Chapter 119: Broken Bonds
Samantha leaned over Addicus, her whip idle, her voice a venomous purr. “Why beg me to stop? Don’t you want to please your Mistress?” She traced a finger along his bruised chest, mocking his pain.
Addicus, naked and bound, trembled on the bed. Welts crisscrossed his skin, each lash a lesson in her control. “Please, untie me,” he gasped. “If it’s about business—sixty percent for Sam’s Cooperation, it’s yours. Just stop.”
She laughed, sharp and cold. “This isn’t business, Addicus. It’s pleasure. From the moment I saw you—your fire, your wit—I wanted you. You resisted, made me chase. Now you’ll learn I don’t take no.”
“What do you want?” he asked, choking back tears.
“Call me Mistress,” she said, eyes gleaming. “Obey me, and this gets easier.”
He stayed silent, defiance flickering. She screamed, “Say it!” Her whip struck his groin, pain exploding.
“Mistress!” he cried, tears spilling.
“Shh, my dear,” Samantha cooed, dropping the whip. She cradled his face, her touch deceptively gentle. “Your Mistress won’t hurt you now.” She grabbed ice from a bucket, sealing it in a bag, and pressed it to his bruises, easing the sting. “Like that?”
“Yes,” he whispered, broken.
She slapped him, gripping his neck. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, Mistress,” he said, voice hollow.
“That’s better,” she said. “In here, I’m your dominant. You submit. No equality.” She shed her lingerie, climbing atop him, her movements deliberate, claiming. Addicus shut his eyes, shame burning as she took what she wanted.
When she finished, Samantha slipped into a robe, summoning a servant. “Tell my guests I’m unwell,” she instructed at the door, shielding the room’s secrets. “They can leave when ready.”
“Yes, madam,” the servant said, retreating.
Samantha returned, untying Addicus. He curled into himself, arms wrapped tight, his body aching with violation. She lit a cigarette, its glow dancing in the black room, and sat opposite him, exhaling smoke. “Stop sulking,” she said, remorseless. “You enjoyed it.”
“Enjoyed?” Addicus rasped. “You raped me.”
“Rape?” She laughed, smoke curling. “I gave you a gift—opened your eyes to pleasure. Be grateful.”
“You’re not my Mistress,” he said, voice cracking. “Never again.”
“They all say that,” she taunted, standing. “But you’ll crawl back, begging.” She paused at the door. “Keep this quiet. No one’d believe you anyway.” She left, her heels fading.
Addicus forced himself up, dressing with trembling hands. Pain shot through him, but shame cut deeper. He stumbled from the house, the ballroom empty, the night cold. His driver waited, and Addicus sank into the car, silent, staring at the passing city—neon signs, a radio crooning Blue Moon. Home was no refuge.
Inside the mansion, young Martha met him at the door, her apron dusted with flour. “Master Addicus, are you alright?” she asked, reaching out.
“I’m fine,” he snapped, shrugging her off. He couldn’t bear her seeing his weakness. Locking himself in his room, he stood under the shower’s scalding spray, scrubbing until his skin was raw, but Samantha’s touch lingered, a stain he couldn’t erase.
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In the Present...
Will paced Addicus’s bedroom, the air heavy with antiseptic and sweat. The doctor packed his bag, his face grim. “What’s wrong with him?” Will asked, glancing at Addicus, who lay feverish, muttering in sleep.
The doctor adjusted his glasses. “It’s not medical—not exactly. His mind and body are… at war. A metamorphosis, you could say. It’ll be rough, but he’ll come through.”
“Metamorphosis?” Will scoffed. “He was fine a month ago.”
“I’m certain,” the doctor said, heading for the door. “Call if it worsens.”
Will watched him go, unease settling in. Addicus twitched, his face contorted, trapped in dreams. The room felt wrong—too still, the shadows too deep. Will stepped closer, catching a whispered name:
“Samantha.” Addicus’s hand clenched the sheet, knuckles white, as if fighting something unseen.