by Kitty Thomas
I'm crying again. I truly could have sex with Seven without it unraveling my world, but not with this sinister evil psychopath watching and giving orders, intent on making it the most degrading experience possible. But I'm so hungry.
My limbs are trembling as I take off the towel and crawl across the cold, hard floor to Seven. He's looking away from me. I don't blame him.
“Please fuck me,” I beg. I want to use his name, but I know this will only get us into trouble so I refrain.
“What did I say three days ago?” the voice says. “You will call him Master. You will address us both as Master.”
I think somehow it breaks Seven more to be put in this position being shaped and molded into a monster against his will, baited with the promise of food and survival. And not just his own, mine too.
“Please, Master, fuck me.” I can barely get the words out.
The muscle in Seven's jaw tightens again, and his face is still turned away from mine. His hands clench and unclench at his sides. He doesn't make a move toward me. It's as though this decision is much harder for him than it was for me.
“Please, just do what he wants. I don't want to die.”
Despite Seven's choice to take me into the shower with him, the enormity of this seems almost too much for him.
The voice speaks again. “This isn't fair play. She's willing to play my games. If you aren't, maybe I should come into the cell and fuck her myself. Then she can eat, and you can learn a lesson. How would that be?”
“Don't you dare touch her!” Seven shouts.
There is laughter over the speaker. “I can do whatever I want with her. She’s mine. She belongs to me. And I’m generously offering to share her with you, to allow you to have a piece of her. But strictly speaking, we don't really need you. So if you want to starve and leave her all to me, I won't complain.”
Seven flinches when I reach out and touch his arm. “Please... just give him what he wants.”
“Please, Master,” the voice patiently corrects.
“Please, Master,” I say.
I swear every time I say that word to Seven I think he will completely lose it. There’s a pause. He takes a long, slow breath, then finally, he stands and without a word, peels his T-shirt off. The jeans go next. He isn't wearing underwear.
“Lie down on the mattress,” Seven says.
I crawl onto the mattress and lie down. It's even nicer and more comfortable than it seemed just looking at it, and I now regret not taking his offer to sleep here instead of on the hard floor.
My gaze drifts to his impressive erection. Whatever moral issues he may have with this situation, it doesn't affect what his body wants right now. He lies down beside me on the mattress and begins to gently stroke me.
I’m sure the voice will interrupt and stop him. I'm sure the voice wants Seven to be hard and rough and mean about it, but there’s no interruption. There’s no commentary. The touches start innocent and sweet. He brushes my hair away from my face, and runs his fingertips through it several times. He strokes my cheek, then drags his thumb gently over my lip as he unconsciously licks his own.
His hand trails down my neck. Hands graze down and then back up my arms. Gentle strokes down and back up my legs.
“What a pretty bare cunt. I like it,” the voice says over the speaker. I flinch at this.
I don't wax for the visual or tactile pleasure of men. I do it for myself. I like the way clothes feel when they brush against that bare intimate flesh. I like the way it feels when my fingers drift over and play with it.
I had a salon appointment a few days ago. I know I shouldn't have. I couldn't afford it. But the cost of rent was so much higher than the cost of waxing, and I just wanted something normal and routine to make me feel like everything in my world wasn't falling apart. That seems so long ago now. The specter of homelessness that had loomed over me now feels so trivial in light of everything.
Seven's eyes are filled with lust, and I know he agrees with our captor about the lack of hair between my legs.
“We'll have to keep her waxed,” the voice says. “When the time comes, do you want to wax her, or should I?”
We both know our captor is just trying to upset us. But it's working. Seven goes back to touching me, determined to block out our seedy voyeur. He rubs soothing gentle circles over my belly, and then those same movements happen again with each breast.
I let out an involuntary gasp as his mouth latches onto my nipple and sucks it into a hard point. The arousal that was lacking from my own body suddenly awakens at his mouth on my breast. Then he moves lower.
“Spread your legs,” he says, his voice going more guttural. The command is a command by every understanding of that word. It’s as though he’s crossed some imaginary bridge in his mind, and he’s now ready to play the role of my owner.
I spread my legs, wordlessly inviting him to touch me, to lick me, to fuck me. I'm starting to care less about the cameras because I'm beginning to need Seven inside me. Like Seven, my body doesn't care about the actual situation. It wants what it wants. It’s a primal dance with music we may not consciously know, but our bodies know, and they want to play this erotic symphony together.
The more he touches me, the less guilt he seems to feel about touching me, the more he treats me as a lover he has every right to possess.
I arch up against his mouth, my fingers desperately clawing at the mattress for purchase, anything to anchor me and hold me to this plane of existence. I moan as he sucks on my clit. His fingers dig into my hips as he greedily devours me.
“Stop,” the voice says.
Seven stops, irritated now by this new command. He doesn't want to stop.
“Pretty Toy, look into his eyes and beg him to let you come.”
When I look into Seven's eyes this time, a real shift has occurred inside him. Gone is any hesitation to take me. His body and mind are in accord, and I know he will soon fuck me breathless.
“Master, please let me come.”
This time when I say that word, he doesn't flinch. His jaw doesn't clench. The anger doesn't show up. There’s only lust. It won't take long for him to love hearing that word come out of my mouth. He already wants to love it. I decide this is better. If he winces or turns away when I call him master, it will only shame me. His acceptance and desire is better.
Seven goes back to work on my pussy, his mouth unrelenting until I come, writhing and moaning and panting, unable to control my erratic need to feel these feelings under the precise control of his tongue.
When the pleasure recedes, and I'm wet and open and soft in his arms, he mounts me. I gasp again as he fills me. I've never been with a man this large before, and even after my orgasm and arousal, it takes a moment for my body to adjust to his size.
He begins to move slowly inside me, until I'm once again arching up into him, my body begging him for more of this dark violation.
“Please, Master,” slips out of my mouth before I can stop it, and he drives into me harder.
Pleasure tightens the cords in his throat as he lets out an animalistic sound. I join him again, a second wave of pleasure cresting over me as he grinds against my clit. Then he pulls out of me, gets up off the mattress, and puts his jeans back on.
Now that his lust has been fed, he looks guilty, ashamed. He can't meet my eyes. And I hate that. I feel wrong for this, but I liked who he was a few minutes ago, when he didn't give one flying fuck about the cameras or the situation. When I was something he wanted, something he'd decided to take, and his desire and need to be sheathed inside me was the only reality that existed between us.
A couple of water bottles are tossed in through the slot in the wall, then several minutes later, a plate of the promised steaming hot food. Seven takes it as it comes through the slot and then there is a second plate.
One plate is blue and the other is white. Both plates have the same food. Steak, green beans, and a baked potato with just a little butter. It looks and smells deliciou
s, but we'll both have to eat very slowly to not get sick.
The voice comes out over the speaker. “The food on the blue plate is drugged. I'll leave it to the two of you to decide who gets the drugged food. I think you know which would please me, and I think you know you need to factor pleasing me into all of your decisions from this point onward.”
I swallow hard, staring at the food. “If I take the drugged food, you can fight him off if he comes in,” I say.
Seven shakes his head. “He means the drugs for me; that means the amount is too high for you. It could endanger your life if you eat it. I'm not going to risk it. You are not eating the drugged food.”
My lip is trembling. “But if you eat it, he could come in here and...”
His expression goes tight. “I know.”
“We could split the food on the white plate,” I offer.
“That'll just piss him off, and you need a full meal. Fuck! You eat the food. I won't eat. I'm not going to let him come in here and...”
“You have to eat,” I say. “If you die, I'll be here with him by myself. Please don't leave me alone with him.”
Seven pushes the white plate toward me. “Eat,” he says.
“What if they're both drugged, and he's just playing with us?” If that's the case there’s nothing we can do. It's either drugged food or no food.
Seven doesn't reply to this. He just watches me. Finally, I give in and start eating. I still think we should have shared this food. But he's right about it making our captor mad, as though we’re trying to cheat at his game.
I've nearly finished eating the food on my plate and drinking the water when Seven finally makes the decision to eat his own. He knows there’s no choice. He either eats or he dies.
I can tell it pains him to leave me unprotected while he's unconscious, but what other choices do we really have?
“Come here,” Seven says when he's finished eating. He pulls me into his arms, and we lie down on the mattress curled up together. I grip his hand, willing him not to fall asleep even though I know he won't be able to fight the drugs.
I hear it when his breathing pattern finally shifts, and my breath hitches in panic.
A few minutes later, the door to the cell opens for the first time.
Our captor steps into the room. Given the monster he so obviously is, I expected him to be ugly, but he isn't. At least not on the outside. He’s cruel beauty. A little shorter than Seven, probably six feet tall, and not quite as broad. In a fair fight, Seven would win no question, but I can see the clearly strong and lethal muscles under his T-shirt. He has strange light gray eyes that appear empty of everything and hair just a little lighter than Seven's. He's clean-shaven, where Seven has a growing beard, probably because of an inability to shave in here.
I grip Seven's hand harder as if he can protect me from our captor while unconscious.
The menacing stranger, the man who has insisted I, and I alone, call him master crosses the room to us. He hasn't demanded a title from Seven, and I'm starting to think his assessment is right. This man wants to make Seven a monster and me their whore.
He pries my fingers out of Seven's while I struggle against him and cry. “Please... please... don't hurt me.” I've never been more afraid than I am now in this man's presence.
He tilts his head to the side like a curious puppy. Then he says, “Please, please don't hurt me, what?”
“M-Master,” I say quickly.
He nods, satisfied with this answer but unwilling to offer me any reassurances to answer my plea.
He picks me up off the floor, then walks me to my corner on the other end of the room.
“Sit,” he demands.
I slide wordlessly to the ground, the tears moving down my cheeks. Then he turns and crosses the floor to Seven. He grips the man by the shoulders, and drags him to the door.
“W-wait, where are you taking him?”
He looks up at me and smiles a hollow, soulless smile. “Oh, don't worry Pretty Toy, you'll get your turn soon enough.”
He presses his thumb to a keypad, the door slides open, and he drags Seven out, leaving me alone in the cell.
Chapter Four
It seems like hours go by while I'm in this classical elevator music hell alone. Finally, the door slides open, and he drags Seven back inside. I gasp at the sight of him, shirtless but still in jeans. Our captor tosses Seven on the mattress, lying on his stomach, revealing horrifying whip lashes across his back, several of them bleeding.
He's very still, and at first I'm terrified he's dead, but then I see his breath slowly moving in and out of him in a ragged labored way. I'm not sure if he passed out from pain or if he was drugged again. Then my captor's eyes move to me.
“Your turn, Pretty Toy.”
I shake my head, the panic and tears back. “No, no please... Master, please... I'll do whatever you want... please... don't...” I look at the disaster that is Seven's back again.
My captor doesn't reply; he just walks slowly and calmly over to me.
“Please,” I whimper. “I'm not as strong as him... I can't take... please...” I'm babbling. I can't think straight enough to make a clear sentence come out of my mouth. I'm just so scared. And I know none of what I say matters anyway. You can't reason with the devil.
I don't understand why. WHY? We did what he asked. And in this short time... he's already escalated his plans to torture. I'm sure I'll hyperventilate or faint when he reaches me.
“Stand up and come with me, Kate,” he says.
I don't know why it should surprise me that he knows my name. I had my driver's license on me when he took me. If he undressed me and put me in this cell, of course he's gone through all my things.
I choke back another sob and use the wall to steady myself and stand. I know if I resist him, whatever he has planned can only be worse. I grip the bath towel around me, but he tugs it out of my grasp and off me until I'm standing inches from him, naked.
He grips my upper arm and leads me out of the cell. When we get out into the main house, I realize the finality of my fate. Even phrases like ridiculous grandiose wealth do not fully capture this situation. There’s a level of resources where you know there’s basically no limit to a person's power.
This guy has those kinds of resources. That kind of power. No one will ever find us. No one will ever free us. We’re at the mercy of this monster for as long as he lets us live. And I'm not sure if a short time or a long time is better or worse under the circumstances.
The door to our cell is hidden behind a giant painting. The hallway alone in this place is breathtaking. High vaulted ceilings. Chandeliers that each probably cost about the same as a normal-sized house in the suburbs. We pass by windows, and outside the windows I see endless rolling hills. It's as though I've been transported to a whole other planet that only the three of us inhabit. Maybe it's a private island. I don't see any palm trees, but I really just have no idea at this point.
He has to have staff. A cleaning service. Something. There’s no way he manages this on his own. So have there been others here while we've been here then? There must have been. If he isn't worried about us screaming and getting found out, the cell must be soundproof.
I could ask myself why someone with this much money would even do something like this. But why not? If you obviously have no conscience, after you get bored with all conventional accumulation of power, surely something like this is next.
At the end of this hallway, there’s another door with a security panel. It's not hidden like our cell. I wonder if people ask what’s behind this door. I'm sure others are curious, but I don't want to know. I don't want to go in there.
I struggle to get away from him, but his impossible grip only gets tighter. “Careful, now. Probably best not to irritate the psycho,” he says.
At least he knows he's crazy. I'm not sure if that helps or only makes it worse.
Behind this new high-security steel door is a set of stairs that spiral down. Th
e walls are white, and the stairs look like stairs in an office building. There are guide lights in the floor which offer the only illumination. The stairs seem to go down forever, and the further we go into this pit, the more claustrophobic I become.
It's some kind of sex dungeon. There are whips and paddles and floggers and canes. Clamps of various types and sizes. A box full of sex toys and blindfolds. Bondage equipment is scattered around the room. There’s a large cage on one end of this endless underground space. And there’s a bed, built with the explicit understanding that someone should be bound to it.
A part of me wishes I didn't know what all of this stuff was for. But I know. I'm crying again. It started before I even realized—traitorous tears making escape attempts down my cheeks.
I flinch when he wipes away a stray tear with his thumb. “Don't cry yet, Pretty Toy. I haven't even gotten started. Save your tears for the good part.”
This only makes me cry harder, and the sinister smirk that inches up his cheek only confirms this was the reaction he was hoping for.
“You're here because you disobeyed me. You both disobeyed me.”
Is he talking about the fact that we didn't immediately rush to fuck for his viewing pleasure when he first told us this was the price for food? Before I can ask this question, he continues.
“I told you, no names, Kate. But the first opportunity you got, the two of you huddled in your private shower and started whispering secrets. I may not have cameras in the bathroom, but I do have listening devices, one embedded in the shower in fact. Seven thought he could outsmart me. You have to be punished, Pretty Toy. I can't have this defiance.”
“Master, please.” I want to say it was Seven's idea, but my captor knows that already, and I can't stand the idea of betraying Seven, so I don't say anything more.
I jerk away when he strokes my hair.
“Don't worry. He took a greater punishment to protect you, and I always keep my word. You can handle what I'm about to do. I won't break your skin. I don't want to break my Pretty Toy after all, now do I?”