Free Betrayed by Love by Lila Dubois Page B

closed her eyes. He was undressing. Next, he would rape her.
    She opened her eyes when she heard a snap and saw he was pulling on rubber gloves. His shirt was partially unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up.
    He returned to the wardrobe, again taking his time. This time he opened one of the interior drawers.
    “If I am to train you, I must first get to know you.” He set several things down on the table near her hip. A tube, a small flashlight and…a speculum? She peered at it before decided that yes, it was a speculum. She had a panicked moment wondering if he was going to rip her open with it, but it didn’t look any bigger than the one her gynecologist used.
    “I am going to know your body,” he trailed a hand down her belly to her sex, “inside and out.”
    He walked around the bottom of the person-shaped table. He activated some motorized bit and her legs were drawn farther apart. He emotionlessly pried the lips of her sex apart and rubbed each lip in turn, inspecting it. He then pulled back the hood of her clit and inspected that too.
    It was uncomfortable and humiliating, but not the horrifying torture she’d expected after the cane. Wilcox’s clinical detachment was much easier to deal with than the insane fervor he’d shown when talking about what a wonderful slave she would be.
    Savannah closed her eyes and started to paint. In the dark of her mind, she painted pictures. When that wasn’t enough to block out the feeling of his lubricated fingers sliding into her, followed by the cold speculum, she started to sculpt. Sculpture was a new art for her, and she found it more engaging than paint.
    She envisioned a statue of a wave, just cresting to break. What would she make it out of? Clay. Too earthy. Papier-mâché? Too lumpy. Fabric, stiffened with liquid plastic and draped, would be perfect.
    Her mental exercise wasn’t enough to distract her when he forced her mouth open with a spreader, when he forced a dildo between her teeth and over her tongue, making her gag and choke as he tested how well she could handle a cock.
    When he moved on to something else she blinked away tears and tried again to paint, but as the hours passed the painting became darker, the sculptures she created in her mind twisted and terrifying.
    Savannah survived that night. She survived, but she broke.
    * * * * *
     
    Roman sat on the side of the bed, his head in his hands.
    He couldn’t do it. He didn’t care if Savannah was a born submissive, didn’t care if she would be happier as some sort of full-time sex toy. He wanted his Savannah back, the girl who painted while sitting in the sunlight, the girl who kissed him as if nothing else mattered.
    This was all his fault. He’d introduced her to this world. It was his desires that had pushed them into doing this. He knew Savannah would have been just as happy with a completely vanilla sex life.
    He’d done this and now he wanted to undo it.
    He’d get her away from Wilcox, take her home. If she really, desperately needed this, he’d learn, they’d learn. The important thing was that they do it together. He remembered the sound of her moaning in pleasure and calling Wilcox Master.
    Teeth clenched, he paced their room, forcing himself to stay there, not to interrupt something that would bring her so much pleasure. He picked up her pillow. It smelled like her.
    That was it, he couldn’t stand it. He wanted her, wanted his Savannah.
    He turned to the door and sprinted from their room, down the stairs, through the playrooms to the hidden door. He pounded on the door, knowing it was hopeless if Wilcox was in the inner, soundproof room.
    But the door opened. Wilcox stepped back and ushered him in, saying, “How fortuitous. I was on my way to locate you.”
    “I can’t do this,” he said. “I know you said she needs this, she’d be happier like this, but I want her back. She’s…perfect, as she is. You have no idea how perfect she is. She shouldn’t change.”
    “You cannot