Page 20 of Dozer (Rolling Thunder MC #14)
Chapter 20
Dozer
Well, fuck .
Letting her go before she was completely broken wasn’t an option. How had I not put her desire to be an artist into the equation of whether she could convince LEO it was me who’d taken her? If she drew a picture of me right from the start, I’d be fucked.
“You’re good. I’m impressed. Write down what you want me to get, in the order you want them. Paper first, I assume, and then either the pencils or the pens or the acrylics — assume you’ll only get one thing to start, so put the one you want most in your number two position. If it’s the pens, write your preferred brand down and put the less expensive version in parenthesis.” Unless they were stupid-expensive, she’d get the good ones, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a backup.
“Also, if you need different kinds of paper for different tools, then you’ll want to match those up on your list, and maybe make a note to tell me which paper goes with which implement.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but I shook my head. “I’m done with this subject. Art is clearly one of your talents, tell me another.”
“I’m good with words, and especially with creative writing. I love to read, to get carried away by a great fiction novel, and my creative writing teacher told me I excelled at the short story assignments she gave me. My parents required that I be able to back up my arguments with facts, and that I learn how to properly debate. One of the schools I went to focused on Socratic learning, where we had to learn about a topic and then take part in an educated, roundtable discussion about it, debating the topic and not the people. I realized they were preparing me for a legal career, but I was good at it, and even enjoyed it, even though I don’t want to go into law.”
Not what I’d meant, exactly, but she’d tried to answer so I wasn’t going to tell her she hadn’t understood the question. I changed tactics and asked, “Shortcomings?”
“Sports. I suck at sports. Mom put me in ballet and I was an utter failure. Dad tried to get me interested in soccer, and I wanted to be good at it because my friends loved it, but, again, I was an utter failure. Mom sent me to volleyball camp, and I hated every moment. Oh, and don’t get me started on the wall-climbing thing she thought I’d be good at because I don’t weigh much and someone told her it would make it easier. I actually did okay on the kid course, but the holds were too far apart for me on the main courses.”
Well, that might explain why I’d hit a wall getting her to look graceful moving between positions. If she was a born klutz, it was possible she’d never get the hang of it, and I’d just have to be okay with the best she could do.
“Did you enjoy the kid course?”
“I enjoyed the sense of accomplishment at the top, Master, but no, I didn’t especially like it. I was trying to please my parents, and once it was decided I should graduate beyond the simple kid courses, I just couldn’t reach. At least they understood it wasn’t my fault, though. With the dance, soccer, and other sports, it was like I failed because I hadn’t practiced enough. The instructors explained the problem with the climbing wall — I was too short to reach once I got beyond the beginner levels.”
“But you do yoga and pilates? They take coordination, right?”
“I’m okay with the body mechanics of it, Sir, and I’ve learned the balance necessary for the poses I regularly do, but I can’t go from pose to pose to pose like my instructors, or like my friends either, for that matter. I get into one, sink into it, and then when it’s time for the next, unless it’s an easy one, I have to return to a neutral position before I can go into it.”
She’d told me already that she read novels on an elliptical machine, with an e-reader, so she only had to touch the screen to turn the page. That was her cardio. She did a spin class with her friends, too, but she didn’t prefer the bike when she was working out alone.
“Favorite outdoor activity?”
She smiled, as if remembering, and told me, “Sitting in front of something beautiful and painting or drawing it. A gorgeous view of a mountain, or a lake, or even the view from the top of a mountain, looking down. Waterfalls, I have to paint instead of draw, and lugging paints and an easel around is a pain in the ass, Sir, but totally worth it when I have the time and the waterfall isn’t too far from the parking lot. For some things, like a sunrise or sunset, or a rainbow, I snap a picture of it, but it’s still best if I can stand where I took the picture when I paint it, using what’s in front of me as well as the picture for reference, Sir.”
“Favorite outdoor activity that doesn’t involve art?”
She was quiet a few seconds, almost long enough for me to reprimand her, and she finally said, “I can’t think of anything, Master. I like watching my friends play soccer for the school team, but I don’t think that’s what you mean. I know how to swim, but I don’t much like it. I’m good with hanging out on a float in the shade, but I burn so easily, even with sunscreen. I mean, I like wearing a bathing suit and hanging out in the shade, I guess? I have to load up on sunscreen even if I stay in the shade though, and even if I apply it every hour and stay out of direct sunlight, if I’m out more than an hour or two, I’ll still burn.”
She was so white, her skin was nearly translucent, and her blonde hair was clearly natural, because her eyebrows and pussy hair were the same.
She’d been shaved smooth from the start, but I hadn’t allowed a razor the first couple of days, so I’d seen what had grown in. I still wasn’t allowing her to have a razor, but I’d taken to shaving her myself — using every excuse I could to get her used to being handled by me for both sexual and nonsexual reasons.
When she’d complained she could shave her own legs, pussy, and pits, I’d told her I also change the oil in my truck, and I wash it myself rather than pay to have someone else do so.
And I hadn’t spelled it out farther. She’d get that I was telling her she was my property.
“Good to know. Have you tried the UV-proof clothing?”
She frowned at me, and it made me want to smile.
“The point of going outside in the summer is to show skin.” She almost forgot the honorific, and was quick to add “Master” as soon as she realized something was missing.
“Well, I enjoy spending time outside, so I’ll buy you some UV clothing and a large hat, so we’ll only have to worry about sunscreen on your hands and face.”
“It bothers me that I haven’t seen the outside in a week, Master.”
Ah, so she was, indeed, counting the days by the number of breakfasts. She was also eating more than she realized, since she thought the meals were farther apart, but she didn’t seem to be gaining weight, so her “eating less since she couldn’t weigh” was probably balancing everything out.
I had hoped to have her ready to take to my home in ten to fourteen days, which she’d think was something close to a month. My brothers needed to hear her say she’d signed an indentured servitude contract to be my voluntary sex slave and not have it hit as a lie. They needed to hear her say she wanted to stay with me, and have it hit as the truth.
If it hadn’t worked out, I’d planned to dump her somewhere, high as a kite on illegal drugs. I’d reported my truck was stolen out of the grocery store’s parking lot, and a helpful Fort O police officer had written up the report. That would’ve taken me out of the equation — she’d stolen my truck, someone had told her it was his truck, and he’d held her captive, but it wasn’t me.
Except she could draw a picture of the man who’d held her captive, and there went my reasonable doubt.