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This does not affect my opinion of the book or the content of my review.
by Kitty Thomas
Released: March 21, 2010
Published by Burlesque Press
Emily Vargas is drugged and kidnapped, she wakes up and finds herself in a cell, with no windows and only one door. Then a man comes in carrying a bowl of her comfort food, chicken noodle soup, and that is when the mental torture and conditioning starts. He never lays a hand on her, unless she asks him to, and soon she finds herself begging for his touch will do anything he wants to please him and for him to reward her with a touch or caress.
I finished this book last night and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. It was so good and yet really really disturbing. Even though Emily knew what was happening, knew she was developing a serious case of Stolkholm Syndrome she couldn’t stop it happening, even though she knew he was a sadist by the end she was willing to become the perfect maschoist. And as you read through the book I found myself, not liking or loving Master but almost submitting to him as well, even though you know what he is doing is wrong you become grateful to him as you know he could be so much worse with the absoloute power he has over her. It was weird. I wanted to hate him because that is teh socially acceptable response, but I didn’t, which freaked me out a little.
This is worth picking up and reading, I could go on about this book for ages but I think you definitely have to read it to be able to understand what I am talking about. This was a fantastic read, something very different and thought provoking and I look forward to reading more of Kitty Thomas’ books.
I know there are a lot of them, but I still had to cut them down! There are so many good ones!
…despite all the empowering speeches and the women’s movement, in the grand scheme…women are prey
He wanted to make sure the conditions were clear to me, that nothing would be given to me freely. I would pay for it all.
My eyes look to haunted to be mine. Where did my soul go? I couldn’t see it anymore.
He smiled that soulless smile that made me feel warm and like I was dying all at the same time.
I’m your responsiblity now. You created me. You made me this way. This is your fucking mess. If you suddenly care about morality, then don’t make me go. Let me stay. I’ll be your slave. I’ll be your whore. I’ll never fight you. I won’t disobey. Whatever you want, just don’t make me go back. Please. I can’t live in that world anymore. You know it’s true. I just want to be yours.”
What we shared was deeper than love. It was a mad and unyielding obsession, and it was mutual. And the flames from it would likely kill one of us some day. Probably me. I couldn’t bring myself to care. I’d rather have this intensity with him than a hundred years of mediocrity with another.