In service

 I am looking for a way to make myself inconspicuous. When he came walking in the room tonight I could see what was on his mind. He had that same look in his eyes he always gets when he is about to lose control, just looking for an excuse to let his aggression loose on me. Quietly I install myself in the window sill of his study, partly hidden away from sight by the heavy curtains. Sitting here all evening, a book on my lap on which I cant seem to focus. The words are a blur in front of my eyes as my imagination is making an even bigger monster out of him. Images of the horrific things he might do to me if he finds me, add to my already paniced state. My mind plays tricks on me and I jump at every sound as he wanders aimlessly through the house. I hear him stomping on the stairs, throwing stuff off the shelves inside his bedroom in his drunken rage. The sounds of them crashing to the floor pour through the ceiling between us. I try to make myself smaller, withdrawing even further within the little nook that protects me from sight.

I know I cant hide from him forever, at some point he will find me here, in my latest hiding place. When I try to evade him it always infuriates him more. But I can not make myself face him. Not tonight. The bruises from the last time he was this drunk havent even healed and when I sit down I still wince from pain. My bottom had to bare the brunt of his onslaught like so many times before.

Sold into his service when I turned 15, I have been with him now for 10 years. He has always been a charming and caring man. A respected doctor and politician in these parts, which made every one of my friends envious at my position in his household. I don’t blame mother for sending me away, after father died it had become even harder to take care of us all. And after all, not many girls from my neighbourhood get this opportunity.  When I started, I helped out with the cleaning and served at the countless diners he hosted. Scores of beautiful women, dressed in silk gowns adorned with expensive jewelry sat aside fine cultured gentlemen at his table. Those days the house was filled with music and laughter. My master would entertain his guests by telling them the most fantastic stories and he never minded me sneaking in and finding a little corner of the room where I could sit and listen to his words.

When Albert, his secretary became ill it was decided that I would be trained to take over his position. Master himself chose the books from which Albert tought me to read and write. After a few months when Albert became to sick to perform his duties it was decided that I take over. From then on I spent most of my days with master Samuel in his study.

Soon after I took up the position of his secretary, the changes began. Gradually his kind and gentle demeanor warped into that of a bitter and aggresive man. He became angry, violent even. Barking orders at us and critisising everything we did. He would curse at everyone who crossed his path. No longer did he spend his time entertaining his friends but he spent nights sitting in front of the fire, thunderclouds roaring over his head. Everyone in the house became on edge.

As you may imagine I was most often the victim of his rage as I worked closely with him every day. Nothing I did every lived up to his standards and he would tell me of my faults in detail every chance he got. I tried to stay strong and not show the effect his words had on me. But often I could not hold back my emotions, he knew my weaknesses too well. Sometimes, when I had shown him my grief, crying at his insults I would look up and find him staring at me intensely. A grim smile would grace his lips.

Four months after I began as his secretary he fired all of his servants. All except me. I asked him once, why he did not send me away as well. It had taken all my nerve to ask him this and when I did he rewarded me with a hard slap in the face. This was the first time he had ever layed a hand on me. I was so shocked I could only look at him in horror. In his face I saw my emotions reflected, tears were welling up in his eyes. For a moment he looked like my old master again. My heart broke when I saw the anguish on his face. Untill then I had not realised how much he was suffering.

I grabbed hold of his hand, pressing it to my mouth, planting kisses on his fingers. I looked at him, wanting to speak but unable to find the words that could sooth him. At this he seemed to come to a decision, his body relaxed a little and he nodded at me. As he swept me into his arms, he kissed me hard and rough. Grabbing me by the neck he went on to drag me to the sofa, pressing me down on it. I went limp with fear and I must confess… desire.

I have fantasized about him falling in love with me so many nights. I very well knew that it was just a silly enfatuation. People like him never married people like me. I heard stories of girls, being taken advantage off by their masters, only to be discarded after use. They ended up in the local whorehouses, if they were lucky.

But now here he was, his hands under my dress, feeling me up. I could see the passion in his eyes. He placed one hand over my mouth, pressing down hard, enforcing my silence as he whispered in my ear:

“Give yourself to me Mary. For I will take you if you don’t.”

I could do nothing to resist. That night he took all there was of me. He told me he would never let me go, that no matter what happened, I would be his forever.

Two years have gone by since that night where everything changed. My life became soly about pleasing him, his wishes and needs my only purpose. Master Samuel made sure that I became isolated from everyone in my life. Sometimes he would leave for days on end, only to come home drunken and dishevelled. He would lock all the doors and windows so I could not leave him. I spent those days when he was gone, wandering the house, searching for an explanation for his change in character. But there was nothing there. And after that first night I was sure as hell not going to ask him.

Slowly a new routine emerged from the chaos he had instilled on me. I had to take up all the housework by myself now.  Working all day to keep some semblance of normality for those rare occasions when guests would be allowed into the house. My master would live on a schedule only known to himself, sometimes locked in his study for days. Or gone with no word as to when he will return. Most days he would call me into his presence at some point however, using my body for his every desire.

These moments, when his drunkenness has reached a critical point have become my biggest fear. When he gets a moment of clarity where he realises what has become of his life. What has become of him. Realisation makes him lose his mind. I try to hide from him, to stay out of his sight untill sobriety saves me from his aggression.

But today I have no such luck. A shadow falls over me, as I look up at him staring down on me. His eyes, bloodshot, are wide open. A sinister grin on his lips:

“Found you…”

I start making excuses but he silences me by hitting me hard. As I fall to the floor my head hits the windowsill before I land at his feet. Dazed I look up at him, his expression makes me cringe. It shows he will not spare me.

He starts to kick me when I crawl towards the door. I scream in agony as his foot lands between my ribs. As I manage to get up I scramble away into the hall, trying to make it up the stairs. Blind panic is leading my steps as I run, all I can think of is to get away from him. But as I feel his hand grip my ankle I start to cry. Realisation hits me, I cannot get away. He pulls my legs out from under me. This time I am able to break my fall as I land on the stairs.

He is taring at my dress, ripping it off my body with such ease. As his fists start raining down on my naked flesh I become limp once again. The moment has come where I can do nothing but accept my fate.

I look up into his eyes calmly, stretch out my hand to stroke his cheek. All I desire is to calm him, to fend of his demons for him. At first he barely notices, too intoxicated by the poison that runs through his veins. I open my legs for him guiding him inside me with my free hand. My eyes never leaving his as he starts to fuck me. But his fists keep hitting home. Tears run down his face and I can see the conflict that is raging within him all over his face. I push my body upwards, meeting his. As I see his anger dissolving, I press my lips on his. Kissing him tenderly.

“It is all right master.” I tell him. “I am yours.”

Training Zoe (part 2)

 

She stands in front of the window, looking out over the fields at the back of the house. Staring at the point where they meet the barrier of trees that signals the beginning of the forest. From that point there is nothing but dark pine trees huddled together so close that daylight barely reaches the ground. The woods stretch for miles. The grassy fields that separate the house from it stand out dramatically against that black canvas of trees, as the fields are still colored in the light green of early spring. Poppy flowers, growing abundantly between the grass, create an image not unlike an Impressionists painting. She has been gazing out the window for hours, lost in thought. Her melancholy mirrored by the rain trickling down along the glass. The morning sky is dark and ominous and the air is starting to rumble. The promise of a thunderstorm is almost tangible. It has been hot and humid all week and she should welcome this storm, knowing it will bring reprieve. But it does nothing but aggravate her mood. Panic has been gripping at her insides all day.

She startles as she hears footsteps above her. She tilts her head towards the ceiling and hears the sounds someone getting up and walking around. Her heartbeat pounds through her veins, she can hear the dull throbbing of it in her head. The panic that was with her all day rises up within her. She looks around frantically, looking for a way to escape, a place to hide, but then she remembers. Her gaze goes to the chain around her ankle, follows it with her eyes to the wall where it is secured. The panic is supressed by an overwhelming sadness and desperation. Her tensed muscles suddenly relax as she resigns to what is coming, she slumps down to the floor. Her body overheated by the days of high temperatures sitting on the cold tiles of the floor and puts her arms around her knees, resting her head on top of them. She sits there and awaits his arrival.

She has been his prisoner now for two weeks. Left defenseless against his brutality, against her own betrayal of herself. That first night where he raped her, she experienced something that shook her soul. An al too familiar desire took hold of her while he was beating her, a desire she had supressed her entire life. That one violent act took down all those walls she so carefully built around it, if only for that moment. She longed for nothing else but for him to break her, tame her and make her his own. She had not been able to stop herself from showing her desire to him. It was like the real Zoe was trapped behind this glass wall, smashing at it in frustration while this other Zoe, composed of all the parts of her being that she denied, were taking over. She had seen the effect her reactions had on him, knew that what happened between them at that moment would seal her fate. After he had left her alone, she came back to her senses, the feeling subsided and she became painfully aware of the horrible situation she was in. She had cried herself to sleep every night since.

The days since then had been a constant battle between those two selves. The times she spent alone, chained in this room, she was drenched in this overwhelming feeling of grief and despair. Knowing that he would not let her go, that he would keep abusing her untill he truly broke her. She could feel herself succumbing more and more every day. The subservient part of her gaining terrain against her own self. She kept willing herself to be strong, to fight his every move. But she realised that her biggest adversary was not her captor, it was her very self. And she didn’t see how she could ever win that battle.

His footsteps on the stairs shake her from her thoughts. Even now, with fear racing through her body, she feels excitement at his coming. Realising that she misses him when he is not with her. The realisation makes her sick with shame. As he enters the room she looks up expectantly. He holds in his step, rests against the doorpost. His body is wet and gleaming and his hair still wet from the shower. Naked except for a towel wrapped around his waist. Her heart jumps as she feels her own excitement. She quickly lowers her gaze, rests her head back on her knees. He stands there a while, looking at Zoe as she sits there. Knowing she is battling it out with her own desires. A smile graces his lips as he takes in the scene eagerly.

He walks up to her and strokes her hair tenderly. The simple gesture is enough to break her will. She gets on her knees and wraps her arms around him, pressing her face against his thigh. She releases a sob as she sits there clinging to him. Gently he releases himself from her grip, distancing himself from her a few steps. He tells her to stand up and walk over to the mirror.

As she rises to do what he says, tears stream down her face. The fact that she is willing, helping him along and obeying every command makes it so hard. She can’t think of herself as a victim as she knows she wants nothing more than to please him at these moments. When she reaches the mirror he tells her to face it, place her hands on it. She complies. Now she is looking at her own reflection as he moves towards her. He kicks her legs apart and tells her to stand still. She can see him moving behind her, not able to make out what he is doing but craning her neck to try. Then he starts lashing her back. Striking at her flesh again and again while she screams in pain. Her muscles want to react, to get away from him but she wills herself to stand still. To offer him her body. When he leans in to her, tells her she is doing well she feels herself get drawn further in. She points her but back for him to have a fresh target. “Little whore” he says. She can feel the excitement in his voice.

He enters her with his fingers, finding her pussy soaking as he expected. He smears the wetness across her face and continues thrashing her back. After 15 minutes he has had enough. He throws the whip aside and presses his body against her back. His sweat stinging her sore back, she leans in to him, whimpering. He kisses her neck, lets her feel his erection pressing against her before stepping back again. He lets his hands run across her body, pinching her breasts hard. He picks up some clamps from the table and attaches them to her nipple. They are nasty ones and her body shocks as she tries to ride the waves of pain surging through it. Finaly he focusses his attention on her but, beginning to beat it with his bare hands untill they are a deep purple-red.

He keeps at it untill he can’t control himself any longer, he grabs hold of her arm and flings her to the floor. She catches herself but still screams in pain. He tells her to get on her hands and knees as he strips off the towel and presses his penis against her but. In one movement he pushes his penis deep inside her. Her screams become crying as he rides her furiously. Pounding in and out of her while he keeps beating her sore ass. Her cries become panting as her arousal get the better of her. She presses her but back and moves with him, bringing him even closer to climax.

He pushes on her back, forcing her down on the floor and rolls her over. He looks at her slender body, covered in bruises and dirt. Her face filled with tears, desire in her eyes. He towers over her, his penis aiming at her face as he starts masturbating. “open your mouth slut”

As he cums, his sperm hits her in the face, her mouth. She closes her mouth and swallows his sperm. He turns around and walks out of the room as Zoe curls up in a ball on the floor and starts crying again.