I’d gone to college for but it’s a great love of mine. Logan can take away a lot of things from me but this is something I secretly hold on to. He doesn’t fully realize how much I enjoy it, otherwise he’d probably use it against me as well. Thankfully he is clueless and the man doesn’t complain a bit when I try new recipes out on him.
While I cook, and I’m relaxed in my element, I let my mind drift to places that make me happy. I don’t let my mind linger on what’s to come. That’d be dangerous to my mind. I’m in control here and I need to remember that.
Once I’ve fried the empanadas to a beautiful golden brown, I serve them up on a plate. The savory scent of meat and vegetables fills the air, reminding me of my mother who is where I learned to cook from. God, I miss that woman.
I climb onto the counter and find a bottle of red wine in the cabinet. Tonight is going to be a doozy. The least I can do is indulge in something to calm my nerves and dull my senses.
Hopping down to the floor, I pop the cork and pour the crimson liquid into two wine glasses. I guzzle down a glass before filling it up a second time. After I’ve managed to down another full glass, I close my eyes and smile.
“Logan, darling,” I call out in a singsong voice. “I’m ready for you.”
And I am.
Game on, asshole .
“This fucker weighs a ton,” he complains as he wrestles the big wooden contraption into his bedroom.
I chew on my lip as my eyes graze over the dark stained wood. It’s solid and heavy. From experience, I know that the part that rests over my neck and wrists is unmovable even without the locks he always fits it with. There’s a small step behind it that sticks out just far enough and is just wide enough to put my knees on it, leaving my ass sticking out in the air. The wine from dinner has long left my system as adrenaline chased it from me. A shiver courses through me as I realize I did this to myself. Sometimes I wonder if deep down I really am a masochist. I taunt and tease the most hellish sadist into torturing me on a daily basis.
All so I can keep him out of the basement.
The basement is where he becomes the king of darkness.
Where he’s not afraid to crush my soul.
I’ll keep him out of there at all costs. At least up here, he’s more manageable. Even with all of his torture devices.
He eventually finishes setting it up and stands. For a brief moment, he seems exhausted. A flicker of uncertainty shines in his eyes, almost as if he wonders if he should continue. But when I latch on to that gimmer of humanity and plead with unspoken words via a quivering lip and teary eyes, the flicker is snuffed out. Almost immediately. He clenches his jaw, gives a slight shake of his head, and I watch with mixed awe and horror as any compassion and normalcy and kindness left in him drains away. Those penetrating dark orbs he loves to intimidate me with are on me in a flash and he takes his time running them over my face, searching for weakness. Weakness he can taste through salty tears and devour. He’s once more a predator. The predator whose life revolves around stalking me—his favorite prey.
“Naked. Now.”
The beast inside him is most certainly starved for me. His mouth is probably watering just thinking about how he’ll tear my soul apart.
“I said now,” he seethes.
His order jolts me to attention and I quickly tear off my dress. I must still have a small buzz because I stumble a bit. Once I’ve removed my bra and panties, I step toward him, awaiting his next instruction.
“You know what to do, doll,” he says with a growl.
I nod and make my way over to the device. Resting my knees on the step, I wait for him to lift the top half of the mechanism. Eventually I’m settled with the front of my throat on the curved wood and have given my wrists to the contraption as well. I swallow down my anxiety as he lowers the top part over me, effectively trapping me in. He tugs my hair out between
While I cook, and I’m relaxed in my element, I let my mind drift to places that make me happy. I don’t let my mind linger on what’s to come. That’d be dangerous to my mind. I’m in control here and I need to remember that.
Once I’ve fried the empanadas to a beautiful golden brown, I serve them up on a plate. The savory scent of meat and vegetables fills the air, reminding me of my mother who is where I learned to cook from. God, I miss that woman.
I climb onto the counter and find a bottle of red wine in the cabinet. Tonight is going to be a doozy. The least I can do is indulge in something to calm my nerves and dull my senses.
Hopping down to the floor, I pop the cork and pour the crimson liquid into two wine glasses. I guzzle down a glass before filling it up a second time. After I’ve managed to down another full glass, I close my eyes and smile.
“Logan, darling,” I call out in a singsong voice. “I’m ready for you.”
And I am.
Game on, asshole .
“This fucker weighs a ton,” he complains as he wrestles the big wooden contraption into his bedroom.
I chew on my lip as my eyes graze over the dark stained wood. It’s solid and heavy. From experience, I know that the part that rests over my neck and wrists is unmovable even without the locks he always fits it with. There’s a small step behind it that sticks out just far enough and is just wide enough to put my knees on it, leaving my ass sticking out in the air. The wine from dinner has long left my system as adrenaline chased it from me. A shiver courses through me as I realize I did this to myself. Sometimes I wonder if deep down I really am a masochist. I taunt and tease the most hellish sadist into torturing me on a daily basis.
All so I can keep him out of the basement.
The basement is where he becomes the king of darkness.
Where he’s not afraid to crush my soul.
I’ll keep him out of there at all costs. At least up here, he’s more manageable. Even with all of his torture devices.
He eventually finishes setting it up and stands. For a brief moment, he seems exhausted. A flicker of uncertainty shines in his eyes, almost as if he wonders if he should continue. But when I latch on to that gimmer of humanity and plead with unspoken words via a quivering lip and teary eyes, the flicker is snuffed out. Almost immediately. He clenches his jaw, gives a slight shake of his head, and I watch with mixed awe and horror as any compassion and normalcy and kindness left in him drains away. Those penetrating dark orbs he loves to intimidate me with are on me in a flash and he takes his time running them over my face, searching for weakness. Weakness he can taste through salty tears and devour. He’s once more a predator. The predator whose life revolves around stalking me—his favorite prey.
“Naked. Now.”
The beast inside him is most certainly starved for me. His mouth is probably watering just thinking about how he’ll tear my soul apart.
“I said now,” he seethes.
His order jolts me to attention and I quickly tear off my dress. I must still have a small buzz because I stumble a bit. Once I’ve removed my bra and panties, I step toward him, awaiting his next instruction.
“You know what to do, doll,” he says with a growl.
I nod and make my way over to the device. Resting my knees on the step, I wait for him to lift the top half of the mechanism. Eventually I’m settled with the front of my throat on the curved wood and have given my wrists to the contraption as well. I swallow down my anxiety as he lowers the top part over me, effectively trapping me in. He tugs my hair out between
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