Spark ( Book 3: Stronger Series )

52. Broken

It took Jaden a full month and a half before she finally broke. She spent the first week sleeping in her cage, and the second week—when she behaved better—completely restrained to the bed; her only reprieve was when I allowed her to use the bathroom or to bathe. If she behaved, I would only cuff her wrists together while I warmed her body with my own, massaging the blood flow back into her arms.

For every ounce of reluctance or mere glimmer of ungratefulness, I responded with that much more cruelty. If she wanted my mercy, she'd better damn well smile for it and show me how much it meant to her; otherwise, I had no reason to give it. If I didn't feel her desperation for me, then I wasn't working hard enough to extract it. For every small moment she denied me, whether it was defiance or false indifference, I punished her severely. Pain was a constant companion for her for a long time. I didn't care if she was denying an orgasm or an emotion, I would not have her hiding a thing from me.

The first few days had been difficult. Her first week was filled with nothing but punishments. I'd burned her with wax, whipped her with leather, beaten her with wood, and drained every single tear and scream from her body. For every word of backtalk, I made sure she tasted blood in her mouth. It didn't take long for her pride to leave her as she begged and pleaded with me to stop. It wasn't happening. If she wasn't restrained to the bed, she was restrained somewhere else within the room, submitting to the pain she knew she owed.

At first, she had fought me in her restraints as best she could as I left her legs to move freely, but that was only because I wanted to be able to move them in different positions when I fucked her. I threatened to numb her legs with an anesthetic if she kicked me, and I only had to follow through once on the second day. She was much more cooperative after that.

On the days when she did finally give in to me—when she gave me what I wanted and took her punishments well—the pleasure I rewarded her with was far greater than anything she'd ever experienced. I was tender, gentle, passionate—everything she could have ever wanted or needed as she grew dependent on my comfort. If she denied me, I made sure to leave her wanting for the rest of the night. If she thought she was lonely and isolated before, she had no idea how reliant she was about to become on my attention and affection alone.

Eventually, her pride disappeared altogether, and she made sure to express her gratefulness to me at every turn. The feeling I got when she clung to me, seeking a shield from the cold her body endured in my absence, was heaven. She'd bury her face in my chest, and as she warmed her little nose, she'd inadvertently warm my dead heart.

After the third week, I let her roam the room freely, but the moment I entered that door, she had less than three seconds to get down on her knees and show me the respect I deserved. Down here, I was her fucking Master, and if I had to treat her like the slave she had been back at the warehouse to get her to understand her place, then so be it. If she disobeyed me even once, she returned to her cage. After two weeks of strict confinement, she only risked that punishment once. There were no more attempts of intentionally displeasing me after that.

I made sure she depended on me for everything. I woke her, bathed her, warmed her, read to her, clothed her if she was good, fed her, punished her, pleasured her, and put her to sleep. I cared for her every need. She wasn't allowed to do anything on her own without my permission, except relieve herself, and if she did, there was trouble for her.

Again, in the beginning, she would experiment with her freedom, and again, she would lose it. It was a pattern with her. She'd behave well up until I tested her with more responsibility. She'd always fuck it up, thinking she could outsmart me; thinking I wouldn't see when she tried to manipulate me into sympathizing with her.

Eventually, she learned to stop trying, to take what I gave her in stride until she finally came to terms with what her ultimate goal was: to please me. By the fourth week, pleasing me motivated everything she did, but I didn't want her motivation simply to be to get out of the room. I wanted her to please me because it pleased her to do so. I wanted her to make me happy because she wanted to, not because she had to. But that conditioning would be the result of Stockholm syndrome, and we simply weren't there yet.