The Escape (WIP)

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Everly fell in love with Pierce. Their happily ever after is far from happy. Pierce is a monster, reveling in Everly's pain. Everly won't let Pierce hold her down forever, she just needs to wait for her moment... to escape.

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The alarm clock pealed. Everly’s dreams abruptly ended and with a rustle the curtains were drawn. Bright sunlight flooded the large bedroom. Trying to hang on the peace sleep gives, she pulled the covers over her head.


Everly rolled over, pain seared through her body. The memories of last night came into focus behind her closed eyes. She forced them away, unwilling to let what he did torment her.

“Everly,” the soft voice called again. “It’s time to get up and dressed. You’ve been summoned.”

Seriously! Everly thought. Usually after a night like last night he leaves her alone to her own devices, sometimes even days and, if she’s lucky, a week or more. What could he possibly want? She was finally able to fall asleep as the sky tinted blue. She just wanted to go back to sleep.

With a heavy sigh, Everly swung her feet off the bed and winced in pain as she sat upright. She watched the four women who ‘earned the privilege’ to be her attendants flit about the room. Two of the ladies were busy putting her room back in order; sweeping broken glass, mopping spilled liquor, tidying the myriad of items splayed about the room. Glancing at the end of her heavy fourposter bed, she looked up and saw the remains of her restraints. And memories flooded back flashing through her mind, and she forced her eyes closed trying to push the memory away.


Last night… Pierce had not made plans to visit. He liked seeing her dolled up for him, so surprise visits didn’t happen often. Unless she pissed him off. She had been trying to get on his ‘good side’, so lately she tried to behave. Happy Pierce lets his guard down. Pierce had been busy of late, so she hadn’t seen him in days. Her luck ran out.

Right after her dinner arrived, he came barging in drunk, liquor bottle in hand. He paced back and forth yelling, to mostly himself, stopping occasionally to take a swig or to ask “Can you believe that?” to which she always dutifully answered “No.” Eventually he noticed her sitting unmoving on her bed.

“Everly, I still expect my rules to be followed!” gesturing angrily at the table where her food sat untouched.

Everly ate slowly, not even sure what she placed in her mouth, eyes locked on Pierce as he continued his pacing and babbling. She hoped he would just pass out drunk and wondered if her crappy spork would do damage. Once done, Everly quietly pushed away from the platter.

Pierce, across the room, grinning, “Finally, you’re done,” to her dismay. Her night was just getting started.


Her eyes fluttered open and she was back in her room, fingers digging into her palms. She sat quietly, focusing on the present, watching two of the other ladies. They were preparing to dress her, choosing her attire, and readying the vanity. Everly laughed to herself thinking, They have their work cut out for them today. The memory washed over her once more.

He kept ranting at her after Irene left with the empty dinner tray; screaming about the wrongs they caused him, the ‘wrongs’ she caused in the past, blending them together as if everything was her fault. Like always. Exploding, he demanded her to him. Everly glanced at the door.

“You know there’s nowhere to go, Everly. You run, I catch you. You really want to try this today?”

She sighed and walked over, no choice but to do as asked.

As expected, he demanded she undress. He sighed admiringly at her nakedness, still marked from his cruel hands. He pointed to the four-poster bed, that stupid bed. She wanted to burn it. There was still a scorch mark from where she had tried. Stupid thing just turned black.

She dolefully obeyed. She just wanted to get this over with.

She stood to be tied spread-eagled to the bed posts, her back to him and the room. His keys jingled as he unlocked his drawer of toys and she could hear his fingers rub across its contents. She shivered, recalling their use. He took some rope, from his never-ending supply, and tied her tightly to the bed, her feet and hands numb in minutes.

He started with his favorites, those instruments Everly had tolerated over the years: the paddle, the riding crop, the flogger. He worked through his arsenal of implements, peppering her back with welts and marks that would be purple by morning. She lost track how long she’d been there. Him pacing back and forth, berating her, and cursing about whatever was truly bothering him; then picking up a tool at random, whacking her back repeatedly, and letting it clatter to the floor. Her back throbbed as tears slowly dripped down her face.

But, she didn’t give in. She had planned to give him what he wanted, her pain. It would have been quicker and less agonizing, but when he hit her, her anger erupted. Everly hated giving Pierce satisfaction so easily. She refused to scream for him. If he wanted to hear her, he can earn it.

Pierce’s anger flared, “Scream, bitch.” He stuck her hard across the back. Everly bit her tongue.

Her reaction not matching the response he felt he deserved he screamed, “FINE! I’ll make you scream.”

Behind her he rummaged through the box. “Perfect,” he whispered as he snapped the air threateningly.

Everly stiffened, remembering the whip and the pain it brings. In a searing snap it cracked across her back. She tried to hold back the scream, but a whimper escaped. Her back on fire.

Pierce, rejuvenated by her reaction, struck her back again. No longer able to hold back, she shrieked as it cut into her flesh.

Finally getting what he wanted, he whipped her until she blacked out. He would force her back from the peace the blackness gave, only to whip her again. He made sure she got to ‘enjoy’ all he did.


Turning forcefully from her memories and her room, she looked to her bedside. Irene, her head attendant, was standing with her breakfast tray placed on the small table by the window. Everly noticed Irene, like the other women, was carefully adverting her gaze this morning. The state of the room must have alerted them of the goings on the night before and they’ve learned showing Everly any pity got them reprimanded by the boss. What happens to Everly in the past stays in the past. Everly used the past to fuel her anger.

“Everly, dear,” Irene whispered sweetly but with urgency, “You must hurry, he demanded your presence within the hour. There’s much to do.”

For just a moment, a wave of sadness crossed Irene’s face. Everly stood and began to walk toward the dressing women but Irene called sternly, “Breakfast first.”

“I’m really not hungry this morning,” Everly responded, nauseated from her memories.

“You know the rules, Everly,” Irene chided. “So, sit and eat quickly.”

Everly sighed, sat at the small table, and stared at her breakfast. The breakfast was beautifully arranged on the tray; a small spinach and egg white omelet on a plate surrounded by berries and mint leaves, half a slice of whole-grain toast, half a grapefruit, a small glass of water and a small cup of coffee. Though beautiful, breakfast was bland. No sugar, no salt, no cream, no butter, no jam. When he’s mad, or in the mood to fuck around with her, he even takes it out on her with food.

I hate grapefruit and he knows it, Everly thought irritably, Asshole!

She forced herself to eat everything on her plate, gagging on every bitter bite of the grapefruit. “Why can’t it taste as good as it smells,” she mumbled under her breath as she swallowed the last bite. “There, I’m done,” she announced annoyed, pushing away from the table. Irene, as usual, pulled out her phone and photographed the empty tray, typed a quick message, and sent the proof to the boss.

Fucking asshole, Everly full of vengeful thoughts as she walked to the dressing women. I hope you choke on a grapefruit.

The women tried to dress her with an air of indifference to her appearance, to no avail. They gingerly helped her undress. Back turned to the full-length mirror, trying to protect her view. Once naked Everly turned toward the mirror to see what he had done. She always looked. Bottling up her anger and resentment, to use later.

She sighed, taking in the damage, Maybe I should have just given in.

Everly was tall and lean with a hint of musculature definition in her arms and legs. She appeared slightly athletic thanks to careful toning by her assigned personal trainer. Her rounded breasts hung gently, her nipples red and raw peaked out under her long, softly curled brown hair. Her torso, long and firm, was covered in the pinks and pale purples of fresh bruises as well as the green and brown marks of bruises from before. Her soft, creamy skin was a deep red at her wrists and ankles from being tightly bound. Her thighs a mottled mess of red, blue, and green bruises layered upon each other. Everly turned slightly to look at her stinging back, it was covered in red marks carefully made to barely break the skin, like a hundred paper cuts.

All damage done to her was carefully inflicted to not scar, but if there was ever any concern, she had a doctor assigned to maintain her, like a robot. He got a thrill in letting her heal and teasing his fingers on her perfectly unmarked white skin, then repeating the process of marking it again. She let her eyes creep up to her neck, bruised by his hands. Lastly, she glanced to her face, her lips were swollen to the point they felt they could burst. Her cheeks were red and her eyes were beginning to purple. Usually he left her face alone so the damage could be easily hidden but he lost control. When he gets like that, he loses his grip on reality.

Everly seething, Nope, screw that fucking psycho. Her eyes fell closed once more, lost in memory.

At some point he stopped striking her, just pacing quietly in thought. He sprung suddenly onto the bed and sat in front of her cross-legged grinning up at her like a child watching Saturday morning cartoons, swaying excitedly. His emotions always changed unexpectedly, which unnerved her. Tonight, combined with his drinking and extreme anger, he was unhinged and dangerous.

Pierce asked her questions, a creepy lightness to his voice, she didn’t understand and didn’t know how to answer.

“Really? A Ya-Ali over a Brahmos-2? Are they idiots?” He paused waiting for a response, looking up to her expectantly.

“Yes?” Everly stammered, hoping that was the answer he wanted.

“Who in the fuck picks a M-16 over an M-4? The Army is even phasing out that crap!”

“I don’t know”

Unsatisfied with her answers, a shadow crossed over his face and he spitefully thwacked at her stomach and twisted her nipples, like a child having tantrum. Then as if nothing happened, would return to how he had been before asking more and more questions she couldn’t answer. She didn’t know what he wanted from her; today or ever.

“And a fucking MG5 over a MG3? Do you think just because a weapons newer means it’s better?”

“I don’t fucking know, Pierce!”

Pierce scowled as he pulled a pocketknife from his pants and walked behind her. Everly froze. Pierce cut her arms free and pushed her forcefully into the bed. She laid unmoving, listening. Rustling. Then he was there again, she could feel the warmth of his body against her cold nakedness. With one hand he traced the marks he made, sounds of delight escaping his lips as she flinched at the touch. He would pause occasionally making a loud gulp, as he drank more liquor. She could feel him rubbing his soft erection excitedly against her backside.

Unexpectedly, she felt a wetness on her back. Everly tried to push up from the bed, her back burned furiously. Pierce pushed her back into the bed, spilling more liquor down her raw flesh. Crying out she buried her face into the bed, smothering her screams. Pierce yanked her head to the side by her hair. Entangling the hair in his fist, he trapped her head in place.

“Fuck you!” she spat, bucking backwards into him.

Pierce pulled away, throwing the liquor bottle to the floor. Grabbing the knife, he cut her legs free and flipped her onto her backside. The sensation of her back meeting the bed caused her to scream out in agony. She moved instinctively away from the pain but Pierce mounted her, forcing her into the bed. The blankets, wet with alcohol, rubbed into her wounds. Choking on her tears, Everly tried to beg Pierce to stop; pushing and scratching at his chest but no words would form. Pierce snatched her wrists, pinning them roughly over her head. Pushing down on her chest for support, he entered her powerfully, pounding into her, causing the bedding to chafe against her raw back. She struggled against him uselessly.

With each thrust, her vision fuzzed as the blackness tried to claim her again, the pain overwhelming. She cried out, just wanting it to end, but her pain only excited him further. Digging his palm painfully between her breasts, he kept yelling “Show me you’re sorry” as he rammed harder into her. His hand moved from her, only to return as he punched her hard across the face. Everly yelped. Pumping into her savagely, he punched her over and over as he repeated “Show me you’re sorry.”

With a loud grunt, Pierce went silent. Shifting his hand to her neck, he gripped it tightly, pushing her down into the bed, Everly unable to breathe. She struggled harder, trying desperately for air.

Everly hoped, as the darkness crept over her once more, “Maybe he’ll fucking kill me this time.”

Moaning pleasurably, he finally finished and collapsed on top of her. Gasping for air, Everly’s eyes shot open. For a moment, she felt disappointed that she was still alive. Pierce stood, redressed, and walked contentedly from the room, no longer acknowledging Everly’s existence.


One of the dressing women touched her shoulder. Recoiling from the unexpected touch Everly woke from the nightmare. Apologetically, the woman gestured for her to allow them to get to work. Thankfully, the women chose a loose fit dress that wouldn’t irritate her skin further and carefully pulled it over her head. The dress was a beautiful white with a large floral pattern that reached her over the knees with a scarf collar and long sheer sleeves, to hide the bruises. On her feet they placed white and rattan wedges with a thick ankle strap, hiding the red marks the best they could. Matching silver cuff bracelets were placed on each wrist to hide the deep red rope-burns.

In the mirror, her body looked as if nothing had happened. You never like to see the evidence after, do you? Her anger burned inside her.

Behind her, she heard her vanity chair pulling out, inviting her to sit down. Without a word, they went to work gently covering the marks and bruises on her face with makeup. They gently brushed her hair, she flinched, not realizing her scalp was tender.

“Five minutes and we must leave,” Irene said. The ladies put the finishing touches on her makeup and quickly placed her hair in a loose chignon. Everly stood, glanced in the mirror one last time at the stranger looking back and followed Irene to his office.

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