~ Excerpts ~
C J Robert’s Captive in
the Dark
I
awoke, gasping and disoriented, the edges of the dream dissipating, but not the
dread lingering inside me. The darkness was so complete, for a second, I
thought I hadn’t woken from my nightmare. Then slowly, frame by frame, it all
came back to me. And as each frame was cataloged and stored away in my mental
library, a faint but growing concept took hold, that this nightmare was
reality, my reality. I suddenly found myself longing for the dream. Any
nightmare would be better than this. My heart sank to new depths, eyes burning
in the darkness. I looked around dispassionately, noticing familiar objects,
but none of them mine. As the haze cleared, ever more steadily into cold hard
reality, I thought, I really have been kidnapped. It hit, hard, those
words in neon, in my head. I looked around again, surrounded by strangeness. Unfamiliar
space. I really am in some strange place.
I
wanted to cry.
I
wanted to cry for not seeing this coming. I wanted to cry for the uncertainty
of my future. I wanted to cry for wanting to cry. I wanted to cry because I was
most likely going to die before I got to experience life. But mostly, I wanted
to cry for being so horribly, tragically, stupidly female.
I’d had so many fantasies about that day he’d
helped me on the sidewalk. I’d felt like a princess who'd stumbled across a
knight in shining armor. Jesus Christ, I’d even asked him for a ride! I had
been so disappointed when he said no, and when he mentioned meeting another
woman, my heart had sunken into my stomach. I cursed myself for not wearing
something cuter. Shamefully, I had fantasized about his perfect hair, his
enigmatic smile, and the exact shade of his eyes almost every day since.
I
closed my eyes.
What
an idiot I’d been, a damned foolish little girl.
Had
I learned nothing from my mother’s mistakes? Apparently not. Somehow I’d still
managed to go all retarded at the sight of some handsome asshole with a nice
smile. And just like her, I’d gotten good and fucked by him, too. I’d let a man
ruin my life. For some reason beyond my understanding, I hated my mother in
that moment. It broke my heart even more.
I
wiped angrily at the tears that threatened to escape my eyes. I had to focus on
a way to get out of here, not on a way to feel sorry for myself.
The
only light came from the dim glow coming off a nearby nightlight. The pain had
subsided into an overall soreness, but my headache still raged. I was unbound,
lying under the same thick comforter, covered from head to toe in a thin layer
of sweat. I pushed the comforter away.
I
expected to find my naked body under the comforter. Instead I found satin: a
camisole and panties. I clutched frantically at the fabric. Who had dressed me?
Dressing meant touching and touching could mean too many things. Caleb? Had he
dressed me? The thought filled me with dread. And underneath that, something
else entirely more horrible: unwelcome curiosity.
Fending
off my conflicting emotions, I set about inspecting my body. I was sore all
over, even my hair hurt, but between my legs I didn’t feel noticeably
different. No soreness on the inside to suggest what I couldn’t bring myself to
think might happen to me at some point. I was momentarily relieved, but one
more look around my new prison and my relief evaporated. I had to get out of
here. I slid out of bed.
The
room appeared rundown, with yellowing wallpaper and thin, stained carpet. The
bed, a huge wrought iron four-poster, was the only piece of furniture that
appeared new. It hardly seemed like the kind of thing that belonged in a place
like this. Not that I knew much about places like this. The linen on the bed
smelled of fabric softener. It was the same kind I washed my family’s clothes
in at home. My stomach clenched. I didn’t hate my mother, I loved her. I should
have told her more often, even if she didn’t always tell me. Tears stung my
eyes, but I couldn’t fall apart right now. I had to think of a way to escape.
My
first instinct was to try the door, but I dismissed that idea as stupid. For
one, I remembered it being locked. For another, if it wasn’t, the chances were
good I’d run right into my captors. The look in that guy Jair’s eyes flashed
through my mind, and a violent shiver of fear ran down my spine.
Instead,
I crept to a set of curtains and pulled them back. The window was boarded shut.
I barely contained an exasperated scream. I slipped my fingers around the edges
of the wood trying to pull it up, but it proved impossible. Damn.
The
door opened behind me without warning. I spun around, slamming my back against
the wall as if I could somehow manage to blend into the curtains. The door hadn’t
been locked. Had he been waiting for me?
Light, soft and low, filtered through, casting
shadows across the floor. Caleb. My legs shook with fear as he shut the door
and walked toward me. He looked like the Devil himself, dressed in black slacks
and a black button up shirt, stepping slowly, deliberately. Still handsome
enough to make my insides clench and my heart stutter. It was pure perversion.
In
the fall of light from the door, his shadow loomed, long and dark. Unbidden, words
once made ominous by Poe manifested as flesh in the man before me: “Suddenly
I heard a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.”
Crap,
crap, crap. Okay,
that last part was me.
Caleb
raised his hand as if to hit me, and I threw my arms up to protect my face. His
hand slammed against the wall. While I cringed, the bastard laughed. Slowly, I
moved to bring my arms down and cover my breasts. Caleb grabbed both my wrists
in his left hand and pressed them to the wall over my head. Pinned between him
and the wall, I reacted like a frightened hamster. I froze, as if my stillness
would discourage his predatory nature. Like a snake that only eats live mice.
“Are
you hungry?” he asked.
I
heard the question, but the words had no meaning. My brain ceased to function
as it should. The only thing my mind could focus on was his closeness. The
intense warmth of his firm fingers pressed into my wrists. The clean, wet smell
of his skin in the air around me. The invisible pressure of his gaze upon me.
What was this?
When
I failed to respond, the fingers of his right hand trailed across the underside
of my right breast, the fabric of my camisole made his fingers balmy satin
against my flesh. Our earlier exchange forced its way into my consciousness. “Go
fuck yourself.”
“…I’d much rather fuck you.”
My
knees slightly buckled and my nipples hardened. I took a sharp breath and
leaned away from his touch, forcing my tightly shut eyes into the skin of my
upraised arm.
His
lips caressed the shell of my ear, “Are you going to answer? Or must I force
you again?”
Food?
My stomach suddenly twisted sharply. A primal pain. Yes, there was my hunger,
when he reminded me of it. I was absolutely starving. I mustered up my courage
by taking a deep breath. “Yes.”
I
felt his smile against my ear, and then his fingers held my chin. In my
peripheral vision, I watched him lean into me. His breath was cool against my
heated flesh.
“Yes,”
he repeated my response, “you’re hungry? Yes, you’re going to answer? Or yes, I
have to force you again?”
My
heart raced. I felt his breath on my cheek. There was suddenly not enough air,
as if his proximity sucked it out of my lungs.
“Or
is it just yes?”
My
lips parted and my lungs pulled in deep, bringing in as much air as they could.
It didn’t seem like much. I forced myself to answer through my panic.
“Yes,”
I stammered, “I’m hungry.”
I
knew he smiled, though I couldn’t see it. A shiver, so strong my body nearly
jerked toward his, ran down my spine.
He
kissed me softly on the cheek. I think I whimpered. Then he walked out of the
room, leaving me paralyzed even after I heard the door shut.
Caleb
returned shortly with a wheeled cart laden with food. My stomach gnawed as I
smelled the meat and bread. It was difficult to control the urge to run toward
the food. Then Jair followed him into the room carrying a chair.
Seeing
Jair made me wish the floor would open up and swallow me. Earlier, when Jair
had sought to rape me, I had—once again—tried to find protection in Caleb’s
arms. I suppose that, somewhere in my head, I’d clung to the hope that this
man, this Caleb, would protect me. All I
could see was that horrible, feral look in Jair’s eyes. He wanted to hurt
me.
The
door shut and I looked up to find Caleb sitting next to the food. We were alone
again. Fear and hunger tore at my insides.
“Come
here,” he said. His voice startled me, but I moved to walk toward him. “Stop. I
want you to crawl over here.”
My
legs shook. Crawl? Are you kidding me? Just run. Run right now. He
stood, looking straight at me. Run where? See how quickly he slams you to
the ground and drugs you again! My
knees hit the floor. What choice did I have? I put my head down but I could
still feel his eyes on me like a weight that promised his hand. My knees and my
palms moved across the ground until I reached the tops of his shoes.
I
was trapped. I was nearly naked. Weak. Scared. I was his.
He bent and gathered my hair in both his
hands. Slowly, he lifted my head until our eyes met. He looked at me intently;
his brows were knit together, his mouth set in a hard line. “I wish he hadn’t
done this to you,” he said while stroking the corner of my left eye. “You
really are a very pretty girl; it’s a shame.”
My
heart twisted. A memory, the memory ripped through my defenses and
surfaced at the forefront of my mind. My stepfather had thought I was pretty,
too. I was a pretty thing, and pretty things did not fare well in this
world, not in the hands of men like him. Instinctively, my hands grabbed his
wrists in an effort to guide his hands from my hair, but he held me firmly. Not
roughly, just firmly. Without words, he made himself clear; he wasn’t done
looking at me yet. Incapable of holding his gaze, I averted my eyes to some
point just beyond him.
The
very air around me seemed to shift to accommodate him. His breath skated across
my cheek, and beneath my trembling, sweaty hands, his forearms hinted at his
immense strength. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath in the hopes of calming
down. The smell of him mingled with the food and rushed into my lungs. The
combination did strange primal things to me. I suddenly felt carnivorous. I
wanted to tear the flesh from his bones with my teeth and drink his blood.
Unable
to help myself, I whispered, “It’s your fault he did it. All of this is your
fault. You’re no better than he is.” It felt good to say the words. I felt I
should have said them sooner.
A
bead of sweat trickled down the side of my neck, its slow crawl over my
collarbone, across my chest, and into the well of my breasts served to remind me
of my body. My soft, breakable body.
He
sighed deeply and let out a slow breath. I shivered, unable to discern whether
the sigh meant he had calmed or he was about to slap me senseless.
His
voice, thinly coated with civility, filled my head, “I’d watch what you say to
me, Pet. There is a world of difference between me and him. One that I
think you’ll learn to appreciate, despite yourself. But make no mistake; I am
still capable of things you can’t imagine. Provoke me again and I’ll prove it.”
He let me go.
I
sank without thinking, back down to all fours, once again staring at his shoes.
I was sure I’d completely break down if I tried to imagine all the things I
wasn’t capable of imagining, because I could imagine some pretty horrible
things. In fact, I was imagining some of those horrible things when his voice
interrupted my thoughts.
“You’re
entire life is going to change. You should try to accept that, because there’s
no possible way to avoid it. Like it or not, fight it or don’t, your old life
is over. It was over long before you woke up here.”
There
were no words, no me, no here. This was crazy. I had awoken with sweat and fear to this, this
darkness. Fear, pain, hunger, this man—eating at me. I wanted to put my head to
the tops of his shoes. To stop. The words hung in the air like a speech bubble,
still clinging to his lips. How long before? Before that day on the street?
I
thought about my mom again. She was far from perfect, but I loved her more than
I loved anyone. He was telling me I’d never see her again, that I’d never see
anyone I loved again. I should have expected those types of words. Every
villain had a similar speech, “Don’t try to get away, it’s impossible,” but
until then, I hadn’t realized how truly terrifying those words were.
And
he stood above me, as if he were a god who had torn the sun away, not caring
for my devastation. “Address me as Master. Every time you forget, I will
be forced to remind you. So you can choose to obey or choose punishment. It’s
entirely up to you.”
My
head snapped up and my shocked, horrified, pissed off eyes met his. I wasn’t
going to call him Master. No. Fucking. Way. I was sure he could see the
determination in my eyes. The unspoken challenge behind them that screamed, Just
try and make me asshole. Just try.
He
lifted a brow, and his eyes responded, With pleasure, Pet. Just give me a
reason.
Rather
than risk a fight I couldn’t possibly win, I returned my eyes to the ground. I
was going to get out of here. I just had to be smart.
“Do
you understand?” he said smugly.
Yes,
Master.
The words remained unspoken, their absence duly noted.
“Do.
You,” he leaned forward, “Under. Stand?” He drew out each word, as if speaking
to a child or someone who doesn’t understand English.
My
tongue pushed against my teeth. I stared at his legs, unable to answer him,
unable to fight him. A lump began to form in my throat, and I swallowed hard to
keep it down, but the tears eventually came. These were not the tears of pain
or fear but of frustration.
“Very
well then, I guess you’re not hungry. But I am.”
At
the mention of food my mouth surged again with saliva. The smell of the food
twisted my stomach into tight knots. While he tore off pieces of bread, my
nails dug into the thin carpet where my tears now dripped onto the floor. What
did he want from me that he couldn’t just take? I sniffled, trying not to sob. He touched me again, stroking the back of my
head.
“Look
at me.”
I
wiped the tears from my face and looked up at him. He sat back in his chair,
head cocked to one side. He appeared to be considering something. I hoped
whatever it was wouldn’t cause me more humiliation, but I doubted it. He
picked up a piece of cut meat from his plate and slowly stuck it in his mouth,
all the while looking at my face. Every tear that sprang from my eye I quickly
wiped away with the back of my hand. Next, he picked up a piece of cubed beef.
I swallowed hard. He leaned forward and held the delicious smelling morsel to
my lips. With an almost unabashed relief I opened my mouth, but he snatched it
away.
He
offered again. And again. Each time I crawled closer and closer, until I was
pressed between his legs, my hands on either side of his body. Suddenly I threw
my arms up around his hand and wrapped my mouth around his fingers to get the
food away from him. Oh my god, so good.
His
fingers were thick and salty against my tongue, but I managed to wrest the meat
from between them. He moved quickly, his fingers found my tongue and pinched
viciously while his other hand dug into the sides of my neck. He squeezed, making me open my mouth in shock
as pain cascaded down my throat. The food fell from between my lips to the
floor and I howled around his fingers at the loss. He let go of my tongue, and
his hands found control along the sides of my head as he tilted it up toward
his. “I’ve been entirely too kind and you’re going to learn just how civil I’ve
been. You’re very proud and very spoiled, and I’m going to beat it out of you
twice.”
Then
he stood up with enough force to push me backward onto the floor. He walked out
of the room and shut the door. This time I heard the lock.
Beside
me the food beckoned.
Cari Silverwood’s Take
Me, Break Me
This is
told from the Point Of View of Klaus
“I agree. This isn’t working,” Klaus said.
Pure agreeable statement, but Jodie rocked
back slightly before she nodded.
“Nice is bad, Jodie? You want mind fuck. You
want mean. You want things you dream about. You have no idea.”
Her eyes widened.
“Starting now. The rules are gone. I make my
own rules.”
“Uh. What? They were your rules.”
I took down the list from the door and held
it, slowly tapping the laminated paper against my leg. “No. They were not.”
After unfolding the flaps of the cardboard
box, I tucked the list down inside and pulled out the two gags. “Rule one. You
don’t talk unless I say you can.” As her mouth opened, with the buckles trapped
in my fingers, I dropped both gags into view, and dangled them. “Talk and I use
these.”
Like magic, her mouth clicked shut. Now I had
her attention. That had worked. I was perhaps as stunned as she looked. She
touched her tongue tip to her upper lip as I stood before her, and kept her gaze
swinging from the gags to my face. I had a feeling I’d never had a woman so
rapt in what I said. Addictive. The pulse of excitement had centered at my
groin. Nothing I could do about it. I already knew that looking at women in
bondage revved my engine. But I’d never done more than look at pictures.
Now I had an inkling that any situation where
I got to hold the reins, really hold
the reins, was like oxygen to a man in the throes of suffocation. Incredible.
I ran through my epiphany, convincing myself
as much as her. Bluntness was called for.
“My conclusions. You asked me to do this
because you still want me in your bed. You want me to fuck you.” Her gasp, I
answered by swinging the ball gag. She uttered no words. “Somewhere in your
plans, you hoped. The rules, I made up those in line with what I knew you’d be
thinking. You knew I’d not step beyond, or not much.
“This,” I swept my arm across, “This room was
your idea. Your rules. Lock me up. Make me yours for a while, but not too rough
or dangerous because that isn’t in my rules.” I cocked an eyebrow. “Yes?”
Though she frowned and shook her head I went
on. It didn’t matter if she deluded herself.
“You imagined some safe little love affair,
with some kink on the side? Doesn’t work that way. Either you hand over
control, or I walk. No documentary. Nod if you agree.”
I waited. I could almost hear the clocks
ticking.
When she nodded slowly, my heart kicked back
in. If it had beaten at all for those last few seconds, I’d been unaware.
“Good. This room is no longer your prison. The
house is secure and private enough. You’re coming upstairs as long as you
behave. I’ll install more cameras.”
No protests. Good. For a woman who liked
having an opinion on everything this was exceptional. I could have walked on a
cloud I was so hyper-aware of everything she did. Were her lips fuller, her
cheeks flushed, her breathing faster? I thought so, but she didn’t know what I
intended.
“Let me point out what could have happened if
this stupid plan had gone wrong. If you picked a less restrained, a less
sensible man. You’ve given me a hundred filthy dirty ideas about what I could
do to you. I never knew what depths my mind could plunge to. Now I do. If
anyone was mind fucked so far, it was me. Another man would follow through. You
think these gags are bad? This one with the red ball is simple, it just stops
you talking.” I laid the other, metal-and-leather gag across my palm. “This one
is a spider gag. With this in, you can’t close your mouth and your mouth can be
fucked. Do you have any idea of the things on the internet? Wait.” I held up my
hand. “I guess you do, from what’s in those books you read.”
I bent and rested my hands on my knees. Mind
fuck. This I could accomplish.
“You want a list? How about the list of things
a man could do to you in this situation? I could make you wash my dishes naked
with a gag in. I could tie you up, cut your clothes off and just stare at you
all day – just because I could. I could make you be a piece of furniture and
ignore you. Humiliating? Yes. I could train you to be an anal slut. I could
fuck your ass all day long. I could collar you and make you crawl around on the
floor like a dog at a convenient height for blow jobs. I could share you with
the man down the street, stick needles in your nipples and use them and some
string to fasten you to eyebolts in the ceiling. Want to try that one? And at
the end of it all, if I was the worst sort of man, I could kill you and bury
you out there on the beach.” I swung my arm up to point. “Maybe no one would ever
find you.”
Now she was truly speechless, maybe even
scared. Served her right. I watched the little swallows she made for a count of
five.
“But I’m not going to. I’m your friend.
Remember that, no matter what I do.” I smiled one-sided but I’m sure it didn’t
reach my eyes. The eyes are the mirror to the soul and right then my soul was
very dark.
Then I
squatted in front of her, a couple of feet away, reached out and ran the tip of
my forefinger along her plump bottom lip. “My rules. Open.”
A second’s hesitation at most. She shivered
and her mouth parted. Mind fuck, here we come.
“Good. Jodie.” Then I very deliberately held
up the spider gag, slipped it between her teeth, pulled her head forward, and
held her there while I buckled it. Hair made a great anchor point. I slid my
splayed fingers into the roots and tilted her head back then I added a rule.
“Second rule. You do my dishes whenever I say.
You wear the spider gag. You don’t speak unless I say. But first…” Eyes locked
on hers, I advanced one finger into her mouth and stroked her tongue. And she
let me.
Had I hypnotized her? She did nothing but
stare back. What I wouldn’t have given to fuck her mouth right then and there.
~ About the Authors ~
Thank you for considering MAKE ME: Twelve tales of dark
desire. We hope you enjoy your trip! Please check out the contributing authors to
find out more about their books and upcoming events.
Aleatha Romig - Consequences
Skye Warren - Wanderlust
Eliza Gayle - Play With Me
Cari Silverwood - Take Me, Break Me
Jasmine Haynes - Take Your Pleasure
Pam Godwin – Beneath
the Burn
Annabel Joseph – Comfort Object
Claire Thompson – Enslaved
Annika Martin – The Hostage Bargain
Shoshanna Evers – The Man Who Holds the Whip
Pepper Winters – Tears of Tess
CJ Roberts – Captive
in the Dark
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