Woman In Chains by Bridget Midway

hands in his fist, he slid the knife blade between her arms and sliced the tape. “This is going to hurt.” He peeled up a corner edge, then in one hard snatch, ripped the tape from around both arms.
    She screamed this time for a different reason.
    “I told you.” In an instant, he cuffed one arm to a bedpost and did the other arm to the opposite post.
    Again, he pressed his chest against hers, his face just above hers. His gaze connected with hers. In that moment the world stopped. The proximity, his eyes, even the way he smelled like the great outdoors, all enraptured her. She had to close her eyes and turn her head away from him to keep from falling for his seductive tricks.
    Dak raised her again with better results. He stuffed a couple of pillows behind her head and shoulders. She gasped when she felt his hand on her chin turning her head back to him.
    “Better?” he asked.
    Her mouth hung open, but she said nothing.
    “You at least look more comfortable, even if you resemble that chick from The Exorcist .” Dak returned to his chair and picked up a bowl of soup.
    As usual, she would get cold soup. She had gotten used to watching her Dom eating while she waited to get permission to dine. This guy, Dom or not, wouldn’t be any different.
    “So let’s try this again.” He spooned a hefty amount of soup with noodles and meat spilling over the utensil, blew on it, and moved closer to her. “Hi, my name is Dak. What’s your name?”
    She split her gaze between the spoon and him. He must not be a Dom, not a good one at least. Or maybe the difference in treatment had to do with the differences in the two men’s races. No, it couldn’t be that basic. A man was a man was a man. A Dom was a Dom was a Dom, right?
    “I know you’re hungry. You can at least eat.” He held up the spoon to her again.
    “This Slave doesn’t eat unless her master tells her to do so.” She chewed the soft flesh in her inner lip.
    “You don’t have a master anymore.”
    She shook her head. “Master Blade didn’t release This Slave. Master Blade still owns This Slave.”
    Dak slammed down the bowl and let out an exasperated breath through his nostrils. “Master Blade is a poor excuse for a good Dom. He abuses his slaves and submissives and makes them think they have no minds of their own and can’t make their own decisions. He would have seriously hurt you eventually, if he hasn’t already.”
    She shook her head emphatically this time. “Master Blade teaches This Slave. Master Blade trains This Slave. This Slave is better because of him.”
    “No, you’re not. You’re brainwashed. And stop calling yourself This Slave. You have a name. I want to hear it. What’s your name?”
    She glared at him. “This Slave.”
    Dak raised his hands.
    To her, he looked like he wanted to strike her, something she had become accustomed to with Master Blade for her insolence. She turned her face away and cringed, waiting to feel the result of his frustration. With Master Blade, she knew the type of punishment he would give when she provoked him. From this stranger, she had no clue. With his large hands, it would be nothing for him to wrap them around her neck and choke the life out of her.
    “Fine, if you don’t want to tell me your name, then I’ll make up one for you.”
    She heard the clinking sound of a spoon twirling in a ceramic bowl. She turned her attention back to him and found Dak with the bowl in his hand and eating the rest of the soup. She didn’t know what amazed her more: the fact that he hadn’t struck her or the realization that he spoke to her civilly like a human being, like a lady.
    “If you don’t want to eat right now, I’m going to help myself.” He stared at her for a while. “Gretchen.”
    She wrinkled her nose.
    “Yeah, you don’t look like a Gretchen. How about Pauline?” He downed a few spoonfuls of soup, then chewed on a couple of crackers. “Nope, you don’t favor a Pauline, either.”
    “This