It swirled in pink webs around the basin. She spat again and heard a clink, felt a swell of dread, and picked up the tooth. She ran her tongue around her teeth and found the space, directly behind her swollen lip.

How could she hide that? Hiding cuts and bruises was easy. Now she would have to put away the one thing she’d always been able to hide behind; her smile.

He wanted to tie her up. She’d read about this, explored this scenario, gotten hot and wet thinking about it. But she’d only met him a week prior. They’d shared a kiss outside her door. He’d fondled her breasts. She’d smiled with coyness and gently closed the door on him. Always leave them panting.

She was attracted to him. He was solidly built with a kind face and gray eyes. He laughed easily. But he also grew dark as he looked at her. It was arousing. She toyed with him a bit, flirted. She would let him in, eventually.

Tonight, he’d kissed her and asked if she was wet. She’d nodded, and he’d slid his hand against her, on top of her underwear, and felt for himself. He’d groaned against her neck and driven his hips against hers and fingered her until her breath was ragged.

Always leave them panting.

That had been the first time. She’d gone back for more, and didn’t know why. Except that he threatened. And then he cajoled. And for some reason, she believed he wouldn’t actually hurt her. He brought incredible pleasure, knew all the right buttons. He gave her a safe word but never quite pushed her to use it.

As she felt the rope tighten on her wrists and he pulled her arms over her head, she felt a flash of  fear. Helplessness. He wasn’t being gentle. She didn’t feel the trust she’d read about; a week of dancing dates, a movie and a few drinks at some dive on Fourth wasn’t much to go on.

“Wait,” she gasped.

He gripped her jaw, firmly, just north of painfully, and said, “Quiet.”

The desire that had been building throughout their flirting vanished, until he loosened the ropes slightly and went down on her. Her body betrayed her, again. She begged for him, called him Master, like he’d commanded, and didn’t come until he gave permission.

She rinsed again and turned for the towel, grimacing at the pain in her neck. Tonight had been different. He’d been different. He hadn’t tied her. He’d pushed his way in the door, and she smelled alcohol on his breath.  He’d held her wrists behind her and kissed her, hard, with her back against the wall. When he started fumbling with the front of his trousers, she searched for the safe word in her head, because this couldn’t happen. This was power with no trust. She fought against him, and finally remembered the word.

When he heard it, he let go, but he stayed close and narrowed his eyes as he looked into hers. “Filthy little bitch,” he said.

“I want you to leave,” she whispered. “Please. Leave.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“It is tonight. I don’t want to see you again, either.”

And he’d slapped her. Open-handed but fucking hard, obviously, as she looked at the tooth in her palm.

She put the tooth in the soap dish, and went and put the chain on the door. She never did that. She made a cup of hot tea, and settled into the evening, hoping her lip didn’t swell too badly. She wondered if he’d try to call, or text.

She hoped he would.

14 thoughts on “Caught

    1. Oh, good, I’m really glad. I was attempting to not take sides one way or the other, but just to explore the psyche of the ‘victim’, who is and isn’t a victim at the same time. I feel like it fell a little flat.


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