Sold

Paul was saying something, but it is just noise as I tried to scramble to my feet. Something hit me across my stomach and I fell to floor gasping for breath. No! I would not let him win. I threw a book at him as I struggled to crawl away. I felt his hand in my hair, ripping, pulling me up even as I fought like fury.

He threw me on top of Master’s desk, scattering items to the floor. He easily backhanded over and over. I tried to curl up to protect myself from the onslaught of his blows. He forced me back and tore the kimono open. He punched me in the stomach with a curse. The wind knocked out of me, there was little I could do to stop him from thrusting into me. He kept slamming his body into mine with a cruelty that was all too familiar. I could do nothing but lie there.

As he called me names, raping me, my fingers found a length of smooth, cool metal. It was if the coldness of the metal filled me and in one smooth movement, in the hiatus of time, I moved. Time seemed to crystallize. I could not see him perfectly, but I knew where he was. His scream echoed off the walls and then there was silence.

I rolled painfully from the desk and began to crawl from the room. I had to get away before he could get me again. I was in the hallway when the lights flipped on. A hand reached out to touch me, but I clawed back in self-preservation. I don’t remember what they said, but somehow they managed to convince me that I was safe.

As they helped me down the stairs, I saw into the study and body of Paul, lying on the ground, the letter opener protruding from his eye. He would never touch me again.

I don't know how much time passed. I know I slept. I know they never bothered to bring me any food or to remove the chains they had put on me. Why should they care? I was a slave that killed a free person. It didn't matter what he was doing; I was a slave.

By the time Master stood in the doorway, my right eye had swollen up enough that it was difficult for me to open it. I was not sorry that I had killed Paul; I doubt I ever would be. At that moment, seeing the look on Master’s face, I was sorry that I had caused this trouble for him.

"Can't leave you alone, can I?" he asked softly, coming over to my side and sitting on the edge of the cot. He trailed his fingers through my hair.

"I am sorry, Master," I whispered.

"I should have foreseen the possibilities. It is my fault, Kitten.” There was a long silent pause as he stroked my hair, “They are not going to let me take you home.”

I turned my face away from him. I was amazed at how that hurt. It was not staying here or the possibility of death, but the pain from not seeing him again, to be taken away from him.

His firm fingers forced my eyes toward his, "In a few minutes, they are going to come in here and remove the chains. I will remove the collar and tags."

“So I am to be executed?” my voice was dull.

“No, Rose” his smile was sad, "I have found proof. You were not a criminal; you should not be a slave. You are a free woman -- a free woman with the right to defend yourself. You will be free tonight."

"To go home with you, Master?" my head was spinning with this news.

"No," he pulled his hand away from me and stood up, distancing himself from me. "I am not your Master. You will be given some clothing, some money...."

I sat up on the cot, "But I don't remember who I am...or was... or what I did? Where am I supposed to go?"

Alex shrugged, "They don't exactly have a reintroduction program, but they may. I doubt they will toss you onto the street. There will be someone to walk you back into your life."

"What about you?" I asked. Who would do for him all the things I had done? Who knew him like I did?

"The same as before I had you. But I did what I set out to do. I proved there was a ring of officials that would kidnap young women and get them into the criminal system for profit. Even now, the ringleaders are being arrested. I have the scoop on it, I have already had a book offer,” he reached around and unlocked the collar from my neck. I felt naked.

The cold realization hit me, "I was just part of a project? An investigation?"

I could see a quick range of emotions cross his face. His reply was cold and brittle, "That's about the sum of it. Take care kitten." He walked out quickly, but I saw the tear he tried to hide.

I wondered why men think that if they make you mad, it's somehow better than anything else? Didn't he realize that I had come to love him? Not just the sex, even though it was great. Not just the way the cool command of his voice could get me wet and eager, nor the utterly confusing way I looked forward to the caress of leather on my skin, holding me down and open for his use but for everything. I loved him for waking up next to him in the morning, feeling his warmth, for the wondrous contentment of evenings reading or painting near him until he shifted just so, closed his book or turned off the computer and looked at me. For the way he smiled when I served a meal I knew he liked. I had come to love everything about him.... and now he was leaving just like that?

The guards came and with much more courteousness than before they released me. I began to cry. They thought I was crying in joy. They had no idea. I was given clothing and it felt so terribly odd to be that covered. I was taken out; there were papers I signed, not caring.

Days passed in a dull blur. I was given identity papers and brought to an apartment they told me was mine. In time, I was in an office, doing computer work, pretending that this was normal, when my heart ached to be back at his feet. I would get home and remove the clothes and curl up on the floor by the chair, pretending, but it did not work.

Seasons came and passed until I could take it no longer. One day, I did not go to work, but found my way to the airport, and from there to his city. I spent several days wandering the city, walking, thinking, feeling more alive now than I had since that night in the cell.

One afternoon, I found myself in front of his house. Unable to stop myself, I walked up to the door and checked the place he used to keep the spare key for me. My fingers touched cold metal. Was this some dream? I unlocked the door and entered. It was the same as I remembered it. I wandered from room to room, seeing what had changed or not. He had framed one of my paintings. My knitting remained in a basket near the fireplace.

The clock struck five. He would be home soon. I could leave and return to my life as Alice. He would never need to know I had visited. I laughed at the thought. Unless he sent me away again, I would not return to that dull and colorless life. I removed each layer of my clothing, carefully folding it up and setting it on the couch. It felt wonderful to feel so free again. I hurried and put together a tray of afternoon snacks for him and placed them by his chair. And then I knelt and waited, hearing his familiar steps outside, the rattle of his key, the opening of the door. I could feel my eagerness jump and almost smell my own arousal. I trembled in eagerness and fear. Would he order me to leave?

"My Pet!" he breathed the two words in soft amazement. I knew I was home.