by Stella Hart
But he didn’t violate me. At least not in that sense. Instead, he drew back, stepped over to the bucket and sponge, then hauled them over to me. One hand dipped the sponge in the soapy water, and then it was all over me, dripping water on every inch of my skin as it moved in long, leisurely strokes. The water was warm, but my nipples rose into stiff, swollen peaks, announcing my treacherous body’s decision to find this terrible, evil man attractive.
My captor smiled when he noticed, and he lightly ran the sponge over my breasts, his fierce, hungry eyes focusing on mine, as if to tease out a reaction. I pretended I didn’t notice, but I could feel a sickening arousal building in my core. Any second now and I would start to get wet between the legs. Shame rippled through me at the thought. The man was sure to notice that wetness.
It’s just a physical response. Not your fault, I told myself. Simple chemistry and biology. The primal part of my brain was responding to a stimulus, that was all. The rest of me knew this man was a monster; knew he wasn’t someone to want.
I hated him.
He continued washing me, occasionally telling me to lift an arm or turn a certain way. I noticed he was careful to avoid my most private parts, even though I knew he could tell I was dripping with mortifying arousal by now. I was stark naked with my legs slightly apart, so he could reach my inner thighs with the sponge, and there was no way he couldn’t see me. Smell me.
He handed the sponge to me. “Finish,” he said, turning away to fish something out of the bag. It was a hard-bristled scrubbing brush set on a wooden rod.
I dipped the sponge in the water and washed my privates as fast as possible. When I was done, the man told me to turn around and hold my hair up. I did as he said, and he scrubbed my upper back and shoulders until I was red raw. I guess they were extra dirty and required more than a smooth sponge, and I just couldn’t see that.
The pain of the hard bristles scraping over my skin should’ve bothered me, but it didn’t. It stung and burned, but it actually came as a relief, sidetracking my mind from the aching nerve pain below my skin. Kind of like when you dig your nails into your hand when you get a needle in the doctor’s office to try and distract and trick yourself into only feeling the pain that you alone can control.
He reached into the big bag and pulled out a towel, roughly drying me with it. Then he reached into the bag again and grabbed a set of clothes—gray sweatpants, a white sweater, and white panties with a matching bra.
He tossed them to me. “Put these on.”
I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw the clothing back in his face. I wanted to kick him in the balls. But I also wanted to live, and I still had no idea what this man was capable of. He didn’t seem to care when I sassed him earlier and called him an asshole, but if I straight up kicked him in the balls, he might not be so kind.
“Celeste. Really is the perfect name for you. You look like an angel,” he said softly as I turned away from his prying eyes and slid into the clothes.
“I suppose that means your name is Lucifer, because you look like the Devil,” I bit out before I could stop myself. The man might be handsome and perfect, and he might have turned me on like nothing and no one before, but I still hated him with every inch of my being.
He chuckled. “You’re a little spitfire, aren’t you?” he said. “I’ll let you have that one for now, but you’ll come to discover you can’t speak to me like that. Not without punishment.”
“Speaking to you is punishment enough,” I murmured.
His smile faded. “You’ll see, angel. You’ll see.”
I folded my arms, trying to stay brave in the face of adversity. “What will I see?” I asked, my voice cracking, betraying my fear.
I hated how pitiful I sounded. Hated how my brain continued to register this sociopath as the most attractive man I’d ever seen in my life.
“I’ve brought you here for you to learn. It won’t be quick, and it won’t be easy, but it is necessary.”
“Learn?” I raised my eyebrows. He was insane if he thought I had anything to learn from him.
“Get on your knees.” The order came fast, his voice crisp and serious.
“What?”
He stepped closer. “I said: get on your knees.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Fuck you.”
My captor’s eyes burned at that immediately, lit with fury, and he grabbed me roughly, hands digging painfully into my shoulders as he pushed me hard against the wall. Seeming brave in the face of adversity was suddenly impossible. I’d never seen anger like this, anger that could kill. Probably had killed before. What the hell was I thinking, swearing at such a man?
“You want to stay in here all alone for another week? A month?” he asked, voice dripping with rage. “That can be arranged.”
“No… please. Not that again,” I whimpered.
Six days without any human contact or any activities had been enough. As much as I hated him, I knew I’d lose my mind if I was subjected to pure solitary confinement for longer than that. I had to hold onto every shred of sanity I had remaining.
“Okay.” He let go of me and drew back. “Now let’s try that again. Get. On. Your. Knees.”
I sank to my knees quickly, too frightened to do anything else. He petted my hair. “Good girl. You might fight it, but you like taking orders, don’t you? Although… I suppose you haven’t realized that yet.” He touched his hand to my chin and tilted my face up. “The first thing you must learn is the rules.”
“Rules?” My eyes widened.
“I know you like rules, Celeste. If you want to survive, you will follow them.”
I gulped. So there was a chance I wouldn’t survive this. Of course, I already suspected that, given the circumstances, but to hear it said directly to me made the idea of my death more concrete. Like it could happen any minute.
“Rule one: you will take your medication, eat all the food, and drink all the water I leave in your cell every day.”
I nodded and let out a shallow sigh of relief. That was easy enough.
“Rule two: you will do your physical therapy exercises every day. This includes the lessons you were taught about how to sit and how to breathe.”
My heart hammered. Was he right outside my second PT session all those weeks ago? The physical therapist (and Dr. Fitzgibbons, too) had specifically told me that my pain was being exacerbated by the way I sat and breathed. Apparently, I was too stiff and rigid in my posture, and the way I breathed was too shallow. These things made my body feel more on edge, more anxious, which in turn made my nerves more sensitive. But how did he know all that?
“How do you know ev—”
He closed his hand over my lips. “Rule three: you do not speak without asking my permission first, or unless I’ve specifically said you can speak freely, which I will do on necessary occasions. Think very carefully about what you want to say.”
I nodded and swallowed hard again.
“Rule four: you will obey me. You will follow all orders, you will not try to run, and you will not do anything without seeking my approval first.”
Another nod.
He smiled. “And rule five: you will address me as ‘sir’ when necessary.”
I nodded again. I was beginning to feel like a bobble-head figurine.
“If you are good, you will be rewarded,” he said smoothly. Like a pet, I was being trained, offered treats for proper behavior. I stayed rooted to the ground on my knees, waiting for him to go on. “If you break the rules in any way, you will be punished. So it’s up to you—choose to obey, or choose punishment.”
Up to me? Seriously? It was like he genuinely thought he was giving me actual options, so it would magically become my fault if he was forced to punish me. As if I would be the architect of my own pain for refusing to obey him, even if what he asked of me was ludicrous or unimaginably terrible. Even though he had absolutely no right to expect me to obey. The way he saw it, he wouldn’t be the one causing the pain. No, it would totally be m
y fault for rebelling, despite the fact that he would literally be the one doling the pain out to me.
Such twisted logic. Then again, he was obviously a twisted man.
I averted my eyes for a second as something occurred to me. How would he even know if I didn’t follow every rule? He couldn’t be here all the time, and there were no cameras, so he couldn’t see me. I could just lie and say I’d done my exercises, and I could tip my food down the drain if I didn’t want to eat it.
He forced me to look at him. “What were you thinking just now?”
“Nothing,” I mumbled.
“Nothing what?”
“Nothing, sir.” I hated myself for saying it, but I could practically feel the violence emanating from his every pore. I didn’t want to be slapped to the ground for simply refusing to say one little word.
It’s just a word. Just one word.
His upper lip curled. “I see straight through you, and I know you’re lying. So tell me what you were thinking right now before I have to whip it out of you.”
“I….” I faltered. It was like this man could see inside my mind, as if every one of my thoughts were printed in a book for him to read. “I was just thinking that you wouldn’t actually know if I follow all the rules or not.”
“Oh, but I will. I can tell if you lie. I’ll also be here to check up on you every day, and you’ll never know exactly when. I could be here anytime.” His lips quirked into that same cruel smirk again. “You can’t hide anything from me, and you have no privacy anymore, even if you think you do. Forget about all that.”
I cast my eyes to the ground. This stranger wanted to control every aspect of my life, down to the way I breathed and ate, and I was supposed to just roll over and surrender? Relinquish every ounce of control to him? I wanted to fight it tooth and nail. But in the end, what real choice did I have but to do as he said? He’d made it very clear that any infractions would be punished harshly.
“Oh, and one more thing I forgot to add.” He pulled a white bottle from his pocket and tipped out one pill. “You start this today. Birth control pills.”
My eyes snapped up to meet his again, my gaze fearful and wide. “So you’re going to rape me?”
I’d forgotten to ask permission to speak, and I could tell he wanted to punish me for that, but at the same time, my words seemed to have amused him.
“I don’t rape women,” he said, eyes twinkling with humor. As if there were any in these circumstances. “I don’t need to. It’ll only be a matter of time until you’re begging for me, angel.” His eyes slid down to my crotch, and my cheeks burned with shame.
In your dreams, Lucifer.
“May I ask a question?” I asked. He arched a brow at me. “May I ask a question, sir?” I hurriedly repeated, not wanting to incur his wrath again.
He nodded. “Yes. For the next hour—for introductory purposes, and because I‘m in a generous mood—I will allow you to say or ask anything else you want without asking my permission again. Get it all out of your system now, because you won’t have the chance later.”
“Anything I want?” My hands shook by my side. I didn’t believe he would suddenly be so lenient.
He tipped his head in the tiniest of nods. “Within reason. If you are rude or hysterical again, you’ll be punished tomorrow.”
Ah, there it is.
“Okay. I just….” I faltered again, finding myself tongue-tied.
“Ask your question,” he commanded.
Taking a deep breath, I looked into his eyes. “What makes you think I would ever beg for you?” I asked, my voice quavering. I immediately shrank back, expecting him to take offense, even though it was a fair question. After all, kidnapping someone, drugging them, threatening them, and keeping them prisoner in some underground dungeon wasn’t usually the best way to entice them into bed. “I’m really not trying to be rude. I’m genuinely curious,” I hastily added. “Just… why? Why would you think I’d beg you after all this?”
He smiled patiently, though I could see danger lingering right below the surface of his expression. “Because I know you.” The smile quickly turned into a smirk as a mixture of lust and control danced in his eyes. “You've always secretly wanted to be a whore. Let a man use your body. All your holes. Makes you wet like nothing else, doesn’t it?”
I flushed and squirmed, hating that he was actually partially right. Hating myself for being suddenly aroused by his words when I should be slapping him and calling him a dirty misogynistic prick.
How did he know so much about me? How could he know the dirty, shameful thoughts that flitted through my mind sometimes, making me ache and clench? How much was he going to use it against me… and how soon till my body betrayed me, forcing me to give in?
I gulped, and he chuckled. “Don’t be scared. It’s who you are, Celeste. One day you’ll beg me to fuck you.”
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. He was deluded if he thought I’d ever beg him for that. He might be the sexiest man I’d ever laid eyes on, and I might secretly crave all the things he just mentioned, but I didn’t want him anywhere near me.
“You will. Soon, you’ll beg me to touch you. Beg me to make you come. Beg me to let you please me. Just as sure as you’ll beg for the pain of the whip.”
I’ll never beg you for anything. I swallowed a lump in my throat. “You’re wrong about me. I’m not like that,” I mumbled.
He smiled. “Looks like I know you better than you know yourself, then. You’ll see, angel. You’re such a perfect little thing, and you’re going to do such a good job at pleasing me.”
I gritted my teeth. “How long are you going to keep me here?”
“As long as it takes.”
I let out a long, shuddery sigh. “As long as what takes?”
“As long as it takes for you to learn and realize you belong here. I’m not letting you go.” He reached for my right hand and wove his fingers between mine as if weaving our futures together. “This is where you need to be, and the sooner you realize that, the better.”
“So I’m supposed to be here forever,” I said flatly. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.
“You said that, not me.” He raised a brow.
I shook my head in frustration. “Please… just tell me why you picked me.”
“You aren’t ready for that yet. I promise you, that’s true. You’re not,” he said quietly.
“I am,” I insisted, my cheeks heating and my voice rising. “Tell me why. You at least owe me that. You owe me answers, asshole!”
I accidentally let the curse word slip out and cringed immediately, waiting for a slap that never came. I knew I’d be punished for my rudeness later, though. He made that abundantly clear earlier.
Tomorrow.
He smiled thinly. “I don’t owe you. If anything, you owe me.”
I shook my head indignantly. “No, I deserve to know! You’re obviously going to kill me, I can tell that. But please just tell me why before you do it!”
Something burned in his eyes at that. Was it amusement? Hatred? I couldn’t tell. “You think I’m going to kill you?” He chuckled mirthlessly. “I have bigger plans for you than that, angel.”
With that, he stepped away and out of the cell, heavy footsteps echoing down the passage and up the steps. I screamed after him, pounding my hands against the bars to no avail. He didn’t return, and I was left in my miserable cell with more questions than ever and no answers.
Why the hell was I here? What was he going to do with me in the end?
And what did he mean when he said I owed him?
11
Celeste
There were twenty-two bars on my cell, four hundred and forty-one gray bricks in the walls, twenty-three loose threads on the scratchy blanket, and seven stains on the concrete floor.
I’d counted it all seven or eight times now. I had nothing better to do.
My captor was punishing me for letting that ‘asshole!’ slip out the other day, even
after it was made abundantly clear to me that I would be punished if I was ‘rude or hysterical’. I guess I’d been a bit of both.
He knew I couldn’t stand being cooped up in here with absolutely nothing to do and no human contact, and he was using it against me, still trying to break me. While he hadn’t left me completely alone, he might as well have. He only came to deliver my medication, food and water twice a day, and then he’d abruptly disappear again. He’d also halved my painkiller dosage, which really pissed me off.
Sometimes I was asleep when he showed up, so I only got to see him for a few seconds before the barred door clanged shut. A few times, I’d been awake, and I’d begged him to speak to me, but he hadn’t said a word. One time I even pretended I was deeply sorry and gave him a heartfelt apology, but he still didn’t say anything. He simply shook his head and turned away. The action made me feel some sick sense of shame, as if I should actually feel bad for having displeased him. I knew that was ridiculous, but still, I felt it.
Not sorry. Not sorry. Not sorry, I chanted in my mind, trying my hardest to keep my wits about me.
I was bored. So fucking bored. And so dirty. He hadn’t let me wash again, and my hair and skin were greasy and disgusting after six days of this. Maybe seven; I was beginning to lose track again. It seemed as if my brain cells were dying off from lack of stimulation.
The only thing keeping me from losing my mind entirely was my routine. I’d wake up, take my medications, eat the food, do my exercises, then sit and think, count things, or pace around the cell. Sometimes I dreamed up entire worlds and accompanying stories, even though I knew I’d never write them, just for something to do.
Today’s meal was some sort of soup with vegetables, barley and lamb shank. I guess it was healthy, but it was the least flavorsome soup I’d ever eaten, and that was saying something considering my previous ‘poor college student’ diet. I knew it was purposeful. I didn’t deserve good food, according to my captor. I deserved nothing but punishment until I’d learned my lesson.