Silent Daughter 2: Bound (7 page)

Instead, she just watches me as I come closer and gently sweep the tails along her thigh, starting from her knee and moving downward to her belly. I move it up, caressing her breasts, which causes her to flinch. Her nipples are hard and erect, rosy little pearls that ask for attention.

The first blow is gentle. I don't imagine it hurt much, and Liz's reaction proves me right. She does flinch, although not in pain, but rather because of tension due to her anticipation.

The second one is stronger, hitting her right on the left nipple. But still, she remains calm.

I increase the power and speed of succession with the third and the fourth stroke. She starts moaning under every single blow, alternately arching and relaxing her back.

Soon, the strokes come one after another, hitting harder than before. Her tits change color, adapting to the rosy cheeks of her butt. Liz starts moaning and yelping; tears are threatening to roll down her cheeks. She is panting and squirming in her restraints. The rope is cutting deep into her flesh, and I know she loves every single bit of it.

I am amazed at her ability to cope with the torture on her nipples, though. They must not be as sensitive as I imagined.

I keep lashing out on them in controlled but strong sweeps. They must hurt like fucking hell and the skin on her chest speaks of the agony she must endure.

"I'm gonna
c
—
"

She doesn't even manage to finish the sentence before her climax takes over. Her eyes open wide. She is staring at the ceiling, overpowered by the aggressive pleasure that takes a hold of her body.

LIZ

"You little minx," he says.

My vision is blurred, and I am confused.

Did I just come while he was hitting me? That can't be true.

I turn to Leonard, who is standing next to me, still holding the flogger in his right hand. He had just stopped hitting me, moments after my orgasm receded. Something on his face tells me that he didn't plan for me to come like this.

Well, that can't be good.

The toy is still vibrating inside of me, but the sensation is suffocated by my post-climax bliss.

He leans forward and switches it off. I flinch when he pulls it out of me.

"I'm... I'm sorry," I whisper.

He smiles at me.

"For what?"

I blush. "For coming... without permission."

He bends over and plants a kiss on my right cheek.

"Good girl," he whispers. "You should never be sorry for coming."

His gaze darkens. "But you're right, you should be sorry for coming without my permission."

"It was just... I couldn't," I utter, incapable of finding the words to describe what had just happened to me.

He unfastens the rope around my upper body and moves around to loosen the knots around my ankles as well.

I sigh in relief when my limbs are freed, and I can put my feet back on the ground. I straighten up and stretch my arms, legs, and back.

Now that my mind is no longer clouded by lust, I begin to realize the pain my body is in. My arms and legs are sore from being kept in a rather unnatural and certainly unusual position for so long, and my boobs are on fire. I look down at myself, smiling at the red color my skin has taken on. The rope has cut deep into my flesh and left its marks on the skin below my collarbone. I stretch my legs out and examine my ankles. They are painted with deep red lines, a lot more than I ever achieved by myself.

Leonard watches me while he rolls up the rope.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

“Yes,” I breathe.

I look up at him, smiling. “Thank you. Thank you, Master.”

He reciprocates the smile, which causes a few awkward moments of us beaming at each other like young lovers. I have never seen him smile like that before. There is nothing cunning behind it, as it has usually been. He just looks… happy. Like a normal person.

“Come,” he says, lifting me up by hooking his arms below my armpits.

I make a move to stand, but he switches the position of his hands and sweeps me off my feet as he lifts me up. I instinctively wrap my arms around his neck and cast him a confused look, which he ignores.

He carries me back to the bed and lays me down on the sheets.

“Please,” I whisper. “Don’t attach the leash.”

“I won’t have to if you promise to behave,” he replies.

To my surprise, he lies down next to me, offering me to rest in the crook of his arm.

“I don’t get punished?” I ask. “For coming too early?”

He shakes his head and runs across my abused breast with the tip of his finger. Even this faint touch sends burning stings through my body. I inhale audibly as he does it.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough of that today?” he asks. “Punishment, I mean.”

“Yes, sure,” I say. “But I’m not the one in charge here.”

He looks at me. His face is so close to mine that I inhale his smell with every breath.

“You know that’s not entirely true,” he whispers.

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Saying that you’re not in charge,” he explains. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you played me. And don’t think I don’t notice when you say things just to please me.”

I swallow hard. I know I shouldn’t be the one who feels bad, but it grieves me to see that he is sincerely sad about what he noticed. And it scares me that he did notice.

Yet, I have to remember what this is. I am his captive. He is going to lock me to the bed for the night. I am not allowed to leave the room, I am not allowed to move freely, and I am not allowed to wear any clothes. In fact, I haven’t seen any of my possessions since yesterday.

“How can you say that when I am your prisoner?” I ask. “Saying things to get on your good side and avoid punishment does not count as being in charge.”

He smiles and caresses my cheek. “You have a point there.”

“Where is all of my stuff?” I ask randomly. It’s a question that has bugged me since I first woke up in this room. 

“Here,” he says. “In the house.”

“Can I have it?”

“Of course not.”

I sigh.

“I understand why you wouldn’t give me my phone,” I whisper. “But my clothes? It would be nice to wear
something
once in a while.”

“I like you naked,” he says simply.

I furl my eyebrows.

“What do you get out of this?” I ask. “You haven’t even fucked me since I ended up here. Only on the boat, when I still thought we were just on a normal date.”

He chuckles. “Really? Is that what you normally do on a first date?”

“Are you calling me a slut?” I ask indignantly.

His eyes widen. “No, of course not, Liz. What I meant was
—
”

“Because I’m not!” I interrupt him. “I’ve never done any of the things we did… at least not this fast, not after just meeting. And not like that!”

“I know,” he assures. “I can tell that you are a good girl.”

He sweeps along my cheekbone with the tip of his finger, following my jawline until he reaches my lips. His touch is so soft, so sensual; I cannot help but sigh with relish.

“And I know you hate it,” he whispers while gently pushing my lower lip down. “I know you have cravings that scare you. Cravings that you never speak of. Your dirty little secrets. You are not the shallow doll that your family wants you to be, and you are not the pure, innocent fairy you act like when you are among those people.”

I look up at him, our eyes fixating on each other as he continues to speak.

“I knew from the moment I saw you. That there is more to you, that you are hiding something, and I want to uncover that side. When I say I want to own you, that means so much more than you could imagine.”

“I think I have a pretty good understanding,” I argue.

He shakes his head.

“No, you don’t. Not yet, that is.”

“Not yet, huh,” I breathe. “So how long do you think it will take me to understand?”

He smirks. “Are you asking how long I intend to keep you here?”

I shrug. “That appears to be the same question, yes.”

“A question I haven’t answered before and that I won’t answer now,” he says.

“I would just like to know what it is I can do to get out of here.”

He sighs and makes a move to get up from the bed. I hold him back grabbing his wrist, pulling him back to me.

“I’m not having this conversation any longer,” he says, looking down at me annoyed.

“Okay, okay,” I surrender. “I won’t ask again. But please don’t leave me alone.”

His gaze darkens. “Why would you want me to stay?”

"I don't know," I answer truthfully. "I just don't want to be alone."

He looks down on me, pondering. "I imagined you to be someone who is alone a lot. By choice."

"That is partially true," I admit. "I am alone a lot, but it's not always by choice."

"Alright, I will stay with you for now if you stop asking questions that annoy me."

"Okay," I say. "But I have one more: What will happen from now on?"

"I told you," he says. "Training."

I sigh. While I am not allowed to ask "annoying" questions, I wonder why he thinks it is okay for him leave me with unsatisfying answers.

I might have more luck if I settle for smaller steps.

"Let me rephrase that," I add. "What's the plan for today?"

"I have some work to do, so you will be on your own for a while until I bring you dinner. Then, another training session and off to bed."

"That is all I will be doing while I'm here?" I ask. "Eating, sleeping and training?"

He looks at me with a naughty smile on his face. A swarm off butterflies travels through my insides.

He looks so handsome, yet I know that what he is doing to me is so fucking wrong. I wish I could be furious at him as I should be, but it's so damn hard with the way he looks at me and the way he treats me. It's hard to deny that I enjoy our training sessions just as much as he does.

"Yes," he says. "That is all I want you to do worry about for now. Eating, sleeping and pleasure."

"Pleasure?" I ask. "Is that what my training ought to be? Pleasure?"

He nods. "Is it not?"

I blush. It would be ridiculous to deny, because he has seen me. He saw me trembling, wet and flushed, exploding in release.

He pets me on the head like one would pet a little kid.

I still don't understand why he sees the need to lock me in and take care of me as if I was a helpless baby animal, but I know that he won't explain it to me with that many details, no matter how often I would ask. He would just get annoyed and leave the room if I poked at that matter again.

"What is it you miss the most?" he asks out of the blue.

I look up at him with wide eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You look unhappy to be here," he says. "Which I understand. But I know you weren't happy at your family's home either. So I wonder what it is you miss."

"My freedom," I say. "I miss being able to go wherever I want, whenever I want."

He nods. "Okay. What else?"

I hesitate, surprised to see how hard it is for me to answer that question. What would I be doing now, if I were not locked up in here? I would probably be by myself because my family would be out on different errands that I am not involved in. My father usually spends his weekends at the club with his friends when he's not working, and my mother would be out and about with my sister and her fiancé.

I would be home, by myself, either traveling to the same dark places that Leonard has brought me to or...

"My violin," I whisper. "I miss my violin."

"You play the violin," he states. It's not a question, and he doesn't seem to be surprised at all.

"Yes. Just for fun. I'm not very good."

"It is a beautiful instrument," he whispers. "Suits you."

I smile. "It has been my best companion for years."

I might have imagined it, but there seems to be a hint of sadness traveling across his face while he looks at me.

He lowers his eyes and begins stroking my thigh. I have been naked around him so much that I don't even realize it unless he has his eyes on me like he does now. He follows the trace of his fingertip on my pale skin, traveling up to my hipbone. I shiver when he caresses the sensitive skin in that area.

He looks at me, observing my reactions as his finger moves further toward my mound.

"Open your legs for me," he whispers, and I do it without hesitation.

He sighs with approval. "Good girl."

The touch of his finger sends delicate stings through my center. He leaves out the area between my legs, and instead, teases the inside of my upper thighs, traveling from one side to the other without touching my soft lips.

"Look at me," he commands.

My eyes have been following his hand. I draw them away and look up at him. His gaze is dark and intense
—
hungry for me. Unlike me, he didn't find his release earlier.

The way he looks at me, his dark eyes piercing through me like dark daggers, makes me feel a lot more vulnerable than being naked in front of him. There is no use in trying to hide anything from him. He sees right through me.

But I don't plan on leaving all the authority to him again.

"Why did you not fuck me earlier?" I ask, trying to control my accelerating breathing.