Chapter 4

I'd put a lot of thought – a lot more than could be considered strictly healthy – into the design of Natalie's prison. Her crimes against Johnny were a gift for the darker side of my personality – I felt free to indulge myself in ways I'd never seriously considered before, and I'd done so to an extent that sometimes worried even me.

The thermite charges in the ceiling were the most severe example of that. I had put in an off switch so that if I chose to be out of contact for more than two-and-a-half, three days, I could be and not worry about the charges going off. Of course, Natalie wouldn't be in too good of a shape when I returned as her IVs would run out in the first twelve hours or so at best, but she'd still be alive.

The off switch tempted me – just deactivate the timer – no one would be the wiser. But then I'd think about the venomous bitch I was dealing with. She was going to try something, sooner or later, unless I well and truly broke her first, and was I really willing to bet my life on that?

Another area where I had let my imagination run wild was the sound and light system that covered every room in the prison. I could program it to do almost anything from mood lighting to interrogation lamps, ambient noise to music so loud my eardrums might burst.

More importantly, it could be programmed to disrupt a person's natural three-hour sleep cycle. At random intervals loud noise and bright lights would wake up my little guest, probably in a state of panic. I could let her get one complete cycle a night if I were feeling generous – not likely at the time – or I could insure she lived on nothing but brutally interrupted cat naps whenever I wasn't in the prison with her.

That was the setting I was going to use for the next several days. Deprive her of sleep, pump her full of psychotropic drugs ... her mind would become silly putty and I'd play with it however I chose.

Striding into the Washroom I said, "Hello, gutter trash, how are you feeling?"

I put on a condom, released her ankles, hopped up on the table, spit on my hand and used it to lube myself.

Her eyes were wide with fear but she kept her mouth shut. Her self-preservation instincts continued to impress me.

I slammed my cock into her cunt.

"Ah, rape! The perfect way to begin an afternoon!"

It seemed it was my day to be peed on.

I paid her back by biting her repeatedly on her large, pretty breasts. I never quite broke the skin, but she was going to bruise beautifully and her tears were like wine as I licked them off her face.

When I was finished, I slid off the condom and cleaned my cock with her hair.

I took a break from abusing her to check her wound – I'd examine it again the next day, but it seemed I might have to put her on a course of antibiotics – there appeared to be the beginnings of an infection.

I took her off the table and wheeled her on the dolly into the Tool Shed.

"Natalie, I want you to start considering a name for yourself, something demeaning, something descriptive of you. I'm not going to be using your old name much longer, and I feel charitable today so I'll let you make recommendations as to how I should address you. You have until tomorrow morning.

"In the meantime," I continued, "I'd like to show you a little project I've begun work on."

I pulled off a sheet that was covering my work table. On it was a front, back and sides diagram of a female body. The body was covered with markings.

She came to the conclusion it was a series of tattoos and began to whimper.

"Now, now, slut, I know what you're thinking – Johnny told me a lot about you, a lot about what you did and didn't like and I know the fear you have of needles – funny that, because I guarantee you I'll be using them to administer any medications or drugs I choose to give you and I have a lot of other plans for them as well. But no, this isn't a stencil for tattoos – no need to worry about that little inky needle going in and out of you all those thousands upon thousands of times."

I held up a branding iron that had at its end one small and oft-repeated pattern in the overall design.

"I'm not going to tattoo you, slut – I'm going to brand you, all over your body. You'll notice that worked into the design are loving terms like 'cunt', 'slut', 'lying whore', 'slave' ... all that's missing is what I decide to call you – after hearing your recommendations of course. Now I'm going to have to modify my designs in places – that was expected as I didn't have a good idea of what you looked like – Johnny didn't want to think about it and I never pushed him too hard on the subject."

I turned on the torch and began heating the iron.

"But a lot of my design is good as is, and so we'll be starting on that today."

I forgave her for her screams, both those prior to the branding, and those during it as well. The smell of burning flesh was like being near a barbecue smoker with a large pork butt cooking inside. It made me hungry.

Surprisingly enough, she required very little clean-up after the branding. I sprayed off some urine, put ointment and a gauze pad over her brand and wheeled her back to the Washroom. There I reinserted her IV, changed out the bags and bid her good night.

She was a sobbing mass of tortured, horrified woman when I left and I didn't expect a night of interrupted sleep to do much to improve that.

I took a leisurely shower and then went out front and released Christie from the tree.

"Pork chops tonight, slut. Have dinner ready in an hour or you'll be sleeping on the porch again tonight."

"Yes sir."

I sat out on my front deck with a beer and watched the sunset. I missed Meredith – more than I'd thought I would – and there was a part of me that found it depressing that I'd much rather spend the night fucking her than doing the same with Christies. That was something I'd have to talk to her about over supper – she had definitely moved into a number two position. If she wasn't comfortable with that, I'd try to find her a new Master – I owed her that. I owed her so much more than that.

I owed her a Master that wasn't crazy, that wasn't holding a kidnapped woman and torturing her. I owed her the truth she was already sure of and damn any thoughts of plausible deniability. I owed her the chance to make up her own mind.

Supper hit the table with seven minutes to spare.

We ate and afterwards I had her make us a pot of coffee.

She brought our steaming mugs out after lacing them with pear brandy.

I explained my thinking to her, finishing with "So, do you want things to continue as they have been, do you want to know everything, do you want me to help you find a new Master ... what do you want?"

"Can we for the moment, sir, stop pretending I'm stupid?"

"Certainly – speak your mind."

"I know you have her in there – to assume otherwise is insulting. I want you to end this – it's eating you alive and feeding something dark and very ugly in you and Meredith both. Just kill her – I know no other resolution is possible at this point. Kill her and be done with it and let it go, please."

"That seems to be a different viewpoint than you held six months ago," I replied.

"That was when the pain and shock was fresh – and I still think she should be punished, but not this way sir. It's evil – better yet, it's capital-E Evil. Then, I was overcome with emotion – now I've had time to think and so have you. I understand what you're doing and why – but that doesn't mean I think it's sane or healthy – just the opposite."

She sipped her coffee and smiled.

"As far as you and your daughter are concerned – sir, I serve you - and her as well if you so wish it - however I am required to. You know that, sir. I've offered you 24/7/365 many times and you've always refused me. I'm here for the long haul, no matter what."

"How do you want me to deal with you, given that I'm not going to simply kill the slut and move on? What changes do you want me to make in our life together?"

Christie looked out the window toward the lake.

"I assume you're going to treat any injuries she might suffer?"

"Certainly – I'm treating several already." I paused, then looked my slut in the eyes. "Do you know what my perfect end-game would be?"

"No sir."

"I'd like to break her – break her so completely she could never even contemplate a life that wasn't lived on its knees, break her spirit so completely that she'd beg to be taken care of, looked after. Then, the second and much more unlikely part, I'd like my son to come to terms with my lifestyle, and what I will have done to his ex-wife, and I'd like to be able to give her to him – make her his slave. He's the one she really owes ... not me. Sure, I spent the money to get him out of trouble, but she didn't wound my soul like she did his. I'd love to see her spending the rest of her life trying to make that up to him."

"You're smart enough to realize that's not going to happen, aren't you?"

"Yes, slut – I'm that smart. So I'll go with Plan B – break the bitch, torture her, and eventually, if she breaks the way I want her to, put her into service here at the house, hide her should Johnny ever come to visit. If not – well, there's a site for a grave already picked out about two miles from here. Or I could dump her in the lake – either option is open after I do enough damage to her that even a television forensic scientist couldn't I.D. her or trace her back to me – let alone our local police department and their sorry excuse for a lab."

"Fine, sir – would you allow me to be the one that cares for her? Feeds her, waters her, does whatever is necessary medically? That way you can more purely be the evil bastard, except when you taunt her with your care for her, and my mind will be at least a little calmer."