Silent Daughter 2: Bound (4 page)

LEONARD

I couldn't help myself, just like I couldn't help myself when she came on the floor in front of me. Her beauty and obedience were too overwhelming.

Liz is so unlike any other sub I have trained before.

She is dangerous.

"I
—
I don't know what time it is," she utters. "But I know I can't sleep yet. I'm a night owl, Master."

She is trying to call me back. I grit my teeth. It is one thing to be overwhelmed by what she reveals under my commands, but it's another thing to be played by her.

"I am tired," I lie. "And you should be, too."

She shakes her head. "Not at all. I feel like I slept half the day."

"You didn't," I argue. "It was less than two hours."

She raises her eyebrows, and I regret saying it already.

"What time is it?" she asks.

"That doesn't matter," I reply, sounding harsher than intended.

I turn around and remove myself from her as quickly as possible. I grab the tray from the table, switch off the light, and storm out the door before she has a chance to lure me back in. It's enough, I've already acted against plan twice today, she won't entice me to do it again.

"Master, please, no!" she yells as the door falls close behind me.

I hesitate for a moment, listening for her voice through the door. Nothing. For a few heartbeats, there is nothing but silence.

Just as I make a move to walk away, I hear her speak one more time.

"Master," she pleads again, in the most heart-wrenching tone imaginable.

I make away as fast as possible.

She doesn't yell for me; she doesn't scream. I can see and hear her on my screen, installed mostly for security reasons and my benefit.

The room she is sleeping in has been designed as my playroom. I was prepared to have girls up here. To train them. To make good little sluts of those who were willing to submit to me. They would be tied and ordered not to move. For a few minutes, maybe even hours — and then I would send them home, tired and happy after their release.

But something inside of me always knew that I would be capable of more. That I would be capable of putting one of them in chains.

The right one. If I just met her.

And now I have.

I take my seat immediately after leaving the room and watch her. Liz hasn't moved since I left. She just sits there and stares at the door, just as she did the first time when I left her alone after she woke up.

No screaming, no fighting, no tantrum. It's scary to see her sit like that. Like a statue or a frozen ghost. Nothing about her demeanor even tells that she is alive.

Just as I am beginning to worry, she finally moves. She gets out of the bed, still wrapped in the towel, and starts inspecting the length of her leash. She tests out how far it lets her move away from the bed in every angle.

Of course, I have taken this into consideration. The leash does not let her go as far as to reach the door, by no means. She is also unable to reach the windows, and there is no way for her to get to anything that might get her into trouble. Even the dresser is far away from her bed for a reason. There are utensils in there that she could use to harm herself. I am not worried about her having suicidal tendencies, but it never hurts to be on the safe side.

All of her movements are calm and controlled, almost as if she is taking her time in solving a complex riddle. When she realizes that the leash won't let her go anywhere, she starts inspecting the lock around her neck, then the lock that attaches the leash to her collar and lastly the lock that connects the leash to the hook on the wall. All of them cannot be opened without the little key that I am holding close to my chest.

She yanks at the leash, trying to get it off the hook on the wall. Once, twice, thrice. When that doesn't work, she moves on to inspecting the leash itself. I cannot help but smile at her determination. It keeps her busy.

She does give up eventually. For a few moments, she remains standing next to the bed, frozen just like she was after I left the room. Then, very slowly and calmly, she starts searching the room with her eyes. It is only a matter of moments until she notices the camera at the upper corner of her room, pointing towards the bed. It's a night vision camera, making it possible for me see her glaring directly at me.

She stares up at me for an eternity, intensely. The shadowy image that is transferred by the camera only adds to her ghostly appearance.

I stare back at her, her eyes drilling into me even through the screen.

Then, she abruptly lifts her arms and gives me the finger with both hands.

I chuckle.

Five strokes.

~~~

"I'm not hungry," she announces as soon as I walk through the door.

"And yet you will eat," I object as I place the tray on the table. "Eggs and bacon with some toast. Not the healthiest choice, but I added some fruit to make up for it. And orange juice."

I open the drapes and the early morning sun brightens the room with blinding intensity. It's a beautiful early fall day outside, immersing the room in warm, bright colors.

I turn to her and have to suppress a smile when I see her frowning at me. She never let go of that towel, but it is no longer wrapped around her. I can see her hugging it beneath the covers. Her long, brown hair is messy as fuck, curling in all directions as if she touched an electrical outlet and her eyes are swollen and small. She looks even paler than yesterday and has rings beneath her eyes.

"You didn't sleep well," I observe.

She snorts.

"Of course not!" she says. "What did you expect?"

She yanks at the leash, choking herself to demonstrate something. "This thing is driving me crazy! I cannot sleep like this!"

"You are really not a morning person," I say as I approach her.

She glares up at me.

I reach forward to caress her soft cheek. She flinches but doesn't slap my hand aside as I expected she would. Instead, she closes her eyes and freezes. I know she is torn between desire and agony. She hates me for captivating her, but she craves it at the same time.

I love seeing her struggle. The excitement of not knowing which side will win, which will be stronger in certain situations, adds to the challenge of training her.

"In any case, this is not how I want you to greet me when I enter the room," I say.

She opens her eyes but doesn't look at me.

There's no resistance from her when I gently touch her chin with two fingers and turn her face up to mine. She looks up at me, her eyes still flickering with strength and will. Their color has changed again, a shining and surprisingly light mix of blue and green. It is hard to imagine that I perceived them to be a dark fir green last night.

She looks up at me, quiet as always. Her silence is beginning to unsettle me. Still waters run deep, they say, but no one ever mentions the monsters raging in those depths.

"Lesson one," I whisper. "Every time I walk into the room, you are to greet me properly. I want you kneeling, with your hands on your knees, palms up and head down."

She narrows her eyes.

"And I want you to speak to me," I add. "You are to address me every time I walk in."

Silence.

"Do you remember how to address me?" I ask.

"I'm not stupid," she hisses.

My hand instantly wanders down to her throat. I push her back into the sheets, as she gasps for air, trying to remove my hand with hers. It's a futile attempt, and when she realizes that, her eyes open wide, staring at me in horror.

I loosen my grip.

"How do you address me?" I ask.

"Master," she breathes, still gasping for air.

"Good girl," I praise her. "Never again accuse me of calling you stupid."

"Yes, Master," she says, her eyes full of rage.

I hook a finger through the ring on her collar and force her to sit up by pulling on it.

"Behave," I warn her before I unfasten the leash from the hook on the wall.

"Yes, Master," she whispers, much to my surprise. She lowers her head, her wild hair shielding most of her face.

"Get down on the floor," I order. "On all fours."

I expect another sassy comment or a nasty look from her, but instead, she complies immediately and drops down on the floor, taking the position on all fours like an obedient puppy. She even hollows her back, presenting her delicate naked body in the most beautiful way possible.

My cock twitches at the sight of her and I tighten my grip around her leash. She is lucky that I am a man with principles. Principles that won't allow me to fuck her, even though there is nothing I want to do more right now.

I am unsure what to make of her sudden obedience. I don't like that she is still holding her head down, it should be pointing upwards, just like her delicious ass.

I place myself in front of her and gently yank on the leash, not enough to hurt her, but enough to get her attention.

"Look at me," I order.

She does. Her eyes are watery, glistening with tears. I squat down next to her and caress her cheek with my thumb. The harbinger of tears shimmers in her blue eyes and her lower lip trembles.

I cannot read her face. My instincts have never failed me in that regard, but right now with her, they do.

"You're beautiful," I whisper. "Perfect."

Of course, she doesn't reply anything.

"This," I continue, slightly pulling on her leash. "This is how I want you. The perfectly little slave I know you can be."

I remove my hand from her face and let it run along her neck, her shoulder, her back, tracing the line of her backbone until I reach her perky behind. She shivers when I move further, surpassing her tight back entrance until I reach her warm lips, spreading them apart to glide between them.

My eyes never leave hers, observing every flickering, every subtle reaction she may be willing to show me.

Her eyes widen ever so slightly when I reach between her legs.

She is dripping wet.

Her arousal is audible to both of us. She leans back and lets out a desperate moan when I decide to let one finger slip inside of her.

I smile.

This I did not expect.

"Look at that," I whisper. "What a little slut you are."

She closes her eyes in shame.

"Perfect," I say and remove my hand from her center. "Obedient and willing, just like I want you. I knew you could be a good girl."

She glances up at me, that fiery rage dancing visibly in her blue eyes.

I get back up on my feet and gently pull on her leash.

"Come," I order and walk her to the table.

I don't even have to tell her to follow me on all fours, she does it all by herself. The only thing I don't like about her posture is her low head.

"Look up at me, baby girl," I command her.

She reluctantly follows my order, her cheeks blushed with fury and shame.

We reach the table, and I allow her to get back up on her feet. She does have pet qualities, but I don't want to train her that way. She is neither a kitten nor a puppy, despite looking this irresistible on a leash.

"Sit," I tell her. "And eat."

She sits down but shakes her head. "I told you, I am not hungry."

"And I told you that you will eat nonetheless," I say and remove the leash from her collar.

"But really," she interjects, looking up at me. "You said it yourself: I'm not a morning person. I never eat breakfast. No appetite."

I pet her head and sit down next to her.

"Then that's another lesson you will have to learn," I say. "You will eat breakfast."

She frowns, but picks up the toast and starts nibbling on it unenthusiastically.

“What time is it?” she asks, still chewing.

She does not look at me, keeping her eyes pinned to the plate in front of her.