After a moment he said quietly, “What is it, Alana? What’s the matter?”
Alana, who had been staring down at her plate, lifted her head. “I’m sorry, Sir. I haven’t even used a fork for so long. I’m just not used to this. I’m-I’m afraid,” she admitted.
Mark furrowed his brow. “Afraid of what? The food’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re thinking. Look, I’m eating it.” He shoveled in a large bite of eggs into his mouth.
She didn’t dare articulate her fear. That he was setting her up. That he would punish her the minute she dared to use a fork and eat like an equal, instead of kneeling at his feet, her mouth open like a baby, waiting for his offering.
Mark studied her for a while longer, comprehension dawning on his face. “You don’t trust me,” he said slowly. “That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t trust me not to betray you. To go back on the deal that you are free this week, free to do whatever you like, except leave. You think I’m setting you up so I can punish you, cage you, make you suffer for your trust.”
His voice sounded sad. When she didn’t deny it, he said, “I’m sorry you can’t trust me. I can’t even blame you. But the deal stands. I’m going to help you take back yourself.” He pointed toward her plate. “Eat. If you still require it, you have my permission to eat. Use the fork. Use the knife and spoon. Eat until you are satisfied. Take your time.” He said it gently. His eyes were still sad but his expression was kind.
Alana relaxed a little. After a moment’s hesitation, she picked up the fork.
She ate a small bite of the eggs. Nothing happened. She dared a sip of the coffee and still Mark calmly ate his own food. She took another bite of egg and picked up a piece of crisp bacon. The food was delicious. The freedom was strange but not unpleasant. She ate the rest of her meal, casting sidelong glances at Mark as she did so.
Whatever game he was playing, she hoped she would learn the rules fast.
Normally after breakfast, Mark would groom his slave girl. She would sit obediently on the bathroom counter while he carefully shaved her underarms, her legs, and finally her pussy. Usually afterwards, he would make her come, or fuck her right there on the counter.
Today, after breakfast Mark went into his study. “I have a little work to do,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind cleaning up?”
Alana was glad for something to do, and she happily cleaned the kitchen and washed the dishes. Then she found herself at a loss. Should she groom herself? He had said he wasn’t going to use her sexually any more, so what was the point? Unless it was another test?
Not sure what to do, Alana chose a murder mystery from one of the shelves in the living room. With her new freedom, Mark had given her full reign of the house, including the use of the TV and his vast library of books, both fiction and nonfiction.
A window had been cracked in the living room, a pleasant, cool breeze wafting into the room. She could push that window all the way open. She could climb out right now and run down the road. Of course, he might realize she was missing before she got away, but that was unlikely. He rarely came out of his study in less than an hour. That would give her enough time to escape.
She could go.
And yet she didn’t.
It was too risky. There would be a trap. Better to wait, to bide her time.
She curled up in a chair and opened the book to page one.
That night Mark suggested she make the dinner, something she’d never done without his express participation and direction. She was wearing a pink blouse and a pair of blue jeans, the clothing still unfamiliar against her skin. Alone in the kitchen, she could have grabbed a sharp knife and used it on her captor, but she didn’t. She thought about his gun, which she hadn’t seen, she realized, in quite some time.
But she didn’t want to kill Mark.
She wanted to cook, something she had used to enjoy doing, in the before time.
Mark kept a well-stocked freezer and pantry, and Alana found everything she needed to prepare beef goulash with carrots, mushrooms and fresh herbs. She made a pan of cornbread to complement the spice of the goulash. They shared a bottle of Cabernet, and Mark toasted the meal with a raise of his glass.
“I had no idea you were such an accomplished cook, Alana. This is delicious.”
Alana smiled, warmed by his praise.
After supper they sat on the couch together in the living room. Again, it felt strange. She wasn’t used to being treated as Mark’s equal. To her surprise, she wasn’t entirely sure that she liked it. Normally she would have been naked at his feet. He might suddenly pull her up and onto his lap so he could stroke her. Or tell her to go to the playroom and prepare for a session.