Chapter Eleven

The Trapped

Eren is an enigma. Each and every moment I spend with him serves only to perplex and frustrate me. At the same time, however, I am completely free. Eren allows me whatever I like. He never cries or refuses. Often times, I even sense that he craves it as much as I do. It's almost sickening to have found someone twisted like myself.

That damned Ball was nearly the death of me. Having put so much energy into playing host, interacting with countless boring and petty nobles, making decision after decision over pointless things like appetizers and alcohol flavors, I was already quite on my last string of sanity. Then, those damn filthy thieves tried to come into my chamber- my sanctuary! - and take Eren? Right from under my nose, they would take my only form of relief from this very evening of utter unrest. I was livid. Each stomp up the steps of the spiral would have surely broken the wood to splinters if the supernatural existed.

Yet, when Eren's small face revealed itself to me from the back of my dark closet, all of that anger quickly faded. I saw the shaking of his frame, rattling every inch of his skin, bones, and breath, and nearly melted with relief that he was here, and alive. Before I knew what was becoming of me, I had my hands over him; gripping him tightly to ensure he was whole and not a delusion brought upon me by my straining nerves. He seemed equally relieved, nearly to the point of tears, at my arrival. I could feel him relax beneath my tight grip despite that it was likely painful. I don't understand what changes occurred within me then, but it was terrifying. As a man who makes it a point to no longer fear anything, this feeling had me reaching back to anger again; my default. My defense. If I was angry, I was powerful. If I was powerful, no one could take control from me. I must be in control.

Again, the circle of anger and control swirls through my thoughts as I stare down at Eren's naked form. Why is it that I felt such fear that he'd been hurt by those men, when here I stood, whipping Eren with my own riding crop on his bare, sensitive flesh? I watch his chest heave in effort, yet his eyes are closed almost peacefully each time the pain subsides.

Why don't you cry for me, Eren? Give me what I need!

Somehow, the mantra has become a part of me. The very things that I hated about that man have become me. I am obsessed with Eren's ability to withhold his tears. I know that I do not truly want to see him cry, because the twisted part of me will hate him for it. Above that, however, I need to see him cry, so that I know he is just as weak as I once was, and therefore no better than I.

Perhaps my obsession with Eren has grown because he is very much like myself. I wonder if one day he will grow as terrible as I have. I wonder if I will be the cause of his changes, like that man was to me.

The slap of the riding crop across his shoulder blade helps me to concentrate on the now. There are many small red marks across his back and ass, but all Eren does is gasp and wiggle against the bedsheets. I see his cock twitch between his legs each time I drag the leather tip over his spine. His lack of hurt and the obvious presence of pleasure baffles me.

"Not six hours ago, you were close to escaping me, Eren. You could have run off with those men." The riding crop hangs loosely at my side, forgotten in my moment of thought. To this, he responds. His entire body tightens up at the reminder of the evening's events, and I hear a whimper from somewhere in the sheets he's buried his face under. "You didn't. In fact, you seemed quite happy to see me. You are also quite happy to submit to me, it seems. You enthusiastically presented yourself to me tonight, and here we are." His head nods in shy agreement, and I glimpse small patches of blushing cheeks before they are buried again. "Why, Eren?" The sound is almost pleading, and I hate myself for asking it. "Why don't you hate me? Why don't you seek revenge, or fight it, or cry, or curse, or… anything!?" The leather comes across an old wound, causing him to jump and cry out.

His form tightens nearly into a ball atop my bed, bearing the pain and riding it out. When the wave has passed, he relaxes into the sheets again; legs extended completely so that his ass is no longer in the air, but he lays flat into the mattress. His face remains buried in the sheets, but I see no indication that he is crying, still. I have spent months now trying to get Eren to break. To be weak. Despite his position as a slave, or our sessions here in my room, he holds onto some sense of confidence that I will never comprehend. Watching him now, even in the face of my interrogation, holding onto some shred of pride that I wasn't able to… I feel my desire for those tears slip away. It is like my bones have gone tired waiting for him, and have just lost all of their strength. Eren is a rock that will not break under my weight.

I sigh for effect and attempt one final act of coercion. "Perhaps you cannot give me what I want, afterall. It is a shame. I had high hopes for you." I toss the riding crop to the floor and step to the side, as if opening a path for him. "Leave, Eren." His face emerges from the sheets at last, looking red and confused. His brow creases as he looks around the room, as if he has only just remembered where we are. Slowly, carefully, he rises from the mattress. His eyes meet mine, and he is hurt. I see it. I wanted it. Yet, his pain hurts me in return. My breath is caught in my lungs as I wait, watching, to see what he will do. Will he leave as I have ordered? Will he fight me and defend himself? Eren has always been obedient, but behind it seems to hide a strong desire. A caged dog waiting for the moment to strike. An enigma.

With a glance at the abandoned riding crop, his expression deflates. I watch as first one foot, then the other, hits the wooden floorboards on the side of my bed. His eyes no longer meet mine, but he doesn't move any farther. We wait in silence until finally he summons the confidence I knew he held. "Master, I-…" His eyes dart about the room, unsure where to sit, until they meet my own.

"Speak, Eren. It is the last time I will allow you to." I want to mean it. I want to dismiss Eren from my room permanently, so that I can forget about the strange changes he has caused inside of me and go back to being the monster without a conscience. The command comes out more as a sad comment.

I watch the crease in his brows deepen as he registers the words. His eyes shift again and the corners of his mouth twitch down into a frown. Finally, he looks into my eyes just as his own start to water. Finally! I think, maybe this was the push he needed. All I need is for Eren to cry – to be weak – so that I can remember what it is like to be the one in control.

And then I realize, once again, that I am not the one in control.

Eren has had complete control over me since he first burst through my door.

His voice comes out broken and hurt, but loud in the silence of the night. "I could never hate you, Master. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me." His eyes are watery, and so close to truly creating tears, which is all I have wanted and yet not what I want at all. His words make me dizzy, but it could just be that I've stopped breathing.

Suddenly, I don't want to speak anymore. And I don't want him to leave anymore, which is what he is attempting to do; like the obedient servant he has always been. I grab him by the wrist and force him to drop that cursed dress shirt he always wears to see me. His body gives in to me so easily that I can't believe it has taken me this long to understand it. Eren really does accept this insane situation, and welcomes it. He wants the punishment and the praise as much as I want to give it. I resolve to praise him endlessly when this is all over even as I roughly force him back onto the bed.

The first time I had sex with Eren, I was so angry and confused that I took him nearly instantly; his knees pressed into his chest and all of the embarrassing expressions on his face looking right at me. This is the second time that Eren and I had sex, and I couldn't look into his eyes. My confusion at wanting a man was palpable the first time, and suffocating the second. I didn't understand then, and it was only worse now. This time, I wasn't drowning in my rage. I am in my right mind, for the moment, and yet still I want this man beneath me; writhing and sloppy with our sex.

He feels my intentions in that strange way he always manages; obeying the unsaid command my hand gives when I bend him over the edge of the bed. Already, our bodies are responding to the anticipation of what we know is to come. My heart pounds brutally in my chest as I slick his hole and test it with a few fingers. He has grown tight in the months he has been with me. Aside from the rare occasion in which I have used the wooden beads to assert my control over him, I have left his hole quite alone for fear of giving him too much pleasure. The muscles inside grip my fingers hungrily, and I feel my own cock twitch at the memory of being inside of him.

I don't stop to try and understand these strange thoughts and feelings. I have begun to accept that Eren has changed me. I have gone too long without proper sex, and perhaps this is just the breaking point. Or so I tell myself.

Eren doesn't hide his pleasured moan in the sheets as I expect him to. I slip inside, his lewd sounds echoing through my room unhindered. I feel his bony hips under my hands and watch the soft curve of his ass bounce as I thrust roughly in and out. There is no time to stop and think as we lose ourselves in something we both have been denied: free pleasure. My pleasure in Eren has always been in the form of bondage, and submittal, and control, and pain. But now – only now – we find ourselves fucking for the pure hell of it. I am not doing this to hurt him, or control him, but to feel the pleasure of him, and it is strange and new to me.

Eren could have continued out of that broken door. He knew, I'm sure, that my grip on his wrist wasn't there to force him, but to tell him. He didn't leave. Just like when he willingly submits to my overbearing nature, he is accepting me now. Eren also wants this, for reasons I will never fully understand.

His voice comes out lusty and utterly raw. I know that I am hitting his sweet spot. As sick as it makes me to recall the past, I realize now that it gave me the knowledge for this moment. I know just the way to make Eren really feel me. I come to the shocking realization that I want to make Eren feel good so that he will remember me well. I want to be the best thing that has ever happened to him, always – because I know that I will never forget him, and it would just piss me off if it wasn't mutual.

I reach my hand around to his length, and find him hard and ready. The move isn't easy; Eren has grown quite a few inches taller in just these few months that he has been with us, and the difference in height makes it awkward. Regardless, I time my pumping fist with my thrusts and lose myself in his whorish sounds of approval.

It becomes apparent that I will not last very long, and Eren seems completely lost in his pleasure, mumbling unhelpful things like, "Yes, Master! Right there!" and "Ohhh, yes, faster…", quickly sending me to the edge. I thrust hard into his perfect ass and grip his cock tightly, mumbling things of my own into his spine as we find each other's rhythm positively intoxicating. "Master, I-… ahhh, I feel-…"

He sounds uncertain, but cuts himself off as he releases into my palm. The sweet sound of his gasping release helps me find my own, and I don't hesitate to press deeply inside of him as I do. Somehow, I knew I wouldn't be content without planting that seed as deeply as possible.

I slide out of him slowly, relishing in the feeling of freedom I somehow feel. Eren sits up slightly on his shaking legs, looking strangely at his softening cock and then to my hand. I am reminded of our disgusting state, and motion him to the private bathroom just outside of my room; the only other thing on this floor. As we clean separately and in silence, I ignore the odd things flowing through my mind and opt instead to think about nothing. When we've finished, Eren is still looking oddly at himself.

"Was that your first orgasm, Eren?" My eyes are likely huge in surprise as the realization hits me. He looks at me in near-horror.

"That… yes! Yes, it was…" He looks ashamed for a moment before masking it.

At least you were spared one bit of shame by that man's hand….

"I see." It's all I can say, as I have no idea how he feels about having his first orgasm by my hand – literally. Changing the subject becomes my default. "Let's get dressed, Eren."

He attempts to help me dress before even glancing at his own clothing, but I quickly dismiss his help and we dress at the same time. I decide that the sooner he leaves, the sooner I can sort through my thoughts. He bows after stowing the trunk into the closet and makes for the door. I watch him hesitate in the doorway, peering into the darkness of the spiral staircase like a child in the night. Suddenly I recall he was a child not that long ago, and to him, there really are monsters in the dark. The promise of endless praise I had secretly made would have to wait for another time.

I walk Eren as far as the kitchen that hides the entrance to the servant's quarters.

The next day, I wake to Hanji pulling back the curtains and setting the table with breakfast. I have hardly slept, which he sees plainly on my face.

"I thought I would let Eren sleep in this morning, considering last night's events."

I start for a moment, thinking that perhaps we were too loud, or that Hanji may have seen us through the broken cracks of the door. Then I recall the Noble's Ball and the issue with Mister Reeves. "That's fine, Han." I am too tired for formalities, and too much has suddenly changed inside me. I motion for him to sit down in the chair across from me. He watches me intently and waits for me to begin speaking.

"Hanji…. You know that you are my only friend." It is quiet this morning. The soft light coming in through my window is warm and relaxing; the perfect complement to Hanji's presence.

"You're acting strange again, Master." His smirk is playful, and I am momentarily reminded of the Hanji who once smiled freely and laughed loudly while we read books together in my old room. I return it, which seems to truly shock him.

"Things have been strange for a while now, haven't they? I guess I am only just beginning to see just how strange." I tap a finger against the rim of my teacup, lost in the view from my window.

"You're referring to Eren, aren't you?" I nod even though he already knows the answer. Hanji leans towards me, as if avoiding an eavesdropper. "You should know, Master, that Eren knows about me."

I am stunned, and immediately on edge, but Hanji's calm demeanor tells me not to overreact. His slender fingers adjust his glasses gently. "It's alright, Master. We had a discussion about it, and I don't think there will be any issue. Eren is… strange." He laughs lightly at the overuse of the word, and I laugh because there isn't anything more fitting to us at the moment. "I rather like him, Master. I hope you aren't being too hard on him." There is a warm look in his eyes as he watches me, and I suddenly get the feeling that maybe he really does know what we get up to at night.

"I don't believe you need to worry about that, Han. I don't think Eren would leave even if I forced him to." The truth there is undeniable, after last evening's affair; details that Hanji never need know about.

"He is well fit where he is, I agree."

"Actually, Han, I believe I am going to reassign him for a while." I make it a point to look directly into his eyes, so that he knows he shouldn't argue. It doesn't work.

"But Master, he- ah, that is…" I watch him shift nervously while finding his words. "Is he not serving you well in my place?" Hanji's concerned expression seems so very out of place that I almost laugh. The irony of my own laughing face being quite out of place as well is not lost on myself.

"He is doing just fine, Han, but no one could replace you. I became the master of the house with you by my side, and if you are still quite fine with it, I'd like for you to be there in the end, as well."

"What a grim yet promising thing to say, Master."

We share another smirk and I decide to get back to business. "I plan to have Eren work with the girls. He has brought it to my attention many times that they have had little to no education. I think both he and the girls would be happier working together. I'd like him to teach them the basics of reading and writing, for now."

Hanji just watches me, speechless, for many long minutes. I can see his face go a little pale with the shock. "You really have been strange since he arrived, Master." It is barely a whisper, and I can tell that Hanji would badly like to ask me what has happened.

"Did you know that he asked me to look at them as people?" I see his eyes grow wide and warm with the thought of Eren, speaking to his Master about such a thing, full of strength and confidence that no other slave has ever shown us; himself included. "At some point I had forgotten what pain they could feel. The things that you had taught me, Hanji. I blocked out those things selfishly." Remembering Han as the little slave girl isn't something I do often; it feels too much like a betrayal to the man sitting before me. Even as I speak, he shakes his head slowly.

"No, Master… it is I who has been too selfish. I choose every day to forget how well I know their pain. I consciously make the decision to bathe them and groom them, and arrange for their buying and selling, all the while ignoring how well I know their fears. I don't deny that I am also quite a monster. I think that was my largest fear when Eren discovered me. I don't think he knows exactly the circumstance, however."

"Then we are both selfish monsters, Han. Fitting friends until the end."

For the remainder of the day, I sit alone in my room. Perhaps I am avoiding Eren, or perhaps I am avoiding Hanji. Both of their faces bring back the past.

In Hanji, I see the girl. I see my disgusting uncle as he saunters through the unclean halls, searching for the next victim to his violent behaviors. I see the fear in Hanji's eyes as she whispers "I'll be next.", while the number of slaves in her dirty basement room dwindles down to just her.

In Eren, I see the boy. I see my own small frame, dirty and trapped by a cruel man who only sees people as tools and belongings. I see the strength that only comes out when you are an animal cornered by a foe, working desperately to break free and save yourself. At some point I lost the strength to believe in myself, or the good. The child who would stand up to the monster and for the sake of another became a monster himself, beating on a child much like himself out of anger and jealousy.

Why am I jealous?

Because Eren is the type who will never let go of that fight in his eyes. Even after years of suffering, he escaped on his own power alone. I am impressed, I realize.

The days move forward and I am continually lost in thought. I must sort through everything I think and feel methodically after being turned so utterly helpless at Eren's hand. Even when I try not to think about such things, I only end up worse.

My memories are a blur of pain and anger, and the only thing good that shines through them is Hanji.

Her bright smile as you teach her to read and write, and how to tie a proper bowtie and pour a cup of tea. Her frail fingers gripping the hem of her dirty dress; holding it down over her legs so you can't glance what's underneath – what she would deny.

His dirty fingernails digging into the flesh of my arm as he pulls me through the house. The eyes of the terrified staff, watching me take their beatings. Relief in them that no one will die tonight, because he's chosen me again.

Her terrified eyes as they lay atop the plush mattress. The stinking fog of alcohol and cigar smoke. The sounds of clothing ruffling and hitting the floor.

The grimy floor against my knees, hurting and scraping them until they bleed. The evil in his eyes, looking down on me again.

The haunting sound of her cry, her pleading voice.

A large stain on the floorboards that won't wash away.

Standing in the hall with your servants as the walls are smashed apart.

A large stain on the floorboards that won't wash away.

A few days of digging up my past was all it took for the itching, boiling anger to reappear.