Chapter Text
Chloe stared forlornly at the small, antiquated house in front of her. Barely over a thousand square feet, the home boasted three tiny bedrooms, one of which she heard was more of a closet, and no basement. The dingy white siding was worn and coming off in places, and the paint on the front door had long since wrinkled and chipped. Judging by the state of the shingles, it would be a miracle if the roof did not leak the moment a decent storm passed through.
Three other houses sat on the long, dead end side street, each sitting on about half an acre of treeless land. It would take at least thirty minutes to reach civilization by car from here, though Chloe had a feeling that was something she would not be doing with any regularity. From what she had been told, the neighbors were elderly and kept to themselves; there was not much coming and going from this part of town. It was the perfect, quiet getaway from the hubbub of everyday life, a place one could go to really lose themselves.
Just what he wanted.
The driver’s side car door slammed somewhere to Chloe’s left; she gulped down her discomfort and tried to ignore it and the figure that emerged. Think happy thoughts, she told herself firmly even as she did not believe she could. Remember why you’re doing this.
An arm snaked around her shoulder before she could step away, and she gulped again as the owner leaned in close and pressed its lips to her cheek in an unwelcome display of affection.
“Welcome home,” said the deep voice in a self-satisfied tone that made her shudder. If it noticed, it did not comment, and instead nudged her towards the front door.
Reluctantly, Chloe obeyed the voice and took a few steps in the direction of the porch steps. As she closed the distance, the house loomed over her like an ominous prison. Truth be told, she had no idea what awaited her inside. She wanted more than anything to turn on her heel and run to the nearest neighbor, to tell them the truth about why she was there. But she knew she could not. So much hinged on her entering that foreboding building; she had no choice.
With a deep breath, she walked up the four stairs to the rickety old porch and stood off to the side so that the door could be unlocked. The figure behind her took its time in finding the correct key and sliding it into the lock, whistling as it did so. It was a jovial mood she did not share.
Once the door opened and the figure stepped inside, Chloe once more looked over her shoulder at the neighbors. They were so close on either side of them, and she knew she could outrun this house’s owner if she tried. She was terrified, however, of what would happen if she did get caught. It simply was not worth the risk.
“Chloe!” the voice barked.
Another controlled inhale, then exhale. Chloe stepped inside, her legs threatening to turn to jelly, and looked around. It was just as small as she figured from the outside; there was no foyer to speak of, just a couple of tiles next to a coat closet that led into the living room. That was oddly well-populated with wood paneling and drab furnishings, an old couch and bookshelves. It occurred to her then that this must have been an estate sale, and it would explain the existence of so much lived in furniture so quickly. That thought seemed eerie to her, so she did not dwell on it.
She followed the footsteps ahead of her into the eat-in kitchen, passing the cramped first-floor bathroom and staircase on her way. A lonely two chairs sat at the small, rectangular table, and she noticed the age of the appliances as well as the chips in the floor and the stains on the counters. Whoever had lived her previously had not taken care of the place, and it showed. Her companion seemed completely unfazed by all of this, and instead turned to face her while leaning against the cabinets, arms crossed.
“You hungry?”
Chloe shook her head even as her stomach made an audible growl. A chuckle greeted her from across the kitchen, and she looked directly at its owner for the first time since getting in the car four hours ago.
He was tall; God, had he always been that tall? Chloe knew she was lacking in height at five-foot-two, but the way he stared her down now made him tower over her all the more. She looked at the dark hair and piercing eyes she once found attractive with the realization that none of that was left. She felt her chest grow tight as the anxiety at making eye contact filled her body. He knew he commanded control of the situation, and it showed in his somehow relaxed yet aggressive stance. He smirked at her, the motion throwing her off guard and causing her to turn her eyes away; he only chuckled again.
“Suit yourself. Nothing until dinner, then. Not like you couldn’t stand to lose a few pounds anyway.”
The insult did not bother her as it might have a couple of months ago, but it still stung. Just one more way he could control her, she supposed; part of her wanted to retort that he was not exactly svelte himself, and that gut was sure to cause all sorts of problems as he progressed into his fifties, but she knew better. She did not know how he would respond, but she knew it would not do her any favors.
Quite abruptly, he stood from the counter and began walking in the direction of the stairs. Chloe’s anxiety still had not abated, but she tried to quell the surge with logic. We just got here, she told herself. He isn’t going to try anything. It’s only natural to take a tour of the house.
After he called her name again, she hurried after him up the narrow staircase. Four doors presented themselves to her; one was the bathroom, one was an office, one a bedroom, and one remained only slightly ajar. She was immediately curious about the last one, but she changed her mind as he entered the bedroom and turned to face her.
The double bed was barely wide enough to accommodate them both, and the thin quilt that covered it would do little to keep them warm on the coldest nights. There was not much else in the room besides a dresser, a closet, and unpacked boxes he had moved in earlier. It still felt very much as though they were in someone else’s home, and she did not relish the idea of sleeping in this unknown bed under this flimsy blanket. Once again, she reminded herself she did not have a choice.
“Get comfortable,” he ordered curtly as he kicked off his shoes.
Chloe bit her lip. There was something on her mind, something she wanted to ask but was afraid to do so. He immediately noticed her hesitation and sighed.
“What is it?”
She opened her mouth as she contemplated whether this was a good idea. She had not spoken since before they got in the car, and she knew he preferred it that way. But a promise was a promise, and so far, he had not broken any he had made to her.
“I . . .” she began slowly. He raised his eyebrows expectantly as she fidgeted with her hands. “Y-you said I would get my own room . . .”
He snorted, then gave her a very even stare as the corners of his mouth turned into a sneer. “I did say that didn’t I? Well, I am nothing if not a man of my word.”
He grabbed her arm as he moved past her and pulled her towards the closed door. Chloe’s heart began to thunder in her chest; even a mattress on the floor would be better than nothing so long as it was hers. Even a sleeping bag would suffice. He could not possibly expect her to sleep in that tiny bed with him, could he?
As he pushed the door open, her eyes went wide, and she felt the tears begin to form. He had kept his promise, but he had done so in the most horrible way possible.
Unlike the other cluttered rooms, this one, barely large enough to be called a bedroom, was barren except for an object in the middle of the floor. He pushed her towards it; she stumbled and steadied herself with her hands atop the waist-high piece of furniture, balling her hands into fists as the tears came flowing down.
“R-Richard . . .” she mumbled.
He came up behind her and placed his hands on her hips. “Don’t you like it? I suppose I should have asked you for color choices, but I was afraid you’d pick something gaudy.”
Beneath her hands was a thinly padded bench, straps attached at anchor points that she could tell would bind her wrists, chest, thighs, and ankles. As much as she prayed that he would not tie her down often, it was not the bench that scared her, but rather what was beneath.
A cage.
A sturdy, wooden cage with metal bars and a heavy padlock hanging off the door. It was more than big enough for her, but the thought of getting inside it, particularly locked, frightened her beyond belief. He was fucking with her; he knew she would never agree to something like this, and he wanted her to take the easy way out and sleep in the bed with him. It was a cruel plan, but she had to admit it worked. She would never get inside this thing.
“Why don’t you try it out?” Richard purred behind her ear, pressing a noticeable erection into her backside.
Chloe shook her head, something that caused him to laugh. She closed her eyes as she began to tremble and tried to block out the sensation of him running his hands over her hips and waist.
“You said you wanted your own room, right?” he continued. “And you’ll have it every time you even think about misbehaving. I am not opposed to leaving you in there overnight, even all day if I must to make a point. Do you understand?”
Chloe choked on a sob as her tears came harder. Richard was unamused by her lack of an answer and pressed in more firmly as he gave her a firm shake.
“Do you understand?” he growled.
“Y-yes!” she squeaked.
“Good,” he said and kissed her cheek. “Now let’s get out of here, this room gives me the creeps. The previous owner died in here.”
Chloe choked again, tripping as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into the bedroom. She felt his eyes on her as he got undressed and she stared at the floor. He finally tossed his shirt aside with a sigh.
“Don’t give me shit, Chloe. Remember why you’re here.”
Her trembling fingers fiddled with the hem of her shirt, and it took every ounce of strength she could muster to yank the garment over her head and throw it on the floor. Richard continued to stare at her, his eyes traveling over every inch of her body with lust in his gaze. She wanted more than anything to scream, to run, to fight back, to do something, but he would not let her. Remember why you’re here.
How could she forget?