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You bit your lip as you laid back on the exam table, bright white lights shining directly down onto your eyes, blinding you. Your entire body felt flushed, the heat in the room making you feel sick as the nurse gave you a reassuring smile as she placed her gloved hand on the inside of your thigh, spreading it open slightly.
"Alright, Dr. Kemp will be in soon, he's just finishing up his last appointment," the nurse explained as she reached into the pocket of her coat, pulling out a syringe. "Now, is this your first time going under?"
You nodded, "yeah, I mean, yeah, I've ever gotten plastic surgery before. Never even gotten my wisdom teeth out."
The nurse smiled brightly as she swabbed your arm and prepared the needle, "that's not a problem. It's normal to be a little nervous. Everyone has that reaction at first. I'll just give you a local, and when Dr. Kemp gets here, he'll go over everything again. Once you're done with the anesthesia, we'll bring you upstairs to a recovery room."
"What about the... the after effects? There won't be any—"
The door swung open and the doctor stepped in, clipboard in hand and a small smile on his face, "how are we doing today, Miss? Feeling nervous, are we?"
"A little," you admitted quietly as he set the clipboard to the side and sat down next to the exam table, "just... I don't want there to be any side effects or anything." You decided to leave out the part that you hadn't expected him to be so...attractive; especially when you were about to let him cut into your body. So you ignored the heat that rose in your cheeks when he took your arm in his and gently squeezed, checking your pulse before lining up the needle.
"We have a 99.9% success rate with all our procedures," he assured you as he gestured for you to lie back. You did as instructed, and felt the paper underneath you crinkle.
"And no, there's nothing to worry about; there'll be some swelling for a few days, but after that, everything should heal just fine. You shouldn't have any problems or complications, but if there are, you'll know immediately, I can promise you that," Dr. Kemp continued as he put a hand on your stomach, and pressed down, "now I want to ask, how long has it been since you've had unprotected sex? And have you ever been tested for STDs?"
You felt your face heat up at the question; hadn't you already answered that in the paperwork you'd filled out at the front desk?
It was almost like he'd read your mind, because his hand suddenly came down to rest on your shoulder, squeezing it firmly, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you, it's just standard protocol to ask."
"It's fine," you mumbled, trying not to wince when he pressed the syringe to the inside of your elbow. "Just... I don't want there to be any problems."
He nodded as he pushed the needle into the skin, "and there won't be, we'll make sure of it."
The smile that followed made your stomach twist into knots; it didn't quite reach his eyes; there was a glint there that you couldn't quite place, but you ignored it in favor of focusing on the way the anesthesia started to take effect.
You didn't have long before your eyelids became too heavy to stay open, and you felt your body slump against the exam table, your eyes falling shut and the darkness of sleep taking over.
Cold.
That was the first thing you felt when you came to, followed by the realization that there was something heavy and even colder attached to your leg. It took you a few seconds to register that the weight was, in fact, a metal cuff that had been bolted to a wooden bed post.
Panic began to set in as you frantically looked around the room, trying to figure out where the hell you were and how the fuck you ended up there in the first place. The comforter smothering you was warm, soft, and plush, but not the same as the one you'd gotten as a Christmas present from your mother the year before (the one that just a few strands from falling apart), and the sheets smelled wrong, too; there was no hint of that cheap fabric softener that your mother insisted on using because she thought it was the only way to keep everything soft without breaking the bank.
No, these sheets were softer; more luxurious than any you'd ever slept in, not even on vacation. Footsteps sounded outside the door, and you were suddenly painfully aware of the fact that you weren't wearing anything beneath the covers, your hands immediately went to cover yourself as the doorknob turned and Dr. Kemp stepped inside, a tray of something steaming hot in his hands.
"Hey," he greeted brightly, "sorry about the cuff; it's just until I can trust you again."
He set the tray on the table next to the bed before sitting down beside you, his hand resting on the side of your face as he brushed the sweaty strands of hair away from your forehead, "I don't want you hurting yourself again," he added as he traced the cut above your left eye, which you hadn't even noticed until he ran his thumb over it.
You hissed as he pressed his thumb into the wound, hard, "ow! What the fuck? Where the hell am I? What is this place? Is this your house?"
Breathing was starting to get difficult again; hyperventilating was definitely not the way to calm yourself down, and the smell from whatever he had on the tray was making your head spin. "Oh, God, oh, shit, I-I can't breathe."
"Shh, easy, easy, calm down, okay? Calm down. Everything is alright," He soothed as he wrapped his arms around you tightly, pulling you against his chest, his hand running through your hair as his lips pressed against the top of your head, "just breathe. That's all you need to do right now. Just breathe."
You tried to do as he said, but you couldn't stop the panic attack from hitting, "no, no, no, no, no," you gasped out as you clung to his shirt desperately, "what's going on? Where the hell am I? You better fucking tell me right now—"
Before you could blink, his hand had slammed against your mouth, effectively silencing any further protests from escaping, "I didn't think I needed to tell you to keep your voice down, did I?" He asked, his eyes narrowed dangerously as he glared down at you, "don't make me regret keeping you up here."
You swallowed nervously as he slowly released his hold on you to grab a spoonful of something off the plate he'd carried up earlier, and then pressed it to your lips, "here, eat," he ordered as his other hand wrapped around your wrist and brought it up to his lips, kissing it gently before releasing it.
Taking the offered food, you chewed it slowly, then forced yourself to swallow it. It was definitely some kind of oatmeal, but not the kind you were used to; there was a weird flavor profile too it, wasn't oatmeal supposed to be sweet?
"There's a good girl," he murmured, his lips brushing against the top of your forehead, before he kissed you softly. "You just keep eating-"
You cut him off with another, "where am I?" Once the last bite of the oatmeal had gone down, you didn't want to press too hard, but you couldn't stop yourself from asking the same question that had been plaguing you since you woken up a few minutes ago.
He just smiled at you as he set the spoon to the side, "doesn't matter, does it? Now, do you need anything? You need to take a shower, or a bath?" He tilted his head, resting his chin in his palm as he looked you up and down.
Under any other circumstance, you might have found it cute; the way his nose scrunched up a little paired with the soft look in his piercing blue eyes, but now, it just made your stomach churn even more. Maybe if you said yes he'd take the cuff off.
Maybe.
But then, what was the point? Where would you go? Your clothes were still...somewhere, and there was no way in hell he was just going to let you just walk out the front door. Not if what you were thinking happened was true...
"Shower," you decided; it wasn't much, but maybe the steam would help clear your head. And maybe if you got lucky, Steve would take the cuff off so you could try something, anything.
"Alright, well, let me run the water, and we'll get you cleaned up."
The bathroom was huge, the tub easily big enough to fit at least four people comfortably, and the shower on the opposite end took up the entire length of the wall, the glass door wide open and inviting as steam poured out into the rest of the room.
"Come on," Steve held out his hand and gestured for you to go ahead of him. You hesitated for a moment, looking from the shower to the tub and then back to him, biting your lip.
"Um... Dr. Kemp?"
He raised an eyebrow, "call me Steve, please," that glint was back in his eye; the one that told you that if you didn't call him Steve, he would find some way to make sure you did, "what is it?"
"Do you have to be... in there, with me?" Your voice cracked on the last word, and you felt the familiar burn of tears begin to sting the back of your eyes. "It's just... I'd don't even know you; you're just the doctor that was supposed to give me a nose job and..."
You shifted on your feet, trying to cover as much of your exposed body as possible, suddenly feeling the urge to curl into a ball and let the pristine white tiles swallow you whole. "Please, just... please, can't you at least let me wash up alone?"
Steve frowned, and then his fingers were on your chin, lifting your head up to meet his gaze, "I can't risk you trying anything again, so, no. No, I can't. Get in, the water will make you feel better."
He dropped his hand and stepped back, giving you just enough space to walk past him and climb into the shower, the hot water already starting to turn your skin red as it hit the sensitive flesh.
Maybe it would be better not to argue with the crazy doctor who presumably kidnapped you sometime after your surgery...
You tried not to flinch when the sound of his clothes hitting the floor reached your ears, and did your best to keep from glancing over your shoulder as his footsteps echoed around the room before the door slid closed, sealing you both in.
"Relax, I'm not gonna do anything to hurt you," Steve whispered in your ear, his lips brushing against the skin and making you shiver.
His hands were on your shoulders a second later, gently kneading the muscles, working the tension out of them and letting the water continue its assault on the rest of your body. "I'm gonna wash you, alright? Don't fight me, and I won't have to do anything drastic."
Your breath caught in your throat, "why are you doing this to me? Please, just let me go, I won't tell anyone, I swear. I swear on both my cat's lives, just please, please, don't do this. Let me go; I promise I'll forget any of this ever happened. Won't even—"
"Don't you get it yet?" Steve's hands were on your waist, turning you around until you were facing him, and even though the water had long since stopped being hot, the goosebumps that broke out over your skin weren't because of that.
They were from the look in his eyes, and the way they seemed to be taking in every single inch of you, the predatory glint making your insides twist in fear. "This isn't about getting away, or not telling anyone. This is about having what I want."
He tilted his head and then smiled, the look almost sweet and innocent, if not for the obvious lust that burned in his eyes, "and right now, I want you."
Your mind raced, trying to come up with something, anything, that might save you, but nothing came. And all that thinking did was send the tears streaking down your cheeks, mixing with the water still pouring down the drain.
Steve leaned in close, his lips pressing against yours, and then he pulled back, his hands raking through his hair, "I love how you taste; even though it's salty, it's...it's still sweet. Makes me hungry."
He didn't have time to say anything else, before you'd thrown your hands up and shoved him, hard enough that he stumbled back, but not far enough to stop him from catching himself. You tried to run, but the moment you put your foot down, his arm had wrapped around your waist and yanked you back.
"Let me go you fucker!" You screamed, and then you were suddenly lifted up and slammed against the glass, his hand tightening around your neck and cutting off any other protest.
"You shouldn't have fucking done that," he growled, his teeth clenched tightly together, "if I can't trust you in here, then I can't trust you anywhere."
He pulled you off the glass and tossed you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, walking quickly back to the bedroom, before throwing you down onto the mattress. You crawled backwards until you hit the headboard, and then curled into a ball at the pain that went through the back of your head, "please, just let me go," you sobbed, your voice barely audible through the sobs that wracked your body.
"I can't," Steve replied, his voice softer now as he knelt down on the bed, his hand reaching out to cup the side of your face.
You jerked away from him, the tears continuing to flow as he ran a hand over your thigh, squeezing the flesh and then moving to the other one, repeating the same action. "Steve, stop, please. I won't tell anyone, just let me go. Please, Steve. I won't tell ayone I really mean it, just please, please, let me go—"
"But I won't hurt you," Steve assured you as he moved his hand from your leg to your hip, sliding over your skin slowly, taking his time to map out every inch of flesh he could reach. "Not yet, at least."
You didn't say anything else, couldn't find the strength to form another plea for mercy as he ran his hands over your thighs, over the curve of your hips, across the swell of your breasts. And when his hand finally reached the apex of your thighs, his fingers tracing the outline of your lips, spreading them open and teasing your clit, you couldn't stop the wanton moan that slipped past your lips.
Steve smirked, "you like that, don't you?"
"No," you choked out, but it sounded weak, even to your own ears. "No, I don't, stop!"
"But you do," Steve insisted as he slid a finger inside you, rubbing against the walls of your pussy, "look, see? You're already getting wet," he moved his finger in and out, slowly, almost agonizingly so, and when you whimpered, his lips curled into a smirk. "You're so fucking wet for me, baby."
He leaned down to kiss your thigh, then moved back up, his lips brushing against your skin as he trailed them across your stomach, and down to the valley between your breasts, like a twisted little breadcrumb trail, before he paused.
And then, he was up.
"I'll be back later," Steve told you through gritted teeth as a phone began ringing from somewhere past the bedroom door. "Don't. Move."
With that, he was gone; the door slammed shut behind him.
You sat there, frozen, for a moment; waiting, listening.
Maybe if you tried to fall alseep you'd wake up back in the OR, or in a crappy hospital bed with a bandage over your broken nose, the TV tuned in to whatever trashy daytime show was on, and Steve would be there, not as a deranged kidnapper; but as a kind, assistive surgeon; he'd reassure you everything was alright before giving you your discharge papers, and sending you on your merry way with a promise to follow up with you in a few weeks.
But, that wasn't what happened.
Instead, the cuff on your ankle stayed.
It wouldn't budge, not one inch, for god knew how long.
There was no way to tell time in your new 'home, 'but you could guess it had been at least a week or two, given how many meals Steve had brought to you. And yet, there wasn't any indication that anyone knew where you were.
Or maybe they just didn't care.
It wouldn't be the first time.
"Mother fucking shit," you hissed under your breath as you sat up and inspected the damn thing, searching for some way to get it off.
But there wasn't any use in fighting it; there was no way for you to get it off with just your hands. You'd have to use Steve's kindness to your advantage, and hope he'd eventually grow tired of having you chained to the bed 24/7.
The time started to bleed together.
It was a cycle: Steve would bring up food with a glass of water, feed you and leave, locking the door behind him. Then, you'd try to sleep, which didn't come easily, and eventually, after hours of tossing and turning, you'd pass out.
Sometimes, he'd have his way with you for hours on end; his cock buried deep inside you, his hand over your mouth as he fucked into you hard, fast, and rough. Other times, he'd lay next to you, his arms wrapped around your waist as his lips pressed against the bare flesh of your neck, whispering soft words and sweet nothings.
But, eventually, something was bound to give.
Steve had left early that morning, leaving the door unlocked, and giving you free reign of the room (limited reign with the length of the chain being barely enough to get to the window and back of course). The first thing you'd done was try to get the damn cuff off again, but, after an hour of pulling, and trying to pry the damn thing off, you gave up.
Again.
It was probably for the best, you realized, as you walked to the window and stared out at the scenery; endless forest stretched on and on for miles it looked like, so even if you did manage to get free, where would you go? Where would you run to? There was no escaping this hell, no safe haven, even if there was, what was the point in trying anymore?
What was the point of anything anymore?
"You're up," Steve's voice broke the silence and made you jump to spin. around and face him. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. I forgot my phone," he held it up, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "I didn't think you'd be up so early, but, since you are, come here."
You raised an eyebrow as he held out a hand, "what? What the fuck do you want from this time?"
"Come on," Steve said slower, as he stepped forward and grabbed your arm, his nails digging into your wrist as he pulled you toward the door, "it's time for your shower, babe."
He pulled you into the bathroom and sat you down on the toilet before turning the water on. As the steam began to rise, he grabbed a fresh towel and set it on the counter. "Here," he said, gesturing for you to step into the shower, "get in, and I'll get you cleaned up."
"Why?"
"Because," Steve sighed, annoyed, as his shoulders slumped, "there's...something I need to do, and I need you all cleaned up for it."
You swallowed, "something...like what exactly?"
Steve's hands moved down your legs, massaging the flesh, and then moving to the front. "Well, we're gonna take a little trip today. That's what."
"A trip?" You asked as he lifted one of your legs and pressed his lips to the inside of your ankle.
"Yeah, a trip."
"Where to?"
"Doesn't matter."
You felt the tension in your shoulders ease, the fear that had begun to build inside you dissipating as his lips trailed up your leg, his fingers digging into the muscle of your thigh. Swallowing back the bile rising in the back of your throat, you pushed him away. "Just tell me," you pleaded, "where is it we're going that's so important?"
"It's a surprise," Steve murmured as he leaned forward and brushed his lips against yours, his hand slipping under the hem of his shirt, his fingers running over the bare skin of your stomach. (It'd taken what felt like an eternity of begging just to get a shirt out of him.)
His hand moved lower, and before you could blink, you were on your knees, the cold tile digging into your flesh. Steve's fingers threaded through your hair, holding you in place as his other hand worked his belt open, and pulled his pants down.
You opened your mouth without thinking, letting his cock slide between your lips, sucking him in so deep he almost hit the back of your throat.
"That's it, good girl," Steve groaned, his hips bucking slightly, thrusting his cock even further down your throat.
"Oh, god, fuck," Steve groaned as he pulled you closer, his hand gripping the back of your head tightly, his other one wrapped around your wrist, "take it, that's it. Take my cock, just like the good little slut you are."
Your hands moved up to rest on his thighs, trying to keep yourself from faling further onto him as his hips bucked wildly, his cock slamming into the back of your throat. A familiar burning sensation started building inside you, and you let out a low moan as his cock throbbed against your tongue.
Trying to pull back, you gasped as his fingers tightened in your hair, yanking your head back, "no, no, stay," he grunted as his hand moved down to grip your neck, keeping you in place. "Keep sucking, baby. Make me come, and then, maybe I'll give you something nice. Something special."
Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you forced yourself to relax, letting his cock continue its assault on your throat; each time his cock slammed into the back of your throat it made your eyes roll into the back of your head as you struggled to breathe around him. You tried to rub your thighs together, hoping to relieve the pressure building between them, but it was useless; you were completely and utterly at his mercy.
Finally, after what felt like forever, he pulled out, his cum shooting across your face, his hand moving from your neck, as his thumb ran over the tip of your nose. "God, you're so beautiful," he whispered as he pressed his lips to the top of your head; his thumb ran across your face. "Look at you," he whispered again as his fingers traced the outline of your lips. "All covered in my come, like the dirty little whore you are."
Your jaw clenched as you mumbled, "don't call me that," under your breath, but the words sounded more pathetic than angry.
"What? You don't like being called a dirty little slut?" He teased as his fingers brushed over your cheeks, smearing his come across your face. "It's the truth though, isn't it?"
"No, no it's not, it's—"
"Then what is it, hmm? Tell me, baby," Steve demanded, his hands moving down to grab your chin, forcing your head back and forcing you to look up at him, "tell me."
Your heart raced as he waited for an answer, and the only thing that came out was a low whine as he pressed his thumb to your bottom lip, tugging it down.
"Tell me, or I'll make you," he threatened.
"I-I'm... I'm not," you stammered, and then an idea hit you, "y-you're still..." You swallowed nervously, embarrassment flooding through you as you tried to look anywhere but his somehow still rock hard dick.
"I'm what?"
"Y-you're still... you're not done," you whispered, praying he'd take the hint and just finish what he'd started, because maybe if you played your cards right, you'd be able to grab the razor that dangled from the side of the tub, and stab him in the fucking eye with it.
Steve just stared down at you, his eyes narrowed as his thumb pressed against your lip, pulling it down and forcing your mouth open, his tongue darting out and flicking across the tip of your nose.
You squeezed your eyes shut before leaning back against the wet tile, spreading your legs as far apart as they'd go, trying not to scrunch your eyes shut. "I-I can't," you mumbled, shaking your head, "it's too much. Please," you coughed, struggling to catch your breath as he kneeled down in front of you.
His cock was pressed against your folds a second later, his fingers digging into your thighs as he forced your legs apart even further, "oh, yes, you can," Steve growled as his hips jerked forward, slamming into your pussy, making you gasp and cry out, "fuck, yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes. You can, yes you fucking can. Fuck, yes! Take it!"
He pounded into you relentlessly, his hand fisting the back of your hair, yanking you forward until his lips were pressed against your ear, "beg me for it," he snarled, his breath hot against the shell of your ear.
No. No, I won't beg you. You can't make me.
"Beg me," he repeated, his hand moving down to wrap around your throat, squeezing tightly.
"P-please," you stuttered out, trying not to scream when his fingers dug into the flesh of your neck. "Please, stop. Just-just fucking stop. I can't. I-I can't do this—"
Steve sighed, disdain written clearly on his face, as his hand moved down to cup your cheek, tilting your head up.
"Then, don't."
The words hung heavy in the air as Steve stilled completely, making you whimper; a broken, defeated sound that echoed throughout the room. You didn't want this; didn't want any of it. But, now, the feel of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy, stretching you, filling you, made a fresh wave of arousal crash through you, and you couldn't stop the moan that escaped your lips as you moved your hips, trying to get him deeper inside you. (Not that there was a whole lot of room left, but it was worth a shot.)
He shook his head, staying still as a statue, not moving an inch, until he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, "no, I want to see if you can come without me touching you."
His words made you freeze, and suddenly, your whole body went rigid, every nerve ending alight, and the pressure building between your thighs was almost unbearable.
"Can you?"
You shook your head, trying not to cry, "no. No, please, I-I can't."
"Try," he commanded, his hand tightening on your hip, "or I won't let you come at all."
Tears stung the back of your eyes, but you didn't bother holding them back, instead, letting them fall freely down your cheeks as you nodded. "Okay. O-okay, I'll try," you agreed, knowing there was no point in fighting anymore.
His lips twitched upwards into a small smile, "good girl," he praised as he laved open mouthed kisses along the curve of your shoulder.
It was a losing battle, and you both knew it, but there was nothing else left to lose. So, with one last look at him, you closed your eyes, and let that heat pool inside you, wash over you, and send shivers through every inch of your body.
"You're doing so well, babe," Steve purred as his hips rolled, his cock thrusting in and out of you slowly, "keep going."
You could feel the pressure building, and the urge to touch yourself was becoming stronger by the second, but before you could even think about reaching between your legs, Steve's hands were already there, his hands gripping your wrists, holding them tightly against the tile floor.
"Don't," he warned, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your neck.
The pain was immediate, sharp, and blinding, making your back arch and a groan slip past your lips. And before you knew it, your orgasm washed over you, ripping through you and making your whole body tremble and shake, your toes curling and your eyes rolling back as your vision blurred.
Steve's fingers dug into your hip, his nails biting into the flesh as he finaly resumed his rhythm, pounding into you with abandon, "knew you could do it," he whispered against your skin, his breath warm and sticky.
And then, he pulled out, his seed spilling over your thighs and onto the tiles below.
"There, now, was that so bad?" He asked as he cupped your face in his hands, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Now, we can finish our shower, and get you ready."
"Ready?" You repeated, confused. "For what?"
Steve's hand rested on the back of your neck, his thumb stroking the skin, and he chuckled softly. "Just you wait," he scooped you up in his arms and carried you towards the door, "I think I've waited long enough."
Your heart skipped a beat as you tried to push him away, the razor was right there, and the door was wide open, but he was already out of the bathroom and had placed you on the bed, the cuff locking in place once again, the key disappearing somewhere down the front of his shirt.