Free Pursued by Cynthia Dane

She was a stupid girl to even pretend that it was possible, even in her fantasies. It was those fantasies that made me hang on to him for so long. When in love, the heart fucked shit up. “He hurt me. In ways you could never imagine.”
    It was too easy unloading her secrets onto him. Henry was a courteous listener, at least, not once interrupting Monica as she attempted to put into words the horrors she went through.
    “Everything started innocent enough. Isn’t that how it always goes? One day I was a girl in a lounge looking for a little trouble. I found it. His name was Jackson, and he bought me a drink and told me I was the most beautiful woman in the world. It’s young girls like me back then who fall for that shit.”
    “Long story short, he became my Dom. I was happy to serve him. We were deep into the lifestyle, you see. It’s how I wanted it, and he grew accustomed to it. He would come home, I would take off his clothes for him, make sure there was a bath ready, order his favorite foods, and then do whatever he told me to do. Sometimes it was sexual, and sometimes he told me to leave him alone, so I did. I suppose this sounds boring, the way I’m telling it. To those in the lifestyle, it is boring. We were just another sub/Dom domestic pair.”
    “As the years went by, we went deeper. Maybe it happened naturally. Maybe it was all his machinations. Whatever happened, the next thing I knew he was picking out what I wore and who else I slept with. You see, sometimes he would bring home another girl and tell me to do things with her. I did them. I wasn’t disgusted. It was fun, really. But they weren’t things I would have asked for or pursued on my own.”
    “I called him Master. I didn’t leave the house unless he accompanied me. When we were home, I stayed in our room until he invited me elsewhere. I couldn’t even go outside for a walk without his permission. To me, that was normal. I trusted him.”
    “It may have happened on one day. It could have worked its way up to it. All I know is that one night he had me chained up like always. And then he slapped me.”
    “He never laid a hand like that on me before. Not a violent one. It stung so much, and the glee in his voice as he laughed at my reaction made me feel sick to my stomach. After so many years together, though, I forgave him. It was a one time thing. Then he did it another night. Then another. Then he hit me so hard I had a bruise and no excuse for it.”
    “One night he nearly broke my arm. He grabbed it so hard and turned me around to throw me on the bed so quickly I could feel a pop. I wish that was the worst thing that happened that night. When he was done with me, I felt like I could barely walk. That’s all I’ll say about that.”
    “The final straw – because I was so weak – came when he literally kidnapped another woman and intended to make her his sex slave. I woke up that day. I stole his keys and his gun and got both that woman and me out of there. I never looked back.”
    She let her words dissipate in the sunset, each one harder to dissolve than the last. By the time she realized her key lime pie remained untouched, Henry Warren grabbed her hand, making her fork clatter on the table.
    “I’m sorry that happened to you.” His grip on her tightened. Monica stiffened, not out of fear, but out of the sense that this man was too good for his own benefit. “It wasn’t right. That man doesn’t know how to appreciate what he has.”
    Yes, that was the problem Monica wanted to roll her eyes, but she was frozen in her seat, reliving those awful memories. Closing her eyes was dangerous. If she did that, her brain would place a scene on the back of her eyelids. Maybe the night Jackson slapped her and called her a whore because she always agreed to whatever he wanted. Didn’t he understand that I wanted that too? Serving him, making him happy…
    “No, what he didn’t get was what a submissive is. We’re not toys, Mr. Warren.