cry from her room makes me leap from the bed.
My heart races as my feet slam against the hardwood floors on my way to her.
Her small frame is twisting under the sheets, fighting them as a strangled scream is torn from her throat.
“Katia!” I yell, grabbing her hip to pin her in place and her wrists with my other hand. I still both of her wrists above her head, holding her down with a good bit more strength than I thought I’d need.
“Katia, wake up!” I scream at her, so loud that I feel the wretched soreness in my throat. I imagine hers is worse. The screams haven’t stopped, and she’s only fighting harder.
Tears are leaking down her face, although her eyes are closed tightly.
She may think this is play, or a fantasy come to life. But for me this is real. I know she needs someone to heal her, and I so badly want to be her Master. I want to take those terrors away from her, to replace them with the pain and pleasure she needs.
My Katia. My kitten.
“Kitten,” I lower my head to the crook of her neck, bringing my body closer to hers and forcing her head to stop thrashing. I keep my voice low and soothing as her screams turn to sobs. “I’m here, kitten, you’re safe.”
I press my body against hers, my hip on her hip and gently stroke her side.
“It’s alright. You’re safe. I’m here,” I gently murmur into her ear.
I can’t describe the rush of relief, pride, and satisfaction that washes through me as she settles her body and her breathing calms. Her struggle dies, and her fear vanishes.
A sense of ownership, and worthiness. I kiss her neck, my lips leaving open-mouth kisses along her skin, prickled with goosebumps.
“You’re alright. You’re safe. You’re with me,” I almost say, your Master. I almost speak words that I know are true. But she doesn’t. Not yet.
My resolve strengthens as I pull away from her and gently run my thumb along her jaw, wiping away the residual tears.
My poor kitten.
Her eyes slowly open and sorrow and disappointment shine clearly in them, even with the dim light in the room.
“I-” she starts to speak, but I press my finger to her lips.
“Come, kitten. I want you in my room with me,” I say easily, scooping her small body up in my arms and carefully balancing her as I climb off the bed and walk swiftly to my room.
Katia nestles her head under my chin, her arms wrapped around my neck. She buries her face in my chest, and I know she’s ashamed more than anything.
“I’m sorry, Master,” she whispers as I lower her into the bed.
“Why are you sorry?”
“It’s my fault.”
“Why’s that?” I ask her, hating that she would think having a night terror is something she needs to apologize for.
“I use a blanket. I brought it with me, but I was tired. It was my laziness, Master. I’m sorry.” Her voice is choked. “I won’t do it again.
“A blanket?” I ask her. This sparks an interest. She’s never mentioned a blanket before.
“I like the weight on my ankle when I sleep.”
It takes me a moment to register what she means. “Like the shackle.” My blood goes cold, and I pull her closer to me. My poor kitten.
“Yes, I’m sorry-” I cut her off before she can once again apologize when she shouldn’t be.
“You’re my responsibility, so it’s my fault. Not yours. “
Her breath hitches and her body tenses.
“You’ll sleep here tonight, and tomorrow I’ll fix this.” I kiss her hair gently, at odds with the strength in my voice. It’s an effort to soften my tone as I say, “Sleep, kitten.”
Her wide eyes look up at me with slight wonder and disbelief. So pale, so clear it once again feels like she can see through me. She licks her lower lip and lays her head down on my forearm, but she doesn’t close her eyes.
After a moment she tilts her body some to look at my face.
“Why are you doing this?” she asks me softly. “Master?” she tacks on my title at the end, and we both know she shouldn’t have. She should have started with it. She looks frightened for a moment, that she let the question slip without respectfully addressing me, but I haven’t the energy to care.
My mind is reeling with the revelation of what she’s just told me. And how I need to find a solution to this problem.
“Why do I