Free Enslaved by Claire Thompson

use the bathroom.” So get the fuck out of here.
    “You can pee in the shower,” he said, not moving.
    Rae crossed her arms over her chest. “I need to use the toilet,” she said, her intestines suddenly cramping.
    Sam lifted an eyebrow. “I see,” he said. He stood, lifting the toilet lid and gesturing with a hand for her to sit. “Go ahead then.”
    Rae waited for him to leave, but he just leaned against the sink, watching her with an amused expression. “I need privacy,” she finally blurted.
    Sam laughed, shaking his head. “Slaves don’t get privacy , silly girl. In fact, this is a perfect lesson for you. I should have thought it myself. Sit your sweet little ass down on the toilet and do your business. You have nothing to hide in front of me. Nothing. So hurry up, or I might change my mind.”
    For the second time that morning Rae felt her face heating with embarrassment, while anger boiled in her gut. Her intestines cramped again and his threat lingered in the air between them. Reluctantly she sat on the toilet and willed her body to relax enough for her to move her bowels in front of Sam. She closed her eyes, telling herself it was no big deal. After all, after yesterday what was left to hide? If he got his rocks off by watching a woman take a dump, well, it just confirmed what a sick bastard he was.
    She managed to go at last, wiping herself quickly and reaching back to flush the toilet. She stood, closing the toilet lid, averting her eyes from Sam’s penetrating gaze and his superior, obnoxious smile.
    “Lift your hair and turn around so I can take off your collar,” Sam ordered. “Remember, you are never, ever to take it off yourself. If I ever find it off, I’ll lock it in place.” Rae didn’t reply, since no question had been asked. She merely turned as instructed, gathered her hair into a makeshift bun and let him unbuckle the collar, which he set down on the counter beside the sink.
    Sam held open the shower door and then took his place again on the toilet seat, his eyes fixed on the clear glass of the stall. Trying to block his presence from her mind, Rae lifted her face into the hot, delicious spray. He’d allowed her to bring her own soap and shampoo when she’d packed her things, and she supposed she should be grateful for that small comfort.
    She shampooed her hair twice, letting the hot, soapy water sluice over her body as she rinsed. She squeezed a dollop of conditioner into her palm and pulled it through her hair before taking the bar of soap and lathering it over her skin.
    Her next step in a normal shower routine would be to shave her underarms and legs, but there was no razor in the shower and she realized she hadn’t packed hers. Suddenly she recalled his statement the night before about her being “properly groomed” in the morning.
    She glanced sidelong at him. He was watching her, one hand resting lightly over his crotch, the other stroking his chin. She turned her back to him, lifting her face again into the shower spray, not yet ready to think about what proper grooming might mean.
    “Turn off the water and step out.”
    Reluctantly, Rae did as she was told. She stepped, dripping, onto the bathmat. There was a pile of towels on the counter beside the sink. Sam stood and handed her one. “Wrap your hair. Then stand at attention, hands behind your head. I’ll dry your body.”
    Rae started to retort that she’d dry herself, thank you, but her words died on her lips as her gaze met his. She bent forward, catching her wet hair in the towel and winding it around her head. She straightened, goose bumps rising on her wet skin. Sam moved toward her, his gaze shifting into a glower. “Position,” he snapped.
    Rae put her hands behind her head, hating him anew. Sam rubbed the towel over her skin, drying her body and limbs with the soft terrycloth. He drew the towel between her legs and beneath her breasts while she stood, stiff and awkward with her fingers laced behind her