Call Me Your Master (Loki x Reader Erotica)

So Cold

Following the steamy shower encounter with the God of Mischief, I go from feeling undeniably happy at the prospect of being kept by him forever, to feeling sorely disappointed when several days go by and I don't see or hear sight nor sound of him.

Anyone else would perhaps be glad or relieved to not be the centre of his perverse focus for awhile. Or maybe I at least should be grateful for the break. Him not being around has certainly given me time to recover, physically if not mentally.

But I'm like an addict now, I realise with sobering reality. He's caught me, and I am unequivocally his. I may as well belong to him.

I can't explain it, and I wouldn't know how to even begin trying to.
All I know is there's more to him than the egomaniacal narcissist he first appears to be. He's capable of showing emotion, and yes, he's got more issues than Vogue, so there's no hope of me ever figuring him out. But he's vulnerable and damaged, and call me a sucker but that's what I find most intriguing and endearing. In a bizarre way I find that only adds to his appeal. To the complex mystification that is simply, him.

One of the other downsides, along with missing his presence, is that it's mind-numbingly boring being kept in the room with no means of entertaining myself.
This glorified dungeon puts me in mind of an old underground bunker. Somewhere off the grid and cut-off from the world, where no one ever goes -- if they ever know that it exists at all. And that's  exactly how I'm beginning to feel. Completely separated from the rest of society, losing touch with all of humanity.

A selection of food and drink is brought each day by one of the shady heavies who Loki has in his employ, and on one occasion they even bring some books. It's an eclectic selection, to say the least. Some are true crime novels, a couple are books on the occult, one is all about psychology, and amongst them -- of all things -- there's even an old beaten-up copy of the Kama Sutra.

Well, at least I'm not just staring at the four walls going slowly mad. And I don't know whether he's poking fun at me -- granted, I think the Kama Sutra is meant as a joke, unless he's actually expecting me to study it -- or the selection shows he's at least given some thought to what he thinks I might enjoy. But it mostly seems like they're just whatever his lackeys could lay their hands on.

My mind is restless though, and I find myself jumping from one book to another. Reading a few chapters here and there, but I can't focus and none of them really hold my interest.
I'm becoming increasingly more agitated. My thoughts keep returning to Loki, and wondering if he's okay. And what he's up to. He's clearly busy with other things. Perhaps he's forgotten about me altogether.
Am I really nothing more than a stress-reliever to him? An outlet for his pent-up frustration?

I don't like to admit it, but that thought stings more than just a little. More than it probably should.

***********************************

I'm sitting on the bed one day -- although it might be evening, or night time, as I can no longer be sure, since being in here I've lost all sense of time -- propped up against the wall. I have the psychology book in my lap, when suddenly I hear the heavy-duty bolts being drawn back on the door, as if in a hurry.

I know it isn't my trey of food, as that has already been delivered hours ago, but I daren't allow myself to hope that it might be my captor returning.

However, the door is flung open and I have to fight to suppress my elation at it being him.

Loki enters the room like a wild force to be reckoned with. The door slams shut behind him, and he barely casts a glance in my direction before he begins pacing about the small space agitatedly like a big cat, all lean-limbed and predatory.