Author's notes:
Thanks again to everyone who took the time to read, vote, or comment on the previous three chapters. I truly appreciate the feedback and support. I expect there will be two more chapters after this one.
All characters are fictional adults.
Also, although I strive for accuracy, the information on sexual health in this chapter should not be considered factual. For accurate information about STIs please contact a qualified professional.
**
Even folding the laundry made her think of Mac.
She could tell by touch what clothing belonged to him and what was hers -- the sizes and textures were different. The fact that she had clothing at all was another reminder of the impact he'd had on her life in just two short weeks.
Aden, her former pimp, had kept her in nighties and slips most of the time, with a single pair of uncomfortable high heels for those rare -- and always unpleasant -- occasions when they left the apartment together to meet a 'client'.
But Mac had bought her shirts and pants and shoes and socks and boots. Bras and panties. Indoor clothes and outdoor clothes. And not for any specific purpose -- he said she should have clothes like every other normal woman. She doubted he was even aware of how much a simple gesture like that meant to her.
She was a woman again.
Not a complete one -- some pieces were damaged, some tainted, some missing entirely -- but enough remained that she felt worthy of womanhood at last.
If nothing else, she wanted Mac in all the ways she imagined a woman would want a man. His hands on her, his cock filling her. His scent. The sound of his voice, the almost tangible feel of his eyes on her. His company and his attention. His warmth as they lay together in bed.
Four years of forced sexual slavery had smothered the flame of arousal within her, but so what? She still rejoiced in the simple pleasures of an ordinary life. Cooking. Washing the dishes. Doing laundry. Helping out in any way he needed. Only two short weeks ago, even this modest lifestyle had exceeded her wildest fantasies.
Mac had saved her, claimed her and restored her. And with every day that passed she grew more determined to become the woman he needed.
She'd long ago resigned herself to the fact that she would always belong to a man. Blind and undocumented -- she didn't have citizenship or even identification -- an independent life seemed unattainable. Did she even want that? What would she do on her own?
Having a man like Mac at the centre of her life seemed natural, secure and stable. In a short time he'd proven himself to be not only the best available option, but also a darn good one.
So she'd started a deliberate process to eliminate whatever remained of her old life and her old self, to remake herself into someone worthy of his respect and affection.
And a trip to the clinic was a necessary part of that plan.
There had been so many men before Mac, so many risks. Aden had rented her out carelessly, happy to risk her health -- her life -- in exchange for a few extra dollars. Now that she'd escaped him, she had to know what damage had been done and how much of it was fixable.
Mac had been kind to call around for her, to find a free clinic where she could be tested anonymously and confidentially. He'd scheduled an appointment for her. She guessed that a lot of men wouldn't have been so generous, would have recoiled in disgust at the idea that she might be unclean.
She had no idea what to expect. She'd showered and dressed and now awaited Mac's return from his dish washing job at Maria's Grill. They'd go to the clinic together.
She could feel a growing anxiety, dreading both the tests themselves and the results. In a sense it was better not to know, and if her life had been the only one affected she would have chosen to remain ignorant. But Mac's interest in her was growing and she needed to know what she could safely offer him.
He'd assured her that whatever the test results, her place in his life was safe. She wanted to believe it, but couldn't shake the feeling that so much of her future -- and indeed her very life -- depended on the outcome.
**
She sat on the couch and listened to him dress. Her appointment was only a couple of hours away. She wished she could see him; all she knew of his appearance she'd learned by touch. But her sight wasn't coming back.
"If the tests turn out...badly...and you wanted to think about another woman..." she said, and left the rest hanging. It made her feel awful to say it but she needed him to know that she was willing to be reasonable if the worst came to pass. A woman in her position needed to be practical above all.
"We've been through this. Good or bad, it doesn't change anything between us. Anyway, a second woman in my life is the last thing I need."
"It's just...I wouldn't expect you to limit yourself to a woman who was...ruined."
There was a brief silence, and she knew she'd make a mistake.
"Goddamn it, Nadja, I've had it with that shit. Take your clothes off, now," he snapped. He sounded irritated though not angry.
"Why?" Her hands were already undoing the button on her jeans. Just two weeks removed from slavery, her obedience was still automatic; a conditioned reflex.
"You know why. I told you what would happen the next time I had to listen to that crap."
She blushed and smiled nervously. "I didn't think you were serious..."
"You're damn right I was serious. You think I'm going to put up with that kind of bullshit? You're better than that."
She quickly pushed the jeans down her legs and stepped out of them. Her plain cotton panties followed, and she imagined his eyes lingering on her smooth pussy. She began to tug her t-shirt up over her head. Soon she stood naked in front of him. Under normal circumstances she found it comfortable to be nude in his presence. But just now...
"Over my knee," he demanded.
She felt his hand take her wrist and guide her into position, draped over his lap, her hands and feet on the rough carpet on either side of his legs, her bare ass presented to him.
The position felt vulnerable, and for a moment it terrified her. She'd been hit many times in the last four years; slapped, kicked, whipped, pinched and punched by her pimp and by her clients. The memory of that abuse brought a feeling of near-panic. Was she going to suffer at the hands of another man?
But the thought lasted only a second. This was Mac. She trusted his hands. A part of her even felt an anxious excitement, an eagerness to please him in a different way, with her obedience, her acceptance of his lesson. It was another chance to inflame him, to delight in his enjoyment of her naked body. To be his in an entirely new way.
"Tell me why you're over my knee," he said, his tone now one of feigned annoyance.
"I talked badly about myself," she said quietly, feeling the flush deepen in her cheeks.
The admission made her feel childish, and highlighted again the difference between her last man and this one. Aden had demeaned and degraded her at every turn, and over time it had become natural for her to do the same. But Mac wouldn't hear it, and over the past week had become increasingly intolerant of her self-deprecating remarks.
SMACK. His hand came down hard on her rear.
"Ow! That hurt!" she protested. Her right hand reflexively flew to cover her stinging buttock. The sharp pain quickly faded to a hot throbbing.
He pushed her hand away and she set it back on the carpet.
"Good. Glad it hurts," he said, and a hint of playfulness in his voice was unmistakable now. "I've told you a million times to stop talking like that. Maybe this will make more of an impression."
SMACK. The second spank was lighter and less painful than the first and Nadja couldn't help a half-smile. He'd heard her protest, and was using less force.
"How many am I going to get?" she whined, and the question made her feel even more like a petulant child. For a twenty-year-old to submit to a spanking in this way was humbling.
