Sold to Master Jay

His eyes narrowed when he saw where my hand was. "Sit."

He opened a cabinet and began to rummage around. I try to turn the knob and a red light blinked on the watch around Jay's wrist. My heart plunged into my stomach. He turned to me very slowly, his fists clenching. "Sit down." I shook my head, turned the knob the rest of the way, and bolted. There was just one problem I had forgotten about. I bolted out of the room and yelped as I slipped on the pool deck and slid, my hands scrambling against the stone, into the water.

It was lukewarm, almost comfortable, but the sensation of being submerged consumed me. I was sinking. I thrashed and fought for my head above the water, shrieking, the sound echoing in the basement. My hands and feet didn't work the same. I tilted my head up, panting, fighting. I saw, for an instant, Jay above me, shaking his head. Then, I felt a hand grab the back of my shirt and I was roughly pulled onto the pool deck. I sputter out the water, moaning.

"Really Malacia?" Jay hissed. "Suicide is a new low for you." He grasped the back of my shirt and pulled me across the deck. I fought, but not nearly as hard as I should have. If he had been smart he would have let me drown, or at least sort of drown. He picked me up, carried me into the room, and slammed me into the chair. I blinked away the water in my eyes as he locked my wrists and ankles into the chair.

"You're such a child," he slapped me. It hurt so much more than usual, making my face tingle, and I groan in pain. "I've seen ten-year-olds with better manners." He spat in my face, forcing me to close my eyes again. I could hear his rough, angry motions in the cabinets. My chair suddenly jerked, my head being thrust forward. Jay's fingers brushed my hair as he secured something to the back of the chair. He grabbed my hair in his hand and forced my head back. I whimpered and strained in my bindings. My neck strained and I gasped as I felt cold water splash against my head and hair.

"What are you doing?" I gasped, grinding my teeth. I was prepared for the worst.

"I'm cutting your hair so you don't look like a rat I dragged off the street," he snapped at me. "Keep acting up and I'll shave you like a fucking sheep." He washed my hair viciously and I winced when he took no regard for how hard he yanked on my hair or brushed it out as he washed it. I knew I probably deserved it, for reading into something as innocent as cutting my hair and making it into a torture session. When he was finished with washing my hair he unclipped the bowl he had been using to wash it and pushed it away. He yanked my head back as far as it would go and I felt him begin to cut my hair. I tried to relax, but my worry only increased the longer he cut it.

He's trying to do a good job, I convinced myself as his hands rose closer to my skull. I hadn't realized how much I cared about my hair, about what I looked like, until he was hacking away at it. Making me look the way he wanted me to look. I tried not to cry as he suddenly, to my relief, stopped. He threw the scissors on the counter. I heard what sounded like a broom and then he unclipped me with a few jerky motions, obviously still angry. He motioned me up and I stood. I instantly wanted to wail at where I felt my soaking wet hair against my wet skin: right across my shoulders.

"It's short!" I screamed at him as he rummaged around in the cabinets some more. I hadn't meant to scream, but goddammit I hated my hair short.

"It's shoulder-length," he snapped back at me.

"Its. Short," I hissed. "I hate. My hair. Short."

He slammed his hand on the the counter and turned, glaring at me with full force. "It's my hair, not yours, and I like it shoulder-length."

"Like hell it's yours!" I screamed, the sound piercing my ears as it echoed around the room. Suddenly, his hand was around my throat, squeezing. I choked and my hands grasped his forearm and pulled. It was thick and muscled, my hands unable to even wrap all the way around it. I was scared again, not angry, but scared of him. Why did I keep making such ridiculously stupid mistakes, over and over again?

"You say one more thing," he got close to my face, spitting in it every other word. "Without 'Sir' attached to the end of it. You say one more thing with anything resembling a swear word in it, and I will make you wish for death." His hold on my throat relaxed and I pushed myself away, tears starting to drip out of my eyes. He glared at me, our eyes meeting for a while longer, enough for me to see the sincere wish for pain in his eyes, and then he turned away. He closed the cabinets and cleaned up the remainder of the mess. From the way his shoulders rose and fell I could tell he was making a very deliberate effort to take deep breaths.

"I'm sorry, Sir," I muttered, to both of our surprises. I touched my hair absentmindedly. I didn't like it at all, but it felt clean and alive, unlike the dead stuff that had been hanging on the end of my long hair for weeks. I couldn't remember the last time I had my hair cut. Sometime in the facility, I'm sure, in a room where they had to get through as many girls as possible. None of them had every paid as much attention as Jay had.

When he glanced over his shoulder at me I stared down at my feet. He closed all the cabinets gently and came over to me. I was shivering, still dripping wet, and freezing. He touches the bottom of my chin and raises it so I looked at him. He looked mildly conflicted. He sighed and stepped away from me, putting his hand on the doorknob. "I wish I could believe you."

When I finally gathered the courage to come out of the room, after what felt like hours of me being crushingly disappointed with myself and simultaneously mad at Jay, I left, submitting myself to following him mindlessly around the house until he found a use for me. However, I found him was sitting on the edge of the pool, his jeans rolled up, legs dangling in the water.

He was on his phone again and I momentarily tempted myself with kicking it into the water, before remembering he would probably kick me in after it. Instead, I stood as far away as I could manage from him, touching my hair, but avoiding touching my collar as much as I could. With a sudden sigh, he leaned back and laid on the deck, closing his eyes.

He looked tired and I felt momentarily bad for being such a nuisance to him. I wondered what my impression of him would have been if I had obeyed when I had walked in the door. Would he have punished me for more inconsequential things, or would I have avoided the vast well of his cruelty? I decided that I liked knowing how bad he could get. He was a model on the outside... did I really just think that? I cursed myself silently, over and over. I knew how it went. First I thought he was attractive in the back of my mind, then it blossomed into some sort of demented fantasized version of him, then into some twisted love I would never get out of.

"Get in the water," he mumbled.

I wanted with all my heart to ignore him, but I didn't. I walked slowly to the edge of the pool, still far away from him, and slid in, gripping the side of the pool like my life depended on it. I was too short to touch the bottom by a few inches, even on the shallow side of the pool. I was warmer in the water, admittedly, since I had already been soaking wet. I refused to get my head wet, though.

"Strip."

"In the water?" I squeaked.

"Yes."

I struggled to do as he asked, even if it made my body burn with embarrassment. He wasn't watching, I told myself, as I used one hand to kick off my shorts and awkwardly removed my top, having to switch hands multiple times to pull it off. I put both of my soaking wet articles on the side of the pool and shivered a little. I hadn't been totally submerged naked in water for years.

He sat up and stared at me. Finally, he smirked and stood, then walked into another room. I felt adrenaline tunnel through me and my fingers went white as I gripped the side of the pool. Less than three minutes later he came out of the room dressed in a loose pair of swim trunks, his hair slightly askew. He looked like a surfer, then, at that moment. He slipped into the water a little ways away from me, ducked underwater, pushed off the way, and flew through the water as though he was born to swim. My body ached in jealousy.

He was strong, a good swimmer, and he claimed to be some sort of professional skateboarder, if that was even a thing. He came up and brushed his hair away from his face, treading water easily. He seemed to take a few moments to himself, swimming in lazy circles underwater like a mermaid. I couldn't help but admire how easily he moved himself through the space, his awareness of himself in space incredible.

He breached the water's surface again and sucked in a breath before turning to me.

He was about halfway from the edge, too far for me to push off and reach him without paddling. With a few half-hearted motions he swam closer to me.

"I've tried to learn to swim before, Sir," I stammered. "I'm terrible at it."

"I'm not teaching you to swim," he rumbled and the way he said it scared me.

My hands were going numb. "What... what are we doing?"

"I taught you respect with water yesterday," he gave me a cocky grin and I shuddered as I remembered his idea of 'teaching.' "Today, I'm teaching you dependency."

I didn't want to learn, but I obeyed when he told me to push off the wall to him. I loved gliding through the water, but the instant my feet couldn't touch I freaked out. I tried not to think about it as his hand wrapped around my arm and pulled my naked body to his bare chest. I felt like thrashing, freaking out, losing it, but I clung to him instead, my fingernails digging into his powerful shoulders as his legs churned faster, keeping us both afloat.

He looked like he was barely making any effort.

"If you touch the wall," he whispered to me. "I will put a metal link around your ankle, and another one, until it would be impossible for you to stay above water on your own." The idea terrified me. I glared at the wall like it was my enemy, my worst temptation. He started loosening his grip around me and I tightened mine until he was forced to nearly tear his skin from my hands.

Suddenly, he was an arm-length from me, half my body wrapped around his extended hand. Suddenly, he ripped it away from me and I screamed as I floundered, wishing, wishing I had behaved, wishing I had learned how to swim, wishing I had lied on that form I had taken so long ago. And less than a minute later his body was against mine, supporting me, holding me up.

I gasped and clung to his neck, trembling.

"What do you say?" he whispered.

"Thank you, Sir," I said immediately and he nodded. I realized that I was swimming in a shark tank when I glanced up at his face and saw the satisfaction on his face. And the worst thing was that there was nothing I could do about it. I was in his domain and my life and sanity teetered on his every move. Suddenly, his face grew serious and one of his hands touched my face.

"What am I teaching you?" he breathed, barely a whisper.

I lowered my eyes. "That I'm at your mercy, Sir."

"Good girl," his hand brushed along my face. "I can save you from drowning... or I can push you to the bottom. Understand?"

I understood. "Yes, Sir."

"Good."

I felt us move through the water, to the edge. He grabbed the wall and lifted himself out. I gripped his leg instead of the wall, pleading with my eyes for him to not leave me here, not without something to support myself. He extended a hand to me and I grabbed it as he pulled me out of the water. He placed me on the deck and looked deep into my eyes. Soaking wet, his hair plastered around his face, his blue eyes burning like fire, he looked like a god. And it made me dizzy and hot in a way I couldn't describe.

For some stupid reason I could feel myself trying to tell me that he had saved me from drowning in some way when really I wouldn't have been in danger at all if it weren't for him. He was inches from kissing me, but he stopped, took a deep breath, and started walking toward a room, dragging me along with him. I was shivering now that I was out of the water, but I became instantly warm again when he opened the door and walked inside.

An elaborate, multi-tiered hot tub was set in the middle of the room and Jay nearly yanked my arm of my socket as he pulled me toward it. I could hardly stop a moan from sounding when I felt how good the warm water felt. And the instant my shoulders were under, he had me pined against the side of the hot tub and he was kissing me. Kissing me nicely, not cruelly. I lost all sense of hating him the instant his hands started tracing up my thighs. I remembered what he was after I had one hand knotted in his shockingly soft black hair and one hand reflexively stroking his chest and almost choked on my own bodily instincts.

And then he was biting my neck, licking it, and his hand was close to the pit of fire between my thighs, getting tantalizingly close. I knew what he was doing. I tried to care, but I couldn't.

"Do you know what's more powerful than physically controlling someone, Malacia?" he whispered as his fingers finally, finally, touched me, probed me just barely.

"No, Sir," I whimpered.

"Mentally controlling them," he answered and I moaned as his teeth dug into my shoulder at the same time his fingers plunged into me. I squirmed on them, knowing that I was playing right into his hands. Letting him break down my walls with pain and terror and then filling that void with pleasure before I could reflect too long on what he was doing... it wasn't fair.

I whimpered, half in pleasure, half in hate as he sat beside me, lifting me onto his lap.

"S-stop," I whimpered.

"You don't want me to stop," he growled and I hated that he was right as he spread my legs and continued finger-fucking me.

"I know what you're doing," I hissed, trying to build that anger inside of me. My body might enjoy this, but my mind wouldn't. I wouldn't fall to his mental games. I wouldn't. He eased his fingers out of me and rested his hard cock, straining against his swimming shorts, against my clit. I ground against him just a little and commanded myself to stop.

I wasn't going to submit. Not to him.

He flipped me around, forcing me to straddle him, to look into his eyes.

His fingernails dug into my hips so hard I cried out, knowing I'd have bruises.

"I'm making you want me," he whispered as he eased me back onto his lap. "I'm making you cum."

I couldn't stop myself from grinding, my body pounding with desire. He reached down and undid his shorts with one hand, then lifted his hips to pull his shorts down. I felt his cock press against my hole, begging to be inside me. I moaned and hated myself for it. I ground against him and his hand returned to my hips, helping me. His eyelids fluttered as I pressed against his tip, wanting him.

"Put it in you," he said and our eyes locked. I couldn't. I wouldn't. My throat clogged up. How could I ever convince myself I didn't want it if I... his slight smirk almost made me cum on the spot. I wanted him. I did. Badly. But... that badly. His fingers massaged my hips gently. "Don't keep me from waiting too long, slave." Slave. How dare he give that name a positive connotation? How dare he use it teasingly, when it had been screamed and shouted at me for years... tortured into me.

But my hand reached down, responding to something inside of me I had never felt before. A desire to please on command. Everything in my mind was screaming for me to stop, to not listen, to not let him do what he was doing to me, to my mind, but I eased him into me and sat on his thick cock like a regular whore, moaning all the way down his length.

His breathing came quicker and his hips rose to meet mine.

"Good girl," he whispered. "Good fucking whore."

His eyes were burning with desire and something like satisfaction. "Ride me."

I opened my mouth to tell him to go to hell, but all that came out was a soft moan as my training took over, the training I had hated, and resented, the training he had purchased me for. I started to ride him and he rested his head on the edge of the hot tub, lacing his hands behind his head as his eyes roamed my body, which was fervently working to please him.

When our eyes met again my body gave a lurch of desire. I panted as I felt my release come close, but god did I not want to cum for this man again, especially not when I was riding him. He smiled, a lazy smile, the smile of someone who knew he had won today. "Cum for me, slave."

And I came for him.

~~~

I don't remember much of the rest of that session. Jay had cum, I was sure, and I think I had cum again, but it was lost in a haze of hot water and the feeling of him inside me. I don't remember being carried up to his room, though I suppose I must have been since I don't remember walking. I do remember the sound of his heartbeat and the feeling of something warm around me, so it's possible he cuddled with me... but it may also have been him drying me off.

With that in mind, I woke up half-exhilarated with the idea that he was sleeping next to me. Moaning pathetically, I reached out a hand, and it met the hard surface of a wall. I forced myself awake, blinking rapidly. I shifted my body and instantly groaned. My hips hurt and I was sore down to the core of me. Where was Jay? The realization that I was on the dog bed in his closet sunk into me, a lot faster than it had yesterday morning and I listened for him.

When I didn't hear anything after a few long minutes I turned over and settled into the dog bed. It was comfortable, soft, but not exceptionally warm. I preferred the feeling of a blanket over me and a pillow under my head. Then my thoughts drifted to the cell in the corner of his dungeon and I found that I was perfectly happy with not having a blanket.

Suddenly, I heard a crash from the bedroom and flinched. Jay's voice drifted through the wall to me, cursing. And as quickly as it had begun it stopped. I heard nothing for over ten minutes and then the shower turned on. About five minutes later it turned off. I waited with baited breath as I heard a few more noises. I couldn't decide if I wanted to see Jay or not, if I wanted to slice his neck or sit on his feet and beg for his attention.

I wanted to resolve to be better for him today, but the idea of completely submitting was still as forbidding an idea as it had been yesterday. And the fact that I knew he was manipulating me made my inclination to serve him no stronger. Too bad my brain was half-in-love with him. I squeezed my eyes shut as I heard him open the door, but don't even pretend to be asleep when a low light comes on and he walks in. I turned over and watched his powerful body move through the closet, not acknowledging me.

He had the build of a god, I think, and instantly hate myself for it.

He dressed and my eyebrows continuously rose as he did so.

He put on a pair black pants, a little baggy, and skate shoes that were nearing the ends of their days. He shrugged on a nice dress shirt which he didn't tuck into his pants, and rolled up the sleeves until it was a very nice-looking t-shirt. Unlike yesterday, when he had spent a few minutes meticulously sweeping his hair where he wanted, he just reached into a drawer and tucked a Red Bull hat over his messy hair.

I hadn't noticed he had piercings until he put in three jewels going up his left ear: red, white, and blue.

He turned to me and my stomach dropped. I saw it. I saw the skateboarder in his gleaming blue eyes and his relaxed posture. He looked like a business man who had ducked out of the corporate meeting, changed pants, rolled up his sleeves, and decided to shred the skatepark. It made Jay look years younger and more carefree. I finally tacked an age onto his expressionless face: twenty-three or twenty-four.