by Kitty Thomas
Suddenly I'm glad I stayed where I am—as far away from the stranger on the other side of the cell as I can get. Not that that makes a real difference.
“Fuck you,” the man says. “I'm not going to rape her.”
“Okay. Starve then. But she'll starve, too. She's quite a little thing. I bet the hunger will get to her first. So you'll get to watch her die. Enjoy.”
It's no longer some great mystery why I'm naked and my co-captive isn't. I'm bait for the evil game of our captor. The music comes back on.
We both sit in stunned silence for a minute, staring up at the speaker in the ceiling, as if expecting the voice to return, but it doesn't.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I say to the man in the cell with me. Even though I know he's seen me naked, I don't want to just get up and walk in front of him to the bathroom.
He nods, stands, and turns around. “Tell me when you're in there.”
I hesitate for a moment but then get up and cross to the doorway. When I push back the beaded curtain, I let out a gasp. I expected the bathroom to be just like the cell. Plain gray walls, maybe a metal toilet, a sink, and if we were incredibly lucky, a drain in the floor and a shower head.
But this is a real bathroom. A luxury bathroom. This is the kind of bathroom only the very rich can afford. This room is probably twice the size of the cell, and the cell isn't tiny. I notice there is a speaker in here as well piping in the same classical music.
“Okay,” I say to the man in the other room.
I wonder why my co-captive isn't hanging out in here. I don't know what to look at first, but I settle on the roses. There’s a large bouquet of white roses in a vase on the marble countertop. The colors of the room are warm gold and cream. There’s a giant rain shower that can easily accommodate two people as well as an oversized jacuzzi tub. The actual toilet is at the back of the room in another sort of smaller room. There’s no door, just a curtain, but it does allow another layer of privacy.
I feel weirdly comfortable about peeing now because I realize with the distance, the extra enclosed toilet space, and the music, the man in the cell won't hear me. It's such a stupid thing to be concerned with right now, but still, it makes me feel marginally better inside the horror of this situation.
After I use the bathroom and wash my hands, I look through the cabinets. There are soaps and lotions and bath oils and bubble baths. No real help for escape here unless we can somehow MacGyver a bubble bath bomb.
There’s a full first aid kit. Bandages of all sizes, medical tape, salves, ointments, Hydrogen peroxide, and alcohol. I find this discovery more than a little disturbing. Why is our captor providing us with this stuff, and what will happen that requires it?
In another cabinet are stacks of neatly folded wash cloths and hand towels and bath mats and giant bath towels. I pull out one of the enormous towels and wrap it around myself then walk back out into the main cell, covered now at least.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey. What do we do now?”
We both know what we're supposed to do now, but of course we aren't going to do that. I'm not sure what he'll do if he gets hungry enough. I move back to the place across the room and gingerly sit back down.
“We wait,” he says.
“How long have you been here?”
“A couple of days. I've already looked for escape options. There are none.” He points up at the ceiling. “In the corners, do you see those shiny black things?”
I squint. I hadn't noticed them before. “Yes.”
“Cameras,” he says. “There aren't any in the bathroom, though. Though there are probably listening devices in there.”
I allow this piece of information to settle in my brain.
“W-when was the last time you ate?”
He winces at this. “Don't worry. I ate half an hour before he brought you in.”
“Have you used the shower or the tub?”
“The shower.”
“So he's not going to come in here and hurt us if I...”
The man shakes his head. “He won't come in until I eat. He drugs the food. So if you want to take a bath or a shower, you'll be safe.”
“You won't come in?”
He shakes his head. “I promise.”
“Do you think he'll starve us if we don't do what he says?”
He sighs. “Yes.”
I look away. I don't know what to say to this. It's not as though it would be any great tragedy to sleep with this beautiful man, but I don't think I can do it with someone else watching. I might feel differently about this when I get hungry enough.
Since I'm in no exact immediate danger, I don't cry again. I feel stupidly safer with this other man here even though I know obviously something bad is going to happen, things we'll both be forced to do together to survive. And in the end, we probably won't anyway.
“I'm going to take a bath,”
He nods. He doesn't turn away this time because I'm covered in a bath towel. It takes a while for the tub to fill up. I put in some raspberry bath oil and take one of the roses from the vase and sprinkle the petals in. I'm trying to feel normal. Inside this bathroom, I can pretend that things are somehow normal.
I sink beneath the steaming hot water and lean back against the rim of the tub, closing my eyes and listening to the classical music.
I stay like this until the water goes cool. But no matter what I do, I can't convince myself that I'm having a normal bath on a normal day.
As I'm getting out of the tub and drying off, it occurs to me, my co-captive knew about this bathroom. He knew about the towels. He could have covered me so I didn't wake up like that. He would have had to have been unconscious when I was brought in, of course. Maybe he'd woken up just before me and didn't have time. Maybe I was already stirring, and he didn't want to startle me. Or maybe... he liked the view and isn't that honorable.
I find myself unsettled by these possibilities as I return to the cell.
Hours pass. I try not to look at him, but I fail. There isn't much to look at or occupy my time. The music is becoming a little obnoxious, and to be honest, I would rather have the silence. It's like Chinese water torture.
I mean sure, it's not drip drip drip drip drip. But without the ability to turn the music off, it has that same maddening quality.
Whenever I catch myself looking at my co-captive, he’s already looking at me, watching in that silent way he does. Despite our shared situation, I can't help feeling like his prey. How hungry is he? Is he thinking about fucking me to get fed? Is he thinking about how easy it would be to just take me? Is he calculating how quickly his conscience might shut up if he just does what has been asked of him?
“You should try to get some sleep,” he finally says. His gaze shifts to the mattress beside him. An invitation?
“I-I'm fine.”
“I'd bring the mattress over to you, but it's somehow bolted to the floor. I'd switch places with you, but I need to be facing the door.”
The wall he sits against is directly opposite from the door to the outside world. My wall, the one I've been sitting against, is the same wall that door is on. The bathroom door is a third wall to my right and his left.
He moves a few feet over, so that he's more in direct alignment with the door he watches when he isn't watching me, but it isn't nearly enough space. “Come lie down. I won't touch you.”
I shake my head and stay where I am.
Chapter Three
I don't know how much time has passed, but I'm hungry, really hungry. I've been drinking water straight out of the bathroom sink, but it doesn't stop the hunger pangs.
He sits across the room, watching me, the same way he watched me when I first woke in the cell. I've slept a few times—on the floor—but I don't think that correlates with how many days I've been here. I think it's only been a couple of days.
I don't know. There’s no way to measure time.
We haven't really talked much. I'm not sure what one
is supposed to talk about in this situation, and I think both of us are afraid that anything we say will give our captor additional ammunition to use against us.
Even though the mattress is only a few feet from him, he's chosen to sleep on the floor. He refuses to sleep on the mattress if I won't sleep on it, like he can't stand the idea of me sleeping naked on the cold, hard floor and him having some measure of comfort—like it offends his sensibilities somehow to the point that he's willing to be just as uncomfortable as me. And I've continually refused the offer.
Even if he'd move far away, I don't want to sleep on it while he sleeps on the floor, either, and if we both sleep on the mattress, I know what will happen next. It's impossible that with our hunger and that kind of proximity that his hands won't wander over my body, that he won't get on top of me and...
“Come here,” he says.
I swallow hard, but I don't move. Has he hit his limit with this? We both know what has to happen. Our captor hasn't spoken to us again. Who knows if he got bored and just decided to leave us here to die? Who knows if we'll get food even if we obey at this late stage?
He doesn't repeat his request, just continues to watch me. After a few minutes, he stands and walks across the cell. This is the first time he's been this close. I flinch when he reaches me.
He ignores my reaction and sits on the ground beside me, but he doesn't make any attempt to touch me. Instead, he sighs and says, “Starvation is a bad way to die.”
“I know,” I say.
“I don't think you do.”
I start to cry. It's the first time I've broken down since those first moments in the cell. Supposedly, if we have sex, we'll get food. And I want food, but then what happens? The longer I can delay this, the longer I delay the next steps in whatever sick game our captor is playing with us.
“You know what has to happen,” he says, echoing my exact thought of only minutes ago. “What’s the point of letting yourself get sicker and weaker than you need to be? You need your strength. You need to eat.”
“You mean you need to eat,” I say, unable to hide the bitterness seeping into my voice. So the nice guy act is finally ending? The gallant chivalry finally coming to an end. Everyone has a limit. And now I know his.
“I'll be fine,” he says. “I'll be fine a lot longer than you will. Are you going to let yourself starve to death?”
I chance a look into his eyes. “What do you think would happen to you if I did?”
He shrugs. “He'd probably take another girl, bring more bait to tempt me. He wants to turn me into a monster and you...or whoever... into a whore. That's my running theory, anyway.”
He stands and holds a hand out to me.
“What are you doing?”
“Remember what I said about the cameras and the bathroom?”
I nod.
He's still holding his hand out. I try to ignore it.
“I'm not going to hurt you,” he says.
I am so hungry. Finally, I take his hand and let him lead me into the bathroom. He guides me to sit on the edge of the tub and turns the shower on. Then he starts to undress. I tense, part of me wanting to run back into the cell.
“We're going to take a shower, you and I,” he says calmly. “I won't touch you in any way you don't want. And no one will see.”
I know what he's doing. He's trying to make this easier for me. In the end, I'll have to fuck him in the cell in front of the cameras so our sick mystery captor can watch. My co-captive is trying to give us some privacy and the illusion of choice at least to start, at least to let me get used to his body.
“Come on, drop the towel and get in the shower with me.”
He steps into the shower and closes the door behind him. I know he won't hurt me. He hasn't yet. I think I'm safe with this man, and there’s only one way to get food. I take a few slow deep breaths, wipe the stray tears off my cheeks, and take off the towel.
When I open the door, he pulls me in under the rain shower with him. His mouth moves close to my ear. His words are quiet, almost dwarfed by the sound of the water.
“I don't know if there are listening devices in the bathroom, but if there are, the shower may give us some cover. What's your name?”
I pull back from him and look into his eyes—really look at them. I've avoided his gaze so much in my time here. They’re hazel, but they seem far lighter than they are because of his tanned skin and dark hair. He's growing the beginnings of a beard.
“Kate,” I finally say.
“Kate. That's a pretty name. I'm Seven.”
At first I think I don't hear him right. “Seven? Like the number?”
He chuckles. “Yes, like the number.”
“Are you from a big family? Are your siblings all named One through Six?”
“No siblings. Only child. I can be grateful they didn't name me One, I guess.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
I like his name though. The strangeness of it makes me feel somehow more comfortable with him. But still I flinch again when he moves a strand of wet hair behind my ear, the touch too intimate. I'm suddenly so aware of just how naked I am with this man I don't know.
“You can touch me, Kate. However you want. I'm yours to explore. I want to make this easy for you because we both know you aren't going to starve yourself. And I really don't want to watch you...” He trails off.
He doesn't want to watch me die. Our captor is right; Seven will make it longer than me. And on a certain level, if we don't do what we've been ordered to do, it makes it look like I'd rather die than fuck this man. And that is definitely not true. His body is a work of art. There is no part of me repulsed by any part of him.
It's just the situation.
Even if he'd survive longer than me, I know he must be hungry. And our captor didn't say I had to consent. He just said Seven had to fuck me. All he had to do was take me in that cell, my will be damned, and we would both be fed—at least if our captor plans to honor his own terms. There’s no way to know if we'll really be allowed to eat if Seven fucks me.
Suddenly out of nowhere, I'm sobbing, the weight of everything becoming too much. Seven pulls me against his chest. My first instinct is to pull away, but he’s so warm and solid, and the way he cradles my head against him makes me feel stupidly safe in the midst of this nightmare.
“Shhh, Kate. I'm so sorry this is happening to you.”
I let him hold me as the warm water rains down over us. Finally, after several minutes, when I'm able to stop my crying, I pull away from him.
I reach out tentatively and run my hands over his chest, sliding down the smooth rippling muscles of his abs. He's got that gorgeous 'V' that only the most dedicated men can achieve. He's tall, maybe six foot three, and broad, but his muscles aren't bulky like a body builder. They are compact, tightly coiled strength. These are not muscles built for looks; they're built for action. Though they are undeniably beautiful.
There’s a sharp intake of breath from him as my finger trails along one side of the line of that 'V', then I drag my tongue long it. His cock rises to attention. He is large and thick and hard. Seven has the most beautiful dick I think I've ever seen in my life.
I experimentally lick one of his nipples before biting gently. He groans at this. I look up at him, and he takes the opportunity to put his hand behind my neck and pull me up and into him for a consuming kiss that ignites a whole swarm of butterflies inside my stomach that shouldn't be there but are.
I expect him to fuck me now, but he doesn't. We just make out in the shower for several minutes like a couple of teenagers who haven't crossed that bridge before. I'm panting when I finally pull away from him. He lets me go, his intense hungry gaze never leaving mine.
“No names outside of the shower,” he says. “We don't want to piss him off.”
I nod my agreement. For a moment, I wonder if he's going to push for more or take me up against the shower wall, but although I know he wants to, instead, he turns the water off and gets o
ut.
When we go back into the cell, I'm wrapped in a bath towel again, and he's dressed in the clothing he was allowed. I go to my side, and after a moment of hesitation, Seven goes to his. He sits in that way he does, watching me. I'm not sure why I went to the opposite side of the cell after what just happened in the shower. Surely we are beyond this necessary distance now.
The voice finally speaks again, the first time in days. “Were you two in there practicing? Well, come on then, entertain me. I'm sure you're ready to eat by now. A steaming hot meal can be yours for the low, low price of your soul and self-respect.”
I can see the muscle tick in Seven's jaw. I know he wants to kill this man.
“This is the last time food will be offered. Fuck now and take the food or starve, and I'll start over with two new toys more willing to play my games. Tell me, Pretty Toy, are you ready to fuck him for your dinner because apparently he's just too noble to take what he wants for the greater good. I guess he would rather you die than watch you cry while he takes you. He's got the wrong priorities if you ask me, so it's up to you to save yourself.”
I feel the tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I look down at the ground. What else can I do? I don't want to starve to death in here.
“Yes,” I finally whisper.
“Yes, Master,” he corrects. “I am your Master, and you will address me properly.”
“You son of a bitch!” Seven says.
The voice sighs. “Okay, I can see I'm going to have to get new toys to play with. You two are boring.”
“Y-yes, Master,” I say quickly.
“Good. I can see our girl is at least ready to play, but is our boy?”
I look up to find Seven glaring malevolent holes into the shiny black camera domes above us. I feel the anger radiating off him, and it scares me even though it isn't aimed at me. Just knowing he has that kind of anger while I'm caged with him activates a survival response where I want to become as small and invisible as possible so he doesn't notice me while in this state.
“Pretty Toy,” the voice says, once again addressing me, “I think our boy needs convincing to let you eat. Drop the towel and crawl over to him. When you get there, I want you to beg him to fuck you.”