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Bought and Paid For

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She woke up still exhausted and she fought the pressure in her bladder as her body did its best to return to oblivion. Unfortunately, it proved too much and her brain would not allow her to collapse back into nothingness. She highly doubted on top of everything that her Master would be pleased if she wet the bed. She lay facing him, her head resting on a strong arm, and her hands were still gripping his t-shirt hard. His arm not acting as a pillow was draped across her middle underneath the blanket, holding her to him firmly. But unlike when she first lost consciousness, her Master was sound asleep. His chest rose and fell steadily and she could hear the sound of his breath coming in and out of his nose.

He looked gentle lying there… harmless even. Looking at him now, sound asleep and unthreatening; he did not look like he was a man capable of the things he had done to her. He was psychotic, a rapist, and an abuser, as misogynistic as he was chauvinistic. He had kidnapped her, beaten her, raped her… he bought her… paid for her like she was some cow or dog. And yet she felt her hatred for him lessening. The feel of his hands last night as he massaged that cream into her skin had been amazing. She even found herself truly worried he was going to go upstairs and leave her alone. Even warm, bathed, fed and in bed, all she should really need, she was terrified. She was terrified of being alone, and she had wanted him as a result.

When he got into bed beside her she was relieved, but when she felt his erection, and he said she could just sleep, she was not happy. Terror gripped her heart again. It was no doubt a test. He wanted to know if she was willing and though her whole body ached, she would have been willing to do anything to show him she was done fighting. No physical punishment from her Master could ever amount to the horror she felt when she saw that other man walk down the stairs… and judging by the pain that man had dealt, physical punishment would have done the trick.

That was another problem. She could not help but feel thankful to her Master. He had been holding back. She knew that now. She had thought he was giving her all he had to give… she would not make that same mistake in ignorance again. He didn’t want to hurt her. She truly believed that now. He might like whipping her or caning her but that didn’t count. She had seen the look in that man’s eyes. Her Master did it to derive a sexual pleasure. This man did it to hurt. He wanted her to scream and cry… he wanted her to bleed.

She reached up and very gently touched the fading bruises around her Master’s eyes. She remembered what the strike of the cane felt like when it split her soft skin open. She had screeched, cried and called for her Master, but she had heard the man’s soft curse. He stopped right after that, locking her in the cage and leaving her be. The next thing she remembered was that her Master had come to save her. She could not really remember his first reaction to her face and her thighs, but she had seen the way he looked at her last night. He was sick, cruel at times, but he cared… in whatever way this man knew how to care about another human being… a woman… he cared about her. She could not understand it, did not want to, but she knew it was true.

“Maximilian,” she whispered. He looked like a Maximilian. Strong square jaw, straight, perhaps slightly hooked nose, bright blue eyes and dark brown hair. She regretted knowing his name now though. It made him too human. She had to be careful. She had to keep herself separate from him. If she didn’t he’d win.

She wanted to wake him up but didn't know how. She was also too afraid too. He might be angry with her, decide it was a form of disobedience, and decide to punish her. She really couldn’t take anymore punishment right now. She ran her fingers through his thick head of hair, enjoying the feel of it despite herself. She only needed to wake him up gently. She was too terrified of getting up and slipping into the bathroom herself. If he woke up and found her gone, he might punish her for not asking for his permission. He was her Master, after all.

“Master?” she whispered softly, gently patting his shoulder. He grunted and she almost decided to chance the bathroom. “Master?”

“I do not like being woken up,” he said in German and she felt her heart stop. She said nothing, eyes wide, waiting for his wroth. Instead, his eyes slowly fluttered open to look at her. His eyes were tired and he looked slightly annoyed, but she did not see anger. She licked the split of her lips and struggled to find her words. He waited patiently, but the longer he waited, the more frightened she became. She was in a good spot at the moment; she did not want to ruin things like she had last time. He must have sensed her fear because he raised his eyebrows and looked at her. “What do you need?”

“Am I allowed to go to the bathroom?” she asked him. His hand moved from her middle and stroked her cheek briefly.

“Can you walk yourself?” he asked and she felt her heart leap. Would she be able to use the bathroom in privacy, alone and in peace?

“Yes Master,” she said. “but… but not if you don’t think I should…”

“It’s the third door from the stairs. Remember the lock, pet,” he said and closed his eyes again. “Be back in two minutes.”

She nodded and slipped out of the bed, wincing and pausing as pain wracked through her body. She hissed in a sharp breath and paused a moment, lowering herself down to her knees as she waited for the pain to pass. She closed her eyes, but it never passed. The intensity slowly lessened, but the dull aching remained, spreading through her torso and down her limbs in shock currents of pain.

“One minute,” she heard her master say and she jumped up, another bolt of debilitating pain running through her. She ignored it this time, pushing through, and hurried to the bathroom. She did not know what he might do if she did not do her business and then get back to bed in the time he had designated. He might make her hold it until either she no longer could or it was good for his schedule. When she could no longer hold it he would punish her. Or, he might skip the games and punish her anyway. A third possibility was he would bring her to the bathroom himself, and she desperately wanted the privacy that had been taken from her since everything had begun. She hurried but knew that she had gone over her allotted time. By the time she came hobbling back toward the bed and slipped under the covers, too much time had passed and she was sure she was about to be beaten again. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her.

“Besser?”

“Yes, Master. Thank you,” she replied and bit her bottom lip as he pulled her closer to him.

“Back to sleep for now. I will use you later,” he told her and she nodded. Use, she thought bitterly, he will use me later.

It was not the easiest thing, knowing you were really only a toy or a slave. It was dehumanizing, and against her will, as she closed her eyes and nuzzled her nose into his warm chest, she felt very, very small. She tried to make herself comfortable, but every way she moved hurt. The longer she was awake the worse it got, and soon she was struggling not to cry, both from pain and frustration. No matter how she moved she ached. When she heard him grunt and shift she was sure she had awoken him and he would beat her again, but she was unable to keep the tears from breaking past her eye lids. She covered her face in her hands and immediately curled into a tight little ball, waiting for the assault to begin. Instead she felt gentle hands caressing her shoulders and running through her hair.

“Where did this come from?” he asked. “Hmm?”

He continued to gently stroke her as she cried, but she managed to dry her tears relatively quickly.

“Aren’t you going to beat me?” she asked, sniffling.

“Have you given me a reason too?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused. “Unless you give me a reason, I will not be striking you again until you are healed. We shall train in other ways.”

“Pro-promise?” she asked, looking up at him.

“You don’t demand promises from me, slave,” he said shortly. “Understand?”

“Yes Master. I’m sorry,” she said and he wiped a tear off her cheek with the back of his pointer finger.

“Come here,” he said and scooped her up, bringing her back toward him. He lowered them both down again, running his hands over her abused skin. It was odd how the hands responsible for this pain, could do so much to help soothe it. “Shh… just breath… the pain will pass. Pain always passes.”

“Yes Master, thank you,” she breathed.

“Go to sleep now,” he ordered, but he did not stop the soft, gentle caresses until she had fallen back into darkness.

When she woke up again she was alone, and when her eyes found her master on the other side of the room she could see he had changed out of his pajamas and into his normal attire. She sat up slowly, keeping the blanket around her shoulders, and waited for him to glance toward her. He was leaning against his little workshop of horrors, and had a plate in his hands. His head was to the side, and as he spooned the food into his mouth he appeared to be reading a newspaper resting on the surface of the bench beside him.

“They gave up on you much faster than I anticipated,” he told her. “’Searches called off for missing American girl. Presumed dead by authorities.’ It would have done no good anyway. They were searching for you in the wrong countries.”

Jessica felt numb as he spoke and her face remained blank. Then, once the numbness began to fade there was a crushing sense of hopelessness. Once people stopped looking it was all over.

“It… how long has it been?” she asked.

“Not nearly long enough,” he replied and she looked down.

“My parents… they haven’t given up…”

“’Parents accept Hungarian and Austrian officials analysis of case details’,” he read before taking another bite of whatever he was eating. She felt like she was smacked across the face, and recently she had a lot of experience of just what that feels like. She blinked, squinted, and shook her head.

“That’s not true,” she whispered. “They would never give up on me.”

“I do not normally allow slaves to call me a liar,” he said and put his bowl on the table. “But read it yourself.”

He brought her the newspaper and she read it. She read it over a few times, praying it was just a mistake in translation.

“The difference between me and them? If you ever got away from me, I’d hunt you down to the ends of the earth, and I would never stop,” he told her as he took the paper back. She looked at him and realized he meant it, but she attributed it more to his psychosis than any sort of love or affection for her. She shivered and wrapped the blanket more tightly around herself. “I made you pancakes. Americans like pancakes.”

She said nothing as he brought the plate over and poured a tiny bit of syrup onto it. Despite herself her eyes widened at the sight and she ate it as if she had not eaten in days.

“Thank you, Master,” she said between bites.

“We are going to have fun today,” he said, watching her from the workbench. He sipped at some coffee as he watched her eat. “Now you will truly see how good obeying really is.”

“I’m ready to obey,” she told him and his eyes narrowed slightly.

“You will obey because it is your place, not because you are ready to. Things are done on my terms, not when you decide you are… ready,” he said and she nodded.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she told him, face scrunched up in fear. She really did not understand the way he read into her words so seriously. She had only meant she was going to obey now. She had not meant to make it sound like it was on her terms. “I’m sorry.”

“We need to change the way you speak. You are inherently disrespectful with your speech.”

“I’ll learn,” she told him, praying he would keep to what he said earlier and not strike her again until she was healed. If she angered him, he no doubt still would. He smiled at her softly, his eyes uncharacteristically soft.

“Yes you will,” he said and placed his coffee cup on the table. He went towards her and leaned down, placing a kiss to her slightly sticky lips. Her first reaction was to pull back, but a hand clamped down behind her head, holding her in place. “And you will be so perfect when you do.”

She heard the door at the top of the stairs open and she looked up at him, fear in her eyes. Her heart stopped beating for a moment, at least that was how it felt, but seemed to resume at an unhealthy rate when she heard footsteps on the strairs. Her eyes did not move from her Master’s and she watched as his lips turned into a little smile.

“Obedience and servitude. You please and worship. And Jessica…” he trailed off, his tone growing more serious, his eyes more intense as the footsteps got louder and closer. “Trust.”

The door opened and the terrible man stepped in, looking more infuriatingly smug and arrogant, cruel and evil, than she ever remembered seeing her Master. She immediately began to shake her head and the fear returned, along with a spasming of her muscles and a nagging throbbing all over the surface of her skin. Her Master had moved back toward the workbench, but before he could speak again she was scrambling toward him, have walking, half crawling as he feet failed to support her. She collapsed to her knees in front of her Master, grabbing onto the front of his shirt and gazing up through tear filled eyes.

“Please don’t Master, whatever it is, please don’t. I swear I will be good now. I promise it. I don’t understand what I have to do –”

“Silence,” he said curtly and her vocal cords involuntary shut off at the command. “What part of obedience, servitude, pleasure, worship, and trust are you displaying right now slave?”

“I…none,” she whispered, feeling defeated, a few sobs scattered throughout her heavy breathing as she looked down.

“Then I strongly suggest you recalibrate your behavior before you force me to punish you,” he ordered.

“She is a mouthy bitch, Max. Let me beat her into submission. I will turn her into jelly,” the cruel man remarked and though she no longer begged, she pressed her face to her Master’s lower abdomen as she gripped his shirt. “Beat her to the ground and then rape her until her vocal cords are bloody.”

She shook and waited, knowing whatever terrors lay before her would be far worse if she angered her only source of protection. She could not help but feel slightly betrayed though. He had promised to protect her and cause her no more serious harm. He had promised she would not be hurt again until she had healed fully. Where were those promises now? What was she supposed to trust? Certainly not that he would protect her. Was it trust that his opinion would always be the right now, and even if it caused her indescribable physical and emotional harm it would be alright.

“Slave, get on your hands and knees,” he said but she did not move until he grabbed the fists she had clinging to his shirt and moved her away from him. “Release me and do as I ordered.”

She moved onto her hands and knees, another sob raking through her. She waited for a slap, or a strike, or a violation, or cold water… something. Instead there was only the sound of her Master moving away slightly before he spoke again.

“Crawl to my friend, slave, kiss his feet, and thank him for handling you while I was away,” her Master ordered, and though she was dumb struck, offended, insulted at the very thought of it, her body was in self preservation, and she began to crawl toward the evil man her Master considered his friend. She felt bile rise in her stomach as she was overcome with the shame, humiliation, and injustice of it all, but she lowered her face to his shoes, pressing her lips to the leather, and felt any ounce of dignity and pride she had left fleeing her body.

“Thank you for handling me while my Master away,” she whispered, silent tears soaking his feet.

“Address him properly and speak up,” her Master ordered.

“I…” she paused. She did not know how to address him. Not Master… only her Master was her Master. She could not use her name for she did not know it, and even if she did it was too familiar. “How do I address him Master?”

She tried to ask using as much vulnerability and submission as she could put into a voice, praying it was not considered a refusal to obey a command or insolent. She was almost joyful when he answered, no displeasure in his voice.

“As sir,” was his short reply.

“Thank you, sir, for handling me while my Master was away,” she said, kissing his shoes again for good measure.

“Now tell him how sad you will be that he is leaving us,” her Master ordered.

“…I…I will be so sad… that…” she remembered the fury in his face, the hatred in his eyes, the pain of his slaps and strikes and verbal barbs. The words caught in her throat. She looked up toward her Master, eyes wet. “Master, please….”

She sounded pathetic, no doubted looked pathetic, but in truth, in that moment, she felt… was, pathetic.

“I will not ask again,” was his reply.

“I will be so s-sad that you are leaving us… sir,” she said, head hanging.

“And I will be so sad I cannot make you bleed or cry any longer,” the man responded, and before she could react, he nudged her to the floor with his foot and she landed on her abused bottom in her attempt to stop the ball. She hissed in a breath, cried out, and reached for the abused skin, but only time had the pain fading.

“Back on your hands and knees,” he ordered. “Stay there until I return.”

She obeyed as her Master left with the cruel man and she dried her tears, throat aching. Despite herself she was pleased when her Master came back. He scooped her up and brought her over to the bed without a word, and she remained stubbornly silent because she was angry with him, and obediently silent, because he had not spoken to her first. The anger evaporated when the cream was rubbed into her thighs and bottom again, and once again that affectation was finding its way back into her chest.

“Was that so bad?” he asked.

“No Master,” she was forced to agree. Humiliating, degrading and shameful, but he thought that was her place in life as it was. He did not let the man abuse or molest her, minus the little nudge with the foot, and she had to be thankful for that.

“The last of your commandments as a slave, the five reasons for existing, five facts you must live by what have you, is trust. I don’t want to share you, and if you are good to me, obedient and respectful, affectionate and loving, I will never have to,” he said and she nodded, enjoying the feel of his hands on her ass cheeks.

“Obedience, Servitude, Pleasure, Worship and Trust,” she said to him and he half smiled.

“An important note, however…. Whose pleasure?” he asked.

“Yours,” she responded looking up at him and he nodded.

“Gutes madchen,“ he purred, and she began to understand when he praised her in German he was indeed, very pleased with her. “But I am a good Master, when you do all of those things, I will give you pleasure in return. Ulrik likes seeing his women cry, I like to see mine contented with her position.”

“I am contented right now,” she answered almost honestly. She would rather be far away from this place, from him, but in the current circumstances, warm, on a bed, having cool cream massaged into her soft skin, felt nice. He smiled and gently patted an unmarked area of her battered thighs.

“On your back,” he ordered and she obeyed. His hands moved from her hips, gliding down her thighs as he appraised her body, a little smile on his face.

“Obedience is sweet, is it not?” he asked with a little out rush of air. She nodded and waited. He only needed to apply the tiniest bit of pressure on her thighs before she parted them for him, a shiver of fear and disgust coursing through her. He did not notice them, and instead gazed at his property. He lowered his mouth to her without a word and her hips immediately arched upward into his mouth. She did her best to fight the pleasure, but as his tongue circled her clit, sucking it into his mouth, and then ever so gently trailed his teeth over the sensitive pearl, she failed. It competed with, and then surpassed the pain, and when his tongue prodded at her, sliding against her, into her, she was blinded by it.

“Honey,” he purred, kissing her inner thigh. “Do you like it?”

“I-” he gently touched her clit with his thumb, massaging her juices into the skin surrounding it. She cried out and he smirked.

“Do not lie to me,” he said and lapped at her again. She was disgusted with what her body was doing, but she knew that it was not the first time she had orgasmed for her. And as she came she felt him smirk against her inner thigh. “You haven’t answered me.”

“I liked it,” she breathed and he crawled so he was placed over her.

“You’re a good girl,” he smirked, plucking at the buttons of his trousers. “Or are you just a whore?”

“I’m not, Master,” she said, slightly afraid she would anger him.

“No,” he breathed and reached into his trousers. He seemed very pleased. “Just for me. Yes?”

“Yes, Master, just you,” she answered and her eyes moved down to the throbbing erection in his hand. He gave himself a few more hard pumps before placing himself at her entrance. She yelped as he thrust into her, but it did not hurt as badly as it had in the past.

“Who am I?” he ground out between clenched teeth as he slid into her.

“The Master of my body and soul,” she breathed and clutched at his shoulders with her hands.

“Do you find me handsome, slave?” he asked her taking a long pull out of her and then thrusting back inside.

“Yes, Master,” she breathed. “Yes.”

“Say it,” he hissed. “Tell me.”

“You’re so handsome, Master,” she breathed, wanting to please him. One of his hands palmed a breast and played with her nipples, squeezing and plucking gently. “I missed you, Master. I missed you when you were gone.”

“You missed me,” he breathed, lowering his head to suck on an earlobe. Her body pulsed, pain and pleasure fighting within her. He grabbed into her waist, leaving her empty momentarily, and twisted her around so she was on her stomach. He helped her up onto her hands and knees and closed his hand around the back of her neck. He squeezed and thrust back into her hard. It hurt her bottom slightly, but he did not hit the most painful area of her thighs and it was not terrible. When he leaned over her more fully, and once again began stroking her clit, she felt the familiar build up return. But this time she had less energy to fight it. She had come for him so many times now, at least it felt like so many times, what was one more now?

“How’s that?” he panted. “How do I feel?”

“Good, Master,” she panted a long with him.

“Tell me,” he hissed, his cock thrusting in at a hard, fast speed. She would be ashamed of herself when it was over, that it came so easy, but words were not truth. She could tell him what he wanted to hear and remain strong.

“It’s so good Master,” she breathed into the pillows on the bed.

“Not it,” he said and she yelped when he placed what would be a light slap on her bottom, but because it of the bruises, it strung terribly. “Me.”

“You are. You’re so good. Master,” she breathed as the burning faded. He rubbed her clit again, building her up toward another conflicting climax. Conflicting, both emotional and physical.

“Das ist mein gutes Mädchen,” he breathed. “Gutes, gutes Mädchen. Gutes, kleines Mädchen.”

It was when he began rubbing her more firmly that she climaxed, and the moment her walls began to clamp, release, and then clamp around him again he pulled out of her. He twirled her around and moved to straddle her by the shoulders, pumping his throbbing, pulsing erection with a firm grip, keeping the head of his cock pressed to her closed lips. She opened her mouth but he ordered it closed curtly and she waited, looking up at him. Her orgasm was beginning to fade when she saw his body tighten and his fingers jerk slightly. As a result, she managed to close her eyes just as he ejaculated, spurting his hot cum across her face. It was hot, wet, and sticky, and it seemed like it would never end. A few smaller little bursts were all that remained when he ordered her to open her mouth. He traced his cock around her lips for a moment, presumably enjoying the view, before he pulled back.

“You look so beautiful like that,” he told her, leaning down next to her.

“Thank you, master,” she answered as she felt his fingers gently press at her eyes and wipe some of the semen away.

“Open,” he ordered and her she obeyed as he dragged the salty cum across her face and flicked it into her mouth. “Your master’s cum is not something you even want to waste. Are you thankful for it?”

“I’m thankful for it, Master,” she told him after she swallowed. She prayed he was not offended by her grimace as she swallowed. He was quiet until her face was once again clean and he slipped his fingers into her mouth. Hoping to earn some points she closed her lips around the digits, sucking and flicking her tongue against his skin.

“You sound robotic,” he scolded. “A slave should have more feeling. You should crave my cum, beg for it, yearn for it, as you should everything concerning me.”

“I’m sorry, Master, I’m still in a lot of pain,” she answered. It was not entirely a lie. In truth, she had never been good at dirty talk, and her Master seemed to enjoy it. He obviously wanted to be told how great she thought he was, and in a sexual manner. She always thought, when she had tried doing lighter stuff with past boyfriends, she sounded wooden and awkward.

“You’ve been good for me today,” he said. “I will get you something for the pain.”

“Really?” she asked, and the soft little smile he gave her as her eyes widened and she reached for him made his eyes a little brighter. She liked his face when he smiled.

“Really,” he told her and stood. “I’ll be back in a few moments.”

“Thank you, Master,” she said with sincerity and a reverence that both surprised and shamed her. It was like a slap in the face and she paused a moment, staring at his retreating back. Perhaps that was the tone he wanted when she was talking him up during sex. She only wished she was a better actor. Though it frightened her. Days ago she would not have used that tone even. It was hard not to be grateful though. He was being kind and gentle, affectionate and protective. She tried to remind herself he was the reason she was in this position in the first place, but it seemed like an irrational argument against him.

“Thank you…” she called after him weakly when he did not respond. Surely the emotion in her voice deserved some sort of reaction from him. He should have looked back and purred “gutes Mädchen”, like he usually did when he was pleased. She waited as he went to the workbench to collect the empty plates and coffee cup. “Master?”

“Yes, slave?” he asked dismissively, unattached.

“Thank you,” she said as if he had not heard her.

“You are welcome, pet,” he told her and opened the door to the stairs, balancing the plate, bowl and cup expertly. “Be a good girl while I’m gone.”

“I will,” she answered. “I promise.”

He smiled at her, and shut the door.