Broken Ch. 05

*Penultimate chapter*

*Apologies for the math*

--

Genevieve was given free reign of the bathroom and closet for a full two hours to prepare for dinner with Alder. She opted for the bath rather than the shower, and spent a full half hour soaking in the hot water. She could feel her bruises aching in response to the heat. They covered her legs, front and back, buttocks, stomach, arms, and breasts. There was a small one on her right cheek bone where Alder had slapped her, but the worst was the almost hand-shaped mark that wrapped around her neck. They were varying shades of black, blue, purple, and sickly yellow, which worried her the most, even though it meant the bruise was healing. Only five days had passed since her punishment for lashing out at Alex, and the lesson was not one she'd soon forget.

For five days, she had been wavering between submission and resistance. Five long days of her mind breaking in two: one half wanted nothing more than to hide from the pain, to make sure it never happened again, but the other half revelled in it, survived because of it.

She had slept in Alder's bed four out of five nights, which were filled with uneasy dreams of violence against her "Master". The defiant half of her had gone through every way of attacking him. The only ones she saw as viable were an attack on his genitals or his eyes. Especially the eyes. She would be able to squeeze them quickly, blinding him, incapacitating his obvious strength. She wouldn't even need a knife or her teeth, like she would for his cock.

Every time these thoughts became too tempting, the other half of her would cuddle up next to him in bed. Usually, he would shift to welcome her, wrapping his arms around her, twice waking and fucking her mouth. She did this, not for comfort, or distraction, but to remember the touch of his hand. To remind herself that he could be gentle and that he was in control.

She washed her hair with the coconut soap Alder had chosen for her, conditioned, rinsed, shaved and washed her body. She dried herself with all speed, knowing the longest task would be blow drying her hair. Luckily, Alder didn't like too much makeup, so she didn't have to worry about that, but her hair was about an inch longer than when she had arrived, and it would take at least half an hour to manage it.

By the time it was straight, her face was sweating from the heat of the blow dryer, so she used the cool setting to blow some cold air on her brow. Her skin was clear and fresh, her hair dark and dry, her eyes still had a glimmer of hatred in them, although it was beginning to die.

She frowned at her reflection and opened her mouth. "I hate you," she said. She wasn't sure if she was addressing Alder, Alex, or herself. She shut her eyes and was happy in the dark.

But she only had twenty minutes, so she left the mirror and ventured into the closet. There were two distinct sides. The first had about a hundred different mens suits, all extra large, but all from high-end retailers. Her mother had always been into fashion, so Genevieve could recognize a good maker when she saw one: Zegna, Brioni, Armani. They would cost a fortune in a regular size, but to fit Alder, they must have all been special orders and were therefore even more expensive. She shook her head in disbelief and got lost in his rainbow of ties, all of a similar caliber as the suits. His shoes-more than twenty pairs-were arranged in neat rows on the floor, and she pulled open the drawers to find his casual clothes and fitness wear. He seemed to like the color blue, but other than that, all she could tell was that he had very classic taste.

The second side was hers, although she would be pressed to find a full outfit among all the lingerie. The only things that seemed to cover everything at once were the multitude of dresses, all as classic in their styles as his suits, and all from luxury designers. On her second day in captivity they had taken her measurements, and she had lost weight since then, so she was sure everything would fit. She looked at each one in turn, remembering Alder's words: something extravagant, black-tie.

She chose a black Dior floor-length gown. It looked simple at first, a v-neck with a plummeting slit down the middle between her breasts that ended a few inches above her navel. The dress was form fitting all the way down to her knees, flaring out and ending at her feet with solid black fabric, but at her hips a long, sheer tail began blossoming, revealing the form beneath, but adding a draping fishtail that ran behind her a few feet. When it was on and zipped up, she looked at herself in the mirror. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and certainly the nicest thing she would ever wear in her life. She could only pity the situation.

After she had admired the dress for a few minutes, she looked through the drawers on her side of the closet and found boxes of jewelry, more underwear, and bottles of perfume. She chose a statement necklace as her only piece of jewelry. It was a collar of diamonds and sapphires. Blue seemed a good choice, based on all of Alder's clothes. She also used a sparing puff of Chanel No. 5, but what she was really looking for were shoes. There didn't seem to be any for her. No slippers, sandals, heels, sneakers. When she was done looking, she walked around in the dress and found that it was a good length without heels anyway, so she left the closet barefoot. She double-checked her reflection in the mirror, brushed her hair again, and left the bathroom.

Alder was waiting for her in the bedroom, buttoning up his cuffs with cufflinks. He turned at her entrance and his face lit up when he saw her.

"Wow," he said. He twirled his finger, and she spun in a little circle for him to see everything. Then he crooked his finger, and she walked over to him. "Beautiful. I didn't look through the things the boys brought for you, but I think they deserve a raise. The only thing I'd change is this necklace, but that's for later. Are you hungry?"

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Let's eat then." He offered her his arm, which she took, and led her to the dining room. It was a cavernous, windowless room, with dark wood-panelled walls and wall sconces that had real candles to light the room. Four lit candelabras sat on the table, which was meant for twenty people easily. Overhead, two grand chandeliers were also lit with real candles, something she didn't think she had ever seen. It was dim and well lit at the same time. Intimate.

Only two places were set at the corner of the table, so they could be seated as close as possible. There were two sorts of wine glasses set out, a salad and dinner plate and six pieces of cutlery for each of them.

He led her to her seat and pulled her chair out for her. When he pushed it in, he leaned over and kissed her neck, just above the necklace. She looked up at him when he retreated, and saw the usual smile on his face. He took his seat and sat slouched in the chair, fingers steepled in front of him, legs spread wide. "I'm excited for tonight," he said. "A good meal, a beautiful girl. What more could a man ask for?"

Genevieve didn't know whether she was supposed to answer or not, and he just smiled at her, offering no suggestions. A side door, which she had mistaken for a wall panel, swung open, and a woman dressed as a waiter entered with two glasses of sparkling water, each with a slice of lime. Alder sat up in his seat, took his glass and thanked her. Genevieve's eyes were glued to the waitress. She was the first woman Genevieve had seen since she had been taken. The waitress smiled and asked which wine they would like first, the red or the white.

"The white," said Alder. "But give us a few minutes first."

The waitress nodded. "The soup will be out first, sir. Lobster bisque."

With that, the woman left, leaving Genevieve speechless. Was she aware of the situation? Hired help from the outside? Or an accomplice? She had addressed him as 'sir' and not 'master', which was a possible sign of freedom. Alder put those thoughts to rest quickly.

"She's like you, sweetheart," he said. His eyes were back on her, revelling in her curiosity. "Just not lucky enough to be sold yet."

Genevieve's hopes died again, and she nodded. She took a sip from her glass and found that it was actually a gin and tonic, rather than sparkling water. It tasted as bitter as her false hope.

"Sorry to get your hopes up," he said. "But I'd rather not spend the evening in silence. I like interesting conversation, and I bought you because you're smart enough to hold one. Tell me what you were studying in school."

Did he really care to know? She had no choice but to tell him. "I was in a probability class, Master," she said. "And something called Applied Algebra."

"Sounds difficult," he said. "Tell me about the second one. I think I understand probability."

It was hard to explain, because she didn't really understand it herself. She hadn't finished the class after all. "Well, Master, it's about groups and sets. Like two, four, six, eight, etcetera. That's one set. The rational numbers are a set. Imaginary numbers are a set." She was rambling and had to stop herself. "And it's about manipulating them. And the applications of that manipulation."

"Which are?"

"Endless," she said. "We were studying the RSA encryption, which is all based on group theory. Most complex computer science utilizes it." He stared at her with amusement and desire in his eyes, as well as something teasing that she couldn't place. Then she remembered. "Master," she added.

He laughed. "If things as complicated as that still live in your brain, I can understand how you might forget sometimes. Tell me how the encryption works."

"Really, Master?" she asked. The door swung open again, and the waitress came in with a cart for the soup.

"Really," he said as they were served.

Genevieve went through the basic steps of choosing the keys for the encryption, but he seemed to get lost as soon as she mentioned the modulus function. It was satisfying, seeing him confused like that. The waitress came and went, and she was still explaining.

"These are things that people think about," he said. "And I thought my economics classes were difficult."

Ah, so he's a finance guy. "I didn't particularly enjoy it, Master," she said.

He smirked. "You seem to have a good grasp of it," he said. "Difficult professor?"

She shook her head. "Actually, he was the best part, Master," she said. "He walked into class the first day and guaranteed we'd all get A minuses as long as we did the work." Her lips formed into a small, involuntary smile as she remembered the first day of the semester.

"I like that smile, sweetheart," he said, waking her from her reverie. "Why didn't you like it then?"

She met his eyes and saw that he was genuine in his curiosity. He was acting like Alex had, trying to bond. It ignited the fire of hope in her again, and her submissive half grew a little smaller. "I always wanted to be an artist, Master," she said. "Not a mathematician."

He nodded. "A singer," he said. She looked to the side for a second, and the truth crossed her mind. He saw it. "No? What then?"

"I love movies, Master," she said. "I love making movies. Not acting. My minor was in film studies."

"I never would have guessed," he said. "What's your favorite movie?"

She shrugged. "I love The Shining, master" she said. "The horror movie."

"I know it," he said. "You're twenty, you said?"

"Yes, master," she said.

"The oldest taste I've ever seen in a twenty year old, or else I'd say you were trying to impress me" he said with a smirk. Genevieve couldn't help but blush. "Try the soup. It's getting cold."

She tried the bisque. It was rich and velvety and tasted so strongly of lobster, she was on the brink of not enjoying it. She finished her bowl, however. Every time she ate, she was reminded of how hungry she was. Alder wasn't as regular in feeding her as the managers downstairs. Sometimes, she thought he expected her to survive off of his semen. She finished the gin and tonic and started on the wine. She was starting to feel the buzz of the alcohol in her brain.

Between the soup and the appetizer, a tuna tartare, he started the conversation again. "I've been wondering something else. You are so very good at what you do. How is it that you're a virgin?"

Genevieve had only ever had one boyfriend, Mike, who she had met the year before as a freshman. He was sweet and funny and more than willing to let her educate him on the subject of movies and music. And when they first got down to the question of sex, she told him that she really wasn't comfortable with it. She had told him she didn't want to go on the pill or worry about pregnancy scares, but in reality, it was because she had developed that stupid, old-fashioned belief that her vaginal virginity was supposed to be something special. It seemed almost comical now, since her greatest value to her captors was that a little flap of skin inside her was still intact.

"I only had one boyfriend, Master," she said. "And we weren't very serious, and he preferred blowjobs."

"Well, that explains your skill with your mouth," he said. He reached over and touched her chin, lifting her face. He had a curious smirk on his lips. "Were you an ugly duckling, sweetheart?"

Genevieve blushed bright red, and she averted her eyes, preferring to look at the table cloth rather than acknowledge what he had said. It was a little too close to the mark. Alder laughed. "Maybe not ugly," he said. "Just a little too shy, huh?"

She could feel the muscles in her forehead contract to furrow her brow, a silent answer to his question. "So, no high school romances?" he asked. "Did you spend your weekends at home watching your dad's old movies? Listening to his records? While your friends were getting drunk and fucking around?"

She couldn't explain it, but nothing they had done to her in her six months of captivity brought on tears faster than what he had just said. She tried to turn her head to hide the water in her eyes, but he was holding her chin in a hard grip. The truth was she hadn't been very popular in high school. She only had a few close friends, whom she loved, but none of them were boys. Maybe it was the lack of attention that had forced the idea that she was guarding her virginity, when in reality no one had wanted it anyway. At least, not until she got to college and found she was something of a hot commodity. And now she was here, constantly fucked and told she was beautiful and talented.

"Oh, sweetheart," he said softly, almost lovingly. He touched the corner of her eye with his thumb, wiping away the tear that had welled up there. "I hate to see you cry." She silently doubted that claim, and he laughed. "You don't believe me. I can't blame you, I guess. Do you know what I like about you, sweetheart?" She didn't, so she kept her mouth shut. "I can read your face like a book. It's refreshing."

"I'm glad, Master," she said. She really didn't know what she was supposed to say, but she wanted to change the subject, and he had asked for conversation. "May I ask you something, Master?"

"Tonight, you can ask whatever you want," he said, forgetting the previous line of questioning as well. "Within reason."

"How old are you, Master?" she asked.

He grinned. "Forty-seven," he said.

She nodded. "You have a lot of stamina, Master," she said.

He laughed. "Thank you, sweetheart. I take a lot of pride in my physical abilities."

He had a lot to be proud of, but she would never say that. "Were you in the military, Master?" she asked.

"No," he said. "Do I seem so noble?"

She didn't answer that question. "You're just very big, Master," she said.

"Genetics," he said. "What else do you think of me?"

"Uh..." she had to think for a second. "You're handsome, Master. You have good taste in music."

He cocked his brow. "I'm glad you approve," he said. "I don't know if you can hear it in my voice, but I used to sing when I was younger."

"You must be a true bass, Master," she said.

"I'm not sure," he said. "You'd be the one to ask."

"What can you sing, Master?"

"Nothing anymore," he said. The waitress entered and took their appetizer plates away. Genevieve's attention went to the bottle of white wine, which he noticed and poured her another glass.

"Thank you, Master," she said. "It might be nice to hear our voices together."

He smiled as she sipped her wine. "Maybe," he said. "You do know a lot of the same songs as me. How's the wine?"

"Very good, Master," she said. It was good. Light and fruity, and most importantly alcoholic. She took another sip and her head was starting to swim. "I can't remember the last time I had something to drink."

"Are you feeling drunk, sweetheart?" he asked. She nodded reluctantly, wondering whether he would be mad. He grinned. "If you have too much, you won't be able to enjoy tonight."

"I think I am enjoying tonight, Master," she said. It was the truth. This was the most normal thing that had happened to her in months, and it was hard not to enjoy the change of pace. "The food is good."

Just as she spoke, their dinners came out: two large steaks. The smell made her mouth water. The waitress set hers down in front of her, and Genevieve had to keep herself from jumping on her steak knife.

"Would you like the red now, Sir?" the waitress asked.

"For me," he said. "She's cut off."

The waitress nodded and disappeared. "Dig in," he said to Genevieve. "I've been interested in sous-vide cooking lately. It's the best way to cook meat."

She nodded. "The water bath, right Master?" she asked. "It must have taken a long time for such large cuts."

"You know the method?" he asked. He seemed more surprised by that than anything else she had told him.

"When I was a freshman, I took a class called "The Science of Cooking"," she said. "We learned all about it, Master."

""Science of Cooking"," he repeated. "A blow off?"

"Yes, Master," she said. "It didn't really help with my cooking either."

He laughed. "Luckily we have chefs for that. It's good, right?"

It was the best steak she had ever eaten. "Very good, Master."

He smiled, and for a while they just ate their steaks in silence. Genevieve didn't look up from her plate for a full minute before the tension became too great. Her eyes flicked up, and she saw he was staring right at her, still smiling as he chewed his food, so amused with her. She looked back at her plate and saw the juices running out of her meat. Watery blood with bits of black pepper in it. The sight, coupled with the alcohol, made her stomach turn.

"Master," she began. "Please stop looking at me like that."

He chuckled. His voice was so dark it made her shiver. She saw his hand reach out as he lifted her chin to get her to look at him. He was smiling like a mad man again. He leaned in close, bringing their faces within inches of each other. "Was that an order, Genevieve?" he asked.

The use of her name was a bad sign. She was on the brink of getting a punishment and she knew it. "Not an order, Master," she said. "A request. You're stares scare me."

He stroked her skin with his thumb. "Why?" he asked.

She shivered again. "I don't know, Master," she said. "I can't help it."

He was still smiling, which was a good sign. When he leaned in and kissed her, she relaxed slightly, knowing his eyes were closed like hers. He tasted like the iron in his red wine. She leaned into the kiss, hoping it would quell any anger he felt. He laughed in the back of his throat.

"Stand," he said as they separated. She obeyed, laying the skirt of her dress clear of the chair and table. He stood above her and held out his hand, which she took. Then he pulled her closer and wrapped his other hand around her back. Genevieve felt the obvious signs of a dancing stance and put her hand on his shoulder. He smiled. "Good girl. Do you know how to dance?"