11
The waiting room chairs suck.
That’s my conclusion after sitting in one for the past fifteen minutes. Fabric scratches against my jeans every time I shift, and the armrests are positioned at exactly the wrong height for comfort. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead at a frequency that makes my molars ache before the dentist even touches them.
Faith sits next to me, scrolling through her phone with undivided attention. Her thumb moves in smooth circles across the screen. She looks completely at ease, like we’re waiting for coffee instead of dental torture.
My heel taps a restless rhythm against the linoleum.
I force it to stop. Stillness feels worse somehow, like all that anxiety has nowhere to go except deeper into my chest.
Faith’s eyes flick up from her screen. “Why are you so tense?”
I shrug, keeping my voice casual. “I don’t like going to the dentist.”
The admission lands flat and matter-of-fact. Which is true. I’ve never liked dentists. Not because of anything related to the horror story I wrote myself into. I didn’t write a yandere dentist. This is just regular human discomfort born from a childhood dentist who went at my teeth like he was mining for gold and was always quick to tell my mother I was a bad flosser.
Her brow furrows. She sets her phone down on her lap, scrutinizing me until I feel simultaneously seen and dissected.
“But Eric,” she says slowly, “you never get nervous here.”
My leg starts bouncing again before I can stop it. “Things change.”
Her expression softens, fondness spreading across her face like honey. “Do you want me to come in with you?”
“No.” The refusal slips out faster than I intend. I force a laugh to take the edge off.
“Alright.” Faith picks her phone back up, but her eyes linger on me for another beat. “We can do whatever you want for dinner tonight. My treat.”
“Spaghetti and meatballs it is.”
She chuckles, light and affectionate. “There’s my good boy.”
A sudden heat blooms in my chest despite everything. Despite the fear and the lies and the fact that she hits hard enough to rattle my skull when she’s angry.
The door to the back opens with a soft click.
A male hygienist steps out, clipboard in hand. Long dark hair pulled back in a neat bun, delicate features, the kind of build that would kill in this world.
“Eric?” His voice is gentle, professional.
I stand up, legs cooperating despite the dread coiling tight in my calves.
“Alright.” I shoot Faith a grin that feels braver than I am. “I’m off to war.”
“You’ll do great,” she says, and she means it.
I follow him down a hallway lined with identical rooms.
We stop at the third door on the left, where he gestures me inside with a pleasant smile.
The chair sits in the center like a throne designed for suffering. Leather creaks under my weight as I sink into it. The overhead light is already angled down, waiting.
His eyes land on me, and recognition flickers across his face.
“Are you nervous?” he asks, setting the clipboard on the counter.
“I’m just a little afraid of dentists,” I admit.
“Don’t be.” His smile widens, practiced and reassuring. “Nothing to be afraid of here.”
He moves around the room with mechanical efficiency, gathering instruments from drawers and laying them out on the tray beside the chair. I watch his hands work, calm and deliberate. He pulls a face mask over his nose and mouth, then reaches for protective eyewear that covers the upper half of his face.
Picking up a small plastic suction tube, he murmurs, “Open wide for me.”
I comply, and he slides the device into my mouth. It rests against my inner cheek, the hum of suction already pulling at my saliva.
My eyes fix on the ceiling tiles above me like any good dental gremlin.
Metal scrapes against enamel. The sensation sets my teeth on edge, but I keep my gaze locked upward. He works in silence, moving from tooth to tooth with steady precision.
Minutes pass. Time stretches weirdly when you’re trying not to move.
He pulls back. Instruments clink against the tray as he sets them down, moving behind me where I can’t see.
Then I feel it.
A sharp prick in my neck.
“Huh?” The syllable escapes garbled around the plastic tube.
I turn my head as fast as I can, catching the tail end of the motion. A syringe in his hand. The plunger already fully depressed. The needle slipping out of my skin.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice stripped of every trace of cordiality.
I open my mouth to scream.
His hand clamps down over my face, palm pressing hard against my lips. The suction tube dislodges and clatters against the chair.
I thrash, hands flying up to grab his wrist. He’s stronger than he looks, his grip immovable.
“Shhh.” The syllable lands clinical and detached. “It’ll be quick.”
My vision blurs at the edges. Whatever he injected works fast. Panic spikes sharp and immediate, but my limbs are already heavy as lead.
I try to bite down on his palm, but my jaw won’t cooperate. The muscles simply refuse to fire.
“Just relax,” he says.
My fingers slip from his wrist, arms falling uselessly to my sides.
The ceiling tiles swim, doubling and tripling until none of them look real.
Darkness creeps in from the periphery, swallowing the fluorescent tubes one by one.
My last thought before the blackness takes hold is that this guy... he is very clearly not a boy’s boy.
12
I wake up, and immediately I feel silk against my wrists.
Red bows. Actual decorative bows like I’m a present someone’s planning to unwrap later. The ribbon cinches tight around my wrists, binding them to the bedposts with enough tension that my fingers are already starting to tingle. I test the restraints, pulling against them with what little leverage I have.
Nothing. They don’t budge even a millimeter.
I sigh.
The sound comes out heavy, resigned, like I’ve already accepted what’s happening before my brain has fully caught up. My ankles are bound the same way, legs spread wide and tied to the posts at the foot of the bed. The position is calculated. Vulnerable. Designed to make me feel exactly as helpless as I am.
Also, I’m naked.
I let my head fall back against the pillow and stare at the blue walls. The color is soft, almost soothing, which makes the whole situation feel even more surreal.
This is Nina’s bedroom.
The knowledge settles over me with the weight of inevitability. The color scheme, the massive bed, the fact that everything in here probably costs more than my old car. This is exactly the kind of place I wrote for her. Elegant. Expensive. A mansion in Wellesley where she can do whatever she wants without anyone hearing the screams.
A knot forms behind my ribs.
The door opens.
Nina steps inside with the unhurried confidence of someone who knows I’m not going anywhere. Her silver hair catches the light from the window, and those pale blue eyes lock onto mine immediately. She’s wearing a silk robe that matches the ribbons on my wrists. The fabric clings to her curves as she moves, and I hate that even now, even terrified and bound to her bed, my traitorous brain registers how stunning she is.
“You’re finally up,” she says.
Panic claws up my throat with acidic fingers.
Every survival instinct I have is screaming at me to shriek for help, but I know for a fact fighting her is infinitely worse than going along with her.
The thought surfaces through the terror like a life raft. I know this. I wrote this. Nina loves resistance; it makes her violent. And I don’t need that in my life.
I force myself to stay still.
My mind races through the timeline of the manuscript I wrote. This scene? This exact scenario? It never happened. Not like this. Not this early. The whole story is derailing, careening off the tracks I laid down with such careful precision when I thought none of it would ever be real.
Nina wasn’t supposed to get me until way later. After I’d already been broken down and rebuilt numerous times.
But here I am. Naked. Bound. Staring at the woman who’s going to take my legs if I give her a reason.
The thought crystallizes with cold clarity. If I try to bolt too fast, she’ll saw them off.
So the play here isn’t escape. Not yet.
The pro gamer strat is months. Maybe a year. However long it takes to convince her I’m hers completely. Make her believe I love her. Make her trust me enough to give me freedom. Then I steal a car and disappear to wherever the hell she can’t find me.
Nina walks closer, her bare feet silent against the hardwood floor. She stops at the edge of the bed, looking down at me with an unsettling gaze.
“You aren’t as surprised to see me as I thought you’d be,” she says, and there’s curiosity threading through her voice.
Her smile spreads across her face, slow and satisfied. “That’s right.”
Her hand reaches out, fingers trailing across my chest. The touch is soft, lingering. Her palm is warm against my skin.
“Wow,” she breathes. “Look at you react.”
Then her hand wraps around my cock.
The grip is firm. Confident. My body betrays me immediately, blood rushing south despite the terror hammering behind my ribs.
Nina laughs. The sound is light, amused, like she’s discovered a fun toy.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she says, and her tone shifts to businesslike. “If you want some freedom here, you’ll have to let me give you a little injection.” She tilts her head, studying me. “Alternatively, you could...”
“I’ll take the injection,” I blurt out.
Nina’s eyebrows rise. “I didn’t even finish.”
“I’m good. I’ll take the first one.”
“Okay,” she says.
The word comes out flat. I watch the excitement drain from her expression, replaced by mild confusion. Whatever game she was playing in her head, I just skipped half the levels.
Whatever the alternative was, I’m betting it involved violence.
Nina turns toward the dresser and opens a drawer. When she straightens, she’s holding a small glass vial filled with bright blue liquid.
My stomach drops.
She pulls out the needle next, unwrapping it.
I watch her pierce the rubber top of the vial. The plunger draws back and the blue fluid fills the chamber, rising higher with each second.
Bile crawls up my throat.
“Oh God,” I mutter.
Nina glances at me, eyebrow raised. She taps the syringe, checking for air bubbles. A tiny drop of blue liquid beads at the tip of the needle.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Eric.” Her voice cuts through the darkness behind my eyelids. “I want you to look at me while I give you this.”
“WAIT!” The word explodes out of me. “HOLD ON, HOLD ON!”
Panic spikes through my throat so fast I can barely breathe. My eyes fly open and I see her pausing, the needle hovering inches from my arm.
“NOT LIKE THIS!”
Nina’s head tilts in curiosity. She lowers the syringe slightly. “Oh? You don’t want the shot after all?”
“No, it’s not that...”
“Do you want to go with the other option then?” She studies me, waiting.
“No! JUST LISTEN!” My words tumble over each other in my rush to explain. “It’s the fact that it’s blue!”
She blinks. “What?”
“If I see a blue liquid go inside of me through a syringe, I’m going to throw up.” The admission comes out strangled. “It’s just gross.”
Nina stares at me. Her mouth opens slightly, then closes. She looks genuinely lost.
“What?” she repeats.
“It’s disgusting!” I insist. “The blue! It’s too blue! I can’t watch that happen!”
“Then you don’t want it?”
She’s not following. I can see the confusion written all over her face.
“No, I want it!” I practically shout. “I simply don’t want to look at it happen!”
“Oh...” Nina’s eyebrows draw together. “Uhhh...”
She glances down at the syringe in her hand like it might offer answers. The blue liquid sloshes slightly with the movement.
“Can you just... do it while I’m not looking?” I ask. “Please?”
Nina lets out a long breath.
“You’re positive you’ll throw up?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
Her jaw works for a second. The syringe shifts in her grip. “I don’t know what to do here...” Her eyes narrow slightly, and I watch the calculation happen behind them. “Part of me kind of just wants to make you watch it as a punishment now... but I don’t have a reason to punish you yet...”
My throat tightens. “If I vomit and you get mad about that even though I literally just told you it would happen, we’ll both be pissed.”
A laugh breaks out of her. Short and surprised. Her shoulders shake with it.
“No, it’s fine...” She waves her free hand dismissively. A smile plays at her lips. “I saw you vomit once... it was really messy.”
The memory of the psych ward hallway flashes through my mind. The puddle. The orderly with the paper towels.
Nina takes a breath in through her nose. When she exhales, her lips curve into a smile that’s warm and manic in equal measure. The kind that looks like affection but feels like a trap.
“It’s okay,” she says softly. “Close your eyes, darling.”
The word hits me like a brick.
Darling.
The ultimate yandere word. The one that sounds sweet but means you’re already caught.
Hearing it directed at me makes my throat close up and my cock harden.
“Thank you, Nina,” I manage to get out.
I close my eyes.
The darkness behind my lids doesn’t help the panic. If anything, it amplifies every other sense. I can hear her moving closer. The soft rustle of silk. The faint sound of her breathing.
Then the prick.
Quick. Sharp. The needle slides into my arm with practiced precision and I barely have time to register the sting before it’s already in.
The liquid is warm going into me. I can feel it spreading under my skin, a strange heat that radiates outward from the injection site. It’s not painful. Just... present. Invasive in a way that makes my stomach turn.
She pulls the needle out.
“All set,” Nina says.
I crack my eyes open.
She holds the syringe up between us, angling it so I can see. The chamber is empty. Clear glass with nothing but air inside.
Relief floods through me so fast I feel lightheaded.
Nina sets the syringe on the nightstand and moves around to the head of the bed.
She starts working at the ribbons around my left wrist first. Her fingers move with patient slowness, pulling at the silk until it loosens. The pressure releases and blood rushes back into my hand with a pins-and-needles sensation that makes me flex my fingers.
Then she moves to my right wrist. The bow comes undone and my arm drops to the mattress, suddenly heavy.
“Aren’t you curious what I just injected you with?” Nina asks.
My ankles come next. She unties them one at a time, and I feel the freedom return to my legs with each loosened knot.
But I don’t move.
I just lie there on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as heat begins to spread through my body. It starts in my core, radiating outward like someone lit a fire in my diaphragm. Static buzzes beneath my skin, every touch amplified to an unbearable degree.
The air moving across my skin from the window might as well be hands touching me.
“I know what it does,” I say, and my voice comes out rough. “It puts me into heat.”
Nina’s laugh is soft, almost fond. “Kind of.”
I turn my head to look at her. The movement sends a wave of sensation down my spine, settling low in my gut with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
She’s watching me, cataloging every reaction.
“It puts you into a chemically induced super heat,” she says. “For lack of a better term.”
“Fuck,” I breathe.
The silk sheets feel like coarse sandpaper against my back. My skin is hypersensitive in a way that borders on painful. Each breath makes my lungs expand and contract, and even that registers with a friction that makes my teeth clench.
Like genuinely, physically painful. My cock throbs between my legs with each pulse of my heart, demanding attention with an urgency that drowns out rational thought. The pressure builds and builds with nowhere to go.
My breathing comes fast and shallow. I can hear it in the quiet room, rapid and desperate like I’ve just run a marathon.
This is worse than last night. So much worse. A hundred times worse, maybe more. Last night with Faith was intense, overwhelming, but this? This is like comparing a candle flame to a forest fire.
My hand moves without permission from my brain. Reaches down toward my cock because I need relief and I need it now.
Nina’s hand cracks across my knuckles.
The slap is sharp, precise, and my hand recoils automatically. The sting spreads across my fingers but it barely registers compared to the inferno consuming the rest of me.
“No touching,” she says, and there’s amusement in her voice. “Not yet.”
“Nina...” Her name comes out as a whimper.
“Oh, I should mention.” She settles onto the edge of the bed, watching me with clear eyes that miss nothing. “It’s also a truth serum.”
My brain struggles to process the words through the fog of arousal. “There’s no such thing.”
“Normally, sure,” Nina says, her fingers drumming against her thigh. “But I won’t help you until you answer my questions honestly.”
My other hand shoots down toward my cock.
She slaps that one away too, the crack of her palm against my knuckles sharp in the quiet room.
“Eric, pay attention,” she says, and there’s steel underneath the amusement in her voice.
“Nina, I think I’m going to die if I don’t cum.” The words come out strangled, desperate. My entire body is burning, pure friction humming through every limb. “Please.”
“You’ll survive,” she says simply.
Then her hand wraps around my cock.
The sensation hits me like lightning. “Answer my questions and I’ll…”
I’m cumming before she finishes the sentence.
The orgasm crashes through me with such intensity that my vision whites out. She didn’t even move her hand. Just the touch alone was all it took. My back arches off the bed, every muscle locking up as I shoot across my stomach in thick ropes.
“Oh my...” Nina’s eyes go wide.
She strokes me a little, helping me through it. Her hand moves in steady, rhythmic pumps that milk every last pulse from me. The sensation borders on too much but I can’t stop, my body just keeps emptying itself into her grip.
“Okay, that one was free,” she says softly.
My cock doesn’t even go soft. I’m wheezing, gasping for air after being hit by an orgasm that hard. My diaphragm heaves and my vision swims with dark spots.
“Hold on,” I manage to choke out between breaths. “Let me breathe for a second.”
Nina stares at me, her expression shifting into tenderness that makes my chest ache despite everything.
“You’re lucky I’m in love with you,” she says.
I force my breathing to steady, dragging air into my lungs.
“I’m cooperating, aren’t I?” I say.
“True...” She tilts her head, studying me.
“Alright.” I swallow hard. “Questions. I’m ready.”
Nina’s thumb brushes across the head of my cock and I nearly black out from the raw contact. She keeps her hand there, wrapped around me, a constant reminder of the power dynamic at play.
“Why did you try to kill yourself?” she asks.
“Because I’m God,” I tell the truth because I’m literally too horny to come up with a lie right now.
Nina looks at me, annoyed. Her jaw tightens. “What’s the real reason?”
I stare at her, air rattling in my throat, my skin still buzzing on overdrive. The question hangs between us and I know I need to deflect, need to say anything except what’s actually happening.
“I’m telling you the truth,” I gasp. “I created this world.”
Her grip tightens slightly. “Eric...”
“I’m a writer from another world.” The words tumble out faster now, my voice cracking. “I write about men getting raped and tortured by women for a living. That’s what I do. That’s my job.”
The irritation drops from her face, replaced by plain bewilderment. Her thumb stills against my cock.
“The day I tried to kill myself, I woke up in a novel I was still writing.” I’m wheezing between sentences, desperate for air. “And the reason I threw up when I saw you is because you’re the one of the antagonists in my book. You’re the final villain. And you are absolutely terrifying.”
The silence that follows feels like it lasts forever.
Nina stares at me, searching my face. Then her lips curve into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“That’s creative,” she says slowly.
“I’m serious.”
“So you tried to kill yourself because you’re afraid I’ll torture you?” Nina asks, and her voice has gone very quiet.
“Yes.” I nod, my whole body trembling. “You, Faith, Rachel, and like two others I haven’t even met yet.”
The amusement drains away completely. “You seem so sincere...”
“I know your father hates you.” The words spill out desperate for her to believe me “Because when he looks at you, all he sees is your lack of empathy.”
Nina goes completely still. Her hand freezes on my cock.
“I know your mother views that same trait as a source of pride,” I continue, my voice cracking. “I know Pasha, your servant, is loyal to you because you saved her life as a joke when you were younger. I know...”
I lose track of what I’m saying. The heat is eating through my thoughts, turning everything into static except the desperate need for her to keep touching me.
“I know a lot,” I finish weakly. “I made you.”
Her eyes bore into mine with an intensity that makes my collarbone ache. For a long moment, she doesn’t speak. Just stares at me like she’s trying to solve an equation that doesn’t add up.
“Oh, you poor baby,” she says finally, and her voice has gone soft. Pitying. “I wonder what your stepsister did to you to break you this badly.”
My stomach lurches. “Nina, I’m telling you the truth...”
“Still...” Her thumb resumes its torturous circles against the head of my cock and I whimper involuntarily. “You do seem to know a lot about me. I wonder where you learned all this.”
Her hand starts moving again.
“To know me this well, Eric...” She leans in close, her breath warm against my temple. “You must be obsessed with me. Huh?”
I shake my head, the motion jerky and desperate against the pillow. “No, that’s not what I mean...”
“It’s okay.” Her hand keeps moving, stroking me with steady rhythm. “I’m not judging you, darling. If anything, I’m flattered.”
“Nina, please...” My hips buck up into her grip involuntarily. “You have to believe me.”
Her expression softens into that sickly, patient pity; she looks at me like a rare specimen she just discovered.
“Of course I believe you, Eric,” she says gently, and the lie is so transparent I want to scream. “You really think you created me.”
“I did create you!”
“Shhh.” Her free hand comes up to stroke my hair. “It’s alright. We’ll work through this together.”
My throat closes up.
“I can help you,” Nina continues, her voice warm and reassuring in a way that makes my skin crawl. “Whatever Faith did to break you like this, I can fix it. I can make you whole again.”
“She didn’t break me...” I gasp out between strokes. “I’m telling you the truth...”
“I know you are.” Her thumb swipes across the tip and I nearly convulse from the sensation. “You’re telling me your truth. What you genuinely believe happened.”
My hands clench into fists against the sheets. The silk is damp with sweat beneath me.
“But Eric...” She leans closer, murmuring against my cheek. “The world doesn’t work like that. You didn’t create me. You’re not God. You’re just a man who’s been hurt very badly.”
“No...”
“Yes.” Her grip tightens slightly. “And I’m going to take such good care of you. You’ll see.”
I force myself to meet her eyes through the haze consuming me. My voice comes out strained, desperate. “Just... just don’t cut off my legs.”
The words hang in the air between us. Genuine surprise flickers across her face.
“Eric...” Her voice drops to barely above a whisper. “I would never do that to you.”
Relief starts to flood through me, but it gets tangled up with the chemical fire still burning through my veins.
“As long as you don’t run away, of course.”