The Little Redhead Ch. 04

When I come to, there seem to be many people in the room. I am being examined by a doctor. I think to myself, I am alive! For once in my life I am grateful that, like many redheads, I faint easily.

I feel extremely happy. I won the battle with this man, this monster. I got him to fuck me hard enough that I fainted, and now he can never come back. I am so relieved that I could dance around the room, saying "I won! I won!"

The man who rented me is at the door, talking with a very severe-looking, older man, who is completely bald and wearing an expensive-looking suit. The doctor glances at the talking men, and says, "Sir, she is conscious now."

The bald man says to the man who rented me, "Please come with me. We can discuss this further in my office." They leave, shutting the door behind them.

He doctor pats me on the leg almost kindly and says he's done. There is an attendant in the room with us. The doctor tells him, "She's very tiny. You should know that anyone would have to be careful with her. There are no permanent injuries, just a little bruising. Her blood pressure is almost back to normal."

The doctor tells me, "Drink some water, don't move around too much, and try to sleep."

They both leave, leaving me locked in. At this point, I don't care what happens to me next. Even if I'm auctioned off again, no one could be as scary as this man. Surprisingly, I am able to sleep like a baby. In the morning, I eat and shower. When I am done, there is a woman in the room. She gives me a silky Japanese-style robe to wear. I don't know what it's called, but I think it's beautiful. She spends the next hour applying make-up and fixing my hair, making my long auburn hair wavy again, like in the auction room. After she leaves, I look at myself in the mirror, turning side to side. I look kind of pretty!

I am still almost giddy to be away from the horrible man, but my mind is starting to prick me with little worries and doubts about what's going to happen now. An attendant arrives and gives me pretty little sandals to wear that fit perfectly. I realize that I can probably speak now. I had forgotten that it was allowed. I almost don't want to ask, but can't help myself. "What's going to happen to me now?"

The attendant looks at me and opens his mouth to speak. Just then the door opens and the bald man enters with the man who rented me walking behind. My heart sinks. What's going on here? I thought I would never see him again!

The bald man tells me, "You are to come with me now. You've been purchased." My heart jumps and seems to keep on jumping and I faint again.

When I come to, I'm being carried by the attendant, following the bald man and my new owner through the mansion. I know that I am going to die. I start to struggle, fighting against the attendant, trying to get away. I've never fought so hard before, but I'm still weak from fainting. The attendant very quickly gets me on the floor on my stomach, holding me down. There is a quick discussion, and someone says, "No, we can't drug her after she's just fainted. It could kill her."

I yell, "Just do it! Kill me! It's better than going with him!" The attendant covers my mouth.

Another attendant arrives, pulls my wrists behind my back, and puts soft leather shackle-things on my wrists and ankles, securing them with some kind of lock. They gag me and put a hood over my head, securing it in place. The first attendant picks me up again and we resume our walk.

I am placed in a limousine, still shackled, gagged, and hooded. I hear them hand the shackle keys to my 'owner'. After we drive for a few minutes, the man, sitting across from me now, removes my hood. He asks if I'll be quiet and I nod. He removes my gag and I keep my promise.

We are in the country. We drive for a long time, maybe two hours or more, with nothing much to look at but trees. He doesn't touch me or speak. I've gone beyond fear. I don't feel or think anything. I can't look at him. I lay down on the seat after a while, facing away from him, and some time later, I cry just a little, silently, unable to wipe my tears away.

We arrive at another huge house -- another mansion. The man carries me in from the car. I don't bother trying to fight. He takes me upstairs in an elevator and into a little lobby. He punches a security code into a door panel and takes me into a place that looks and feels like an apartment. There is a kitchen, dining and living area, all sort of one big room, with a hall leading off of it. It's beautiful, but very sparsely furnished and decorated. There are many windows on one side, facing out into nothing but trees.

He sets me on a daybed and sits down in a chair opposite me. He just sits and looks at me for a time. My numbness is leaving me, and I start to feel some real fear again. I don't know what to do. I'm afraid to do anything -- afraid of a repeat of the previous night.

I try not to look at him. I want him to stop looking at me! He's always looking at me!

Finally, he comes over and kneels in front of me. He reaches towards me, and I cringe back. He removes my shackles and leaves. I am dumbfounded, perplexed, and relieved. I was certain that the rage he showed before would come out now, uninhibited and unstoppable. I don't know what happened, but still think he will likely kill me when he returns.

He doesn't return the next day or the next. I try everything, but there is no way to get out and no way to get a message out. Every day I am completely wrought with fear at his return, knowing that when he does return, he will beat me again.

He has left me only my silk robe to wear. There's a washing machine for the bedclothes, but there's no way to wash the robe properly. I'm afraid I'll ruin it, since it's silk. After a few days, I feel too yucky to keep wearing it, and just go naked. No one is there to see me, anyway.

A couple of days after I arrive, a woman comes into the apartment, carrying groceries. She is middle-aged, Hispanic, with a pretty face. She's rather plump, yet somehow elegant. She has no expression and says with a fairly light Spanish accent, "Hello. I will be doing the cleaning here."

I put the food away as she gets started. When I'm done, I follow her around for a bit, watching her. "What's your name?" I finally ask her. She glances at me. "Grieta".

I blurt out, "Grieta, please help me. Please! Please get me out of here! This man, he-"

She shakes her head and cuts me off, saying, "No. No puedo! I can't! I'm sorry! You don't understand....My family, my girls, he's...." She trails off, looking down and looking very afraid.

I realize this man must have threatened her family, her children, if she said anything. What a monster! She's afraid for their lives. She won't help me, but it's not her fault. "Esta bien," I say. "Esta bien. I understand."

I have forgotten that I'm naked. I look down, become embarrassed, and go put my robe on and sit and watch her for a while.

A couple of days later, she comes again. This time, I tell her I want to help. She protests at first, saying she's not sure if it's a good idea, but I insist. She's already seen me naked, so I ask if I can remove my robe while I'm cleaning.

I help her clean each time she comes, removing my robe each time. I look forward to her being there. We don't really talk much, but at least I don't feel as lonely.

I become very bored very quickly. There is an exercise room, and I exercise at least once a day. I have a little martial arts training and use the room to practice my forms. At least it takes my mind off of things for a while.

Finally, after a week or so, he starts coming to me. I am surprised by how it plays out. He never beats me again. Luckily, I am wearing the robe the first time he comes in, since I had gotten cold. He always comes in the evenings, so after that, I always put the robe on before he arrives.

He comes to me almost every night, not saying anything. He uses me, then leaves. He almost seems distracted, as if doing this with me is just some afterthought. He seems to rush through it, and is never there long. He has the demeanor of a man that, though obviously very wealthy, works for a living and works a lot.

Each time, he basically replays a variation of the first night at the auction mansion, without the gloves and whipping. He has brought some equipment which he leaves in my room, basically the same things he used that first night. I never speak and I never fight him. I'm still terrified of him.

Just like at the auction, he usually starts out by licking my pussy. He often makes me go down on him afterwards. Then he ties me up in my bed, sometimes simply bound with my arms behind my back, and sometimes tied to the bed itself. He often puts nipple clamps on me, and often he uses his hand first before fucking me. He seems to like that. Sometimes he uses the butt-dildo. I no longer think of this as something I could like someday, and just shut my eyes and endure it. All of this strengthens my conviction that he was never into the bondage thing before the auction.

I'm often not wet enough for him, and that hurts. He's quite rough and does hurt me a little, but never anything like the night of the auction.

I do sometimes become a little aroused despite myself, but I never come close to coming again. I don't dare. Thankfully, he doesn't repeat the final brutal fucking that he gave me the first night, and I never faint again.

I get used to the routine, and even though I hate being held against my will, my fear diminishes. I just become more and more bored, more anxious to get out of here, although I don't know how.

I want to ask him for other clothes, but don't dare speak at all. I never say a word unless directed. I wash the robe by hand, but it shrinks and gets wrinkly and doesn't look good anymore. I am stupidly embarrassed by this. He doesn't seem to mind, though, and never brings me different clothes.

One day, the man unexpectedly comes in during the day while I'm cleaning with Grieta. I'm standing on the counter, dusting above the top-most cabinets. He looks at me and says, "What are you doing?! Get down from there!" I start to get down and he rushes over, grabs me off the counter, and sets me on my feet.

He demands of Grieta, "What's going on here?" He advances towards her to hit her! I run around in front of him, standing between him and Grieta.

I hold my arms towards him, shaking them side-to-side with the duster still in my hand, and shake my head violently.

"What? What is it?" he demands. I don't answer. "Speak!" he barks.

"Don't hurt her, please! It's my fault! I insisted that she let me help. I get so bored, and I can't just be waited on, for God's sake! She works hard! Please don't hurt her, sir. Please, sir!"

He just looks at me, looks at Grieta, starts to say something, and then abruptly leaves. I look down at my naked body. By this point, I've gotten very used to being naked most of the time and only think about it now that he's gone. I tell Grieta, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I got you in trouble." Thinking of him hurting her or her children upsets me too much. I am done cleaning for today. We were almost done, anyway. I run to my room and curl up in my bed.

That evening, when he comes in, he seems different. He has brought me some clothes. There are two very short skirts and two teddies. No shirt, no bra, and no panties! He tells me, "Now, when I come, wear one of these, and be cleaning. Don't stop cleaning when I come in." He leaves without saying or doing anything more that night.

Things change after that. He stops replaying the auction night.

Each evening, I put one of the little outfits on and find something to clean. I do as he says and keep cleaning when he shows up. I feel more naked in these outfits than I did when I was completely naked. Sometimes he just sits and watches for a little while, occassionally giving me instructions like, "You missed a spot over in the corner there."

I'm embarrassed and feel slutty having him watch me wearing a skirt with no panties and no top bending over scrubbing the floors and vacuuming under the couch and such. But something about him watching me like this always arouses me at least a little, so I'm always wet when he fucks me. Sometimes he tells me I should be wearing the nipple clamps when he arrives. For some reason, walking around cleaning with the nipple clamps on and the chain between them dangling on my stomach really excites me, and I often have a hard time not coming on those occasions.

He's less rough with me, but bossier, and stays longer. He often makes me lick and suck his cock and his balls for a long time, giving me explicit and detailed instructions as I go. He makes me get on top and ride him, which he had never done before. He's so big and I'm so small, that I have to just kind of kneel on him to go as fast and as hard as he wants. He doesn't seem to mind the weight or the press of my knees on his stomach.

One day he arrives when I'm washing some of the delicate glassware in the sink, although they're not dirty. (Well, they ARE a little dusty, I tell myself.) I'm wearing one of the little skirts this time. He comes up behind me and rubs his hands up my thighs and under my skirt. He kneels down behind me, lifts my skirt and bites my ass, one bite on each side, like at the auction, but not quite as hard.

He stands and pulls me back by the hips so I'm standing a foot or two away from the sink, lifts my skirt again, kneels down, and starts licking my pussy, as he often used to. I keep washing the glassware, as I know I should, but it becomes difficult to concentrate. There is something about the way he is touching me today that is really getting to me.

He stands up and presses himself against me, pushing me forward against the edge of the counter. There are a lot of suds in the sink. He reaches around me and grabs some suds with both hands and starts rubbing them on my tits, my stomach, and reaches down to my clit. He rubs my clit very slowly and sensually for a little while, as I continue washing. It feels unbelievably good.

He stops, and I hear him unbutton his pants and pull them down. He spreads his legs and crouches down a little to position himself behind me and enters me from behind. He starts thrusting, slowly, not roughly, again rubbing my clit. I'm more used to his size now and he doesn't hurt me at all at this angle unless he tries. I think, What is he doing to me? It's almost as if he's making love to me.

I am becoming extremely aroused. I hate being so turned on by this man who I hate so much, but the way he's touching me makes it impossible for me not to be. I lay my head back against him for just a moment and sigh, but then lean forward and start washing again. I am becoming so aroused that it's almost impossible to keep washing, but I manage. I don't want to know how much trouble I would be in if I were to stop.

I finish one glass, then another. For some reason, swiveling around to put them in the drainer as he's stroking inside me makes me even more aroused. He starts thrusting harder and faster, grunting a little, and I know I'm going to come this time. I'm afraid what he'll do to me if I climax, but I know there is nothing that can stop it from happening now.

He stops rubbing my clit and grabs my hips with both hands. I finally have to stop washing and I brace myself with my hands on the counter, hanging my head forward over the water, the ends of my hair dangling in the suds, floating in the water, almost too aroused to stand. He's so big, that I feel like a doll in his grasp.

He then thrusts so hard he almost lifts me off the floor. This is almost too much for me. He's driving me crazy, plain and simple. He thrusts again and again, each time lifting me up with the strength of his thrust. I want him to do this all day and I yell, "Yes!" not caring for once if he punishes me for it.

Then, moaning loudly, I push my head and body back against him as hard as I can, wanting to have as much contact with him as possible. I reach both arms up and behind me to grab at his head, and I come, with him completely supporting me now as I am utterly unable to stand.

I'm afraid now how he will punish me for coming, but instead he just keeps pumping inside me, and I think I might come again and soon. He hisses, "Start washing!" I start washing again, very weakly and ineffectually, struggling to brace myself with just my legs. His grunts and moans get immediately louder, his thrusts become amazingly fast for just a moment, and he comes, lifting my feet completely off the floor.

He pulls out and sinks back. Grabbing the counter with one hand, he sits heavily on the floor, staring down. I continue washing, not looking at him, almost unable to stand, and wanting to sit on the floor with him. I'm still very aroused. But I am also still afraid what he'll do to me now. He punished me brutally the one time that I came, that first night.

He doesn't say anything at all, and after a few minutes, he dresses and leaves. I think to myself, maybe this won't be so bad. At least it's getting interesting, and he hasn't really hurt me since that first night. I still hate him, and I want to leave this place, but if I have to be held prisoner, it could be worse. It could be much, much worse.

I go to bed shortly thereafter. I play with myself in bed. I hadn't dared to do it before, because I was afraid he would have cameras and microphones, but with what happened tonight, I think his rage has dissipated a great deal, and I'm not so afraid of him now. I'm still so aroused I can hardly help myself, anyway. To be on the safe side, I do it under the covers with the lights off, though, trying to keep my actions hidden and silent, in case there is a camera. It doesn't take me long.