing all the emotions I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to define.
I can’t see anything when I hear the door of the vehicle opening, and I’m lifted from inside before being set on my feet. I’m wearing clothes for the first time in what feels like forever, and the sensation of shoes on my feet has me itching to pull them off and walk barefoot already.
“Don’t take the blindfold off until you hear a honk,” Master says in his muffled yet gentle voice from behind me, his hands resting on my upper arms. “You’re a little down the street from your house, and I’ve placed you in the direction you need to walk. Do not look back when you’ve taken off the blindfold. Got it?”
“Yes, Master. Thank you.”
I feel him move my hair to the side and lean close to my ear. “Good girl. I wish you well. And keep your lovely fighting spirit, Cara. Never have I been more proud of a slave in my life, and I’m sorry to see you go.”
It’s only been a few hours, if that, since he told me I was going home, and as he stands behind me, I want to cry and beg for him to take me back with him. To not do this.
But I know he won’t. He’s made it clear he won’t keep me.
So, I square my shoulders, holding back the tears clouding up my eyes, and nod. “I will.” He removes his hands and I whimper, before remembering to ask, “Master, how long have I been gone?”
“Two months.” The door shuts as I gasp, and I hear his opening and closing as he gets back inside the vehicle. “Goodbye, Cara.”
The car drives away and I stand there, shaking as I lift my hands up to my face, poised to take the blindfold off at the honk which arrives after a few moments. I pull it off, continuing to do as he bid by not looking back, and noticing I’m only two houses down from where I lived before.
Well, where I live now, too. I guess.
I walk toward my house, and lift my gaze to the sky, where the sun is just rising as I let the tears slide silently down my cheeks. So many sensations I’m not used to after being in a quiet, dark room assault me, such as the purse I’m carrying, which is the same one I’d been using when taken and heavy on my arm. I reach inside and easily find my keys as I approach the front door of the house I live in, and after a slight hesitation, slide the key into the lock.
Perhaps it’s because of what I’d just gone through, but the moment I walk inside, I can tell something isn’t right. I shut the door behind me, set down my purse and keys, then head up the steps as I call out, “Henry?”
When he doesn’t answer, I walk faster, heading toward our room even as I try to stay quiet because I know he’s probably sleeping. But when I open the door, my hands fly up to cover my mouth as I pause in the doorway, taking in the scene before me.
The room is trashed, with clothing, beer bottles, and god knows what else strewn across the floor. Henry, my high school sweetheart and husband of three years, is naked atop the blankets, his hands buried in some girls hair as she crouches between his legs, his cock in her mouth. His head is back, his eyes closed, as he moans long and loud before saying, “Oh yeah, baby, just like that.”
I don’t even think, the utter disgust and instant rage I feel tearing through me at the scene in front of my eyes, as I pick up the closest thing to me and throw it. Lucky for him, the vase my parents got us as a wedding gift misses his head, shattering on the wall behind the bed and raining down on him instead, along with the water and the flowers in it.
His eyes fly open as he says, “What the fuck?” Then, when he sees me, they widen even further if that’s possible and he shoves the girl away as he scrambles off the bed. “Simone? What the hell?”
“Don’t even!” I scream, shaking a finger at him and then at the girl, and take a step back. “How dare you! Did you even call the cops to let them know I was missing?”
“Calm down,” he says, holding his hands out with the palms down, lifting them up and down. “You weren’t missing—”
His statement catches me off guard and I blink at him, not understanding why he’s saying such a thing. “What the fuck do you mean? I’ve been gone two months!”
“Baby.” His tone is soothing, speaking low as if I’m a wild animal about to attack, as he steps closer to me. “Don’t you remember us talking about fantasies? You said you wanted the whole experience of being kidnapped and kept as a slave…?”
“Oh my god.” I step forward and shove him, which he doesn’t expect, and as he lands on his ass, snap, “You fucking idiot! I wanted us to experiment with it together, not be taken by a stranger and…and…Oh my god! How could you be so stupid?”
From the floor, Henry’s face blanches as he realizes what he’s done, and shakes his head. “Simone, I figured you would know. I didn’t mean—”
“No.” I back away, lifting my hands up and shaking my head. “I can’t believe you…I…I’m leaving.”
“Shut up! We’ll be divorcing. I’ll send you the papers. You can…” I wave my hand around as tears fall steadily from my eyes now. “You can keep everything. I don’t want anything, you fucking stupid asshole.”
In a flash, he’s up off the ground, holding me against his body, whispering, “Please Simone, I love you. Don’t go.”
“Let me go! You just had another woman’s mouth on your cock.”
“I was lonely. She was just someone to have sex with. I missed you. Please baby…”
“I said, let me go!” I shove him again and he drops his hands, eyes filled with a misery I ignore as I turn away.
Walking downstairs, I pick up my purse and my keys, then leave the house and never look back.
* * *
I stare down at the test, unable to believe my watery eyes, the word on the digital test clear as day.
The word comes out a whisper as I place the test on the counter and bend over the toilet once more to puke, my stomach revolting in more ways than one as the enormity of the situation settles over me.
I remember my last period came right before I’d been taken.
It’s been a whole month since I arrived at home and promptly walked back out.
That makes me roughly three months along.
God, three months pregnant with the child of a man I don’t know; a man who’d been paid to act out a fantasy and instead, had committed a crime in reality. And from my perspective, it really fucks up everything because I fell in love with my captor only to find out he’d been paid, and probably did that sort of thing for so many others.
Sitting back on my heels, I bury my head in my hands.
What in the fucking world am I going to do?
The divorce papers have already been signed and filed. Because we both agreed, we don’t even have to appear in court so that’s a relief.
I’m living in a one room apartment a bit closer to the city than I lived with Henry, but I’ll have to leave. I can’t risk him seeing me, and I don’t want to ever see his stupid fucking face again. I could still kill him for what he did, but I think his current misery of losing me is punishment enough because I’m sure he does love me in his own fucked up way.
And honestly, I didn’t do anything about what he’d done because I didn’t want to go through all the legal stuff. The man who did what my husband asked thought I wanted it; how could I possibly punish him for doing something he’d been told was okay? Maybe he would’ve stopped if I had fought, but I hadn’t.
There’s no way I could tell anyone I didn’t fight. It hadn’t been long before I’d been begging for what he gave me, and wanting it with every fiber of my being.
Shoving a hand through my hair, I stand up and mutter, “Fucking idiot.”
This time, I’m talking about me, and making a final decision, I head to my room to start packing my stuff up so I can get the hell out of here and figure out where to go from this moment on.
Especially since it looks like I’ll have a baby to take care of.