Chapter 13

Lola felt like she was going mad. Weeks, or was it months? It felt like years! Of just existing in this basement as a piece of meat, being confined to the bed, to the cages, to the contraptions. And nothing ... nothing but him, her master, and when he wasn’t there, nothing—just the voices in her head, and the screen showing degrading filth and intimate scenes of her mother over and over and over again.

She was astonished to think how her stomach used to curdle by just looking at him, let alone smelling him, licking him, performing those disgusting tasks on him. Now, his skin was so familiar, as were his organs. She could not believe she had never even seen a penis before this, yet now, his cock was ever-present in her mind’s eye. It was like her holes between her legs and the one in her face had been remolded for it.

And while she still feared and hated him, she was now starting to experience unsettling feelings of tenderness toward him, tangled with abrupt spells of hatred and terror. Was this her new reality? Would she have to accept these feelings as normal?

Just a short time ago, she had been outside, in the sun, free, with other people—decent, kind, good people—like her mother. That seemed like a different life that had happened to someone else now.

As she watched the huge titted woman on screen lick and kiss each other’s intimate areas, she imagined her mother coming in from the outside world. How would she deal with her? She would still love her, but her mother would have to learn in her own time that this was a different world. One where her the need to suck her master’s toes was as normal and necessary as going to school had been. Maybe she and her mother could enjoy each others’ bodies if they learned to leave the shame outside and accept they have no choice?

Her mother was pretty, much prettier than Pembroke. She had never thought of breasts or vaginas as something she wanted to kiss or hold before, let alone her mother’s. But maybe it might taste nice, maybe like Pembroke’s cock she would get a taste for it? Maybe her mother might feel the same eventually?

‘God’ she said to herself. ‘How can I be changing so much?’

Lisa Chapman had little money left now and the mounting credit card bills and overdrafts were starting to stress her. She climbed out of bed, naked, and stared at herself in the mirror, her thoughts circling back to the persistent temptation of taking the escort bookings.

Her eyes drifted over her naked reflection in the cracked mirror: her firm breasts, her smooth, milky skin, her gentle curves, her toned waist, and her strong, shapely legs. She shook her head firmly. No. There had to be something better—something fulfilling. She would apply for jobs that didn’t require her to sell her body. Maybe if she kept away from temptation, something might look kindly on her and Lola might come back.

She slipped on a thong, admiring herself again as she ran her fingers over the satin front, then pulled on a pair of worn running shorts. A snug sports bra followed, hugging her breasts tightly, and she layered it with a loose sports top. She dug out an old pair of trainers, hesitating for a moment when she realized they were actually Lola’s, and she had the same size as her daughter.

Where was Lola? The question clawed at her, and she stifled a quiet sob.

Desperate to escape the spiral of her thoughts, Lisa stepped outside and started running. She didn’t care where she went—she just needed air in her lungs, sunlight in her eyes, and to pull her mind away from her money worries and Lola. She tried to ignore the catcalls and the lingering stares of passersby, focusing instead on the burn in her legs and the sweat on working up on her skin.

Slowly, her mind began to clear. Her thoughts drifted back to the days before Lola disappeared. Lola had been stressed—worried about someone or something—but she hadn’t been able to talk about it. Lisa was sure that whatever it was held the key. If only I hadn’t been so absent and late at work and stressed ... But it wasn’t her fault, not really. It was her boss’s fault.

That bastard had kept her late at work for weeks. Pointless tasks, endless revisions—she had realized too late that none of it had mattered. The decision to fire her had already been made before Pembroke had ever told her.

At first, she thought he was just trying to squeeze extra work out of her before letting her go. But the tasks had been nonsensical, repetitive—almost cruel in their pointlessness. No, it wasn’t about the work. It was about her. He had been making fun of her, hadn’t he? But why? Had he deliberately kept her late while Lola was home, alone, and worried?