I like being home alone, but I hate answering the door.

I’ve been back from uni for all of three days, and my parents are already starting to piss me off. Dad keeps asking about whether I’m going to get a part-time job. The answer to that is ‘never’ - why bother? If I run out of money, Mum and Dad’ll just give me more. It’s not like they’ll let me starve, or get thrown out onto the streets. Mum, meanwhile, is far too curious about my new boyfriend. That’s partly my fault, because I let slip that I was seeing someone my first night back. I’ve given her as few details as I can, because I don’t want her to know I’m seeing two guys at once. I have enough trouble keeping them from finding out about each other - and stopping dear, sweet Melody, who’s so infatuated with me she helps me with nearly all my uni work, from discovering that I’m dating anyone - without factoring Mum in as well. Honestly, the only member of my family I can stand is my sister, and she’s still at uni.

So yeah, I’m glad my parents have gone out and left me with the house to myself. They both have checkups at the doctor’s, and knowing how slowly GPs work, they’ll be gone for sodding ages. Plenty of time for me to relax on the sofa and watch some YouTubers. I’ve just started Logan Paul’s latest video, but there’s just been a knock at the door. Who the hell is it? What could be so important they have to come to the house in person? Can’t they just call or text? Probably a delivery driver. Eh, I’ll ignore them. They’ll probably leave the package on the ground outside, but that’s fine. It won’t be for me, I’m not expecting anything.

Another knock. Damn it! Just go away, mate!

Sighing, I get up and head to the front door. I can see through the glass on the door that there’s a silhouette of someone still standing outside. Sighing again, I open the door.

A young man is standing on the doorstep - a man I recognise. He smiles at me. “Hi, Antonia.”

It takes me a few seconds to recall his name - I haven’t seen him in years, and we weren’t exactly close. “Russell?” I eventually say. “Russell Thane? Wh-what are you doing here?”

It takes a lot of self-control for me not to wrinkle my nose in disgust. Russell Thane was never what you’d call popular at our school - too awkward, and not very attractive. He was always trying to get close to the popular kids, though - including me. Plenty of them tolerated him, though I was always sure they just wanted him around because he was smart and could help them with their homework. That’s why I keep Melody around.

My friend Tai once assured me I was wrong about that. “Lay off Russell,” I remember him saying. “Yeah, he’s a bit weird, but there’s no malice in him at all. He’s like a puppy, he just wants to be friends with us. And he’s not just smart - he’s a fucking genius. He always gets A-stars in science, and As in everything else. Except PE, I guess. I have no damn clue what I’m doing in biology; if he wasn’t sitting next to me I’d be screwed.”

“Aha,” I replied triumphantly. “So you are using him for his brain, then!”

He grimaced. “OK, I admit that’s part of it. But he’s a nice guy, alright? And he doesn’t deserve you being all snarky about him behind his back.”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever, I’ll play nice.”

I didn’t, in the end. But frankly, that was his own fault. Our last conversation, about six years ago, had not been fun. For him, anyway. So why was he here now?

“I was in the neighbourhood,” he answered casually. “Thought I’d come see how you were doing; it’s been a while.”

He seems... different. Self-assured. His previously long, unkempt hair had clearly been shaved down to a number 1, and it’s only just started to grow back. His glasses are gone - I remember he was as blind as a bat without them, so clearly he’s wearing contact lenses. He’s wearing a nice suit - a purple shirt with no tie, with a navy blue jacket and trousers, and shiny black shoes. Unlike his old school uniform, which always seemed ill-fitting, this outfit actually kind of works for him. The whole effect would be... attractive, I have to admit. Honestly, if I didn’t know him and remember what he used to be like, I might even be into him.

But since I do remember...

“I’m sorry, Russ, but this isn’t a great time,” I say quickly, moving to shut the door.

“Invite me in,” he says.

I stop in mid-swing and pull the door back open. “Please, come in,” I say politely, gesturing inside with my other arm.

“Thank you,” he replies with a smile, and steps through the open door, walking into the front hallway.

I’m still holding the door open, staring after him. Wait a second. Just wait a second. What just happened? Why did I let him in?

“Wh-what’s going on?” I ask, tripping over my words a bit.

“Finally went to uni, did you?” he said nonchalantly. “Last I heard, you were working for Barclay’s. Then I get back into town a few weeks ago, and suddenly you’re gone.”

“Yeah, I just decided to go for it,” I find myself telling him. “My sister’s having such a good time at uni, I thought I’d give it a shot. It’s been going OK... Look, I’m sorry, I’m really busy right now.”

He glances through to the living room, where Logan Paul’s paused face fills the TV screen. “Yeah,” he chuckles, “it certainly looks like it.”

Cheeky bastard. I open my mouth to angrily tell him to leave.

“Tell me, do you remember Tracy?” he says quickly.

I close my mouth, then open it again. “Tracy?” I ask.

“Tracy Lincoln. My best friend. You stole her girlfriend, remember?” His eyes narrow as he says this, staring intently at me.

Oh, her! “Yes, yes, I remember her now.”

I didn’t actually plan that particular bit of Grand Theft Lesbian, just to be fair. I’m not above the occasional affair - it’s exciting, seeing if you can entice someone away from their significant other, and then seeing how long you can get away with it. The most thrilling part is making out with someone when their partner is nearby, to heighten the risk of getting caught. There’s no turn-on like it.

But I actually didn’t know Tracy was seeing anyone. I didn’t expect her to be - she was almost as gawky and weird as Russell, so I just assumed she was single. I definitely didn’t expect her to be dating Bianca Salazar, an absolute knockout who had recently moved from Portugal. When I set my sights on Bianca, I didn’t know she was taken - so really, if there’s anyone to blame for that particular situation, it’s Bianca. (Of course, the second time we hooked up, Bianca did tell me she was seeing someone. And then we kept on fucking.)

“She was heartbroken for weeks,” Russell tells me. “Her first actual girlfriend. Too good to be true, I guess. She’s moved on by now, of course. She’s engaged to a lovely, kind woman; they’re getting married just after New Year. You’ll be glad to hear that.” He pauses. “Or maybe you don’t care.”

I shrug, not really knowing how to respond to that. Of course I don’t care. Why would I? I got what I wanted out of that situation. End of.

“So she’s happy. She’s let go of what you did to her. But I haven’t.” His voice is low, steady, calm. But there’s something in his eyes that I haven’t seen before. It’s not just the confidence, it’s something else. Something like... fire. “You hurt her. Oh, I know it wasn’t just you - Bianca betrayed her too. But there’s a pattern, isn’t there? A string of people you’ve used, manipulated, and stabbed in the back. Friends you’ve suddenly turned on for the smallest of reasons. Boyfriends and girlfriends you’ve cheated on, and cheated with. Unpopular kids you’ve picked on, made to feel small and worthless.”

I glare at him. “Oh, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? This isn’t about Tracy at all, it’s about you!”

“I’ve come here to get justice,” Russell replied, his voice still icily calm, his eyes still burning hot. “For all the people you’ve hurt, including Tracy - and yes, including me. You humiliated me. Do you know how much courage I had to muster to ask you out? I never asked anyone out. I never thought I had a shot. But you’d been so nice to me that last few weeks, I’d deluded myself into thinking that maybe...”

Ah, yeah. I remembered now. I had been nice to Russell for a while - because I had a geography test coming up, and revision was proving harder than I’d thought. So I turned to him for help, and gave him some of my valuable attention. Made him feel all nice and special. Yep, I admit it - after snarking at Tai and my other friends for using Russell for his brain, I did exactly the same thing. And inevitably, the poor sap fell in love.

“I thought the worst that could happen was that you’d friendzone me,” he says quietly. “But you laughed in my face. Tell me, do you remember what you said to me?”

“Yes, I do,” I admit.

“What did you say?”

“‘Fuck no. I wouldn’t go out with you if you paid me a thousand pounds. You’re a loser, a pathetic, creepy loser, and you’ll never get a girl that’s even a tenth as awesome as me’.” I recite the words as if reading from a script. What the hell was that? I could remember what I said clearly, but I had no intention of saying them again. Not with that dangerous look in his eyes.

“You made me feel like less than nothing. And then you told all your friends, and got them to laugh at me too, like a pack of hyenas. Did it make you feel good? To put me in my place, make me feel pathetic? Answer me.”

“Yes, it felt great,” I blurt out. “It always feels great, that’s why I do it.” I’m freaking out now. Why do I keep answering him so brutally honestly? Why can’t I control my mouth?

He nods, as if that answer satisfied him. “I thought as much. Well, now you’re going to pay for it. All the pain you caused me, and so many other people. You’re going to pay for all of it.”

Oh, God. Is he going to kill me? I’ve got to get out of here. I make a break for the front door.

“Stop.”

And I stop. I lurch to a grinding halt, inches from the open door. What the fuck? Move, legs. Move! I open my mouth to shout for help.

“Don’t cry for help,” he says calmly. “Don’t cause a commotion, don’t try to alert anyone. Close the door, and come back over here.”

I try to scream, but no sound comes out. Nothing at all. My body moves automatically, my arms reaching out and pushing the door shut. I walk back over to Russell and stand in front of him. He’s smiling now, a cruel smile.

“What have you done to me?” I whimper. “Did you drug me or something?”

He laughs. “I haven’t done anything to you. I did something to myself, though. I’ve been working in one of the country’s top labs for the past few years, and I knocked up a little something I call the Gavrilke serum. It’s a toxin which can alter someone’s pheremones so they can control anyone around them - all they need to do is say an instruction, and their target has no choice but to obey them. To the very letter.” He shrugged. “Naturally, I tested it on myself.”

“That - that’s bullshit,” I stammer. “You can’t control people, you can’t make them do whatever you want.”

“Oh, yes I can,” he replies. “And there’s no time limit. Once I give you a command, it’s in your brain forever. I can tell you your favourite food makes you sick, and you’ll never eat it again. I could tell you your name is something completely different, and you’ll stick with it forever.”

This is not happening. This is not happening.

“Hey, that’s a good place to start, actually. I remember you always hated shortening your name - you’ve always stuck with ‘Antonia’. Never ‘Toni’.”

I shudder. God, I really did hate ‘Toni’.

“Your name is Toni,” he tells me. “You answer to ‘Toni’, not ‘Antonia’. If someone calls you Antonia, you won’t even look up. You sign your name as Toni. What’s your name?”

Antonia. My name is Antonia.

“Toni,” I answer.

Fuck.

His smile grows broader. “Excellent. I know how much you’ll hate that.”

“You have to stop this right now,” I snap. “Let me go, or I swear, I’ll make you pay for it. I’ll make you fucking suffer, you disgusting little psycho - I’ll cut off your dick and feed it to a fucking dog!”

“Not eloquent, but heartfelt,” he laughs. “I think that’s enough out of you, anyway.”

“I’ll get you, you fucking bastard, I promise you - ”

“Shut up.”

And just like that, I can’t say another word. I can’t utter another sound. I stand there, opening and closing my mouth silently like a goldfish, unable to move my feet. Trapped. Helpless. I’ve never felt so vulnerable, so powerless, in my whole life.

“Take off your clothes. Slowly.”

OK, it’s going to get worse, clearly.

Grasping the bottom edge of my black top, I slowly lift it over my head, revealing the red bra underneath. He takes the top from me, and I reach down and undo my denim shorts, wiggling my hips so they fall down to my ankles. My knickers are on show now too - red as well, to match the bra. Lacy, silky, and practically see-through. Russell raises an eyebrow.

“Keep going,” he tells me.

I stare at him miserably, as my hands, puppeteered by his words, reach behind me and unhook my bra. It falls away from my chest, exposing my small but perky tits. Again, Russell takes the bra from me. Finally, off come the panties - I hook them with my thumbs and gradually slide them down my legs, bending over and showing off my arse. I expect Russell to move behind me and admire the view, but he stays standing in front of me, nodding with grim satisfaction. As I straighten up again, now fully nude, he gestures to the panties and shorts around my ankles.

“Hand me those, too,” he says. I oblige. I can’t stop myself.

He looks around for a second, and then spots the cupboard under the stairs. Opening it, he throws my clothes inside, behind the Hoover, and then closes it again. “You won’t be needing them again,” he tells me. “Not for a while.”

He looks up and down me, taking in every detail. Normally I like it when someone’s looking at my naked body, but this isn’t a lover, or someone I’m trying to seduce. It’s a mind-controlling freak who has me completely at his mercy. So while I still feel a thrill at the sense of eyes roaming across my body, there’s a layer of deep shame on top of it.

“Lead me to your bedroom,” he commands.

I turn and walk up the stairs. He follows.

All the way up, I’m screaming inside my head, yelling at myself to stop obeying him - to attack him, to run, to try to escape. At this point I don’t even care if I’m seen naked in public. Please, just do something! Anything! Get away from him!

But my body won’t listen.

Tai told me that Russell had no malice in him at all. That clearly wasn’t true - not any more. Now he had buckets of malice. And I think I put it there.

We reach my room. He looks around and sniffs disdainfully. “Big,” he noted, “and full of expensive crap. Roughly what I expected.”

I want to shout and scream at him, but instead I stand just behind him, arms at my sides, feet planted. Waiting for further instructions.

He turns to face me. Behind him is my wardrobe, which spans a whole wall and has one of those sliding mirror doors. Reflected in the glass, I can see myself, standing to attention. My face is a picture of fear and shame.

“Look at me,” he commanded, and my eyes immediately dart away from my reflection, locking onto his face. “From now on, you can speak when I ask you questions, but only to give me concise, clear answers. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I find myself saying automatically.

“I’m not sure I like your expression right now, you seem so upset. Brighten up a bit.”

I can feel my face moving, my eyes widening, my mouth shifting into a dazzling smile, showing lots of teeth.

“Good girl. And when you speak, use a nice cheery tone. Understand?”

“Yes,” I squeak. Damn it, I sound so fucking happy.

“Excellent. Now, from now on my name is ‘Master’. You will always call me ‘Master’. When you think of my name, it’s ‘Master’. Whenever you answer my questions, you end every sentence with ‘Master’. When I give you an order, you always respond, ‘Yes Master’. Do you understand, Toni?”

“Yes, Master!” I chant enthusiastically, like a bloody cheerleader.

“Kneel.”

“Yes, Master!” And I kneel, finding my eyes level with his crotch. Uh oh. Having had a similar view many previous times, I can guess where this is going.

“Take out my cock,” he commands me, “and give me the best blowjob you’ve ever given. Your finest work, Toni, nothing less.”

“Yes, Master,” I sigh, and reach out to unzip his flies.

Now would be a good time for me to break free of his control. To resist in any way. I try one final time to stop myself, to pull my hand back or even to stop it in its tracks.

Nothing.

I fish his long, hard cock out of his trousers, and crawl close, my mouth forming an ‘O’ shape. Just before I can reach him, he places a firm hand on my forehead and tells me, “Wait.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Repeat these sentences after me, believe them, and feel deep shame,” he orders. “This is what you deserve.”

“This is what I deserve,” I reply immediately. A wave of dread passes through me.

“You’re a manipulative bitch.”

“I’m a manipulative bitch.” I am. That’s true, it always has been. I’ve never much cared before, but right now I feel awful.

“You’re a cheating whore.”

“I’m a cheating whore,” I say miserably.

“You’ve hurt so many people.”

“I’ve hurt so many people.” I’m starting to tear up. Guilt and anguish is gnawing at my insides.

“You hurt everyone around you.”

“I hurt everyone around me...”

“You brought this on yourself.”

I nod slowly. “I brought this on myself.”

“You deserve to be controlled and used.”

“I deserve to be controlled and used.”

“You deserve to be punished and made to submit.”

“I deserve to be punished and made to submit,” I sob.

“You’re better as a slave than you are as a person.”

“I’m better as a slave than I am as a person.”

“You’ll be my filthy slutty slave whenever I want to use you.”

“I’ll be your filthy, slutty slave, whenever you want to use me.”

He grips me by the chin, lifting my head so I can see his face. He’s smiling coldly, cruelly, his eyes blazing with that vengeful fire.

“Now,” he whispers hoarsely. “The blowjob, if you please, Slave Toni.”

“Yes, Master,” I gasp, and lower my head back to his shaft, plunging it into my wide-open mouth a mere second later. I begin to slide my mouth slowly up and down his length, letting my lips and tongue caress him softly.

He was right. I’m a terrible, selfish person who just hurts other people. I’ve lied, cheated, and done whatever I’ve had to do to get whatever I want. I’ve been awful to my friends, my family, random people... I mean, if I hadn’t stolen Tracy’s girlfriend and broken her heart, or bullied and humiliated Master so unnecessarily, I wouldn’t be in this position now. Master isn’t truly responsible for my predicament - I’ve got no-one to blame but myself.

I am a manipulative bitch. A cheating whore. All because I’ve been able to make my own decisions - and I consistently make bad ones. And though I absolutely hate being controlled like this, maybe I would be better as a slave than an independent person. Master wouldn’t let me hurt anyone, with the possible exception of myself.

He’s moaning, clearly delighting in my ministrations. He reaches down and grips my hair, bunching it up tightly in his fist, as I continue to slide up and down, up and down.

Before long, he’s exploding in my mouth, disgorging a stream of cum down my throat. I suck it all up and swallow it dutifully. He tucks his cock back into his trousers, and wanders over to the window. Having not been explicitly told to stand up, I remain on my knees.

“How long until your parents get back?” he asks.

“I don’t know, Master.”

“Where are they, anyway?”

“At the doctor, Master.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Knowing GPs, they could take forever, but I’m not sure I should take that risk. Tell you what, go and get your mobile phone, and text them to see how they’re getting on - unless they’ve already contacted you, in which case just tell me what they said.”

“Yes, Master.” I get to my feet, suddenly feeling soreness on my knees. I must have been rubbing them back and forth on the carpet as I was giving Master his blowjob, giving myself carpet-burn. I wince in pain, but my body, compelled to follow Master’s commands, does not allow me to react any more than that - I can’t pause to rub my knees, or slow my pace to give them a break. Instead I stroll purposefully out of my room, down the stairs and towards the living room.

My phone is just where I left it - on the arm of the sofa. I trot over and pick it up. I can see the time on it - 12:30. It was noon when my parents left, and Master must have arrived within five minutes. Has he really been tormenting me for less than half an hour? It feels like it’s gone on for days...

Go and get your mobile phone, Master had said. I think he means I should bring it back upstairs to him. But he also told me to text my parents. Which should I do first? Maybe I should go back to him, and then text them while I’m with him. That way, if he doesn’t like what I’m texting, he can change it.

Wait, what am I thinking? I should want to text my parents without him around. Maybe then I could resist his control and tell them what’s happening, so they can come and rescue me. Come on, get it together!

But the compulsion to obey him, to serve Master and be his slave, is far too strong. My fingers hover over the screen for a second, but I can’t make them type. Giving up, I meekly walk back upstairs to my room.

He’s now lying casually on my bed, staring up at the ceiling - the picture of nonchalant calm. His shoes are on the duvet - what if they’re muddy? I didn’t see him wipe his feet as he came into the house. Then again, if he’d been spreading dirt around the house, I’m sure I’d have noticed. I couldn’t see any on the bedroom carpet. Why the hell am I even thinking about this? Least of my worries right now.

His eyes flicker over to me as I enter the room. “Any word from them?” he asks airily, as if he doesn’t much care.

“No, Master,” I reply. In contrast to his casual tone, my voice sounds earnest and eager to please, as if answering him is gravely important to me.

“Alright. Text them something along the lines of ‘how long do you think you’re going to be?’. Make it casual, and write it in your own style, in a way you’d write a text. Do not give them any kind of hint of what I’m doing to you, or that anything’s wrong here. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

Unlocking my phone, I bring up my mum’s number and compose a short text:

Hey, just wondering, how long do you think you’ll be? x

Again, I really try to write something about my situation. But I know it’s hopeless. If I couldn’t do it downstairs, when he hadn’t even specifically told me not to, how could I resist his direct order now? With the text sent, I let my arms drop to my side, still holding the phone in my right hand.

“Hand that to me, Slave Toni,” Master says, holding out his hand.

“Yes Master.” And I obediently place the phone in his palm.

He holds it above his face, staring at the screen. “What’s the PIN?”

“1207, Master.”

Typing in the number, he gives me an incredulous look. “Isn’t that your birthday?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You fucking moron,” he laughs.

A few seconds later he sits up. “Your mum says there’s a huge queue - she hasn’t seen anyone yet, and your dad’s only just gone in. So they’ll probably be a while yet. Plenty of time to have some more fun.”

He types something into my phone. God, what is he doing now? Looking up at me, he seems to notice my concern. “Just adding my number,” he tells me. “Under the name ‘Master’, of course.”

With that done, he stands up and casually drops my phone on my bed. Looking around the room, his eyes fall on a corner. There’s nothing in that corner - just a bit of empty space.

“That’s perfect,” he mutters. “Slave Toni, go and stand in that corner, facing the wall.”

“Yes, Master.” This is a weird instruction. I follow it anyway, obviously.

“Fix your eyes on a spot directly in front of you.”

“Yes, Master.” My eyes lock onto the seam running up the corner - the point where the two walls meet.

“Now stay there, and don’t move,” he says, his voice suddenly louder and closer. He must be right behind me.

“Yes, Master,” I mumble. Sure enough, I find I can’t move an inch. I can’t even wiggle a finger or a toe. I feel like a statue. My eyes are stuck on the corner seam, fixed in place.

I feel his hands reaching around me, grasping my tits - my most erogenous area. He squeezes and fondles them, and flicks my nipples a few times. God, that feels good. If I could move or make a sound of my own accord, I’d be whimpering with pleasure. As it is, the feelings are trapped inside me without any way to express themselves. I feel like I’m shaking with the effort of containing my arousal.

I’m afraid he’ll do more to me - maybe fuck me from behind while I’m immobilised here. But he doesn’t. It’s been about a minute, and he releases my boobs. Next, I hear his footsteps getting further away from me. I can hear him walking out of the room. Next, I hear him going downstairs, his steps getting fainter and fainter.

What is he doing? Is he just going to leave me stuck here? For how long? Is he going to leave the house, leave my parents to find me later? Will I even be able to move then? He said his commands stick forever. Am I going to have to stay frozen like this for the rest of my life?

I’m aware that my breathing is getting faster, my heart pounding harder. I’m pretty sure I’m having a panic attack, but I can barely express it in this petrified state. What happens if I pass out? Do I stay stuck in this position, my eyes still wide and staring, but unconscious? Or will I fall back and crack my head open on my bedpost?

OK, let’s avoid that. Come on, calm down, Toni. (Fuck, I hate that name.) Breathe slowly - deep breath in, big breath out. That’s it, that’s it.

I’m calming down. I’m still far from relaxed, but at least I probably won’t fucking faint.

How long have I been standing here? It already feels like hours, but it’s probably been no more than five minutes.

How am I going to pass the time? Preferably without worrying about whether I’ll be stuck here forever, because that could lead to more panic. Let’s try and think of something else.

Oh, hey, let’s see how many Kardashians and Jenners I can name off the top of my head. OK, so Kim, Kourtney, Khloé, Rob, Kris, Kendall, Kylie... um, do husbands count? Yeah, sure. Kanye, Scott Disick, uh, Tristan Thompson, Bruce Jenner... Did I say Rob?

“Turn around, Slave Toni.”

Oh thank God, I was running out. And I don’t have to stay frozen and staring at a fucking wall. “Yes, Master,” I say eagerly, and for once I actually am as enthusiastic as I sound.

He’s holding a glass of water. “I thought you might be thirsty,” he says, holding it out to me. I accept it gratefully - now that I think about it, I am thirsty. I haven’t had anything to drink for like an hour. Also, I can still taste cum, and I could do with washing that down.

I go to take a sip, but he holds up a hand with an outstretched index finger, and I hesitate. “Drink it all,” he commands. “In one go.”

Alright, whatever. “Yes, Master.”

I raise the glass to my lips, and begin to swig the water down. Gulp, gulp, gulp. Is this his next form of torture - is he going to try and drown me with a glass of water? That’s just stupid.

After what feels like hours, I finally drain the glass. Master takes it from me and places it carefully on the floor by my bed. Then he reaches forwards and pinches my left nipple. I gasp in surprise, pain, and arousal.

“Be silent,” he orders me. “Completely silent, until I say otherwise.”

Does that mean I don’t have to say the words that are fast becoming my catchphrase? Apparently not. I feel no compulsion to say ‘Yes, Master’.

“Look me in the eyes.”

My gaze meets his, and I’m greeted by that now-familiar intensity, that dark and terrible fire. As I stare into it, I feel him begin to twist my nipple.

I bite my lip to stop myself from crying out. He continues to twist. Then I feel him lifting the contorted nipple, pulling my boob up into the air. Ow, ow, ow. He lifts it high enough that I have to stand on tiptoes to stop the pain from spiking, and becoming unbearable. My eyes remain fixed on his all the while.

Suddenly he releases me, letting my nipple untwist in a little snap of movement. I drop back down onto the soles of my feet, unable to suppress a sigh of relief.

He smiles that cruel smile again. “I think I’ve had enough fun with you for one day, slave. But don’t worry - I’ll be back for more when you least expect it. In fact...” His smile grows wider. “You won’t expect it at all.”

Yeah, right. As soon as he’s gone, I’ll call for help. I might not be able to tell my parents, but I can tell the police!

“Go over to your wardrobe and open the door. Oh, and you can say ‘Yes, Master’ again.”

“Yes, Master.” Damn it. I go to the wardrobe and slide the mirror door open, revealing my many dresses, tops and jackets hanging inside.

“Jesus, how many clothes do you have?”

“I don’t know, Master.”

He stared at me. “That was a rhetorical - never mind. Take out a bunch of those and dump ’em on the floor, ’til you have space to stand inside.”

“Yes, Master,” I answer, letting my confusion into my voice. Why does he want me to stand in my wardrobe? What weird shit does he have planned for me next?

I take out a bunch of the clothes hanging up in my wardrobe - several dresses, a few tops, a couple of jackets including my favourite black leather one, which previously belonged to an ex-girlfriend. I drop them on the floor carelessly, as if they’re just rubbish I don’t care about, rather than some of my nicest clothes.

“Great. Now stand inside, facing outwards.”

“Yes, Master.” I get into the wardrobe, and then turn and face out of the door. Master stands in front of me.

“Alright, let’s wrap this up. I’m going to give you a series of commands, but they will not take effect until I close the wardrobe door. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.” What the fuck, is he going to shut me in my wardrobe?

“First of all: you will forget everything that happened today, since I arrived. The last thing you remember, you were sitting on the couch watching your Logan Paul shit, and there was a knock at the door. You won’t remember getting up to answer it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” I reply, with a growing sense of horror. He can’t really wipe my memories of all of this, can he? The events of the past hour seem burned into my brain - I don’t think I’ll ever forget. Won’t I?

“When I close the wardrobe door, and you ‘wake up’” - I can almost hear the quotes around ‘wake up’ in his voice, the way he emphasises them - “you will be frozen in place. You will not be able to move your body at all, just like when you were standing in the corner before. Your feet will be planted in the floor, your arms will be rigid at your sides. This time though, you can move your eyes. But you won’t be able to make a sound - you won’t be able to speak, or cry out, or moan. The only tiny noise that can come from you is the sound of your quiet breathing. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” I whimper, now utterly terrified. He was going to make me into a statue again, and just shut me in my wardrobe? How was I going to get out? No-one’s going to know where I am!

“You won’t know how you got there, or what happened to your clothes. You will remain frozen there until the next time the door opens, at which point you will be able to move again, but will still have no memory of my visit today.

“You will continue to go by the name ‘Toni’. If someone says ‘Antonia’, it just passes you by completely - you don’t even notice. You know you hate the name ‘Toni’, but you’re stuck with it.

“You will not notice the new contact in your phone, ‘Master’, unless you get a call or text from that number. You will always answer when your Master calls. You must follow any commands I give you through call or text, even though I am nowhere near you. Whenever I give you a degrading or humiliating command, you will feel a wave of shame, and one of those phrases I made you say earlier will come into your mind - you’re a cheating whore. You’re a manipulative bitch. You brought this on yourself. You deserve to be controlled and used and punished. You’re better as a slave than you are as a person. You’ll be my filthy slutty slave, whenever and wherever I want to use you.

“Do you understand all these instructions, Slave Toni?”

“Yes, Master,” I sob. I’m crying openly now, tears streaming down my cheeks.

He watches my anguish, and then gives a nod of satisfaction. He gathers up about half of my pile of clothes, and carries them out of my line of sight, out of my bedroom. Wiping the tears from my face, I desperately try to get out of the wardrobe while he’s gone, but his instruction for me to get inside keeps me inside. The best I can do is lift my feet up and down in turn, like I’m marching in place.

Master returns. “I’ve chucked them in the cupboard under the stairs with the clothes you were wearing today,” he explains. “Oh, and by the way, while you were in the corner I made use of your TV - watched some porn. Pretty good one too, about a girl letting three guys fuck her in a public park while they try not to let anyone see them. Didn’t finish the video though, so I left it paused.” He grins that nasty grin of his. “I’m sure your parents’ll be pretty shocked when they get home. Still, better than Logan Paul.”

He picks up my remaining clothes. “Well, this is goodbye for now, Slave Toni,” he tells me. “But we’ll see each other again. Sooner or later. Say goodbye to me.”

“Goodbye, Master,” I stammer. I give him my best desperate, pleading look, begging him with my eyes not to leave me trapped in the dark.

He ignores me, and starts to slide the door shut. “I wish I could be around to see it when your parents find you in here,” he chuckles. “If they ever do!”

I can’t forget. I mustn’t forget. Even if I’m stuck in here for hours, or - God forbid - days... even if I’m completely humiliated in front of my parents... I have to remember who did this to me. I have to make sure he faces justice. I have to have my own vengeance against him.

Don’t forget, Toni. Don’t forget. Don’t forg-

The door closes, plunging me into complete darkness.

I blink. What? Where am I? What’s going on? Why can’t I move? Why’s it so dark? I’m trying to move my arms or my legs, to open my mouth, to turn my head. Why is nothing happening? Why can’t I speak?

What the fuck is going on?!

As my eyes struggle to become accustomed to the dark, I look to either side of me and see clothes hanging to my left. Am I in a wardrobe? Wait, I know that dress - that’s my sluttiest dress. I’m in my wardrobe. How did I get in here? And why am I naked?!

I hear footsteps in the near distance. There’s someone outside! Mum or Dad? No, they just left to go to the doctor’s, like two minutes ago - they can’t be back already. So who’s there? Doesn’t matter. Whoever it is, they’ll let me out.

I try to open my mouth, but it stays as stuck as the rest of me (except my eyes). It feels like I’ve got lockjaw. I try to make a noise anyway, to scream from the bottom of my powerful lungs - I’m quite the screamer, as many will tell you - but I can’t even manage the faintest whimper.

Oh my God. Oh my God. What do I do? How do I get out of here? Why can’t I move? Why can’t I make any sound? How is anyone going to find me? How did this happen?!

Will anybody find me? My parents will look. When they get home and find no sign of me, they’ll search for me. But surely my wardrobe will be the last place they’ll think of. They could call the police and launch a search throughout the county with no idea that I’m still in the damn house. The thought makes me want to laugh out of the sheer absurdity, but I can’t do it, of course.

They’ll find me. They’ve got to.

I hope they do, anyway.

And I really hope it’s soon.

Especially because I’ve just realised, I really need to pee.