Mature!

Please refrain from reading this if sex or violence will offend. Thank you.

Edit: I changed a few errors I saw when I was rereading it, and it is now placed under the appropriate genre, style, and license.

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For four years, we passed time like this: our normal daily routine, and an occasional party. As I grew older, comments about me changed from, “She's so young,” to, “She'll be gorgeous.” Many nights, I would feel Him moving about in the bed, in much the same way He did in the bath, and I would awaken the next morning with something damp and sticky on me. I learned quickly that I could just sleep through these movements.

I didn't keep track of time very well then, until He mentioned that I must be about eleven now, mustn't I? Startled by the question, I didn't even nod, but He seemed to have been asking himself. I could feel Him examining me, and as we were bathing, I felt myself blushing.

By that time, I had an inkling of what goes on between a woman and a man. I still played with Him, with the soap-suds every morning, because He seemed to enjoy it as much as I always had, but by then, I knew that He didn't enjoy it in quite the same way as I did. As long as He was happy, though, I didn't find that I ever really minded.

That morning, though, He captured my hands as I was running them over His soap-slick body, and pulled me forward, on top of Him. I could feel Him hard under me, but only for a moment, for as soon as I was atop Him, He rolled me around, so that I was pressed against the side of the tub, and He was atop me, between my legs. He breathed on my neck, then kissed it, His mouth hard and then soft, all at once. He pressed His slick body against mine, making the water swirl around us.

In my ear, He said harshly, “Soon, you will be entirely mine. Soon.” Then He removed himself from atop me, and sat at the other end of the bath, massaging himself, as He always did. I finished washing myself, more than a little scared by this change in Him. But that day passed normally, and by bedtime, I was worried more about His talk with the kitchen man about teaching me to cook, than I was about that morning.

As soon as I undressed us both, though, he reminded me.

“Tonight, you are going to do something different,” He told me, just as I was about to kiss His penis good-night. I paused, waiting for more, but He said nothing. When I leaned forward again, He set His hand on the back of my head, and said, “Lick. Take it into your mouth. You will suck on it, and rub it, and play.” He lay back, and I did as He instructed, His hand resting lightly on the back of my head all the while. Just before He came, His hand tightened in my hair, and I nearly gagged on the bitter, sticky stuff that came out.

After, though, He removed His hand, and relaxed back on the pillows, sounding pleased. “Very good.” Soon, He crawled under the blankets, and invited me in. Cuddled up next to Him, I slept, still tasting that bitter stuff. This would become our nightly ritual,instead of just the kiss, but it would be mostly replaced in just over a year. On the other hand, thanks to this new ritual, I no longer woke to the sticky wet stuff on me quite so often.

* * *

Just about a year and a half after that, I woke to a sticky mess all over my legs. Assuming it was just the usual one, I thought very little of it, until He peeled back the covers and said, “Ah. Now is the time.”

Our bath passed as usual, but when I was about to get dressed, He directed me to a cabinet near the sink, from which I pulled out a pad of cotton, covered in mesh. He showed me how to place it in my underwear, and told me that I would have to wear a similar pad every day, until I stopped bleeding. It was only then that I realized the stickiness that morning had come from me, and not from Him.

“Tell me when it stops,” He told me curtly, once I was dressed,but before we went to the dining room to eat. After breakfast, He met with a man, who, when he saw me sitting on His lap, offered to buy me.

“She is not for sale,” He said with finality, but the man persisted.

“I'll pay you twice what she's worth.”

“No.”

“Alright, three times, but if you refuse, I'll never make such a ridiculous offer on her again.”

“She's not for sale.”

The man seemed annoyed by this, but finally seemed to accept defeat. They went on to discuss a different sale—He was selling His cook, and wanted to buy a new one from this other man.

That same afternoon, instead of leading me into the kitchen and leaving me there to learn and help, as was his wont, he took me to the laundry room, and left me there. There, I learned that because of my blindness, I would be allowed only to load the machines and unload them, and then fold the clothes. I was not allowed to help sort them. This disappointed me, for the sorting was the most social task, and the other women chatted amongst themselves while they sorted the clothing. Near the end of the day, each took a pile of my neatly-folded clothes and left, leaving me alone with the quiet woman that taught me to fold them.

The woman pulled some yarn and needles from a basket in one corner, sat me on her lap, and began teaching me knit. It was while I was slowly knitting, working on just a simple square to make a blanket from, that He returned, and brought me to the dining room to eat, and then to bed. This new learning would become my pastime for the next year or so.

Several days after my first day in the laundry room, I woke to no stickiness at all, and immediately let Him know. He gave no reply, but that wasn't unusual. We spent the day as normal, but He cut His house inspection and my knitting just a little short, bringing me back into the bedroom after we ate a hurried supper.

The moment the door was closed and locked, He pushed me against it and practically tore off my dress—a thin one that day. He fumbled with His pants for a moment, then let them drop to the floor, His undergarments following shortly. He was in such a hurry that He even neglected to remove His shoes, socks, or shirt.

He pressed me back hard against the wall with His own body, biting and kissing my neck and lips. Then, suddenly, I felt His hand spreading apart my legs, and his fingers pressing into me.

“Master,” I gasped, scared of this sex-crazed monster He had become, “Master, please....please don't, Master!”

But He continued in His assault, pressing His fingers just a little deeper into me, making me gasp again. Then, suddenly, His fingers disappeared, and He pressed his full body against mine.

“Mine,” He murmured into my ear, before shoving himself into me. I cried out in pain, oh, it hurt! It hurt! He bit my neck, then licked and kissed it, only to bite again in a different place, and all the while, He thrust himself into me, faster and faster.

After what seemed like forever of pain and ache, He climaxed, pressing me against the wall so hard I couldn't breathe. Then He released me, withdrawing, and I collapsed on the floor, crying and whimpering, as I had the day I first saw Him. I remembered, then, how frightened I had been of Him, of the power and want he had emanated.

He turned, leaving me on the floor in a heap, and climbed into the the bed. After a while, I reluctantly followed Him, and I heard Him switch off the light.