The Monster's Protégé

A U R O R A17 years old, pastI ran.I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, clutching the torn backpack like my life depended upon it. Actually, my life did depend on it. The men following me were no saints-actually criminals if I didn't know any better.Two days back when I strolled inside the abandoned building looking for a shelter and accidentally discovered the basement where the stash of drugs was kept and guarded, I thought if I could steal some for myself, it would at least be able to pay for my food for the next month. So, I waited for a couple of days for an opportunity and managed to steal few packets so that I could sell some.I wasn't a drug addict but I knew that selling these would definitely earn me some bucks.And I needed them, desperately.I had been hoping from homeless shelter to shelter for the past year, hiding from the police and every goddamn person who were eager to exploit a seventeen-year-old girl. I might have been an orphan and homeless but I wasn't he

M A R C OPast"Strip." I didn't even take my eyes off her beautiful, curvy and petite stature.In the world of vanilla sex, where the man orders the woman with such a crass word, it would have been sounded slightly offensive. But in my world of sex, a submissive would be nothing less than grateful when the dominant asked for something like this."Yes, Sir."Jessica, the beautiful strawberry-blond haired woman, kneeling between my legs smiled with grace and slowly rose to her feet. A natural sub that she was, she gradually turned around as her fingers reached behind her back and pulled down the zip of her little black dress.Nothing turned-on a dominant like me than the willing, beautiful gift of submission from a woman like this.Taking the last sip of the drink, I plopped down the glass on the table beside the leather-clad couch. By now, the fabric slipped down from her body and pooled around her legs. Jessica stepped out of it and unclasped her bra deftly, letting it fall along wit

A U R O R APastI must have passed out. Next time when I came to my senses, I found myself back in the car seat, lying comfortably with my head rested on a small pillow. It was a smooth drive, considering the luxurious car, as I slowly adjusted my eyesight. Viktor sat comfortably in the front, engrossed on his phone.Groaning, I sat up as I slowly recollected the events right before I passed out.Factory. Captive. Viktor. Blood. Of course! I realized I didn't pass out at the sight of blood. It was my entangled predicament that unnerved me for a moment."Are you feeling alright?" Viktor asked curtly, his eyes glued on the rearview mirror."Yes," I groaned, even though my voice clearly suggested the contrary. My head was pounding like hell. "Did I hurt my head somehow?" I asked, clutching it tightly in my hands."No," he said. "Your knees are just lightly bruised."I gazed down quickly to realize that he had already cleaned the wounds and applied some kind of ointment on it."Great," I

A U R O R APast - 17years oldBy the time I came downstairs, donning expensive gymwear and shorts, Marco was standing by the kitchen isle. As soon as he noticed, he checked his watch. It wasn't needed actually; I was well within the time frame of 180 seconds.And of course, there's only so many times I'd dare to risk displeasing him in one day."Follow me," he said and started walking, expecting me to be on his heels.Surprisingly so, I was.I followed him silently through the door, towards another portion of the house. Since he gave me the tour the previous day itself, I knew where we were headed - the gym.His gymnasium wasn't some expensive workout place that a man of means could afford to build. It was beyond that. The entire space glowed with bright sunlight, enclosed by the ceiling-to-floor glass wall. Half the arena was a boxing ring, while the other half was crowded with equipment of all kinds.He led me to the space between the ring and treadmill, where a small pouch was sus

A U R O R APastMarco's definition of 'run' was two miles out in the freezing weather. And if I whined about the cold too much, he would make me increase the pace. By the time we came back, I was a sweating mess—flushed and entirely out of breath. But it didn't seem to please Marco one bit.Half an hour later, he dragged me into the gym again for another endless session of workouts to add on to my misery. And with each passing day, he would push me further until he was satisfied. Every time I would get the hang of something, Marco would change the course. Just like that, one morning, he suddenly decided that all these kinds of torture were not good enough and made me do additional exercises as well, failing which I would have to work ten times more."Thirty laps," Marco instructed one day, reclining against the lounge chair.Swimming wasn't the part of the curriculum until then. Somewhere down the line, I realized that you couldn't impress this man no matter how hard you have tried.