Obedience, p.5
Obedience, page 5
“Little Bird—”
“Stop calling me that,” I say, interrupting him. “You broke me so you could put me in a cage, but the cage is suffocating me, Sebastian. I opened the door and destroyed the lock, and now you’re trying to break me into tinier pieces so you can make me your prisoner again. But I’m not that person anymore, and if you break me again, there’ll be nothing left of me for you to try to put back together.”
His nostrils flare and his eyes widen in reaction to my words, but he doesn’t speak as I side-step him and head for the bedroom, opening the closet door and stepping inside. Our closet is a girly-girl’s dream, but for someone who spends most of their life in jean shorts and athletic gear, it feels like overkill. Sebastian’s side is full of custom-tailored suits, button-downs, and designer clothes. My side is pathetically empty. We have a personal shopper who comes every few months, but even with the clothes he insists that I buy, I still don’t have enough things to fill even a quarter of the rail. Heading for the dresser, I pull out baggy sweats and a sports bra. Not bothering with panties, I dress quickly, then rip the towel from my hair and roughly drag a brush through the strands before I pad barefoot out of the room and head downstairs.
Grabbing my backpack from where I dropped it, I pull out my laptop and open the Kingsacre student portal. Fresh tears burn the backs of my eyes when, instead of the usual options, the screen has an online student header and links to prerecorded lectures and resources I’ll need to take my classes from my laptop without leaving the house.
Sighing, I find my earphones in my backpack and push them into my ears, opening the first lecture link. Pressing play, I reduce the size of the video screen so I can open my notes app and start typing.
I barely move for the rest of the day, listening to all the available video lectures and even starting the first couple of assignments that aren’t due for a few weeks. While I work, Sebastian watches me, sitting in the chair opposite me, his cell resting on the arm, his attention focused on me.
“Where is your cell?” he asks when I pluck the earbud from my ear and close the lid of my laptop.
Shrugging, I put the earbud back in the case before looking at him. “I dropped it on the beach this morning.”
“Bunny and January have been messaging you.”
“You should inform them I’m a prisoner now, and that they’ll have to ask the warden if he’ll grant me a phone pass,” I snark.
Rolling his eyes, he taps exaggeratedly at the screen of his cell. “I’ll track it, then you can reply to them.”
“I’m not explaining your bullshit to them. You tell them why I’m not at school. Own your shit, Sebastian, admit what you did.”
“We’re having dinner at Evan and Sammy’s tonight,” he says, ignoring my tirade.
“You can if you want. I’m not.”
“What?” he questions. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want to. I’m embracing my prisoner status. I’m staying here.”
“Little Bird,” he says warningly.
“I’m not doing this, Sebastian. This is what you wanted. You wanted me locked in a cage, and this is the cage you’ve created for me. So, this is where I’ll stay. I’ll run on the treadmill in the gym, I’ll finish my degree online, and I’ll stay right here with the doors locked so you never have to worry about your little bird flying away.”
Pushing out of my seat, I start to put my laptop and earphones back into my backpack, then stop and leave them on the couch, putting my backpack in the mudroom before I head upstairs, change into gym shorts, and head to our home gym.
I run until my legs feel like jelly, and I have to hit the emergency stop button on the treadmill and cling to the sides so I don’t fall. Our gym is in the basement, a windowless room that has every piece of gym equipment known to man, far more than either of us will ever use.
Once I’m confident I can stand unaided, I step off the treadmill and grab a bottle of water from the small refrigerator, opening the lid and drinking thirstily. By the time half the bottle is gone, my legs are starting to cramp, and I sink down onto a mat and start to stretch my overused muscles.
Surprisingly, Sebastian hasn’t followed me down here, probably because unless I pull a Shawshank Redemption and dig a tunnel through the walls, there’s no way of me escaping a windowless room. Along with the gym, there’s a media room down here, similar to the one at Hunter’s parents’ house, that Sebastian forced me to visit when we first met.
Unwilling to go back upstairs to deal with my husband, I open the thick insulated door to the media room and walk down to the front, collapsing onto one of the huge sofas that are set up in rows. Grabbing the remote control, I turn on the massive screen and click into the menu, selecting an old romantic comedy that I watched almost every night when I first moved in with my dad and I was terrified that Sebastian would break in and steal me out of my bed while I slept.
Pressing play, I pull my legs up onto the couch, shoving a cushion beneath my head as the familiar opening sequence starts.
“Little Bird.” Sebastian’s soft voice lures me awake, my eyes blinking open slowly to find him sitting beside me, his fingers stroking my jaw.
“What time is it?” I ask groggily.
“Eight thirty p.m. You need to eat; you didn’t have lunch.”
“I’m not hungry,” I tell him, sighing as my eyes fall closed again.
“Starling, you ran miles today, you need to fuel your body,” he says, a little more insistently.
“I’ll make myself a sandwich.” Dismissing him, I pull my legs to the side and roll upright.
“That’s not dinner.”
“Neither of us can cook,” I remind him.
“I’ll hire us a chef.”
Scoffing, I shake my head. “I don’t want a stranger in the house.”
“They wouldn’t be a stranger, they’d be staff.”
“And let someone else see how fucked up we are?” I snap, pushing up from the couch and walking slowly from the room.
“We’re not fucked up,” he argues.
Laughing dryly, I shake my head again. “We’re the epitome of fucked up.”
The cramps in my legs have started to ease by the time I make it to the kitchen and find two places laid at the kitchen table, a candle lit in the center, and a creamy-looking pasta dish filling two plates.
“You should have said you were planning to order takeout.”
“I didn’t. Evan’s house manager bought it round for us.”
“Why?”
“Because I told Sammy you weren’t feeling well, and she was worried about you.”
Scoffing derisively, I smirk. “So, you lied to her.”
“No, you’re not yourself today.”
“No, Sebastian, I’m not the me you want me to be, there’s a difference,” I tell him, pulling out a chair and leaning over to blow out the candle before I twist some pasta onto my fork.
Sighing, he takes the seat opposite me and starts to eat, the silence stretching and thickening until it’s stifling. Taking two more mouthfuls, I place my silverware together on top of the leftover food and stand, carrying my plate over to the sink.
“You don’t like it?” Sebastian asks, his brows furrowed in concern.
“I told you I wasn’t hungry,” I tell him, scraping the remaining food into the waste disposal, then putting the dish and silverware into the dishwasher. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“I’ll come with you,” he offers, starting to rise from his seat.
“I’m not going to climb out of the fucking window, Sebastian, but why don’t you have my security team come and watch me to make sure?”
“Starling,” he growls.
“What? You’re either so worried that I’m going to escape that I need a visible team of security guards, or you’re not. Where are they? Are they outside?” Marching into the hallway, I make a beeline for the front door, throwing it open to find the car from this morning still in the driveway and a suit-clad man standing sentry by the front door.
“Hey,” I say, speaking to the guy. “What’s your name?”
“Tom Underhill, Mrs. Lockwood. Did you need something?” the guy answers, without a hint of shock at me bursting through the front door and speaking to me.
“Yeah, come in.”
Glancing around, he nods and steps into the house. “Is there a problem?” he asks brusquely.
“So many fucking problems,” I snap. “But I need you to come and stand guard.”
“I’m sorry?” he says, glancing around. “Has Mr. Lockwood left the property?”
“He’s eating dinner, but if I want to shower alone, I need to make sure he knows I’m not trying to climb out the window, so can you please come with me? You can check and lock the bathroom window, then stand guard by the door to make sure I don’t escape.”
“Starling,” Sebastian says my name from the doorway into the kitchen.
“Don’t worry, there will be no flying free tonight. Tom over here is going to make sure of it,” I chirp sarcastically, grabbing the fabric on Tom’s suit sleeve and towing him up the stairs toward the bedroom.
“Mrs. Lockwood, all of the windows are secure,” Tom assures me as I practically drag him through the house.
“Honestly, I don’t care. They could be wired to explode if I try to open them, and he’d still believe that I’m capable of learning how to defuse a bomb just to get away. So, this is the way it’s going to be from now on.”
Opening the bedroom door, I push Tom in front of me, pointing through to the bathroom. “It’s through there, but I’m guessing you’re familiar with the layout of the house.”
The security guard’s eyes flash with guilt, confirming my suspicions. “Yes, ma’am.”
He allows me to shove him into the bathroom while I stand in the doorway with my arms crossed.
“Go ahead and check,” I demand.
Reaching for the window, he checks that the lock is secured, then steps back. “All secure, ma’am.”
“Great. I want you to stand guard outside the bathroom door. I’ll leave it open a crack so you’ll hear if I try to smash through the glass.”
His jaw twitches as he nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And if my husband tries to come in, feel free to do to him whatever he told you to do to me if I try to run away.” With those parting words, I storm into the bathroom, closing the door almost all the way, before I strip out of my clothes and step into the shower for the third time today.
Some of my ire has lessened by the time I turn off the water and dry myself with a towel, but I’m still hurt and angry and frustrated when I wrap myself in my robe, glad that I don’t have to walk back into the bedroom in just a towel.
“Can you check the bedroom windows and the door to the terrace, please?” I ask Tom, whose back is to the door, his line of sight into the bedroom and nowhere near the bathroom where I was just naked with the door partially open.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, striding to the windows, then the terrace doors, checking each one in turn even though we both know they’re locked and secure.
“Happy I’m going nowhere?” I ask him sarcastically.
“All doors and windows are secure, ma’am,” he answers.
“Perfect. I’d like you, or one of your colleagues, to stand guard outside the door for the rest of the night. I’m not sure when you change personnel, but I’m assuming you have a key, or access, so it makes no difference.”
“Mrs. Lockwood, our orders are to—”
“I don’t care what your orders are. This is what I need you to do, if not, I’ll come and sleep in that car of yours in the driveway. I want to make sure you can keep an eye on me, and I’ve slept on my dad’s tiny boat, so the back of a car probably isn’t much worse.”
“I’ll inform the morning team of the change of plans,” he says, nodding once before he leaves the room, closing the bedroom door behind him.
The moment I’m alone, all of the anger drains from me, leaving me exhausted and sad. Slipping off my robe, I put it back in the bathroom, then climb beneath the cool bedsheets, closing my eyes and falling asleep.
I don’t know how long passes before the rustling of sheets and the dipping of the mattress wakes me. Sebastian climbs into bed beside me, desperately reaching for me the moment his skin touches mine. His hand pushes between my thighs, cupping my pussy and pushing a single finger into me. Moaning, I close my eyes, chasing the connection we share that feels ragged and shredded after the events of the day.
“Shh,” he hisses angrily. “You posted a man outside our bedroom door, so I’m going to fuck you hard and deep, but if you make a sound—if you let the guard hear how desperate you are for my dick, I’ll stop.”
“Okay,” I whisper, my body already reacting to his stern, authoritarian tone.
“Open,” he orders, pushing something hard and rubbery into my mouth the moment I part my lips. “Do you know what you’re sucking right now?” he whispers.
I shake my head.
“It’s the plug we bought, the one that you took one look at after we brought it home and declared was too big for that perfect ass of yours.”
A squeaking noise escapes me around the anal plug that’s in my mouth, but as I reach up to remove it, he grabs my hands, pushing them back down, and holding them tightly in place.
“If he hears you, that plug is going inside that tight little asshole of yours, and you’ll wear it while I fill your cunt with my cum, then I’ll use it as lube to fuck your stretched-out ass.”
Fear, mixed with excitement, makes a tremor run through my body as he holds my wrists together with one hand, then pushes the other between my thighs to toy with my pussy. Spreading my folds, he pushes two fingers into my heat, slowly working them in and out of me while I suck on the toy that I’ve been too scared to ever use.
Sebastian and I have toyed with the idea of anal. He’s pushed a single finger inside of me, but we’ve never gotten any further because the idea frightens me. We bought a couple of plugs, including the biggest one that’s in my mouth right now, but when I felt them in my hand, I refused to let him use them on me. I know he’d like to try anal, but we have enough normal sex that I don’t think either of us feels like we’re missing out.
“There we go, your cunt is soaked. Is that because you need to be fucked hard by your husband to get rid of all your anger, or because you want that big plug forced inside your ass? I think you’d like it if I pinned you down and used my cum to lube up your tight hole. You’d moan and scream and beg me not to, but when I forced that plug through your muscle and into your ass, you’d explode and come like the perfect little bird you’ve always been for me. Instead of a gilded cage, I’ll get you a gilded plug and lock you in with it filling you up.”
His words and the demented threats push me higher and higher until my body is vibrating, and I can feel my pussy gushing with arousal.
“Come on my fingers, Starling, I need you soaked, because I’m going to fuck all of my frustration into you. I’m going to take you so hard that tomorrow you won’t be able to walk, let alone run away from me.”
Ripping my hand out of his hold, I fist the sheets beneath me, almost glad of the way the plug in my mouth is stifling the sounds of my orgasm as I splinter, convulsing as pleasure pours through me. Flipping me to my belly, Sebastian rips my legs apart and fills me in one brutally hard thrust, slamming into me while my body is still fluttering with release. Just like he promised, he’s not gentle. This isn’t lovemaking, it’s a punishment. It’s him reminding me that while he might be losing control of my mind, my body is still his to command.
“Fuck, your cunt is so fucking tight. Even when I’m slamming into you like you’re a whore, you clamp down on me, begging me to fill you with my cum. You want that, don’t you, Little Bird? Maybe you need a new cage, a gilded life sentence that’ll grow in your womb. I’ll lock you into our life with a dozen babies, make you my broodmare, too swollen and dripping with milk to ever escape. Maybe I’ll have your security team strap you into a breeding bench like the one in that fucked-up book you read. I’ll keep you by my desk, just three holes to be filled with my cum until you’re so pregnant you can’t take any more. Then once you push out my baby while you’re still gaping and bleeding, I’ll strap you back in again and breed you again, planting my seed in your womb until it takes root. I’ll do it over and over until you really are as broken as you keep telling me I’m making you.”
Moving me how he wants, he uses me, making me an object for all of his fear and anger and annoyance. Each thrust moves me up the bed, only for him to drag me down again, impaling me on his dick over and over again, while my body drips with excitement, begging for more.
Not removing the plug from my mouth, I suck frantically on it, my hand covering my lips as I fight not to make a noise. Both wanting and not wanting him to follow through on his threat and force the huge butt plug inside of me.
I come again, then again, struggling to hide how much I’m enjoying the degrading way he’s managed to reduce me to feeling like nothing more than a hole for his pleasure. I shouldn’t like this, but it calls to the new darker urges inside of me that have been building and building since the softer side of me hardened.
The sound of spitting is immediately followed by pressure, as I orgasm for a third time and Sebastian forces his fingers into my ass. Not going slow like he’s done in the past, he pushes and pushes, not caring that it hurts, as he slams into me, moving his fingers in rhythm with his dick until he grunts and groans, his hips slowing as he pumps his cum into my aching and sore pussy.
Long moments pass, his dick still buried inside of me, his fingers in my ass, the plug in my mouth, and nothing but the sound of our panting breaths to fill the silence that feels fragile and dangerous.
